Finding Fire (6 page)

"Us," she whispered and sat next to him. She
lifted his fingertips to her lips, then placed them on her belly.
Those big, strong hands would be holding a baby soon. She wanted
him. Wanted to share this new life in the most intimate way
possible. "I love you so much. Make love with me." She reached up
and started unbuttoning his shirt.

Randy groaned and reached for Sarah's hands.
"I've been thinking of nothing else all day. But are you sure? Is
it all right? You know … safe … for the … the baby."

"Of course it is. You won't be anywhere near
it. Him. Her."

"But—"

She pressed her mouth against his, stifling
any chance of reply.

He returned her kiss and ran his fingers
through her hair. Pulling away, Sarah took his hands and pulled him
to his feet. There was a tenderness in his eyes she'd never seen
before.

"At least my knees aren't shaking anymore,"
he whispered. "But I have to tell you, this feels like our first
time. I want you so much."

"I know. Me, too." She pulled down the
bedcovers and turned to see Randy standing by the bed, motionless,
staring at her. She began to unbutton her shirt.

"Wait," he said. "Come here. Let me. I want
to look at you."

Sarah stepped around the bed and stood
poised before him. Her knees were quaking again. "I'm yours." She
stared into his eyes, those brown-flecked-with-hazel eyes that
melted her insides. An involuntary gasp escaped when he reached for
her.

Randy undid each button, kissing her chest
as more and more of her lay open to him. He tugged the shirt from
the waistband of her jeans and finished with the last two buttons.
He slid the garment from her arms and let it drop to the floor.
Lowering himself to his knees, he ran his lips over her belly. "A
baby," he whispered.

His delicate touch sent another thrill
though her. She felt the trembling of his fingers as he released
the button and zipper of her jeans, slid them down past her hips.
She tried to control her ragged breathing as Randy planted kiss
after kiss on her body. Any more and she would have to sit down.
She reached for him, but he refused her touch.

"My turn," he said. His kisses followed her
jeans to her ankles, and she raised each leg in turn to step out of
them. Every nerve ending fired messages of pleasure to her brain.
He lowered her panties an inch at a time, still kissing in their
wake, his strong pianist's fingers playing along the back of her
legs. She gripped his hair, and she thought she would explode with
the delight.

His kisses moved up her body. She tried to
catch her breath while he shifted from his knees to a sitting
position on the edge of the bed. His hands were hot velvet at her
waist as he positioned her between his knees. He unfastened her
bra, and the tingling that suffused her breasts as the cool night
air swirled over them brought a gasp of pleasure. His lips moved to
her breasts, and as his tongue played over her nipples, it was as
if lightning coursed between them and her loins. And then his
fingers stroked between her legs, and she lost all control as his
touch brought her shuddering to climax. Finally, he lowered her to
the bed beside him. He shrugged out of his shirt and reached for
his belt buckle.

"I'd help you, but I can't breathe, much
less move," she said. She saw a flicker of alarm in his eyes.

His hands froze on his belt. "Are you
okay?"

"Oh, God, yes. I can't believe … I mean, one
touch, and wham!"

Randy held her gaze as he released his
zipper. "I think my jeans must have shrunk."

Sarah giggled. "Sorry about that. I guess
maybe we should take them off, then."

He bent down to remove his shoes and socks.
Sarah found the strength to reach over and run her still quivering
fingers along his muscled torso. "My turn. Lie down."

Randy yanked off his other sock and pulled
off his jeans and briefs. Sarah knelt at the center of the bed,
waiting. When he scooted to her and drew her face to his, she
pulled away.

"No," she said. "You lie there. No moving. I
said it was my turn." She ran her fingers along the silky
smoothness behind his ears. Her lips caressed the hollow above his
collarbone. He moaned, and she scraped her teeth along his nipples.
Her hands explored downward. She kneaded his thighs. Her fingertips
grazed along his erection, then moved away. She saw his clenched
jaw as he struggled to remain still. She repeated the motion. And
again. His hips arched, and she ached to feel him joined with
her.

