Baby, Oh Baby! (11 page)

She'd already lost her daughter. And now—dear heavens—was she losing her husband as well?

Chapter Six

Jake mounted the steps to Annie's front porch, squinting against the glare of the early morning sun rising over the shake-shingle roof. He'd left Tulsa before dawn, hoping to catch Annie before she started reading tea leaves or grooming llamas or whatever the hell it was she did all day.

Besides, he'd been up anyway, awakened by another of the troublesome dreams that had been plaguing him ever since he'd learned he had a child. Babies and billboards, llamas and teacups had paraded through his mind all night in a solemn procession. But more alarming that that were the erotic images that had awakened him this morning—images of Annie and her luscious breasts swaying tantalizingly above him. With a muttered oath, he'd thrown back the covers and taken a cold shower.

He was only dreaming about that Hollister woman because of the child, he'd told himself as he stood under the stream of icy water. He'd had a baby with her, and his subconscious was processing the information. It didn't take a Ph.D. in psychology to figure out that it was his mind's way of sorting through data, of trying to make sense of the situation. So what if he'd dreamed about pulling that Tweety Bird ponytail holder out of her flame-colored hair and tasting her berry-tinted lips and touching the slopes of her generous breasts? That didn't mean anything. It didn't mean anything at all.

Hell, she wasn't even his type. He'd always gone for women like Rachel, women who were sleek and pulled together, whose physical appearance reflected their rational, logical, low-key approach to life. His only interest in this Hollister dame had to do with his child.

His child. The thought sent a ripple of amazement racing through him. It was an astounding concept, one that was difficult to absorb, even after two days. A child. A daughter. A dark-haired, dark-eyed little girl named Madeline, who was already fourteen months old.

He'd missed out on her first year. He'd missed her first tooth, her first smile, her first step. Well, by golly, he didn't intend to miss out on any more. It could take a year or longer to reach a permanent custody settlement, especially if this Hollister woman fought him on it. What he needed to do was come to some sort of temporary arrangement with her.

He rapped hard on the front door, then stepped back, eyeing the pot of pink geraniums on the ground beside it. He'd gotten off to a bad start with Annie the other day, but he was sure he could fix that. Once he apologized and smoothed things over, he was certain he could convince the woman to see things his way. After all, he was an experienced negotiator, and the law was on his side. If the paternity tests showed what he was certain they would, he was sure to end up with joint custody.

It would be better for the child, he intended to argue, if he were allowed to develop a relationship with her as soon as possible.

He knocked again on the heavy wood door. Inside, a dog yapped noisily, but Annie still didn't answer. Maybe she was out back, tending to the animals. He turned around, ready to walk to the side of the house, when the door slowly creaked open.

He turned to see Annie standing in the doorway, clad in a short pink print dress, clutching her stomach. Her face was pale, and her eyes held the look of acute pain.

Jake stepped toward her. "Hey—are you all right?".

"I—I'm ill. I can't talk to you now."

"What's the matter?"

"I have the flu or something. Please—would you just go away?"

It was more than the flu. She looked like she was in agony. "What hurts?"

"M—my stomach. And I'm nauseous and dizzy and ..." The dachshund darted out the door, and the baby, dressed in a yellow and white two-piece playsuit, toddled out right behind. Annie reached forward to stop the child, then doubled over, her hand on her stomach. "Ohh!"

Madeline plopped down on the porch by the dog, right at Jake's feet. He turned his attention back to Annie. "You need to see a doctor."

She - started to straighten, but it evidently caused her too much pain. "Please—just go away. I'm in no shape to deal with you today."

Jake started to tell her she was in no shape to deal with a baby, either, then thought better of it. "How long have you been feeling like this?"

"It started yesterday. It got worse in the night, and by this morning ..." Her voice trailed off.

"I'll take you to the hospital," he said decisively. "No. I don't want you to take me anywhere."

"Well, then, I'll call an ambulance. You're in no con-

dition to drive yourself." He pulled a cell phone out of

his pocket.

Annie stared at the man's phone, weighing his words. As much as she hated to admit it, he was right. Her stomach hurt so much that she couldn't even stand up straight. She felt weak and light-headed, as if she might pass out at any moment. She'd barely been able to lift Madeline out of her crib this morning.

