Cougar's Gift: Pacific Northwest Cougars: (Shifter Romance) (19 page)

T
he first few
days weren’t actually too bad. The phone arrived for Libby and with one look at the box she knew it was not a base model.

But she charged it and texted him the minute she could. He called her and let her know that he was at his family farm and the place was a mess. He asked how she was and she lied, said she was great, keeping busy with her mom.

The truth was the second he’d left she was hit with an adrenaline crash and told her mom she was taking a nap. She didn’t wake up until dinner time. Then oddly for her she fell back asleep at the usual time.

During breakfast the next morning her mother said her aura was fuzzy and gave her some herbal tea and loaded her full of flax seed and kale.

She helped her mom for a while straining yogurt into cheese then excused herself for another nap. She blamed her sadness at being away from Stryker. He was the spark in her life now. Without him, her life was back to normal. Boring, standard, uneventful, normal.

She, of course, didn’t tell Stryker any of this. He was already worried about being away from her. He had other stresses that kept him busy and he needed to keep his focus on.

By Sunday evening her parents were both expressing their concern.

“Liberty Bell, you look so pale. Are you running a fever?” her father asked, putting the back of his hand on her head in an oh so scientific method of reading temperatures.

“Don’t think so,” she answered weakly. She wasn’t even up for fighting with him.

“Let’s put you in an Epsom salt bath then we’ll put the eucalyptus humidifier in your room. Maybe throw in a little lavender oil too. Should fix you right up,” her father clucked.

Her dad wasn’t blind to real medical conditions. She’d broken her arm when she was eight and her father was the first person to rush her to the emergency room and demand she be given pain medication to stop her from crying.

But fuzzy auras and paleness, that was just up her folk’s alley.

Monday morning dawned and Libby managed to drag herself from bed and trudge to work. She sat at her desk most of the day. She wasn’t even hungry so she’d skipped lunch. The fact her junk food stash was on the second floor factored in a little in her unwillingness to climb the stairs.

Her phone rang as she was laying her head on the desk.

“’ello?” she mumbled into the receiver.

“Libby? You okay?” Stryker asked, worried her voice sounded slurred.

“Just tired, how’s the farm?” she asked, trying to shake herself awake.

“Took longer than we thought to erect the temporary building. The equipment arrived, but we haven’t started moving it in yet. Mouse, I may be a few more days,” he said, the strain in his voice clear.

Libby took a moment to process what he was saying. A few more days? How many had it been so far?

“Sure, no problem. Do what you have to do,” she mumbled.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” Stryker was getting agitated; his cougar could hear the exhaustion in her voice.

“I think I’m coming down with a bug. Don’t worry mom and dad are all over it. I’m herbed and mentholated up. It’s just a sniffle,” she assured him.

“Do I need to call your dad?”

“For him to explain how my stress at you being gone is affecting my chakras? You really want to have that conversation with him?”

No, Stryker did not want to have that conversation, but he sure as hell would if it was about his mate’s health.

“Really, honey, I’m fine. I’m going to go home and have a nice cup of tea and then cuddle on the couch with a good book. You just focus on getting things righted there,” Libby said, trying to make her voice sound stronger.

“I’ll call you tonight. Text me when you get home,” he ordered.

“I will, love you,” she said quietly.

“I love you too, mouse. Take care,” he said, then hung up the phone.

He wasn’t sleeping at all knowing his mate was even one state away, alone. His brother Dax had used the plane ride to light into him about not telling her about his cougar.

Then when they got to the vineyard Everett was already there, and although sympathetic, still gave him a rash of shit for not being honest.

“I’m going to tell her, as soon as I get back. I’ll tell her then when she agrees to bond with me, I’ll ask her to marry me. Or maybe I’ll ask her to marry me then when she says yes, I’ll tell her,” he’d said to his brothers late the second night as they sat on the back porch that now overlooked a scorched patch of land.

“Which is it? Ask her to commit her life to you then tell her the truth? Or tell her the truth then ask her to commit her life to you?” Dax’s Alpha voice hinting at the level of his annoyance with his little brother.

“Fuck if I know,” Stryker said, rubbing a dirty hand over his forehead. He had a cold beer in his hand. He’d been fitting the new steel tanks today and was tired.

