While Max examined her, J.T. paced outside her bedroom door. She’d started having contractions sometime between her water breaking and Max’s arrival a half hour later. So much for thinking they had a few weeks’ leeway.
The door opened. Max peered out. “You can come in.”
J.T. assessed her. Wide-eyed but calm. She even smiled at him.
“You’ve got options, Gina,” Max said, including J.T. in the conversation with a gesture. “You can go to the hospital, of course. I’ll go with you and deliver the baby, if you want. Or we could set up at my clinic. My equipment is state-of-the-art. Or you can stay here, and I’ll bring the necessary equipment to you.”
“It’s safe for me to have a home birth?” Gina asked. “The baby’s early.”
“Not too early.”
“J.T.?”
Moving closer to the bed, he answered the question he saw in her eyes. “Whatever you want is fine with me.”
“I want to stay here.”
Max nodded. “J.T., give Rosie a call. See if she’ll meet me at the office in fifteen minutes. Rosie’s my assistant,” Max said to Gina. “She has four kids of her own. You’ll be glad she’s here.”
Hours passed. The sun rose. Her contractions got closer and stronger. Feeling helpless, J.T. hurt every time she did. The atmosphere of the bedroom was an odd combination of clinical and casual. Max and Rosie played gin rummy while keeping an eye on the fetal monitor. Sometimes they unhooked her, and Gina walked the house, hoping to speed things up. J.T. made himself scarce each time Max examined her, but couldn’t wait to get back to her, fresh ice chips in hand, grateful she’d seemed to forget the “flashbacks” she’d had before her water broke.
They rarely spoke. He rubbed her back, gave her an arm to lean on when she walked and a clean pair of his socks when her feet turned icy. She drew his hand to her abdomen during contractions, amazing him with how hard it got, mumbling something about going to the beach as she breathed deeply, then drew a final cleansing breath at the end of the contraction.
Considering she hadn’t started with a night’s sleep, she had to be exhausted, but remained steadfastly cheerful. Rosie, the voice of experience, offered comfort in ways that neither Max nor J.T. could, advising her matter-of-factly about the process, tempering the information with humor and adding the phrase, “But it gets better eventually.”
At about noon Max told her she could start pushing with the next contraction. She moved to the end of the bed, propped her feet on chairs.
“This’ll work best if we can get you almost upright,” Max said. “J.T., get behind her and support her back as she bears down.”
Grateful for a job to do, he became her wall. Her back curved into his chest, her head rested against his shoulder. He pushed with her, holding his breath. Rosie urged her to push harder. Max saw the baby’s head.
Gina rested after the contraction, melting against J.T., grateful for his unfaltering strength. “I can’t believe I’m going to forget how much this hurts,” she said to Rosie, who watched the fetal monitor.
“Nature’s way of guaranteeing the future. I did it four times, didn’t I? It may be the most painful experience of your life, but it’s productive. Here we go again.”
A memory of red-hot agony flashed in Gina’s mind, hurting more than the rising contraction. “It’s not the most painful—”
“Don’t talk, honey. Take a deep breath and bear down.”
“Doin’ great, Gina,” Max said. “This baby’s got your head of hair.”
J.T. said something, the words garbled, the tone encouraging. Nothing penetrated the horror she’d been swept into, a tornado of memories. A car slamming into another. Metal against metal. Shattering glass. Her body, broken and battered. Oh, the pain. The excruciating pain. A glimpse of Eric, bloody, unmoving.
Eric! Don’t leave me!
“Gina, stop pushing. Stop.”
Max, right in her face. J.T.’s arms tightening around her.
J.T.
He knew. He knew who she was. And he didn’t tell her. “What’s happening?” J.T., something in his voice. Fear? Panic?
“Gina,” Max said, soothing. “What’s going on?”
“I remember. Oh, God. I remember.”
“Contraction.” Rosie, brisk, no-nonsense.
“You’ve got to bear down,” Max ordered her. “Pay attention, Gina. Your baby needs you. Talk to her, J.T.”
“Gina—”
“Don’t!” She couldn’t hold a breath to push. “You lied to me. Lied.”