But she couldn't go off in an ambulance. What would she do with Madeline? The only babysitters she'd ever used were Ben and Helen, and they were in Tulsa.

"Where's the nearest hospital around here, anyway?" Jake asked, opening the phone.

"Bartlesville."

He clicked the phone closed. "Look—it makes a lot more sense to let me drive you. I can have you at the emergency room before the ambulance could even get here."

It was her turn to hesitate.

A nerve flicked in his jaw. "Look, lady—we can stand here arguing until you pass out, or we can get you to a doctor while you can still tell him what hurts. If you want your daughter to grow up with a mother, you'd better get in my car and let me give you a ride."

He sure knew what button to punch, mentioning Madeline. "All—all right. But we have to get the baby's car seat out of my truck."

"Do you need anything else?"

"My purse. And the baby's bag. They're on a hook in the kitchen beside the garage door."

 Jake nodded. "Okay. Let's get you to the car, then I'll get your things."

Annie turned loose of the door and took a step for- ward. A wave of searing pain rose up like heat from a summer pavement, making everything seem wavy and red.

She felt Jake's hand on her arm, steadying her. "Hey—you'd better let me help you."

His forearm was hard and sturdy under the starched white cotton of his shirt. Annie gripped it tightly. "Madeline...... she muttered.

"She's fine. She's still sitting on the porch, trying to grab the dog's tail. I'll bring her to the car as soon as I get you settled."

The next thing Annie knew, he'd picked her up, one hand under her knees, the other under her back. Her cheek pressed against his. She felt the roughened smoothness of freshly shaved skin, and inhaled the faint scent of shaving cream.

He carried her down the steps and across the gravel drive, setting her down beside the car while he opened the door. He helped her into the seat, then strode to the porch and picked up Madeline.

The baby howled in protest as he carried her to the car. "In you go,"' he said to the child, placing her in the back seat.

Madeline immediately quieted, no doubt delighted at the novelty of being in an unfamiliar vehicle. "Stay here with your mommy. I'll be right back."

The next thing Annie knew, Jake had returned with the car seat, her purse, and the bag. It took him a couple of minutes to strap in the child seat, but he finally managed. Madeline protested loudly as he lifted her up and fastened her in.

Annie leaned her head against the headrest, trying hard not to think about the knifelike pain slicing through her. Jake started the engine, put the car into gear, and headed out of the drive, kicking up a rooster tail of dust.

Annie closed her eyes against a fresh wave of nausea. She couldn't believe she was letting this man take charge like he was. Yesterday she'd considered leaving the country to avoid him. But she had no choice now. She was sick, so very, very sick. Sick enough to die.

Oh, dear God—if she died, what would happen to Madeline? The thought caused a surge of alarm. She couldn't die. She wouldn't. People her age didn't die of stomachaches in this day and age, anyway.

Did they?

Jake glanced over at her. "Do you have any family or friends you want me to contact?" he asked, as if he were reading her mind.

"No." Annie clutched her side as he turned onto the highway. The pain was excruciating.

"Well, is there a babysitter or someone you want me to call if you have to be hospitalized?"

Hospitalized—that was a very real possibility. The direness of her situation hit her hard. "I—I've never used a babysitter except my ranch foreman and his wife, and they're out of town for the next few weeks." A feeling of panic gripped her belly, along with a heightened sense of pain. Her lip trembled. "I—I don't have anyone to watch the baby."

"Yes, you do." His dark eyes flashed toward her, his expression grim. "You have me."

Oh, dear Lord—she couldn't leave Madeline with the man who'd all but threatened to take her away from her.

Still ... what else could she do? Pearl couldn't man- age the child, even if the nursing home would allow it. Annie sank back against the headrest and closed her eyes, feeling worse than ever.

Half an hour later, Jake sat in the empty emergency room waiting area, watching the baby toddle from green vinyl chair to green vinyl chair. He'd tried holding her on his lap, but the child had no more use for him than her mother did. Every time he got within three feet of the little girl, she screamed as if he were a three-headed monster.

The door that led to the examining rooms wheezed open. Jake rose as a short, gray-haired man in a white medical coat walked into the waiting area. An ID tag pinned to his jacket identified him as an emergency room physician. "Are you with Annie Hollister?"

