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Paulina’s comment about his mother stopped Mark near the door between the kitchen and dining room, a tray in his hands.
“I’ll admit that Mark’s mother and I have something in common. It’s been difficult to put the past behind me and accept something new.” Claire’s words were like an electric light flashing on and off, calling attention to themselves and her plight.
Mark had recognized her difficulty in moving forward from her marriage. He understood and accepted her wish to remember what she’d had with Richard Kingsley and expected it of a loving spouse.
That didn’t alleviate the nagging feeling he’d never measure up to the memory of her late husband. Every time she said the man’s name in a tone of near awe, he couldn’t imagine her speaking of anyone else in the same way.
“Since we were children, our mothers have schemed to bring Mark and me together in marriage.” Paulina held up both hands and pressed her index fingers side-by-side. As if they were one. Married. For life.
He should make his presence known, but if the women chose to look his way, they would see him. He stood in plain view. Almost.
Claire frowned. “You’re saying you came here to—”
“To enlist Mark’s help in convincing them that it will not happen.”
“Then you two aren’t...” Claire pressed two fingers together.
“No. We aren’t.”
“But you said yourself that he’s a good man.”
Before he moved a step, Paulina shrugged. “Mark let it be known years ago he didn’t want me.”
He winced, hoping he hadn’t put it in such blunt terms. Listening in had gone too far and become embarrassing. Sooner or later, he was bound to hear something unpleasant. Besides, he was tired of holding the tray and the steam from the coffee was dissipating. If he didn’t get the coffee to them soon, he’d deliver it cold.
“To be honest, Mrs. Grzegorczyk’s invitation to visit was an answer to my prayers. I came to Riverport because I have met someone, and we want to marry.”
Claire’s frown grew deeper, before she forced it into a smile and enclosed Paulina’s hands with hers. “I wish you much happiness. Does your mother know?”
“Mark and I had a long talk with both our mothers last night. Based on their attitudes toward you this morning, I’m afraid it did little good.”
Claire arched a brow. “That brings us back to Mrs. Grzegorczyk and her attitude toward me, doesn’t it? She wants you to marry Mark and—”
Mark cleared his throat. Time to silence this discussion. He walked into the room and set the tray down. A firm look bounced between the women. An unspoken agreement to pretend they hadn’t discussed him?
After handing each lady a cup of coffee, Mark took his normal place at the head of the table and tried to wipe any sign from his features, any guilt over having been privy to their discussion. He suspected he was no more capable of pretense than the women.
***
MARK’S STIFF POSTURE and the way he paid special attention to the flowered design on his coffee cup told Claire he’d probably overheard their discussion. But how much of it?
After seeing Paulina’s beauty and appraising her sweet spirit, Claire had contemplated the prospect of doing a little matchmaking on Paulina’s behalf. The old friends would make a nice-looking couple, and it would assure Mark’s interest in someone other than her. But she hadn’t considered the possibility that Paulina loved someone else.
Claire stirred cream into her coffee and felt the side of her cup. Barely warm. Mark must have eavesdropped on most of their talk. “How is Cookie?”
He set his cup on the saucer, and his features tightened. “I don’t know. They shut the door on me...again.”
“They should let Cookie get on with her business and stay out of it.” A somewhat bitter laugh rang out from Paulina. “What am I saying? They don’t know how to stay out of anyone’s business, not even that of a dog’s.”
“What do you ladies think Cookie’s offspring will look like?”
Mark’s rushed question added more fuel to Claire’s belief in his eavesdropping, but addressing it would discomfit them all. “With no idea of the father’s breed, it’s hard to guess.”
Paulina clasped her hands. “I only know the puppies will be precious, and I can’t wait to hold one.”
Weren’t all babies precious? Claire brushed away the thought. For some reason, she’d become too preoccupied with children lately.
With a break in the conversation, she listened for noise from the mudroom. “How long has it been since we left the kitchen?”
Mark pulled out his watch. “At least twenty minutes. Why?”
“When I checked Cookie earlier, the contractions were strong. I’d expected your mother to announce a birth by now.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“Not necessarily, but I’m concerned about the time it’s taking. Too long could be a sign of trouble. Will you check again?”
Mark put his watch back in his pocket and pushed out of his chair. “Come with me and ease your mind.”
The three of them entered the kitchen. Paulina remained inside the doorway while Claire waited in the middle of the room.
Mark opened the mudroom door and asked, “Any progress?”
His mother jerked around. “Nothing. She gets up. She lies down. Gets up. Lies down. The whole time, she whines.”
