RUNAWAY (17 page)

“Because the lily-livered one is you, darling. Making up stories about your perfect family life. Telling tales that aren’t true so you can keep
me
out of
your
head.”

Her heart stuttered. “This is not about—”

“You married me but you couldn’t even commit to twelve hours as my wife before you had to run away.” Owen’s blue eyes burned. “I know why now, though, don’t I? You just told me. You just told me that you have to keep all your belongings close so you don’t leave anything behind by mistake.”

“Owen…”

“I was a damned fool that day for believing I’d found the woman I wanted to marry and whom I’d
love for the rest of my life. It had only been three days, a Las Vegas weekend, but I was willing to gamble my future on you Izzy. Yeah. I certainly was a chump.”

She swallowed. “Owen…”

“Because you’re too afraid to take that same kind of chance. You’ll never risk your heart, will you, Izzy? You’ll never let anyone close enough to touch it.”

She left. She took that suitcase of hers—all packed up as if she’d planned this all along—and walked out on him. Owen couldn’t blame her—

Hell, yes, he blamed her!

But he wasn’t surprised. After all, after Vegas he’d figured her to be his once and future runaway bride. Going after her was an option, but what was the use? He might think himself in love with her, but she didn’t want to be married to him. And hell, after how he’d failed Jerry, Owen wasn’t sure what he wanted for himself.

But he wasn’t a coward. Shoving his hand through his hair, he nursed his bad temper and thought of all the ways that Izzy had been wrong about him.

He hadn’t been distancing himself from the fire. It was all too real, every day, every minute in his head. Where did she think his survivor’s guilt came from?

Oh, yeah, he knew what it was. And he was aware he was experiencing it. So he tried telling himself it was the fire that was at fault for Jerry’s death. Sometimes he believed it. Other times, he couldn’t under
stand how all their training, their physical fitness, their equipment couldn’t have made a difference and kept that young man, that young man about to be a father, alive.

It was then that he couldn’t imagine going back to the job that he’d loved because he couldn’t believe in the point of it any longer. He didn’t have faith that his actions could make a difference.

And he was afraid there wasn’t a person or a way to talk himself out of that feeling. Even Izzy, even thinking that he was in love with Izzy, hadn’t budged that bleak shadow on his soul.

The doorbell rang.

Izzy? God, he couldn’t stop himself from hoping it was her, because even though she’d run over his heart twice on her rush to get out of his life, the stupid thing was still beating.

He wasn’t fleet on his feet, but he hurried as quick as he could, flinging open the door to see Jerry’s widow. Ellie Palmer.

Hell. He hadn’t thought she’d be arriving. After the argument, he’d assumed Izzy would call Ellie and renege on the invitation. But here she was, looking pale. A small smile curved her lips. “Hi, Owen.”

“Hi. I—” What could he say—”Come in”—but that?

The very, very pregnant woman’s movements were slow as she crossed the threshold and gingerly sat down on the chair he indicated. She tugged the
hem of her maternity dress toward her knees as her gaze roamed the room. “Um, Izzy invited me over.”

“Right, right.” Shoving his hand through his hair, he took a seat on the sofa opposite her. “She had to step out.”

“Oh. Will she be gone long?”

“I’m not sure.”
Probably for the rest of my life.
“What I can do is have her call you when she, uh, gets back.”

She shook her head. “It was you I wanted to talk to anyway.” Her hand smoothed over the huge bump of her belly. “Do you think I could have a glass of water?”

“Oh, sure. I’m sorry…can I also get you something to eat?”

“No.” She grimaced. “I couldn’t eat. The water sounds great, though.”

He limped away. “Coming right up.”

She watched him as he returned from the kitchen and crossed the living room with her glass. “You’re moving around pretty well.”

“Yeah.” Jerry wasn’t moving at all. She didn’t say the words, but Owen heard them in his head anyway. “And you, you’re feeling all right?”

Her free hand, the one without the water glass, rubbed her stomach again. “Okay. Sort of like an overstuffed olive, though.”

He managed a laugh at her little joke. “You have family coming to help when the baby’s born?”

She nodded. “My mom and dad. Maybe I’ll move closer to them afterward. I’m not certain.” When she brought her water to her mouth, he noticed her hand was shaking.