“Too late,” Rosie said. “Pant, honey. Let’s just get you through this one, then we’ll start over.”
“I don’t want you to touch me, Chief. Defender of the truth. There’s a joke.” Gina spat the words over her shoulder. She saw the men communicate without speech, which infuriated her.
Max stood, leaned toward her. “J.T. wanted to tell you, but I wouldn’t let him. Save your anger for after the baby is here—and direct it at me. Now, let’s get back to business here.”
“Away we go,” Rosie said. “Time to work.”
Tears collided with sweat on Gina’s face. She pushed as hard as she could, channeling raw emotions, reliving the past. The comfort she’d found in having J.T.’s arms around her vanished. His strength meant nothing anymore. He’d interfered once before. Hurt her twice before. What right did he have to be there?
No. She wasn’t being fair. She’d come to him intentionally, purposefully.
“Head’s through. One or two more pushes, Gina. Hang in there.”
She didn’t speak. Couldn’t speak. Barely listened, even, except to her body and its demands. She groaned, grunted, pushed. Then the next time the shoulders were through.
“A boy,” Max said, setting the squalling infant on her abdomen.
“Boy?” Why had she been so sure it was a girl? Hesitant, she looked at the baby. A boy. Ten toes and fingers. Flailing arms and legs. It was true. Relief made her dizzy. Her heart thudded, her eyes burned. It was worth it—everything she’d been through. All the pain, all the worrying. Worth it. All these months, intentionally not finding out whether it was a boy or a girl, because she had no control over it and she wanted to enjoy the pregnancy, no matter what.
But it was a boy.
Thank you, God. My job is done.
“Need you to push one more time, Gina.”
The placenta, she realized, pushing with less force, then going limp. J.T.’s arms were still around her, but he said nothing. She didn’t care anymore. She’d survived the accident, and now she had fulfilled her promise.
A son. An end and a beginning, she thought, dazed. A gift, one that freed her of the past and opened up a brand-new future.
Through a haze of exhaustion Gina watched Max cut the cord, snipping the physical connection. Her son was his own person now, dependent on her, but individual. In fulfilling her obligation, she’d also placed a burden on him for the future, and his own sense of duty. She would tell him how he came to be, what made him so special.
Rosie took over. She’d brought a baby bathtub with her, and efficiently cleaned him. He stopped crying.
“Is he okay?” Gina asked, the quiet seeming ominous.
“He’s just fine, aren’t you, sweet pea?” Rosie crooned. “Chief, you can let mama lie down now.”
J.T. slipped out from behind her, then jammed pillows under her shoulders and head. He had no idea what he was supposed to do, but he figured she would want time alone with her son—and her restored memory.
Whoever the father of her child was, he would be on her mind now—rightfully so. Their moment out of time was gone. Even though Max took the blame for not telling her the truth, she would still be angry at J.T. He knew that. Accepted that.
But he’d done his duty by her. She’d counted on him, and he hadn’t failed her.
“What’s his name, honey?” Rosie asked.
“Joel Eric Banning,” Gina said with a catch in her voice. “After his father. We’ll call him Joey, I think.”
J.T. looked at Max, who stopped what he was doing long enough to frown in return. The long, hard delivery had done something to her mind, J.T. thought. Whatever memories had surfaced during delivery were distorted, manifestations of the dreams she’d told him about, not the truth.
“I wish you and Max would stop talking to each other with your eyes,” Gina snapped. “I haven’t lost my mind. Eric is his father. And yes I know he’s been dead for more than three years.”
She had to look over her shoulder at him, since he was standing back, not wanting to see what Max was doing to her down…there. He and Rosie went about their business as if nothing was happening, no discussion taking place.
“You were his partner, J.T. Didn’t you know how important having a son was to him?”
“We never talked about it. Even so, how could he be the father?”
“Haven’t you ever heard of sperm banks?”
Eric’s child? Not some other man’s? Not someone else she’d loved and trusted?
Then what was she running from?
Rosie put the baby in J.T.’s arms. “Hang on to him for a few minutes, will you, while we get mama cleaned up. You might want to wait outside.”
He stared at the bundle squirming in slow motion in his arms. A tiny mouth opened and closed, a little pink tongue poking out. His face reddened, as if he was gathering enough steam to howl.
