Baby On The Way (5 page)

“Only a small one,” Libby replied, as if the size of the rodent made a difference. “And just a few times.”

“Or maybe you’ve seen several different mice one time each,” he countered dryly. “I’ll set some traps.”

Ignoring the small sound of protest Libby made, he turned to his sister. “Better give me a list of everything else that needs to be done around this place and I’ll get on it while I’m here. I know the gutters need cleaning, and the batteries changed in the smoke detectors—”

“I just did that,” Libby said.

Both Delaneys turned to look at her. Christine looked startled, while Del’s brows drew over his eyes in a frown. “You changed the batteries in the smoke detectors?” he asked.

Libby nodded. “And I cleaned out the gutters, too.
I noticed during the last rainstorm that they were getting clogged with leaves. You can see them from my room.”

Christine’s eyes widened and Del’s voice grew dangerously quiet as he demanded, “Are you telling me you climbed a thirty-foot ladder to clear the gutters?”

“Of course not. I climbed out on the roof through my window and just swept them out.” Slightly perplexed at their reaction, she added, “It’s just something I used to do when I stayed at my father’s as a kid. I didn’t think you’d mind.”

“Mind! Of course we don’t mind!” Christine exclaimed while Del stood there with his mouth pressed in a tight line. “It’s just that it’s so dangerous in your condition. You have to be more careful, Libby.”

“Damn right she has to be more careful,” Del said. “If that isn’t the—”

“You know he’s right, Lib,” Chris interrupted. “What if something happened to the baby?”

Prepared to expand—in detail—on this point, Del was blocked as Chris added hastily, “Anyway, let’s not talk anymore about it. There are presents to open.” She put one in Libby’s lap saying, “This one’s from Brooke.”

Still smoldering with anger that Libby had taken such a risk, Del watched from across the room as she accepted the gift, her face filling with such unconscious anticipation that his temper cooled in reluctant enjoyment of her pleasure.

Her brown eyes softened as she carefully unwrapped a box to reveal tiny blue jeans and a diminutive shirt. “How darling,” she breathed. Her lips curved gently upward and Del realized suddenly it was
the first he’d seen her smile since his return. She certainly hadn’t smiled at
^him.

But this morning the expression came readily, lighting her face with subdued excitement as Christine handed her gift after gift. Soon a pile of miniature pastel garments grew beside her chair. Her slim fingers traced the delicate embroidery on the little outfits, stroking the soft terry and brushed flannel from which they were made. Del’s eyes half shut in remembered pleasure. She’d touched him with that same hesitant enjoyment the night they’d made love.

When she opened Christine’s gift, Libby’s mouth formed a soundless “O.” “It’s beautiful,” she breathed, lifting from the box a pure white blanket, knitted in soft angora yarn. She held it against her cheek, and Del thought the blanket looked no softer than her creamy skin as she gazed mistily up at Christine. “You made it, didn’t you?” she said. “Oh, how I wish I could knit as well as you.”

“You’ll get there,” Chris said, bending down to give her a quick, impulsive hug. “I’ve had years of practice, growing up in a small town where there’s not much to do. You’ll be churning out all kinds of blankets in no time.”

Libby carefully folded the blanket and returned it to the box, saying ruefully, “I can’t even finish one booty.”

“Even if you don’t, it doesn’t look like the kid will miss it,” Del pointed out, eying all the baby items scattered around the room.

“Are you kidding?” Christine exclaimed, wadding up an armful of tissue paper. “This isn’t half the stuff
she’ll need. Susan says her kids went through three or four outfits a day.”

Del was dumbstruck. “For one little kid?”

Chris nodded. “And she still needs a swing, a high chair, a crib, a car seat—Oh, wait—that carrier Brooke gave you doubles as a car seat for the first few months, doesn’t it? Which reminds me—” she turned to her brother “—’t forget to gas up the truck before you drive Libby to the doctor’s. It’s running on empty.”

“So what else is new?” he asked, pretending not to notice the small start Libby gave at Christine’s statement. He continued thumbing through the baby book he was holding, saying to his sister, “I’ve told you time and time again that you’re going to burn out the engine if you keep trying to run on fumes.”

Christine made a face. “Nag, nag, nag. Oh, don’t glare at me. You’ve made your point. I’m sorry, and to prove it I’ll make breakfast—or would it be considered brunch now? Anyway, prepare yourselves for a culinary delight of scrambled eggs and toast.”

