The Baby Race (22 page)

He slipped quietly into his bedroom, pulled
off his shirt and moved toward the bed. The empty bed. Moonlight
revealed an unruffled coverlet. Where was Claire?

He quickly checked the spare bedroom. No
Claire. Fear made his heart pound. Where could she be this time of
night?

Cold sweat prickling under his arms Race took
the stairs three at a time. Moonlight cast the kitchen in ghostly
shadows. The refrigerator hummed softly in the quiet room. Maybe
she'd gone out to the barn. He headed toward the back door to
check.

A muffled cough from the living room made him
stop. "Claire?"

"I'm here." Her voice sounded thick and
lethargic.

Heart slowing to normal, he leaned over the
back of the couch. She looked like she sounded. Limp hair straggled
around her pale face. "Are you okay?"

"Yes…." A violent sneeze cut off her answer.
She moaned and tried to burrow deeper under the afghan that covered
her. "No, I feel awful. My throat hurts. My head aches. And I can't
breath," she complained.

Race could see her puffy eyes and reddened
nose. A snowdrift of used tissues covered the coffee table. She
sneezed again. When she reached for a tissue, the mound tumbled to
the floor. "Damn," she muttered.

"Sounds like you've got a head cold. Have you
taken anything?" Concern lessened his relieved amusement.

"Thanks, Sherlock. Do you think I didn't
notice? And, no I didn't take anything. I'm pregnant remember. I
can't take that stuff," she snapped then groaned. "I'm sorry. It's
not your fault I'm sick."

"I'll call the doctor."

"There's no need," she protested. "It's the
middle of the night. You'll wake Doctor Burton up. I've just got a
cold."

"Doc Burton is used to late night calls. If
he wanted a 9 to 5 job he shouldn't have become a doctor. Now,
let's get you back to bed."

She didn't object when afghan and all he
picked her up. Instead she laid her head against his shoulder and
murmured, "I like when you carry me. Makes me feel safe." Her
breath brushed warmly over his collarbone. He chided himself as in
a heartbeat concern morphed into passion.

Safe didn't describe the feelings having
Claire in his arms caused. Tenderness. Possessiveness. Desire.
Fear. Her soft, warm body against him resurrected painful emotions
and longings he'd buried long ago. Her presence in his life had him
poised on the edge of a dangerous precipice. Did he have the
courage to take the leap of faith into the unknown? Confess his
feelings. Explain and chance that Claire would understand? Or wait
until events pushed him?

She sneezed and shivered. Whatever he decided
now was not the time.

Upstairs he settled her in bed then picked up
the phone. After a short conversation with the less than pleased
doctor, Race rummaged through the medicine cabinet and found the
over-the-counter cold remedy the doctor said Claire could take.
When he returned to the bedroom with the pills and water he found
Claire sitting up.

He gave her the medication and hovered
uncertainly next to the bed. "You should get some sleep. I'll bunk
down in the guest room."

"No. Please stay here."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"I know it's difficult for you to be near me
since Dr. Burton said – well – um, said we couldn't – ah - you
know. I really don't want to be alone, but I'll understand if you
don't want to stay."

Even in the dim light Race saw the blush
redden Claire's cheeks before she turned her face away. He lowered
himself onto the bed and lifted her chin. "Look at me. I enjoy
making love with you, but not being able to for a few weeks isn't
going to kill me. I suggested sleeping in the guest room so I
wouldn't disturb your rest. Now, lie down and get some sleep. I'll
be right here."

She gave a tremulous smile and slid down. For
a moment she reminded him of Bobbie Sue, innocent and vulnerable.
He needed and wanted to shelter and protect this woman. His
woman.

When had she slipped beneath his guard into
his heart? How had he let it happen? And more important, what could
he do about it?

"I rest better when you're next to me. But I
don't want you to feel uncomfortable."

"The success of a marriage doesn't hinge on
having sex." How wise he sounded. What did he know about successful
marriages? He leaned toward her and his hand brushed the side of
her swollen breast. She shivered.

"Are you cold?" Like he had for Bobbie Sue,
he tucked the covers around her.