"You're driving me crazy," he groaned. She
turned over and opened herself to him. Poised above her, he
hesitated. "Please. Tell me if anything feels wrong." He eased
himself inside her. She wriggled against him, gasping as he
stroked, ever so slowly.

"All right?"

"More than all right. Don't stop." She
pulled his hips against her body, bringing him deeper.

"Oh, God," he said. "You feel so good."

She rocked gently beneath him, losing
herself in the pleasure of being complete. Her hips seemed to have
taken control of her body, moving faster, seeking release.

"No, you don't," Randy said, half
withdrawing. "Not yet. I want more."

She dug her nails into his buttocks, but he
waited. She was aware of him counting to ten before he began again.
As his passion grew, so did his tempo, and Sarah begged him for
fulfillment.

He pulled back once more. Fifteen counts
before he began again. This time, the tempo quickened much faster
and she could stand it no longer.

"Oh, God, Randy," she cried. "I can't wait.
Now. Now!" And her entire being concentrated on that one tiny part
of her, and there was nothing else, and Randy gave one final
thrust, and called her name, and a wild crescendo filled her.

Later, when her toes uncurled, she felt a
kiss on the tip of her nose.

"You all right?" His breathing was still
ragged.

"You keep asking me. God, how could I not be
all right? That was amazing. I don't know if it's because of the
abstinence, or the hormones, or just because you're fantastic."

"I'll go with the last," Randy said.
"Mom."

"Mom," she repeated. Tears brimmed.

He withdrew and turned on his side, drawing
Sarah into him, spoon fashion. He placed a hand over her belly, and
they lay there together. The three of them. A family.

*****

Eight months later

Sarah stood at the window and stared at the
clouds, glowing a pinkish gold in the setting sun. She felt Randy's
hands at her shoulders and leaned against him.

"You all right?" He nuzzled her hair.
"You've been quiet lately."

"I'm fine," she said, but didn't turn
around. No need for him to see the tears in her eyes. She reached
up and squeezed his hands.

As if he understood, Randy draped his arms
over her and cupped her swollen belly. The child inside her gave a
kick, whether in protest or recognition, Sarah never knew. But any
time Randy touched her abdomen, the baby acknowledged it. She put
her small hands over the much larger ones of her husband.

With a tremulous breath, she turned around
and buried her face in his chest. His hands ran up and down her
spine as she wept, and she melted into him—at least as far as her
belly would allow. As suddenly as they'd begun, the tears stopped.
"Must be the hormones," she said.

"It's all right. I know it's hard.
Tomorrow's the day, right? Three years since he died?"

"Yes, but—"

"But you're afraid I'll think you love me
less if you miss David."

She gazed into his eyes. Fingered the lock
of his hair that refused to stay put. "I guess so," she whispered.
"I guess I feel guilty. Thinking about him when I'm with you, and
the baby's close, and I wonder what it would have been like if I'd
had a child with David, and that's just not fair to you, and …"

"Shh." He put his forefinger on her lips.
"Sweetheart, you have every right to your memories. I don't
begrudge the time you had with David. What you two had together
helped make you the Sarah I fell in love with. And am still in love
with. And if you'd had a child, I'd love the both of you."

She reached up and tugged at his ears, and
he leaned down to kiss her. The kiss left no doubt he'd been honest
with her. Once again she wondered how she had been blessed with two
such wonderful men. Five years married to David Tucker, and now,
the rest of her life with Randy Detweiler.

"You want some hot chocolate?" she asked.
"Homemade, from scratch, not the packets?"

"Twist my arm a little harder, why don't
you? But are you sure you can still reach the stove?"

"Are you calling me fat?" She grinned and
headed to the kitchen. "You should know better than to insult
someone who's just offered to cook for you. Why don't you go play
your piano or something? I'll bring the cocoa when it's ready."

"Any requests?"

"Nothing in particular. But something happy,
I think. I've been dreary long enough."

Randy left and Sarah busied herself
measuring and stirring. She ignored the twinges that had plagued
her all day. Braxton-Hicks contractions, the doctor had said,
perfectly normal for two weeks before her due date. But she'd beg
for a good backrub tonight.