"Yes."

"It's her appendix," the doctor said. "It needs to come out immediately. I've already sent her up to O.R." Jake swallowed, absorbing the news.

"Dr. Meyers will be her surgeon," the doctor continued. "He's one of our best. He has thirty years of experience, used to work at a big hospital in Dallas. He was scrubbing up for an elective procedure when your wife came in. Since her condition's critical, he'll take her first."

Wife. The word hit him like a hard left to the jaw. "She's not..."

Jake stopped in mid-sentence. Doctors usually only gave information to the next of kin. He'd be better served by keeping his mouth shut. "She's not in any real danger, is she?" he amended.

"Not if her appendix doesn't rupture."

Crimony. Jake didn't like the grim set to the doctor's mouth. "Is that likely?"

"We hope not. But it needs to come out as soon as possible. It's extremely inflamed." The doctor pointed to an elevator. "The surgical waiting room is on the second floor. Dr. Meyers will look for you there after the surgery to tell you how it went."

"Okay. Thanks."

The doctor's gaze fixed on something behind Jake. "Your baby—she's, uh, eating dirt out of the planter."

Jake whirled around to find Madeline under a potted ficus, her face coated with black soil. He covered the distance in four long strides and picked her up. Angry at being interrupted, Madeline howled like an injured coyote, dribbling wet soil all over the front of Jake's white shirt.

Crimony—how was he supposed to deal with this? Juggling the child in one arm, Jake awkwardly felt in the pocket of his slacks for a tissue, but only came up with his keys and wallet.

The baby coughed, spitting more dirt on his shirt. Good grief—how much of that stuff had she crammed in her mouth? She was spewing soil like a volcano. He held her over his shoulder and patted her on the back, but then her cough deepened to an alarming gag.

He held her out and gazed at her. Her mouth was still caked with dirt. Panic flooded Jake's veins as she made a wet, choking sound.

Where the hell had that doctor gone? Where were the nurses? This was a hospital, for heavens' sake; where were all the medical personnel? "Nurse! Nurse!" he yelled.

Madeline gave a raspy wheeze. He had to do something; if he didn't clear the dirt out of Madeline's mouth and throat, she was likely to choke to death.

Desperate for something, anything, to use to clean the child's mouth, Jake yanked his shirttail out of his slacks. Plopping the baby on her back on the carpet, he used the end of his shirt to swab clumps of dirt out of the child's mouth.

Madeline gagged and sputtered, then sat up and let out an angry howl.

Relief, warm and sweet, rushed through Jake's chest. He picked up the screaming baby and held her against his shoulder. "Hey, now--don't blame me. You're the one who ate the darn dirt."

The baby yelled all the louder. Her tiny hands flailed at his chest and back, and her little feet kicked wildly. Jake walked around the room, trying to calm her down, but he only succeeded in making her screech all the more.

A heavyset woman in thick eyeglasses and green scrubs pushed a cleaning cart through the door. She smiled at Madeline in that soft, goo-goo-eyed way some women get when they look at babies.

"Oh, my—you're quite a mess, aren't you, sweetie?" the cleaning lady crooned.

The baby immediately stopped yowling and smiled. "Do you have some paper towels I could borrow?" Jake asked.

"Sure." The lady grabbed a roll from her cart. "Here—I'll clean her little face."

The baby quietly let her do just that.

"We need to get those little hands, too, don't we?"

Madeline meekly let her wipe first one, then the other hand. "There we go. Much better." The woman's gaze raked over Jake. Her eyes twinkled with amusement behind her thick glasses. "My, my, my," she said to Madeline. "Looks like you got Daddy all dirty."

Madeline gave a gummy grin and laughed.

"Can I hold you while Daddy cleans up?" The cleaning lady held out her arms. Madeline eagerly went to the woman, cooing happily.

Jake didn't know which was more disconcerting—being called Daddy or having his child show such an obvious preference for a stranger. He stared down at his shirt and grimaced. Good grief, he looked like he'd just crawled out of a mud-wrestling pit. Grabbing a handful of paper towels, Jake mopped at the stains. Instead of improving the situation, his efforts only seemed to make it worse. The dirt spread and fanned out on his shirt like fine black powder.