“Can I see him first?” Gina asked, sounding anxious.
The quicksilver change in her set a whole new tone, wiping out any lingering anger. Everyone seemed to relax at the same time. There would be time for questions later, when she’d rested. When they were alone. For now, she was a new mother, with a strong need to assume her role.
J.T. transferred him awkwardly to the crook of her arm. Then just as he started to step back, Joel Eric Banning—the son of the man J.T. despised—opened his eyes and looked directly at him. Don’t do this. Don’t make me care. J.T.’s silent plea came too late. It had taken only the one look, one filled with helplessness and innocence.
“He’s beautiful, isn’t he?” Gina asked, glowing. Her hair had come loose from the band. The strain of giving birth showed on her face. Sweat-dampened hair clung to her cheeks and neck. But the Gina he’d cared about for so long was there, too, her dark eyes shining, her smile gentle. Maternal, maybe. Because he couldn’t stop himself, he kissed her forehead, brushing her hair back from her face at the same time.
“I thought you hated me,” he whispered so that only she could hear.
“Maybe for a little while. But not now.”
“Why are you here?”
She touched his cheek, a whisper of a caress. “I needed you.”
Sweet words. “Gina—”
“You two can talk later,” Rosie said, shooing him away. “Take the boy for a walk around the house for a few minutes, J.T. I’ll let you know when to come back.”
He lifted the baby. “He’ll be fine,” he assured Gina.
She smiled back. “I know.”
J.T. headed for the door.
“You know you’re B-negative, Gina?” Max asked.
“Yes. Eric was A-positive.”
“If the baby’s positive, you’ll need a shot of Rh-immune globulin.”
“No, I’m all set. I had it after my first pregnancy.”
The doorknob slipped from J.T.’s hand. He walked away, her child in his arms, his mind a whirling pinball machine flashing TILT in red neon, his legs moving only by sheer will.
My first pregnancy.
He could understand her forgetting Eric for a while, considering the trauma of the accident. But a child? How the hell had she forgotten a child?
At midnight Gina leaned over the bassinet that Rosie had brought, listening to her son breathe. Bundled like a mummy, Joey slept. With Rosie’s guidance she’d nursed him a few times, although her milk wouldn’t come in for a day or more. After some prodding, he’d latched on with gusto, startling a laugh out of Gina and gaining a nod of satisfaction from Rosie. “Excellent,” she’d said. “He’ll get a good dose of colostrum. It’ll keep him healthy.”
Healthy. That’s all Gina wanted. Good health. Happiness. Peace.
At some point she would have to make the phone call she dreaded most. But not yet.
Gina heard J.T.’s car pull up. He’d responded to a call for a chimney fire a few hours ago, had left with an apology on his lips but with the rest of his body language announcing he was glad to get away. She’d been grateful, as well, needing some time alone, a luxury long denied her. Plus, he’d been distant all day. Oh, he was attentive in that he took care of her needs, but uncommunicative.
Her fault, she knew. There was a lot he didn’t understand. And a lot that she didn’t, either, including what had happened the first night they’d met—and the last.
Tightening the sash on the robe Rosie lent her, Gina shuffled down the hall and into the kitchen just as he opened the back door and stepped into the utility room. Deputy sped past her to greet him. Soot covered his face and hands. He must have left his firefighting gear outside to air. His hair was tousled, his feet covered by thick socks. She could only imagine how tired he was.
“What are you doing up?” he asked, moving to the sink and turning on the water. “I thought you’d be dead to the world by now.”
“I was. Joey woke up, so I nursed him again. What happened at the fire?”
“Lots of smoke damage. Some water damage, too, but we saved the house. Everyone’ll pitch in to help clean it up tomorrow.”
She leaned her forearms on the counter. “I didn’t know that kind of community existed anymore.”
“Probably more than you think. Did Rosie leave?”
“I told her I’d be fine. She needed to get home to her family.”
He pulled his T-shirt over his head, tossed it in the vicinity of the washing machine in the utility room, then soaped up his arms.