“Well, you better figure it out, dickhead.” Everett said, kicking his brother’s foot that had been propped on the railing.

Stryker growled at him, “You had it easy, your mate is shifter.”

“Yeah and Dax’s wasn’t. But he still told her. You’re sleeping with her, you’ve told her you love her. What on earth is keeping you from telling about your cat?” Everett asked, truly exasperated with his sullen brother’s logic.

“At first it was just so I didn’t shock her. I meet her and her whole quiet little life gets turned upside down. I didn’t want to overwhelm her. Then things were going so good that I didn’t see a reason to tell her and upset what we had,” Stryker explained.

“You don’t want her to reject your cougar,” Dax offered. His wisdom showing through.

“Yeah, he’s tough, but I don’t want him hurt,” Stryker said quietly.

“You’re right, he is tough. And what you aren’t getting is the fates matched you two for a reason. She wants you, for life. The draw isn’t the same for humans, but it’s still there. She’s probably calling it instinct or a feeling. It’s her soul reaching out to yours. You tell her the truth and she’ll be grateful to know you, all of you, including your cat.” Dax finished this with a sip of his wine.

He makes it sounds so easy, Stryker thought. Maybe it was, she was his One and there was no reason to keep anything from her. The fates wouldn’t match him with someone that couldn’t handle all that he was.

“I’ll tell her soon as I get back,” he said to his brothers.

Everett snorted, “I’ll believe it when I get the phone call and hear crashing plates in the background from her giving you your comeuppance.”

L
ibby was
glad Stryker hung up first because the minute the phone silenced she felt her morning smoothie coming back on her. She had no time to make it to the bathroom so she made use of the trashcan under her desk.

As she heaved up her breakfast she felt her abdomen cramp low. She mentally went through her calendar and realized her period should start any day now.

She’d never vomited before, but hormones were funny things. Maybe everyone had tough periods when they first started having sex.

Feeling like something someone stepped in and dragged in on the rug, she checked the upstairs, actually using the elevator this time. Found the place empty and wrote up a note for the front door. She was officially calling out sick for the first time in years.

She locked up and managed the short walk home where she fell face first on the couch. She was asleep in minutes.

The next two days she kept up her texts with Stryker when she could. When he called she’d lie and tell him she was with someone and couldn’t talk by texting him back.

She didn’t tell him she was home sick. Again, she didn’t want him to worry over the flu. Her period hadn’t started but if she had the flu that wasn’t uncommon.

By the second night after she’d last spoken in person with him, she woke to her eyelid being pulled up.

“Liberty Bell? Sweetie, can you open your eyes?” This was her father sounding far away. Maybe she was dreaming, it was hot in her dream she knew.

Libby heard her father talking to someone, “Her pulse is thready, Primrose. I want you to call an ambulance.”

“Really? Are you sure?” Her mother sounded scared.

“Yeah, I’m sure, she’s burning up. She hasn’t had any significant fluid in forty-eight hours and her pulse is not good.”

That was the last Libby heard. Her next thought was that it was really bright and cold. She swore she felt rain on her face. What a funny dream, she didn’t think she’d ever dreamt of rain before.

Her body jolted and she felt like she was flying again. Her eyes managed to open a crack and she saw her body laying flat, a blanket over her. She saw her mom and dad standing near her feet.

Primrose was wringing her hands and her father was talking to someone, but she couldn’t hear him. Weird, they were outside. Libby could see the street in front of their house behind her mom and dad.

She saw only lights and a ceiling, she felt a stick in her arm, then nothing.

Libby remained unconscious for the trip to the emergency room. The doctors told her parents to wait outside. They would get them when she was through being examined by the ER doctor.

It was over an hour before a doctor came out and asked for them. He walked them into a small cubicle pulling the curtain closed around them.

“We’ve given her IV fluids, her heart rate is still not what we’d like. She has a fever so we’ve started her on antibiotics.” He looked down at his clipboard.

“What do you think is wrong with her, doctor?” her mother asked.

“Well, we really need to discuss this with Liberty. We can’t divulge her medical information. If you have power of attorney or her situation worsens, then we can talk. But until then, we’d like to talk to her first,” the doctor said, dismissing a worried mother’s plea.