Nerves because she was talking to him? “Are you sure you’re feeling okay, Ellie?”

“I just want to tell you about Jerry. About how much he liked working with you.”

“Oh.”
Oh, God.

“He always said you were the calmest in a crisis. The guy he liked by his side when things were heating up.”

“I couldn’t save him.” The words came from the deepest pit of Owen’s belly. “I’m so damn sorry, Ellie. I didn’t see, I didn’t know, I wish…I so wish…” He closed his eyes, replaying it all again. The darkness, the fire, Jerry’s grin. The memory stung his eyes and he squeezed them tighter.

Owen could remember the details clearly now, every one. He saw that truth, that there had been nothing he could do to forestall Jerry’s death, but the fact of it still clawed at him. “Ellie…”

Glass shattered.

He jolted, his eyes flying open. Across from him, the pregnant woman was standing, broken glass at her feet. Wetness stained her maternity dress.

“Don’t move,” he cautioned, rising. “I’ll clean up the water and the glass, but I don’t want you to risk getting cut.”

She was looking at him, her eyes round. “That’s not all that happened. I got to my feet and…”

“And…? Ah.” Understanding dawned. “Your water broke.”

Her head bobbed up and down in agreement. “I…oh, boy.” Her hands clutched at her belly.

Owen hurried to her. Contraction pains already? “Deep breaths, Ellie. Deep breaths.”

Her eyes widened. “It’s really hurting.”

“I know,” he said, keeping his voice soothing. “Let’s get you down the hall. There’s a bedroom in there where you can lie down while I find some dry things for you to wear and call your doctor.”

She held his arm as they made the few steps down the hall and then squeezed tighter, causing them both to halt as another contraction hit. “Um…”

He kept his gaze on hers and breathed in and out, trying to silently encourage her to do the same. “You’re okay,” he said softly. “You’re okay.”

When the pain passed, he moved as quick as he could, hurriedly laying down some towels when she protested about getting onto the bed. Then he went upstairs to retrieve a T-shirt and sweat pants, and helped her back up and toward the bathroom where she could change.

She had another contraction on the way in, interrupting her recitation of her doctor’s name and phone number. Before he’d even had a chance to dial it, the bathroom door was back open. Ellie stood
there, in only his big T-shirt, which fell all the way to her knees.

“Um…Owen…” There was a clammy sweat on her face, and when he reached for her, she grabbed on to his fingers in a viselike grip.

As he helped her stretch back out on the bed, he decided that dialing 911 was a sounder idea.

When he hung up the phone, she was having yet another contraction. “Owen,” her voice was faint. “I think…I think…”

He squeezed her hands. “Don’t worry. I know how to deliver a baby, though I’m sure the paramedics will—”

“Owen!” her voice rose to a breathless squeak. “I think the baby’s coming.”

“All right. Keep breathing, honey.” He met her gaze. “Do you want me to check?”

She nodded vigorously, and then her back bowed as another pain overtook her.

In the bathroom he found another big towel to give her modesty. When it was draped over her legs, he tucked into the kitchen where he thoroughly washed his good hand and wrapped plastic wrap around his cast and other fingers. Then he returned to the bedroom and gently positioned Ellie in order to assess the situation.

Good Lord. He glanced up to see her anxious gaze on his face and flashed her a reassuring smile. “Well, you might want to prepare yourself for a boy who
doesn’t have much patience for authority figures. I don’t think he’s going to wait for the EMTs to arrive.”

The corners of her mouth quirked in an answering smile. “Like father, like son.”

Alexander Gerald Palmer slid into Owen’s waiting hands like he was a football delivered by an extremely proficient center. He didn’t share that little tidbit with the baby’s mother, but as he placed the infant on Ellie’s chest, he thought he felt Jerry’s presence somewhere, grinning with approval.

That damn grin of Jerry’s. Unforgettable.

But he and Ellie were grinning, too, he realized. She shared hers with him and then went back to crooning to the baby. Owen enjoyed the sight for a moment, then heard the commotion at his front door.