Gina swallowed. Even covered with grime he tempted. She remembered the first night at the pizza parlor—how his eyes had never left her alone for a second. It had been foolhardy, acknowledging an attraction to a stranger, yet she’d sensed more in him than a physical pull. Her imagination, of course. He’d shut himself off from her after exchanging only a few sentences. She never had figured out what she’d done to turn him off like that. Eric had arrived moments later, apologizing to J.T. for being late for some celebration, then zeroing in on her and, unlike J.T., not giving up. A month later they were married. She’d made him a promise—
“Baby’s okay?” J.T. asked, reaching for a paper towel. She blinked. Focused. “He’s fine.”
“You?”
“All things considered, I’m doing okay. Just don’t ask me to sit down.”
He propped his hip against the counter and dragged the damp paper towel over his face, then down his chest. “You’re quiet.”
“You haven’t smiled at me all day.” She hadn’t meant to sound pathetic, but it had come out that way.
“That matters to you?”
“I thought we were friends.”
His silence escalated the tension. “Did you?” His eyes turned cold. “Friend to friend, would you like to tell me about your other child?”
Her eyes burned. Big mistake, she realized. She was in no condition to deal with anything emotional. She turned and walked away. “I promise I’ll be out of your hair as soon as I can manage it. Good night.”
She heard him swear. A single word. Succinct. Direct. If she were a swearing woman, she might have said the same thing about fifty times in a row. But she wasn’t. She was a brand-new mother with raging hormones, a jelly belly, and an incredibly sore…nether region, as her mother would call it.
Tears spilled then. I want my mother!
“Gina.” J.T. wrapped a hand around her arm, slowing her down, furious at himself. What kind of jerk was he, anyway, treating her like that? Okay, so he had some issues with her, questions for her, even some accusations he wanted to level. It was no excuse for making her cry.
“Just leave me alone.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re not. You’ve always judged me and found me wanting. I’ve never known why.” Her voice shook. She wiped a hand across one cheek, then the other. “And I don’t have another child. I was pregnant when the car— When Eric— My injuries were too severe. I lost the baby.”
Calling himself every name in the book, he reached for her. She jerked away. “I didn’t know, Gina.”
“We had just found out.” She started to sob, big, shoulder-shaking sounds from deep, deep inside. “I didn’t even get to feel my baby move.”
He pulled her in his arms, holding tight when she fought him at first, then wrapping her closer when she gave in, her arms curving up his back, fingernails pressing into his flesh. He’d never heard anyone cry like that. Scorching hot tears washed his chest. He buried his face in her hair, breathed the fragrance so distinctly Gina, indulging a long-held fantasy he’d expected to go unfulfilled in his lifetime. It undoubtedly wouldn’t happen again—he didn’t count on her forgiving him.
“I’m sorry,” he said again.
After a while she shuddered, her cheek still pressed against his collarbone, her arms still locked around him. “I’m a mess,” she said.
“I don’t know what it is about you that makes me act like an ass, Gina. But I always do. I’ll try not to jump to conclusions anymore.”
“It’s okay,” she said wearily. “You’re confused. So am I. It’s been a hard few days.”
“Sounds like it’s been a hard few years.”
“That, too. But things are looking up.” She stepped back, wiping her eyes. Cupping her elbow, he walked her into the bathroom, then ran cool water over a washcloth and handed it to her.
“Better,” she said, straightening her shoulders, tossing back her hair, looking more like her old self. “You smell smoky.”
“I’m going to get in the shower in a second.”
“I need to use the bathroom first.”
“No problem.” He stepped past her.
“Thanks for being there today, Chief. For all you’ve done. I can’t ever repay you.”
He turned around. “Chief?”
“Oh. Sorry.” A smile flickered across her lips. “I meant Jasper Thelonius.”
He grunted. “Stick with Chief.”
“Are you ever going to tell me what J.T. stands for?”
He moved close to her. Too close for comfort, he supposed. But those big brown eyes teased, and his memory played a few games of its own. He bent toward her. She went still. Her eyes searched his. All traces of humor fled. Their gazes locked, he brushed his lips across hers. Her eyes fluttered closed. Clenching his fists, he forced himself to walk away.
“Well,” he heard her say. “I guess it means Just Teasing.”