Wife Is A 4-Letter Word (16 page)

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Authors: Stephanie Bond

BOOK: Wife Is A 4-Letter Word
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“Where have you been?” he demanded when she came to a halt in front of him. God, she was gorgeous, especially with her slightly rounded tummy.
“Mrs. Wingate paged me,” she said breathlessly. “Her head psychic told her she had a one-hour window of safety to buy the Sheridan house.” She panted for air. “I was already dressed, and I figured I could leave and get the papers signed before anyone missed me.” She smiled happily, her chest heaving. “Did anyone miss me?”
He sighed, wanting to shake her. “You scared me to death—I thought you had changed your mind.”
She looped her arms around his neck. “Not on your life—you're stuck with me, Mr. Alan P. Parish.” She pulled his mouth to hers for a deep kiss.
He raised his head, then bent down and lifted her into his arms. “Let's go make you my wife before anything else happens.” Then he turned, carried her toward the chapel and whispered, “I have a confession to make.”
“What?”
“I told the guy at the tattoo parlor that the ‘P' stands for ‘Pam's.'”
Epilogue
ALAN RAISED his hands. “Pam,” he said in a soothing voice. “Put down the nail file.”
“You!”
she yelled at him from the hospital bed. “You did this to me!”
“Honey,” he said, “don't you think it was a combined effort?”
He ducked as the vase of flowers flew past his head and crashed against the wall at his back.
“You're right!” he affirmed hurriedly, raising his arms in surrender. He put on a mournful expression and gestured vaguely toward her huge stomach. “It's all my fault—I did this to you and I am the lowest scum on the face of the earth.”
Her face contorted with pain and Alan's heart twisted in agony. His beautiful wife was lying in abject misery, and he couldn't even get close enough to the hospital bed to practice the Lamaze they had learned together.
“Do you have your focus point, sweetie?” he called, inching closer.
She lay back, panting, then pinned him with a deadly look. “I'm focusing on a life of celibacy!”
“Honey, you don't mean that,” he said in his most cajoling voice, but stopped when she held up the makeshift dagger. “Celibacy is good,” he assured her with a nervous laugh. “We can make it work.” Alan retreated the few inches he'd advanced. “How about an ice chip?” he asked.
“How about I chip your tooth?” she offered, smiling sweetly.
The door swung open and Dr. Campbell strode in with a smile. “How're we doing?”
Alan, weak with relief to have an ally, smiled broadly. “Just great,” he said, then glanced at Pam's murderous expression. “I mean, not very well at all.”
“Let's see where you are, Pam.” To Alan's alarm, the doctor eased Pam's swollen feet and ankles into the stirrups, giving him a bird's-eye view beneath her hospital gown. He swallowed and cleared his throat. “I think I'll wait outside.”
“Oh no you don't,” Pam said, ominously. “You're not going anywhere.”
Alan nodded obediently and wiped his sweaty hands on his slacks. “Right — wild horses couldn't drag me out of here.”
The doctor glanced at the monitor. “Here comes another contraction, Pam. Just try to relax.”
“Remember to breathe, sweetie,” Alan called. “Heehee—”
“Shut up!” she shouted.
“I'm shutting up,” he said, nodding vigorously.
“If the pain's getting to be too much,” the doctor said to Pam, “I can go ahead and give you an epidural.”
“Thanks anyway, Dr. Campbell,” Alan said from the wall. “We decided from the beginning to go for natural childbir—”
“Give me the needle, Dr. C.,” Pam cut in, “and I'll give it to myself.”
“Oh my,” the doctor said, moving her hands beneath the gown.
Alan glanced over, then squeezed his eyes shut, muttering thanks to the heavens for the thousandth time today that he was not a woman.
“Forget the epidural,” the doctor said, depressing the nurse call button with her elbow. “You're ready to start pushing.”
Alan's eyes popped open. “Already?”
“Already?” Pam shrieked. “It's been nine hours!”
But I'm not ready, I'm not wise enough yet to be a father.
Perspiration popped out on his hairline and panic rose in his chest, suffocating him.
The nurses rushed in and dressed him in sanitary garb as if he were a kid going out in the snow. He was relegated, happily, to a corner as they prepared Pam for the final stages of labor. Alan had never felt so guilty and helpless in his life. She agonized through two more contractions before the doctor said, “Daddy, you come jump in anytime.”
Alan glanced to Pam for affirmation, but her eyes were squeezed shut to ward off the pain. Her hands were on the bed railing, so at least her weapon had been confiscated.
“Pam?” he said weakly, stepping closer. “Sweetie?”
She didn't open her eyes, but she lifted a hand toward him, and he went to her side with Relief.
“Alan,” she whispered, lolling her head toward him.
“Yes, dear?”
“What does the ‘P' stand for?”
“Pam, now doesn't seem like the time—”
She twisted a handful of his shirt and pulled him close to her. “I said, what does the ‘P' stand for?”
“Pam, you need to push,” Dr. Campbell said. “On the count of three.”
“Alan—” Pam said through clenched teeth.
“One—”
“—what does—” Her face reddened.
“—two—”
“—
the ‘P' stand for?”
“—three—push!”
Her face contorted in pain and she screamed. Alan, scared half out of his wits, yelled, “Presley! The ‘P' stands for ‘Presley!'”
She grunted, bearing down for several seconds, then relaxed on the pillow and opened her eyes. “Presley?” she panted.
He nodded miserably. “My mom was a huge fan.”
She laughed between gasping for air, readying herself for another push at the doctor's urging. He held her hand tight and whispered loving words in her ear.
“Here comes the head,” said the doctor.
She bore down and squeezed his hand until he was sure she'd broken several bones. His heart thrashed in his chest and he looked around to see what he would hit when he passed out.
“One more push, Pam,” the doctor urged.
She took a deep breath and screamed loud enough to rattle the windows. Alan held on, wondering if his hearing would return.
“Here we are,” the doctor said triumphantly. “It's a big boy.”
Relief and elation flooded his chest and he kissed Pam's face, whispering, “It's a boy. It's a boy.”
Pam, exhausted but beaming, held her hands out to accept the wrinkled, outraged infant. Alan's heart filled to bursting as he looked down at his son, whose lusty cries filled the air.
“Do you have a name?” the doctor asked.
“Not yet—” he said.
“Of course we do,” Pam said as she raised her moist gaze to her husband. “His name is Presley.”
ISBN : 978-1-4592-7445-7
 
WIFE IS A 4-LETTER WORD
 
Copyright © 1998 by Stephanie Hauck
 
All rights reserved. Except for use In any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
 
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure intention.
 
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
 
® and TM are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.

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