“Mushy eggs and burnt bread, more likely,” Del said dryly as she strode out of the room. He glanced over at Libby, adding wryly, “She sounds like she’s doing us a favor but she’s probably trying to avoid helping pick up. That sister of mine is a spoiled one.”

Libby smiled perfunctorily, but brought up the subject that concerned her more. “Del…” she said, slowly. “What did Chris mean about you driving me to the doctor’s?”

He glanced up, his eyes narrowing slightly as he prepared for another argument. “She meant exactly
that. I told her I’d take you since I had to go into Vicksville, anyway.”

“I can drive myself—”

“Christine said you’ve been having dizzy spells.”

She bit her lip. “Christine certainly talks a lot.”

He nodded. “She sure does, but maybe in this instance that’s a good thing. Do you think it’s wise to try and drive in your condition?”

Libby didn’t, but she didn’t want him to drive her, either. “But my visit isn’t for a couple of days,” she protested.

He shrugged. “I told you I can manage the time off.” He picked up a mint green T-shirt and eyed it dubiously. “Are these things big enough?”

“Of course they are. That’s a size one. Newborn sizes are even smaller. As I was saying last night, there’s no need for you to stay—”

“And I said there was.”

Libby clenched her hands on top of the box in her lap, holding on to her temper. “But I thought you were in the middle of an important project. Aren’t you worried they’ll replace you?”

“No,” he answered absently, still busy picking through the pile of gifts next to her chair. “When you’ve put in as much time as I have and covered as many positions on the way up, there aren’t too many people they can replace you with—not too quickly, anyway. Besides, I can handle the preliminaries from here. What the hell is this?” He lifted a clear plastic tube, which contained another inside.

Libby could feel a blush rising in her cheeks. “Nothing.”

He must have caught the constricted note in her
voice because he glanced at her curiously, then looked back down at the object in his hands. “Obviously it’s something or why would someone have given it to you?” He pulled on the inner tube, sliding it back and forth in the outer. The movement caused a slight sucking sound. “Is it a—?”

“It’s a breast pump, for goodness’ sake. Will you just give it to me?” Libby reached up and snatched it out of his hands, her fury growing as she noticed the grin on his face. “These aren’t all toys, you know. Having a baby is serious.”

His smile disappeared. “I know it is—which reminds me of something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.” He leveled an accusing stare at her. “What’s the real reason you didn’t get that ultrasound Mrs. P. was talking about? And don’t bother giving me that cock-and-bull story you told her about you and the doctor changing your minds. I could tell you weren’t telling the truth.”

“Yes, I was.”

He stared at her steadily. Silence filled the room. Libby couldn’t quite hold his gaze. “Ultrasounds are pretty expensive,” she admitted.

His mouth thinned in exasperation, and she added hastily, “It’s not a necessary procedure in my case anyway, Del, just precautionary. The doctor wasn’t concerned when I decided to pass on it.”

“Well, I’m concerned, which is precisely why I’m going with you to see that doctor and find out for myself what’s going on.”

She huffed in exasperation. “And once you find out, you’ll leave me alone? Go back to your job?”

“Of course I will.”

“Then fine. You can come with me.”

“Good.”

Libby breathed a sigh of relief that turned into a groan as he slowly added, “Just one more thing…”

“What now?” she almost wailed.

“I think we should let the doctor know I’m the father.”

Libby tensed in alarm. “No! I told you last night I don’t want anyone to know.”

“It’s not as if we’ll be telling the entire town,” he told her patiently. He picked up a yellow rubber duck someone had given her, tossing the squeaky toy from one hand to the other as he added, “But I think the doctor should know. Think about it, Libby,” he interrupted when she would have argued further. “What if something happens to you—or the baby. What if she—”

“He!”

“Needs blood or other medical help that only you or I—as the mother or father—can give? I need to be on record somewhere so I can be contacted. Have you thought about any of that?”

“Of course I have—I just.” She broke off. She’d just put it out of her mind. The endless possibilities had worried her so much she hadn’t known what else to do.

But everything he’d said was all too true. She had to let him be involved—at least this much. The baby’s life might depend on it.

She looked up. Del was watching her intently. Meeting her gaze, he said quietly, “You know I’m right. We have to tell the doctor. For the baby’s sake.”