"N-no, n-not really." Worrying her lower lip
with her teeth, she looked up at him. "What does the success of our
marriage hinge on?"

Good question. Now if only he could come up
with a good answer. He thought about his father and Cindy. From
what he could see they had a successful marriage. "Shared
interests. Goals. Friendship. Companionship. I can give you those,
but I can't promise you more."

"What about lo-t-trust?" She stammered over
the last word. "Is there room for trust in our marriage?"

"I don't know," he answered honestly. "Trust
is hard for me."

"Is there anyone you trust? Your father?
Cindy? War?"

Unable to meet her hopeful gaze, he looked
away. "To a certain degree, but in the end I've learned that the
only person you can totally depend on is yourself."

"That's sad. Race." She laid her hand on his
arm and waited until he met her gaze. "I trust you."

"Don't. Trusting someone leaves you open to
pain when they let you down." Once she discovered the truth would
she still trust him? "Where do you find the courage?"

"Here." She touched her fingers to her chest.
"I'll take my chances. Are you willing to take a chance on me? On
us?"

He turned from the honesty in her gaze. How
he wanted to believe her. To grab hold of the dream she offered so
innocently. But he'd been burned too many times to let go of
mistrust and fear. He knew if he gave in to his need for Claire,
her leaving would destroy him.

Claire's heart ached as Race's body and gaze
shifted away from her. The inches between them stretched as wide
and as treacherous as a rain-swollen river.

Would she ever find a way to bridge the gap
between them? And if she did, could she be content with just his
trust when she wanted – needed his love?

The few days that Claire was confined to bed
with a nasty head cold showed Race how much her presence had
changed his life. How had he managed before? He didn't remember
taking care of the house being so much work. Of course, before
Claire and Bobbie Sue came, he hadn't spent much time in the house
– and it had shown. Now the chores seemed never-ending.

Fortunately, food wasn't a problem. When
friends learned Claire was sick, they inundated him with
casseroles, roasts, and pastries. The hardest part was finding a
polite way to evict all the people who stopped by to express their
good wishes.

The neighbors' caring made him admit why he'd
chosen Council Falls for his horse rescue ranch. Though he'd fought
against the knowledge, his years here as a teenager had impacted
him deeply. These people formed a community, an extended family
that looked out for each other. A loner, whether through nature or
nurture no longer mattered, he discovered he longed to belong
somewhere – to someone.

He could let the house revert back to its
pre-Claire state, but he found that he liked the warm, homey
atmosphere she'd created even if it meant donning an apron and
pushing a vacuum cleaner. As he worked, he realized that even with
clean floors and dusted furniture, the house would be cold and
empty when she left.

Three days later, when the doctor declared
her fit, she resumed the household duties. Race heaved a heartfelt
sigh of relief, relinquished his apron, and escaped back to his
workshop.

