The Pregnancy Pact. Kandy Shepherd
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had not really slept or even eaten properly since the break-in. Exhaustion settled over her.
“One night,” she decided. “My place will probably be aired out by tomorrow.”
“Probably,” he said insincerely.
“I think I have to go to bed now.”
“All right. I’ll show you the way, and find you a shirt to wear for pajamas.”
“I’ll put away the dishes.”
“No, I’ll do it. I’ve gotten better at picking up behind myself.”
Was that true, or would the maid come and pick up after them tomorrow? She found she just didn’t care. She was giving herself over to the luxurious feeling of being looked after. Just for one night, though!
And then she found herself led down a wide hallway and tucked inside a bedroom that was an opulent symphony of grays. She went into the attached bathroom. Her mouth fell open. There was a beautiful bathtub shaped like an egg in here. And double sinks and granite, and a walk-in shower. And this was the guest room.
Why did she feel such comfort that he didn’t feel as at home here as he had in the humble little wreck of a house they had shared?
Just tired, she told herself. As promised, there was everything she needed there, from toothbrushes to fresh towels.
When she went out of the bathroom, she saw he had left a shirt on the bed for her. Unable to stop herself, she buried her face in it, and inhaled the deep and wonderful scent of her husband. She managed to get the oversize buttons undone on the dress and get it off.
She pulled his shirt on. His buttons weren’t quite so easy to do up, but she managed. When she noticed they were done up crooked, she didn’t have the energy to change them. She tumbled into the deep luxury of that bed, looked out the window at the lights of the city reflecting in the dark waters of the river and felt her eyes grow heavy.
She realized, for the first time since her shop had been broken into and she had been injured in her ill-advised scuffle with the perpetrator, she was going to get to sleep easily. She suspected she would sleep deeply.
Only it wasn’t really the first time in a week.
It was the first time in a year.
* * *
Kade was so aware that Jessica was right down the hallway from him. He wished he would not have made that crack about her sleeping naked.
Because a man did not want to be having naked thoughts about the wife he still missed and mourned.
But he had developed ways of getting by all these painful feelings. He looked at his watch. Despite the fact Jessica was in bed—she had always handled stress poorly, and he suspected she was exhausted—it was still early.
And he had his balm.
He had work. Plus, he had nearly wrecked her house today. He needed to look after that. He liked the sense of having a mission. This time, though, he decided to call the guy who had fixed her shop door, at least for the floors.
Jake, like all good carpenters and handymen in the supercharged economy of Calgary, was busy.
But willing to put a different project on hold when he heard Jessica’s situation, and that Jessica’s furniture was currently residing on the lawn.
His attitude inspired confidence, and Kade found himself sharing the whole repair list with him. Jake promised to look at it first thing in the morning, even though it was Sunday, and get back to him with a cost estimate and a time frame.
“Can she stay out of the house for a couple of days? The floor sanding and refinishing causes a real mess. It’s actually kind of a hazardous environment. Even the best floor sander can’t contain all the dust, and it’s full of chemicals. Plus it’ll be easier for me to work if she’s not there.”
“Oh, sure,” Kade said, thinking of Jessica staying here a few days. She probably wouldn’t. She would probably insist on getting a hotel.
But for a little while longer, anyway, he was still her husband. And he liked having her here, under his roof. He liked how protective he felt of her, and how he felt as if he could fix her world.
So he gave Jake the go-ahead.
As he disconnected his phone, Kade realized he needed to remember, when it came to larger issues, there was a lot he could not fix. This sense of having her under his protection was largely an illusion. They had tried it over the fire of real life, and they had been scorched.
Tomorrow, he would get up superearly and be gone before she even opened her eyes. He would solve all the helpless ambivalence she made him feel in the way he always had.
He would go to work.
He would, a little voice inside him said, abandon his wife. The same as always.
But it didn’t quite work out that way. Because in the night, he was awakened to the sound of screaming.
Kade bolted from his bed and down the hall to her door. He paused outside it for a minute, aware, suddenly, he was in his underwear.
He heard a strangled sob, and the hesitation was over. He opened her door, and raced to her side. The bedside lamp was a touch lamp, and he brushed it with his hand.
Jessica was illuminated in the soft light. She was thrashing around, her hair a sweaty tangle, her eyes clenched tightly shut. When the light came on, she sat up abruptly, and the jolt to her arm woke her up.
She looked up at him, terrified, and then the terror melted into a look he could have lived for.
Had lived for, once upon a time, when he still believed in once upon a time.
“Are you okay?” he asked softly.
“Just a dream,” she said, her voice hoarse.
He went into the adjoining bathroom and found a glass wrapped in plastic that crinkled when he stripped it off. Again, he was reminded this place was more like a hotel and not a home. He filled the glass and brought it to her.
She was sitting up now, with her back against the headboard, her eyes shut. “Sorry,” she said.
“No, no, it’s okay.” He handed her the water. “How long have you been having the nightmares?”
“Since the break-in.” She took a long drink of water. “I dream that someone is breaking into my house. My bedroom. That I wake up and—” She shuddered.
Kade felt a helpless anger at the burglar who had caused all this.
“Are you in your underwear?” she whispered.
“Yeah.” He wanted to say it was nothing she had never seen before, but she looked suddenly shy, and it was adorable.
“You know I don’t own a pair of pajamas,” he reminded her.
He sat down on the bed beside her. Everything about her was adorable. She looked cute and very vulnerable in his too-large shirt with the buttons done up crooked. Her hair was sticking up on one side, and he had to resist the temptation to smooth it down with his hand. He noticed her eyes skittered everywhere but to his bare legs.
Sheesh. How long had they been married?
She seemed as if she might protest him getting in the bed, but instead, after a moment’s thought, she scooted over, and he slid his legs up on the mattress beside her. He felt the soft familiar curve of her shoulder touching his, let the scent of her fill up his nose.
“I’m sorry about the nightmares,” he said.
“It’s silly,” she said. “I think I’m getting post-traumatic stress disorder. It’s shameful to get it for a very minor event.”
“Hey, stop that. You were the victim here. The person who should be ashamed is whoever did this. Jessica, do these people not have