When added to the delay in birth, the dog’s whining and fidgeting wasn’t a good sign.
Claire moved closer. “Would you mind if I looked?”
His mother shrugged. “You will do better at watching over her than Nadia and me?”
Claire glanced at Mark. His jaw hardened into steel. “For Cookie’s sake, let her see, Mama.”
Remembering Paulina’s comment about winning over the woman, Claire said, “No one will do better than the person who loves her most, Mrs. Grzegorczyk, but if I can help, I’m happy to do so. My uncle raised hounds and I’ve helped him with his puppies many times. Sometimes, there were difficulties. I’m concerned that the first birth is taking so long.”
His mother’s eyes widened slightly. She backed away and made room for Claire to examine the dog.
Claire felt the dog’s middle all the way to her hips. “Will someone get me a basin of water and soap, please?” Mark brought her the items she’d asked for, including a towel. She washed her hands, then rolled up her sleeve. “This might look rather shocking to you.” A quick examination revealed the problem.
Behind her, one of the women whispered, “Did you see where she put her fingers?”
Crouched at the dog’s head, Mark scowled, quelling further exclamations of disgust.
Claire washed her hands a second time, knowing it wouldn’t be the last. Her pulse pounded like a toy drum in her ears. “There is a puppy, but I believe it’s stuck.”
Mark rubbed Cookie’s head. The dog pushed into him as though she needed reassurance that everything would be well. “What happens if it remains that way?”
Not wishing to cause the others more anxiety, she kept her voice optimistic. “The puppy needs a little help is all.”
Mark paused. His penetrating stare told her she hadn’t fooled him into thinking there was no danger. “Paulina, why don’t you take Mama and Mrs. Kowalski to the parlor.”
“Cookie is a part of our family, Marek. Why does Mrs. Kingsley stay? What if my poor kochanie...?”
“Your sweetheart will be fine, Mama.”
Claire’s heart went out to Mark’s mother, but this time, she was more concerned about the welfare of Cookie and her pups than winning over the woman. She stepped out of the mudroom. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Grzegorczyk. I’m leaving.”
“Claire.”
With a plan of her own, she raised a hand to stop Mark’s protest. “You can encourage the birth as well as I can, ma’am.”
Mark’s mother’s eyes bulged. “Me?”
“Yes. I’d only be in the way.”
“I-I’ve never...”
“It isn’t hard. You do as I did a moment ago. You place your—”
Mrs. Kowalski gasped, and Mrs. Grzegorczyk’s face lost all its color.
“Fine, you may help Cookie, and Paulina will help you.”
“Me?” Paulina shook her head with exaggerated violence. “No, ma’am. I know nothing about... Well, I know nothing about it and plan to keep my ignorance.” She bolted from the room, leaving no time for either mother to protest.
Mark stood with his feet apart and arms crossed. “I’ll stay here.”
Cookie whined, and his mother sighed—long and loud, then stomped away with her friend. Evidently, he did assert himself when his wishes opposed those of his mother.
Once they were gone, Mark relaxed and grinned. “A clever maneuver, Mrs. Kingsley.”
“I should feel guilty, shouldn’t I?” She didn’t. In fact, it felt good to stand up for herself against his mother. “If I thought she would be willing to do what was necessary, I wouldn’t have interfered or been vulgar about it.”
“She’ll get over it. I appreciate your help with Cookie.”
The soft expression in his steady gaze warmed Claire from head to toe.
When Mark crouched beside Cookie once more, the dog whined and fidgeted again. He caressed her head with calming strokes. “What do you need from me?”
Time wasn’t on the puppy’s side, and they had already used too much. “Clean rags.”
“They’re upstairs.”
When Mark left the mud room, she said to Cookie, “Let’s get your baby moving.”
A few minutes later, Mark returned to the mud room with a pile of rags. “It took me longer to find them than I’d expected.”
Claire glanced up at him, her brows drawn with the concern that encumbered her. “It’s close, but still hasn’t emerged, and Cookie is tired.”
“You can do this, Claire.”
She threw up her hands. “I have an idea, but what if it doesn’t work?” What if she caused more harm than good?
He crouched beside her and laid a hand on her shoulder. “Do what you can. Do what you know.”
The warmth of his palm and communication of trust in his gaze gave her the confidence to try. She tugged with firm but gentle movements, waiting in between for the pup to be born naturally. “I’ve never tried this, but I saw my uncle do it.”
The dog whined.
“I’m being careful, Cookie.” Another tiny tug downward and the baby dropped to the newspaper where its mother took over, licking and pushing the inert pup around with her nose.