Who could argue against that? “Okay,” she said reluctantly. “For the baby’s sake.”

D
el shifted in his chair a few days later, glancing around at the doctor’s waiting room where he and Libby had been sitting for the past half hour. The walls were painted a bright yellow and decorated with huge animals—orange giraffes, blue lions, plump pink elephants—all lined up to enter a stout brown boat. Probably some kind of surreal Noah’s ark thing, he decided.

He shifted again, trying to find enough room between a miniature child’s table and chair set up in the middle of the small room to stretch his legs. He felt uncomfortable; not because he was the only man in the room because he wasn’t—the other woman waiting was accompanied by her husband—nor even because the pink elephants on the wall looked like a Pepto-Bismol nightmare. No, the major reason he felt a little awkward was because of Libby’s persistent coolness.

Del slanted a glance at her aloof profile. She’d braided her hair today in two long pigtails that made her look more like seventeen than twenty-six. Pink ribbons, the same color as the blouse she wore-and the elephants on the wall—were tied at the ends. One
of the bows had come untied. Without thinking, Del lifted a hand to fix it and she reached up and flipped the braid over her shoulder, not even sparing him a glance.

Del grimaced. No doubt about it, she was making it abundantly clear that while she might have given in to his desire to accompany her, she certainly wasn’t pleased with him. She’d avoided him as much as possible the past two days and had barely said a word on the entire forty-minute trip to the doctor’s. Now she continued to ignore him, her gaze fixed steadily on the parenting magazine in her hands.

His lips tightened and he crossed his arms over his chest. He wasn’t used to Libby being so quiet. She hadn’t been a chatterer during the snowstorm but she had talked to him—quite a bit, in fact. About growing up with her famous mother, Liz; about Nicholas, the father she’d rarely seen. She’d shared her thoughts on life—even her misguided views on politics. He’d enjoyed listening to her, teasing her, watching her sweetly serious expression or the sudden laughter that would light her face at his occasional wry comment.

He wasn’t much of a conversationalist himself. Being unable to talk about his job for some reason made him more reticent about other things, as well. But with Libby, that hadn’t been a problem. She’d been fascinated by his stories about his family and how it had been growing up in a small town. Conversation between them had just flowed.

Del scowled. Hell, they hadn’t only been lovers during that snowstorm, they’d also become friends. He wanted to restore at least a little of the rapport they’d had on his last visit and this was one of the only opportunities
he’d had to be alone with her without Christine hovering about somewhere.

Libby put down the magazine and he looked up hopefully. Without a word she stepped over his legs and headed into the rest room.

Del heaved a long-suffering sigh.

The man sitting across from him must have heard it. Pushing his glasses higher on his nose, he leaned closer, asking, “This your first?”

Del looked at him, then nodded.

“Ours, too,” the man said and thrust out a hand. “I’m Ken. Ken Patterson.”

Del accepted the proffered handshake as Ken indicated the blonde sitting demurely beside him. She nodded graciously at Del as her husband added dramatically, “And this is Barbie.”

Ken beamed expectantly. Del regarded him blankly, and the other man’s smile faded. “Don’t you get it? Ken and Barbie. You know. Like the dolls?”

“Oh, yeah. Cute,” Del said and then stared at the bathroom door. What the hell was taking Libby so long? Was she sick?

Ken started talking again, interrupting his train of thought. “Our baby is due in October.” Both Pattersons glowed with pride, as if, Del thought, they were the only ones who’d ever had a baby.

Barbie added, “So when is your-wife due, Mr.?”

“Delaney. Del Delaney,” he answered automatically, then paused. Strangely reluctant to admit Libby wasn’t his wife, Del compromised, saying, “Libby’s not due for another six weeks.”

Ken’s face sharpened with interest. “Hey, we’ll
probably be in the same childbirth class. You have signed up, haven’t you?”

Had Libby signed up? “I’m not sure,” Del admitted. Ken looked surprised and Barbie’s perfectly plucked eyebrows rose. Del added a little defensively, “I just got back in town. I’ve been out of the country.”

The other man’s expression cleared and Barbie leaned forward, saying graciously, “I’m sure your wife is thankful to have you back.”

Not hardly, Del thought.

“What are you having?” Barbie asked. “A boy or a girl?”

“A girl,” Del said decisively.