She carried the mugs of
cocoa down the hall to the music room. Randy was playing
Rondo alla Turka
, and
she stood in the doorway and watched his fingers fly over the keys.
Once, early in their courtship, he'd played something by Chopin,
and she'd actually counted his fingers when he'd
finished.

She set Randy's mug on top of the piano and
hers on the table beside the old easy chair. Turning, she gripped
both of its arms and managed to lower herself into its sagging
seat. She'd mentioned replacing it once, but it had belonged to
Randy's Gram, and the look on his face was answer enough. The chair
would stay. It had been weeks since she'd sat here while Randy
played, and she was afraid she might need a crane to get her out.
Another twinge, stronger than the others, gripped her abdomen.

"Stop it, kiddo. That one hurt!"

The music stopped abruptly. "What's wrong?
Are you okay?"

"Fine. The little one's getting frisky,
that's all."

"You sure?" Randy knelt at her side.

"Sure I'm sure. Doctor Zellner said
everything is going fine. But next time, you get to carry it.
You've got a lot more room than I do."

"If you can figure out a way, I'll be happy
to." He leaned down and spoke into her abdomen. "Hey, quiet in
there. Your mom needs her rest."

Sarah laughed, then felt wetness between her
legs. Oh, Lord, she hadn't peed on Gram's chair, had she?

"What?" Randy said.

"What do you mean, 'What?' I didn't say
anything."

"You had a really funny look on your
face."

Before she could reply, more warm fluid
gushed forth. "Oh, God. Randy, go get a towel. Two towels. Quick. I
think I've just ruined Gram's chair."

"What are you talking about?"

"Just get the towels, dammit. My water
broke."

Randy dashed from the room and returned with
two bright yellow bath towels a moment later. He slid one under
Sarah's bottom. "All right, we're going to the hospital. Now."

"Take it easy. First you call the doctor.
Then you get my suitcase. And the bag of Lamaze things." A
contraction made her gasp for breath. She remembered to do the
breathing she'd learned, but had sudden doubts that it would
work.

"Right," Randy said. He walked out of the
room, and came back in less than a minute, a glazed expression on
his face. He looked three shades paler than he had before.

"Doctor. Suitcase. Lamaze," Sarah repeated.
"The list is on the fridge."

"List. Fridge. Right. Thanks."

She smiled and tried to rise from the chair.
Moving caused another contraction, a bit stronger than the first,
and she sank down. "Randy! Bring me that long brown dress, and some
dry undies. I'm soaked." Her hand moved absently around her belly
and she spoke to their unborn child. "Are you sure you want out
now? No tricks? I don't think your daddy can do this twice."

"Okay," Randy panted. "Everything's in the
truck. Doctor Zellner will meet us at the hospital."

"My clothes?"

"Clothes. Right. You'd want them now, I
guess."

Her chuckle brought on another contraction.
"Don't make me laugh! But yes, that was the idea."

"Clothes. Truck. On it." He turned to
go.

"Wait. One more thing."

"What? What did I forget?"

"Nothing. But we still haven't agreed on a
boy's name, and I'm not leaving here until we do. We had a deal. No
peeking at the ultrasounds, and I'd pick a girl's name, and you'd
come up with one for a boy. Well, I did my part, and you approved
Emily, after your grandmother. Now it's your turn."

"Sarah, you're kidding. You're in labor! Now
is not the time."

"Now is the perfect time. You've avoided the
topic for the last seven and a half months." She folded her arms
across her chest and gave Randy the best "Don't mess with me" look
she could manage, but when a contraction hit, her grimace ruined
the effect. Or not, because all of a sudden Randy grew calm. He
knelt to her level, a gentle hand on her belly.

"I've had a name picked out for months," he
murmured.

"So why didn't you say something?"

"I wasn't sure how you would react. I was
afraid it would … would be hard for you. Especially now."

Sarah kept her breathing shallow, ignoring
the tightening of her womb. "David? You want to call him David? Oh,
Randy, I don't know …"

"No, not David. But I know you wanted
something of him to live on, and I know you don't use his name
anymore, because of the initials. Sarah Tucker Detweiler—STD—just
doesn't cut it. But, would it be all right with you if we called
him Tucker?"