“Of course, doctor, we understand. Thank you,” Freedom said, nodding his head.

“Will she need to stay here?” Primrose asked.

“Yes, until we can get her fever under control and her heart rate stable. We are just waiting for a room. You can stay with her for now,” the doctor said, then walked out of the room.

“Well, he’s friendly,” her father muttered.

Libby’s mom took a seat by the bed on a rolling stool. She grabbed her daughter’s hand and started singing a quiet song to her that she used to sing to get her to sleep at night.

They were there for about forty minutes when Libby finally fluttered her eyelids open.

“Mom?” she said quietly.

“Oh, Libby, sweetheart,” her mother said, standing up and kissing her on the head.

“Hey there.” She felt her dad squeezing her foot. “I’m gonna go let the doctor know you’re awake.”

Libby watched her father leave through a curtain. She turned to her mom, “Why am I in the hospital?”

“Oh sweetie, you weren’t waking up and your heart rate was all thready. I don’t know what that means, but it concerned your father enough to call the ambulance. You also have a high temperature,” her mother explained.

“Hmm, must be the flu or something. Are you guys sick?” she asked, the slow multi-day build on the illness felt like flu. Usually though, others around her fell before she did.

“No sweetie, fit as a fiddle,” her mother said, brushing her hair back from her face.

The curtain parted and a tall middle-aged man walked through wearing a white lab coat.

“Glad to see you’re awake, Liberty. I’d like to talk to you alone first if you don’t mind,” the doctor said pointedly at her parents.

“Let’s go grab some tea in the cafeteria,” her father suggested to her mother. When they had exited the cubicle the doctor went straight into information download mode.

“So Ms. Berkowitz, we think your symptoms are linked to your pregnancy. We aren’t sure if you have some kind of secondary infection that is exacerbating your symptoms or if your pregnancy is causing the problems.

We are running a number of tests as your early blood work came back with high white blood cell levels and your hormones were off the charts. We will need to keep you under observation until we can rule out any outside infections.”

Libby’s mouth fell open during his speech. She figured there was a chance she was still asleep and this was all some dream.

“Did you say pregnant?”

“Well yes, the ultrasound showed you’re around six weeks. So far, the baby’s heart rate is fine. But we’ll want to keep an eye on that too,” he said, scribbling on some paperwork.

“No, doctor, I can’t be pregnant,” she started. That was crazy! She had sex for the first time last week.

“Well, blood tests and ultrasounds don’t lie. I take it your parents don’t know yet?” He asked, not looking up from the chart.

“Doctor I had sex for the first time last week. There is no way I’m pregnant. You must have someone else’s chart,” she said.

Clearly he could understand that someone who was a week past their first time did not carry around six-week old fetuses.

“I understand, sometimes you block out situations that don’t match your lifestyle. Or maybe you think your parents won’t approve of your boyfriend, but we have to deal with the facts at hand. You are pregnant and very sick,” the doctor said. His tone clearly indicating he didn’t have any kind of bedside manner.

Libby started crying, this was not happening. She felt horrible, her body ached, her stomach cramped. She felt like she was on fire and she wanted Stryker.

W
hen her mom
and dad returned they found her alone in the cubicle crying into her pillow.

Her mother tried to calm her then her father tried. She kept mumbling, “It’s not true, it’s not right. He won’t listen.”

Her father never did like seeing her cry and went to find the doctor. He managed to drag him back into her cubicle.

“Libby says you’re mistaken about something with her diagnosis?” her father asked.

“I told your daughter that she might have mentally altered some events in her life to accommodate a need to keep up some kind of appearance. The simple fact is that her tests don’t lie,” the doctor said exasperated.

“He..he…says I’m six weeks pregnant. I’m not! I can’t be,” she wailed. The idea of being pregnant was terrifying. Not that she didn’t want children, but someone telling her she was when there was no physically possible way was frustrating and scary.

Her parents looked shocked at this news. They were staring at each other then back at the doctor.

The doctor clearly over Libby’s denial, pulled a piece of paper from the folder he was holding and handed to Libby.