“Oh. We’re having a boy,” Barbie said, the faintly superior note in her voice annoying Del no end. “We decided to have a boy first, and then maybe a little girl.”

Something in her tone made it sound as if having a girl first was entirely the wrong decision—as if
their
boy was somehow superior to
his
girl. Del stifled a snort. As if any child these two could produce would even come near to the superior offspring Libby was carrying.

He picked up a magazine, pretending to be engrossed in the article “Breast or Bottle: How to Decide” so that the Pattersons would leave him alone. The ruse worked.until Libby returned. No sooner had she sat down again than Barbie leaned forward to say commiseratingly, “It gets pretty tiring, doesn’t it? Running to the rest room all the time.”

“It sure does,” Libby agreed.

Encouraged by this response, Barbie added, “Your
husband was just telling us your baby is due in October, too.”

“He’s not my husband,” Libby replied promptly—to Del’s vast annoyance. “This is my landlady’s brother. He just gave me a ride here.”

Del grimaced behind his magazine. Not only had she jumped to correct the “husband” mistake, she couldn’t even define him as a friend. “My landlady’s brother.” He sounded like some kind of second-rate taxi service, for God’s sake.

He lowered the magazine to glare at Libby and encountered the Pattersons’ stunned looks instead. Both were regarding him as if he’d falsely posed as the President of the United States or something. Disgusted with them—and even more with Libby—he retired back into his magazine as Barbie asked Libby which doctor she had.

“Dr. Cindy Kanuse.”

Over the top edge of his magazine, Del could see Ken and Barbie exchange another glance. Barbie’s tone took on an even greater superiority as she stated, “I have Dr. Daniel Mitchell.” She giggled. The falsely coy sound made Del grit his teeth, as she elbowed her spouse. “Ken wasn’t too happy about that at first. Not only is Dr. Dan handsome, but he’s single. But I told Ken he’s the best.”

“And I want you to have the best,” Ken replied, patting her hand.

“I’ve met Dr. Dan. He seems very nice,” Libby said.

Nice, hmm? Del’s interest sharpened. Was this the doctor Christine had said was hanging around Libby?

If the guy wasn’t her doctor, why was he so interested in her?

His eyes narrowing, he was pondering the probable answer to the question when the nurse called Libby’s name. She stood and Del caught her wrist lightly to stop her before she left the room. “Don’t forget. I’ll be waiting to come in.”

Her lips tightened. Nodding curtly, she left.

Wide-eyed again, the Pattersons must have decided he was a depraved impostor. They made no more attempts at conversation. Del finished his article in peace, then turned to another about the treatment for sensitive nipples. After finishing that one, though, he put the magazine down, too keyed up to read. What on earth was the holdup? When they’d checked in, the nurse had said he’d be called in after the initial exam. None of the other women had been gone so long. Had they found something wrong with the baby? With Libby?

He shifted restlessly, then finally gave in to the compulsion to pace. After ten minutes of this fruitless exercise, he reached another decision and leaned into the receptionist’s window. The nurse inside glanced up. Aware of Ken and Barbie’s interest, Del lowered his voice, saying, “Excuse me, but my.fiancée wanted me to join her so I could ask the doctor some questions.”

The receptionist nodded. “Perhaps they’ve forgotten. Let me check.”

Ken and Barbie goggled at him, but Del ignored them, following the nurse uninvited. Reaching the door, she knocked briefly, then poked her head in to
say, “Miss Sinclair’s fiancé wanted to ask you a couple of questions, Doctor.”

“Send him in,” Del heard the doctor reply.

The nurse stepped back, almost bumping into Del. She looked surprised to find him there, but smiled and stepped aside so he could enter.

Del walked in. Libby was lying on the examining table, an astonished look on her face. They’d put one of those flimsy hospital gowns on her, and draped a sheet across her lap. The gown gaped open a little, and Del caught a glimpse of the white curve of her belly before she yanked the garment closed and clutched it across the front, anger gathering on her face. Before she could protest his intrusion, Del said quickly to the doctor, “Hello, I’m Del Delaney—the baby’s father. I wanted to find out how Libby’s doing.”

The doctor—a small, attractive brunette in her midthirties with the figure of an eighteen-year-old—swiveled around on the stool upon which she was sitting and gave him a brisk smile. “Glad to meet you, Del. We encourage the fathers to be involved in all stages of the pregnancy. Your help will make things much easier on Libby.”

