The Wilders. Mary J. Forbes
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she stared blindly out the window where the blizzard continued to blow, as all the questions she’d managed to keep at bay since her delivery rose up inside her again. Questions she’d seen reflected in Cade’s eyes as they focused on the ring she wore around her neck.
The resulting desolation of spirit she’d glimpsed in him had been heartbreaking, for it was her own.
The tears standing in her eyes spilled over. What kind of woman was she? Had she only used that fine man, taken advantage of his good heart and tender feelings to keep him invested in her and her baby through the delivery?
But she’d had to! She herself had had to reach out to him with everything in her. He was real; he was there. The knowns in her life had had to take precedence over the unknowns.
And what had she known? That she was going into labor. That she was alone. That she’d been sent to Cade.
But now…now she had to ask about…him. The father of her child. What kind of man was he not to have been here with her now? Had she been trying to find him, and somehow gotten it in her mind she would discover him here?
Was that in fact her real transgression, not taking from Cade what she needed, but seeking from him what she’d been missing from the man who’d placed this ring on her finger?
“Hey, there,” came a soft call from the doorway. She turned.
Cade stood at the threshold to his bedroom as if needing an invitation inside.
“Hello.” A warmth having nothing to do with her erratic hormonal state swept over her. Suddenly, it didn’t seem real—that only a few hours ago he’d been with her on this very bed, the two of them partners in a battle for her baby’s life. It simply didn’t seem possible that such broad shoulders, such sturdy arms and large hands, could have yielded over their might to the kind of gentleness it took to hold a newborn babe. Seemed impossible that, with his reserved, remote bearing, she could have felt completely cared for and safe. Because right now, the sheer height and breadth and strength of presence of him took her breath away.
She could not take her eyes off him.
And what kind of woman did that make her?
“How’s the little mite doin’?” he asked in that provocative, gravelly drawl of his, coming into the room to drop a dark piece of clothing over the arm of a chair.
“He’s eaten his fill and is sleeping like a lamb,” she reported, covertly sweeping away the traces of moisture on her cheeks.
“Now that I most definitely can’t tolerate.”
The wind left her lungs with completeness. “But…why?”
“Sleepin’ like a lamb?” He shook his head gravely. “This territory’s strictly cattle ranching, and I’m afraid if word got out that Cade McGivern was tendin’ sheep on his place, I’d get tarred and feathered within an inch of my life.”
Sara was struck dumb—until she caught the amusement in his eyes. Relieved laughter shook loose any lingering anxiety. “Oh…you!” was the best she could come up with, flustered as she’d become.
For a second there, she’d experienced a riot of sheer panic that he meant to turn them back out into the storm.
Which was ludicrous. Yes, she’d done what she’d needed to, to secure the safe delivery of her baby. And yes, he’d seen the ring. Yet neither what happened before or afterward could diminish the moment when he had made her and her child his own.
But it had only been for that moment, he said. And now?
Sara only realized her mind had drifted when she heard Cade clear his throat, obviously not for the first time.
“So,” he said tersely, “how’s that makeshift diaper Virg made holding up?”
“Just fine. Want to see?”
She obligingly drew back the blanket as he bent close, leaning on one hand on the bed next to her hip. He’d showered, she noticed; his chestnut-brown hair shone slickly, the forelock hanging in spikes over his forehead. It reminded her of how his hair had been when she’d awakened and looked up into his eyes for the first time.
She pushed her own hair, limp and lank, back from her face. She must look a mess. As soon as she could, she was taking a shower.
The diaper was basically a clean washcloth with some extra gauze padding the front and pinned at the sides. The key component was the waterproof pants Virgil had fabricated out of a plastic freezer bag by cutting a couple of leg holes and rimming them with duct tape to prevent tearing and leakage. Two more pieces of tape secured the pants at the sides.
Cade eyed the whole contraption speculatively. “It sure enough makes him look like some home plumbing work, but I guess it does the job.”
“Baby Cade doesn’t mind,” she said before thinking.
His head shot up. “You named him after me?”
“Why, yes,” Sara said, commanding her gaze not to falter. It was difficult to do, with his face so close to hers. “I can think of no one finer.”
Shock rimmed his eyes. “That’s because you don’t know anyone else at this point!”
“I know you,” she averred stubbornly. “I know what you did for me and my baby.”
“But you’ve got to see, darl—”
Rather than she, it was he who dropped his gaze. He’d yet to call her Sara—except once, when he’d summoned her back from the depths of her despair.
“I’m just askin’,” he said, his voice muted, “what about the baby’s father?”
“What about him?” Sara said boldly. She realized what he was staring at, and her fingers went to the chain lying on her chambray shirtfront. “Yes—this ring. Obviously, it’s mine. But no, I don’t remember who gave it to me or what happened t-to him.”
To her dismay, her voice shook and her mouth trembled with more tears. Sara sniffed them back. “But whoever he is, Cade, he owes you a debt of gratitude, and I can’t imagine he would begrudge this expression of my—of our appreciation. I—I’ll never forget what you’ve done for me,” she vowed in an echo of her thoughts at that moment when he’d given her this child.
“You won’t?” Cade asked skeptically.
Sara didn’t even realize the contradiction in her phrasing until the words were out—for obviously she had forgotten, so very much.
Her head had begun to ache again, and she rubbed the knot of tension at her temple. She couldn’t let what she didn’t know keep her from believing in what she did!
She noticed Cade had gone very still, his expression watchful.
“Does your head hurt because you were injured?” he asked. “Did you hit it somehow…or did someone hit you?”
She wondered what he’d do if she said yes, because from the looks of it, Cade McGivern had it in him to focus a ferocious amount of energy toward protecting someone he cared for.
The thought calmed her, gave her courage. Lifting her chin high, she answered, “I don’t know, Cade. I don’t know what happened. But there is no way on earth I will ever forget the experience with you of bringing this child into the world. I may not know who I am, but I know that with every bit of my heart.”
For a moment Cade didn’t speak, his whiskey-brown gaze keen upon her face as if himself searching for recognition in her features, as she had in her son’s. Or was he looking for something else, something beyond acknowledgement? For lurking in the back of his eyes, she detected the same yearning she’d seen before, a desperate wanting to believe.
And she wanted to give him the assurance he could, as he’d given her, because what had happened between them was worth believing in, was worth remembering. But before she could speak, Cade pushed