There in black and white was a tiny blob floating in a black background. The little blob had four tiny blobs on the front of it. It looked like a gummy bear. Her eyes scanned up to the information at the top. It had her name, date of birth, and the words
six weeks gestation
.

“It’s not possible,” she whispered.

The doctor turned to her dad, “A bed for her on the maternity floor is available now. I’ll send someone down to transfer her.” Then he turned and stalked out.

Libby was still staring at the picture. Her father finally spoke, “Liberty Bell, it’s okay. We understand you keeping this from us. We just didn’t know you had been seeing Stryker that long.”

“Libby, sweetie, you don’t need to lie for our sake. We just need to get you better. Do you want us to call Stryker? He should really be here,” her mother said quietly, patting Libby’s shoulder awkwardly.

At Stryker’s name Libby came out of her stupor. “No! Don’t call him. You don’t understand. We had sex for the first time last week! I can’t be pregnant!” Although she was weak she still managed to screech loud enough to cause her parents to look around nervously.

“Okay, Libby, calm down. So it was someone else. He’ll understand, or maybe he won’t,” her mother rethought. “But, you have to tell him if you’re carrying another man’s baby. You do know who the other man is?” her mother nervously asked.

“There is no other man, mom. Stryker was my first, my only, and we had sex for the first time last week!” Libby enunciated every syllable to her mother. She was starting to feel dizzy from shouting.

“Okay, settle down, Libby. Your heart rate is erratic,” her father said.

That was the last thing Libby heard.

The next time she opened her eyes the ceiling was different there were walls instead of fabric surrounding her and her parents were still with her.

“Mom?” she said weakly.

Her mother, who had been leaning over her bed, apparently asleep, pushed herself back. Her eyes scanning her daughter’s face.

“Libby?”

“How long was I out?”

“About eight hours now. They moved you to this room. Your fever is still high, they aren’t sure the medicine is working,” her mom explained.

“Thirsty,” Libby said.

Her mother grabbed a cup with a straw by the bed and offered it to her. The second the cool water that had eased the dryness of her mouth hit her stomach it came right back up.

Libby was dry heaving when the nurse rushed in. They got her cleaned up and her linens changed. The doctor ordered up some anti-nausea medicine.

She was transferred to an OB/GYN doctor when they moved her. Not that she liked the fact they were still thinking she was pregnant.

But at least she didn’t have to see the doctor that practically called her a liar. The new doctor was just working the paperwork from the ER, not his own personal opinions.

The next twenty-four hours had Libby retching through bouts of dry heaving. Her temperature spiking and her tumbling in and out of consciousness.

The few moments she was lucid she’d often cry. Everything was wrong, nothing was how it was supposed to be. She knew if Stryker heard she was pregnant he’d dump her.

What man wouldn’t? He knew how babies were made and he knew when they had sex. He’d never believe she was six weeks pregnant with his baby. Which meant he would think she lied about being a virgin. He’d never want to see her again.

Libby’s body felt like it was crumbling around her. But what hurt worse was the fact that her heart was breaking.

Her parents were always there, helping when they could. Consulting with the doctor, their worry seemed to be escalating every time she saw them.

They both looked tired and strained. She knew it was because they were with her and probably hadn’t gone home. But she didn’t want to be alone. She was scared of falling asleep and not waking up.

Sometimes Libby craved the moments she lost consciousness. It was quiet in her head then. Dark and fuzzy. She floated in that nether not having to deal with the reality when she was awake.

The nurses started doing regular ultrasounds on her. They would wheel in a machine next to the bed. Libby would ask her mom and dad to leave when she was awake during these exams.

The nurses stopped trying to get her to look at the screen, telling her how healthy her baby was. She’d stare at the wall ignoring the nurse.

If she looked then she’d have to admit that her life wasn’t what she thought it was. That she’d blocked something out, that there was time missing from her life six weeks ago. That was too scary of an idea and in her feverish state she was repelled by the idea.

Libby didn’t know, but the times they did the exam and she wasn’t awake for it, her parents stayed. They held hands as they stared at the screen watching the tiny flick of a heart, no bigger than the tip of a pencil. They would hold each other and cry happy but still sad tears. Happy there was another life growing in their daughter and sad that their own baby was suffering.