Claire breathed easier until she observed the puppy. “Something is wrong.”
“What is it?”
All she could see were two tiny, human bodies...still and lifeless. She shut her eyes, but it did no good. Her stomach twisted and curled into waves of nausea.
“Claire?”
Mark’s voice vanquished the most horrific of images. A sob broke loose from her, and she picked up the tiny, gray pup. Her trembling lips imprisoned the answer to his question.
“Claire, what’s wrong?”
Lord, I can’t do this. I can’t be the reason for another death.
Under Mark’s stare, she forced out the words. “It isn’t breathing.”
***
MARK’S STOMACH LURCHED at seeing both the motionless puppy and Claire’s distress.
“I must have done something wrong.”
“No, Claire. Surely you realize that, if not for you, Cookie might have died.” Feeling helpless, he observed the small body in her hands. “What now?”
“I don’t... Wait.” She reached out for a rag. “Hurry. Let me have one.” She swaddled the pup in the rag and swiped the cloth over its mouth and snout, as if it were a child with a dripping nose. With gentle but brisk strokes, she rubbed its body. “My uncle showed me how this can encourage a puppy’s breathing.”
When her hands halted, he asked, “Did it work?”
Claire’s eyes filled with an ocean of blue waves. She shook her head and tears splashed onto her cheeks. “I don’t know what else to do.”
He lifted her chin, whipped a handkerchief from his pocket, and wiped away the dampness on her face. “You and the puppy have come this far, Claire. Keep at it.”
While she continued to rub, she closed her eyes once more. “Father, you made this sweet little being and care for him as you do for all your creation.” Her words were as soft as her touch. “We ask that you provide him strength and the breath of life.”
Mark watched for the slightest sign of that life, expecting nothing to come from Claire’s prayer and feeling no satisfaction when the poor thing continued to lay limp and lifeless in her palm. He dreaded seeing her disappointment when—
“He moved his head!” Mark laughed. “He’s alive.”
It was the barest of movements, but another followed. In no time, the puppy squirmed.
Cradling the dog in the crook of her arm like a swaddled baby, Claire jumped up and squealed. “He is alive.”
“Your rubbing worked. It urged him to breathe.”
“It wasn’t me. I’m not the one who gives a body life.”
She referred to God? Could it be? But why would He pay any heed to whether a tiny animal lived or died? Regardless of a spark of a past hope that flickered inside him, Mark wasn’t ready to acknowledge God’s role in saving the puppy. What was a dog’s life in comparison to a man’s?
“Thank you, anyway.” Carried away with appreciation, he leaned forward and kissed Claire’s cheek. A friendly kiss. Chaste. Given in gratitude.
Wholly unsatisfactory.
Like a youth after sipping his first taste of sherry, he craved to drink in something more potent. Something sweet and warm. Something that implied a future and family. Something only Claire could provide.
From her soft expression and parted lips, he wasn’t the only one feeling that craving.
He stepped closer and reached out, prepared to encircle her waist and —
“Marek! What is happening in there?”
Claire backed away from him, still clutching the puppy.
Nothing is happening. Nor would it now.
“I’ll be out in a minute.” Mark’s struggle to control his longing, to taste those sweet lips, surfaced with the sharpness of his voice. It was as though his mother had known what she would interrupt.
Still holding the puppy, Claire wrapped it in one of the clean rags and carefully passed it to him. “I-I need to check Cookie. Take him to show her, but don’t stay long. He needs his mother.”
The pup’s eyes were sealed shut and mouth open to release squeaks and cries. Cookie’s intense stare said she would hold him responsible should anything happen to her new baby.
Claire sat on the floor near the door leading outside. She passed a hand over the dog’s belly. “You’re such a good mother.”
Evidently, they were to ignore whatever transpired between them. He could do that. But he wouldn’t. Not when the flush that tinted her face and the quick rise and fall of her shoulders confirmed that their moment of closeness had affected her every bit as much as it had him.
“Claire.”
Her chin inched up. He expected her to look anywhere but at him. Instead, her gaze met his with boldness and confidence, rather than the anticipated alarm and regret.
It encouraged him to finish what he had planned to say. “I want you to know my arms are open. Whenever you’re ready to walk into them for all time, they’ll be open.” It was a bold statement, but he meant each word.
She hesitated, then her head bobbed once—a minor movement, a reassuring movement, no more perceptible than he’d initially noticed from the pup. Even so, it gave him hope that one day soon she would remove the ring that bound her to the past.
That one day soon this woman would be his.