The Texan's Convenient Marriage. Peggy Moreland
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her middle and cinched up tight. Sweat broke out on her brow, beading her upper lip. She couldn’t move, could barely breathe. She glanced up at the counter and the phone just out of reach, and gulped back the nausea, the fear, knowing she had to call for help. But who? She hated to call 911, if this turned out to be false labor. She worked in Emergency. She knew how much manpower and time was wasted on expectant mothers who were convinced they were in labor.
She’d call her neighbor, she decided. Mrs. Baker would stay with her until she could determine that this was the real thing and not a false alarm.
As she lifted a hand to the counter to pull herself up, another pain, nearly blinding in its intensity, dragged her back down to her knees. Moaning, she curled into a ball, trying to smother the pain. She felt a gush of moisture between her legs and watched in horror as a dark stain spread from the crotch of her scrub pants, soaking her to the knees.
She squeezed her eyes shut against the sight, knowing all too well what this meant.
“Oh, God, please,” she prayed tearfully. “Don’t let me lose my baby.”
Mack climbed from his car and checked the number on the house against the return address on the envelope he held, then tucked it into his shirt pocket and studied the house. Its modest appearance and old-fashioned charm surprised him. Similar trips in the past had taken him to ultramodern condominiums in singles’ neighborhoods and upscale apartment high-rises, but nothing even close to this. This house seemed almost…well, homey. From the border of impatiens that lined the sidewalk, to the baskets of ferns that swung lazily from hooks on the porch eaves, it looked like a place where a family might live.
Reminded that it was his own family who was responsible for him being here, he swore under his breath and started up the walk, anxious to get the unsavory task over with. Reaching the door, he rapped his knuckles against wood painted a warm, cheerful red, then rocked back on his boot heels and waited.
After a full minute passed without a response, he lifted a hand and knocked again. Frowning, he strained to listen for any sound coming from inside that would indicate that someone was home. He heard a female voice call out, but wasn’t sure what was said. An invitation to come in, he wondered, or simply a signal to let him know she was on her way to the door?
Figuring it was the latter, he waited, listening for the sound of footsteps from inside. When he heard nothing but silence, he tried the door and found it locked. Frowning, he glanced to his left and noticed a set of windows. Though covered by blinds, he crossed to peer through them, hoping they would offer him a peek inside. A narrow gap between the slats provided him with a slim view of the living room. Finding no sign of life, he shifted his gaze to a hallway beyond that led toward the rear of the house. A flutter of movement on the floor caught his attention and he pressed his nose against the glass for a better look.
“What the hell,” he murmured, as he stared at what appeared to be an outstretched hand, its fingers clawing against the hardwood floor. Was the woman drunk and had fallen? he wondered. Had she OD’d? Either possibility wouldn’t surprise him, considering the crowd Ty ran with. But it was the other possibilities that came to mind—attempted burglary, possible rape victim—that had him leaping off the porch and running around to the rear of the house. His heart thumping wildly, he cleared the back porch steps in one leap and shoved open the door.
Braced for a possible attack, he stepped cautiously inside. “Ma’am?” he called. “Are you okay?”
“Help me…please.”
The voice, weak and thready, came from the opposite side of the room.
He quickly rounded the island that separated the room and found the woman lying on the floor, her back to him. From her sprawled position, it appeared she had heard his knock and had tried to drag herself to the front door.
He dropped to a knee behind her and laid a hand on her arm. “Are you hurt?”
“I—”
Moaning, she curled tighter into herself.
“My…water…broke,” she managed to gasp out between breaths.
A chill skated down Mack’s spine. He had known the woman was pregnant but hadn’t realized she was that far along. “How far apart are the contractions?”
She dragged in a breath, slowly released it, then rolled to her back and looked up at him.
“Continuous.” She wet her lips. “Please…help me.” Tears welled up in her eyes and spilled over dark lashes. “I don’t want to lose my baby.”
He set his jaw against the fear in her eyes, the desperation in her voice. He didn’t need this nightmare, he told himself. He could walk out the door right now, tear up the check he’d brought along to end whatever responsibility the woman felt his family owed her, and no one would ever be the wiser.
Her hand closed over his, her fingers digging deeply into his skin. “Please,” she begged. “You’ve got to help me.”
He hesitated a moment, then swore under his breath and pushed to his feet. With his mouth slanted in a scowl, he snatched the phone from its base and punched in 911.
Mack paced the waiting area of the Emergency Room, his stomach in knots, his palms slick with sweat. His uneasiness wasn’t due to his concern for the woman who had been wheeled away by EMS thirty minutes earlier. It was the hospital. He hated them. The antiseptic smell. The sterile decor. The constant pages over the PA system for doctors and nurses and the dreaded words “code blue.” He didn’t know what had possessed him to come here. He’d done what the woman had asked of him. He’d called 911, then stayed with her until the ambulance arrived. He’d done his duty. If she lost her baby, it was no skin off his nose. It wasn’t his kid.
He dropped his head back with a groan, unable to believe that he would even think such a thing. He didn’t wish the woman ill. And he sure as hell didn’t want her to lose her baby. He knew what it was like to lose a child. The grief, the guilt, the hole it left in your heart, in your life.
“Mr. McGruder?”
He whirled at the sound of his name and found a nurse standing in the doorway. “Yes?”
“Ms. Rocci is asking for you.” She opened the door wider. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you the way.”
He hesitated, knowing it was a mistake to see the woman again, to get involved any deeper than he already was. He should leave. Go back home where he belonged. Forget about Adrianna Rocci and her unborn child.
Instead he found himself following the nurse down a long hall.
She glanced over her shoulder. “You’re a bit of a hero around here, you know.”
He frowned, uncomfortable at being tagged as such. “I’m no hero.”
“You are to us. You came to the aid of one of our own.” At his confused looked, she explained. “Addy works here. If you hadn’t happened along when you did, there’s a chance she would’ve lost her baby. Maybe even her life.”
Before he could think of a response, she stopped before one of the curtained-off cubicles, pushed back the drape and held it aside.
When he hesitated, she gave him a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry,” she whispered. “She’s resting more comfortably now.”
Taking a deep breath, he stepped inside. The room was so small the curtain brushed the backs of his legs when the nurse dropped it into place. The woman— Addy, he remembered the nurse calling her—lay on a gurney parked no more than a foot from where he stood, a sheet draping her from chin to toes. A white identification bracelet circled her left wrist and an IV needle was taped to the back of her hand. He followed the tube to a bottle hooked to a stainless steel pole wheeled close to the bed, then shifted his gaze to her face.
With her eyes closed and her hands folded over her swollen stomach, she looked serene, peaceful. Thinking she was asleep, he eased closer to the bed and was relieved to find that there