Turning around again, she waved a slender hand. “So grab a seat and sit down. I’m just locating the baby’s heartbeat.”

Del did as instructed, pulling a straight-backed chair from the wall and straddling it. A gentleman would leave at this point, he knew. It didn’t take a genius to realize by the horror in Libby’s expression and the shooing motions she kept making behind the doctor’s back that she didn’t want him to stay.

But he wasn’t about to budge. He couldn’t. Especially when the doctor parted the gown revealing Libby’s stomach. It
did
look as if she’d swallowed a ball—a soccer ball, at least. He watched fascinated as the doctor spread lubricant on the lower curve of that round firm mound before pressing gently against it with a stethoscope.

She’d kill him, Libby decided, squirming as much from Del’s intent gaze as the cold metal feel of the stethoscope crawling along her skin. He knew—he had to know—that she hadn’t planned on him coming in during the physical exam, but rather much later, when Dr. Kanuse was finished. She felt as helpless and exposed as a beached whale.

Strange noises emerged from the amplifier attached to the scope.

“That’s her stomach growling,” the doctor explained.

“Sounds like a pack of lions quarreling over a piece of meat,” was Del’s observation.

Libby shut her eyes. Could she be any more embarrassed? The growling grew fiercer as the stethoscope rolled over her lower belly toward her sheetdraped—thank goodness!—bikini line. Libby flinched.

“Did I hurt you?” the doctor asked.

“She’s ticklish there,” Del said before she could reply.

Libby flushed at the unbidden memory of him drawing a teasing finger across that sensitive spot.
Go away,
she mouthed desperately in his direction, but he wasn’t looking at her face. His absorbed stare was fastened on the stethoscope as the doctor patiently searched for the baby’s heartbeat. Libby had just decided
to repeat the demand aloud when a squishy, rhythmic beating echoed into the room.

“That’s it,” the doctor said in satisfaction.

Wonder filled Libby’s heart as it always did when she heard the baby’s heartbeat. Involuntarily, she glanced at Del. For a fleeting moment the same awe she felt was evident in his startled eyes.

She smiled. “My son,” she said softly.

At her words, his usual unreadable expression masked his face again. “Daughter,” he corrected. Then his brows drew together. “Isn’t it rather rapid?”

“Perfectly normal,” the doctor said as the baby rolled over and growling sounds filled the room again. Briskly she removed the stethoscope and handed Libby a towelette to wipe off the lubricant. Walking over to the sink, the doctor washed her hands, saying over her shoulder. “Keep taking your vitamins, Libby. Walk every day. Sexual intercourse is fine at this point…”

Del raised a brow. Libby flushed.

“Is your dizziness easing up?” the doctor asked, wiping her hands on a paper towel.

Libby nodded.

“Good. Let me know if you start getting headaches.” The doctor picked up her chart and glanced over it. “The baby is doing just great. However, we still need to work on your weight.”

“What’s wrong with her weight?” Del asked sharply.

The doctor smiled reassuringly. “She’s a bit underweight for her third trimester. Nothing much to worry about, but I want her to gain a few more pounds…”

Del glared in Libby’s direction, but fearing what he
might say, she pretended not to notice as she carefully wiped off the lubricant. The last thing she wanted was Del to become involved.

“Also,” the doctor continued, “I want her to rest more. Studies have found that standing on her feet all day—as Libby does in her job—increases a woman’s risk of having a premature baby.”

“It sounds as if you think she should quit working,” Del said.

The doctor met his gaze. “It wouldn’t hurt if she could quit working, but she tells me that isn’t possible.”

“It
is
possible, if it will help the baby,” Del stated unequivocally. “Isn’t it, Libby?”

Angry at his assumption, she tossed the towelette into the trash and wrapped the gown more firmly around her. “We’ll talk about it later,” she said repressively.

The doctor patted her shoulder. “That’s a good idea. Talk it over. I’m sure you’ll see that your fiancé is right. After all, Libby, you don’t want to endanger yourself or the baby.”

The doctor left the room. Barely waiting until the door closed after her, Del said, “What’s there to discuss? You need to quit working. If you need financial help, I’m willing to provide it.”

Libby sat on the edge of the table, one hand clasping the sheet draped across her lap, the other clutching the front of the gown closed. “I don’t want to talk about this now.”