Grateful to give the reins over to the personnel who did this kind of thing on a more regular basis, Owen let them in, then retreated to his kitchen while they checked out mother and child. He wasn’t alone long. Word must have gotten out, because soon Will and others from the station were milling about his living area, anxious to hear the news.

“I’m telling you,” Owen said to his friends. “It’s Jerry’s boy. He came into the world whistling.”

“You look like you’re ready to warble something yourself,” Will answered. “I haven’t seen you smiling like that since…since before.”

The comment didn’t dissipate Owen’s exuber
ance. “I don’t just feel good. I feel great.” His training had been worth something again. When the moment came he’d found faith in his ability to handle the situation and help Jerry’s widow while she did the important work of birthing her baby. It did make a man want to whistle. Maybe sing a few bars of misheard lyrics.

Yeah.
Hold me closer, Tony Danza.

He swallowed a laugh and reveled in how damn good it was to delight in being alive.

Chapter Twelve

“T
here’s a lesson to be learned in all this, right?” Izzy said into her cell phone. She moved about the anonymous hotel room, opening her suitcase by rote, as she pondered why burnt orange seemed to be the favorite color of all business-hotel interior designers throughout the country.

“That you can’t run away from your problems?” Emily questioned. “Though I think the nuns in
The Sound of Music
trademarked that one.”

“No.” Izzy frowned. The bedside alarm clock was a model she wasn’t familiar with. Tack on five minutes to make sure she figured out its mechanics.

Oh, but that’s right, she didn’t have anywhere to be at any particular time. Not for another week.

“I think the lesson here is that a woman shouldn’t get married in Las Vegas.”

“Worked out pretty well for me,” Emily reminded her.

Izzy sighed. “Okay, maybe that
I
shouldn’t get married.”

“Period? Or just in Nevada?”

She didn’t dare answer the question. She just kept moving about the hotel room, performing her usual tasks: turning back the bedspread and blankets; pulling the light filter curtain so the room wasn’t too bright yet wasn’t too dark, either; unfurling the towels in the bathroom from their decorative, yet inconvenient, snail-like design.

“Izzy?”

“I’m here.” She gazed around the room, trying to figure out something to do with herself next. All her usual make-herself-comfortable actions were complete. Unless she suddenly changed course and developed an itch to unpack—as if that was going to happen—then she was out of busy work. Except…

Sitting herself at the desk, she reached into its drawer for the complimentary stationery and pen she knew she’d find there. “Tell me everything you know about a Nevada annulment.”

“Izzy…” There was a wealth of doubt in her friend’s voice.

“Please spare me the warning or the lecture or whatever it is you’re about to say. I need something to occupy my mind, and the annulment has now found its way to the top of my agenda.”

“I didn’t look into it with much diligence,” Emily confessed.

“That’s okay. I just need a starting point.”

“Until it’s actually granted, you shouldn’t enter any beauty pageants.”

“What?” The answer startled a laugh out of her, though she wasn’t finding much amusing about the past hours of her life.

“You’ve got to be single to enter most contests like that, and even a quickie wedding in Vegas can mess up your reign if you win.”

Izzy held the phone away from her ear for a moment and frowned at it. “What are you talking about?”

“Just one of the pitfalls of research librarianship. I start pulling on a thread and it leads me to the darnedest places.”

“Let me get this straight.” Izzy rubbed at her forehead. “You were looking into how to end your marriage to Will and you found out about beauty contest rules?”

“I told you, I didn’t look into it with much diligence.”

“I’ll say.”

“Hey,” Emily defended herself. “You have the same skills that I do, and you’ve managed to not
even find out that much. At least I had the excuse of being in love with my husband and in my heart of hearts not wanting the marriage to be over at all. What’s yours?”

“I’m not in love with Owen!” She heard the strident tone in her voice and tried too late to calm it. “I can’t be in love with Owen.”

“Okay, okay,” Emily soothed. “Relax. I remember a little bit more about the annulment rules. If one or both of you is under eighteen without a parent’s consent, the marriage can be annulled. Bigamy gets you out of it. Consanguination.”

Since they both were thirty, never married before and not related by blood, those were all out. “What else?”

“Drug or alcohol addiction.”

“I don’t wish for either one of those. Is there another circumstance?”

“Hmm…I think if the marriage was the result of threat or duress.”