But he couldn't escape his thoughts. Soon
she'd be gone, and then the condition of the house wouldn't
matter.

~~~~~

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

"Now ladies lean back into your partner's
chest and relax. Imagine yourself floating on a raft on the
tropical ocean, the warm Caribbean sun caressing your bare skin.
Let your partner support your weight. Go limp. Be one with the
water."

Race gritted his teeth as the middle-aged
birthing instructor droned on. The woman had to be a close personal
relative of the Marquis de Sade. The feel of Claire's soft buttocks
pressing intimately against his rock hard groin was delicious
torture.

She shifted and he groaned.

Claire turned her face toward his and
whispered, "Are you okay?" Her hair brushed against his jaw. She
smelled of raspberry soap and the chocolate chip cookies she'd
baked to bring to class.

"Fine," he managed to rasp out as she shifted
again to turn her attention back to Ms. de Sade.

Sitting on the wrestling mats in the Council
Falls high school gym was a far cry from floating on the Caribbean
Sea. To distract himself from the warm, fragrant woman pressed
against his chest Race concentrated on the smells of varnished
wood, rubber mats and sweaty teenage bodies hanging in the air.

For nearly three years he'd attended this
high school. Memories of wrestling, probably on these very same
worn mats, flooded over him.

Hostile and rebellious, angry yet relieved at
his mother's death, Race hadn't been a model student – or son.
Because of his mother's wandering life style he had been behind in
his studies, so he'd been put back a grade. When he started to act
out his anger, Jackson had insisted he become involved in some kind
of sport or school activity. Race had chosen wrestling. The
physical contact with an opponent gave him an acceptable outlet for
his rage, while the structured rules helped him control it.

Thoughts of wrestling made him think of a
more intimate type of contact – dim lights, clean sheets, arms and
legs tangled, bare skin pressed together…

"Mr. Reed, your attention please," Ms de Sade
snapped. "We'll get to the therapeutic massage later in the
session."

All eyes turned toward them.

Race saw the color rush up Claire's neck as
he became aware of his hands gently stroking her arms.

He met Colin's mocking smile and Lizzie's
amused grin with a glare and dropped his hands. Claire ducked her
head, but Race felt her soft, embarrassed chuckle.

Why had he agreed to attend these classes?
Because, honesty forced him to admit, he couldn't bear the thought
of someone else touching Claire. Nor did he want another person to
witness the birth of his child. They were his and somehow he'd find
a way to keep them.

*****

Through the open window, over the sink, a
soft warm breeze ruffled Claire's hair. Pausing, she braced her
palms against the counter and looked out. Like her body, spring was
in full bloom, ripe with burgeoning life. A blush of green spread
over the lawn. Tulips and daffodils bordered the yard with splashes
of color. This year, in payment of the hard work and love poured
into it, the garden would come into its own. Too bad her hopes and
dreams were still crushed beneath the blanket of ice of Race's
attitude.

Claire ignored the ache in her back and the
small twinges rippling across her belly as she packed their basket
for the Memorial Day picnic. Whosit wasn't due for at least another
two weeks.

A week ago these same symptoms had caused one
false alarm, when she woke the entire household in the middle of
the night and made Race rush her to the hospital.

She'd never seen him so frazzled. When she
was sick he'd been a pillar of strength and calm, taking care of
her and Bobbie Sue and holding the household together.

Once there, the doctor patiently explained
about Braxton-Hicks contractions. Then with a patronizing smile he
sent her home and told her to wait. She wasn't going to disrupt the
household or be humiliated like that again. Besides she had too
much to do before the baby came.

She winced and rubbed absently at the ache in
her back.

Though she would have liked to know how Race
felt about winning the baby race, every time she brought it up he
left the room, changed the subject or refused to discuss it.

After the mare, Melody died, Claire and Race
grew closer, sharing a bed and passion. Her skin warmed at the
thought.

Out of bed, they'd spent hours talking,
discussing everything from religion to world politics, becoming
friends as well as lovers. Only the subject of Grandmere's Baby
Race was taboo.

With each passing day, Claire's words of love
had become harder to hold inside. She longed to tell him how she
felt, but hesitated afraid to break the fragile bond growing
between them.

For a few short weeks Claire had hope they
would be able to build a strong marriage. Then the doctor had
called a halt to their lovemaking and Race pulled away from her in
bed. Without the physical side of their relationship to hold them
together, what chance did they have?

Other than his care when she was sick and his
frantic attitude as he raced her to the hospital, he grew more and
more distant. Nothing she did or said seemed to penetrate the
rebuilt wall he erected around himself. Not even their forced
contact during birthing classes dented the shell he'd erected
around him. Hope slowly dissolved.

Melancholy settled over her. In three weeks
she and Race would celebrate their wedding anniversary. She knew he
didn't love her, at least not the way she longed to be loved, fully
and without hesitation. Nor did he trust her. If all they would
ever have was a physical relationship, how could she stay? After
Whosit was born she'd have to leave. The thought left her
heartsick.

Last week she'd graduated from college. Once
the baby was born and old enough for day care, Max had offered her
a fulltime job of managing the café, with the understanding that
when she was ready she could buy the restaurant. But if she left
Race that was no longer an option. She couldn't bear to remain in
Council Falls, seeing him and not being able to be with him. Nor
could she accept the money promised in their prenuptial agreement.
To do so would make her feel like a bought woman.