Perfect Timing (37 page)

“Quincy? Are ye all right, then?”

Her husband raised his head and she saw embarrassment in his eyes. “Just felt a little light-headed for a second. You were wonderful, honey. I was so proud of you. You didn’t know what to expect, and neither did I, but you were terrific.”

His praise warmed her right through. She began to thank him when Dr. Stevenson came back, and one look at her face told Ceara that she was bringing joyful news.

Quincy hadn’t been wrong in his estimation. Ceara was about two and a half months along. The doctor asked her to lie on the table again. “I almost forgot to share with you the most wonderful part of this visit, and it’s going to be a very special treat.”

After Ceara was prone again, Stevenson pushed up her blouse and tugged down the elastic bands of her skirt and panties to bare her midsection. Then Quincy was invited to put the stethoscope to his wife’s flat abdomen to listen to his child’s heartbeat. He wasn’t sure whether he was hearing a tiny heart or the protest of Ceara’s stomach to a breakfast of three-bean salad and ice cream.

“I hear diddly-squat,” he told the doctor.

She smiled and plucked the stethoscope tips out of his ears and inserted them into her own. “Slowly circle with the chest piece,” she told him. “Slowly, and then pause, slowly and then pause.” Quincy circled, stopped, circled, stopped. “
There
. Don’t move it.” Stevenson put the prongs back in his ears. “Now you should hear it. Very faint right now, but that’s quite normal.”

At first, all Quincy caught was the gurgle and churn of Ceara’s stomach, but then, like a glimmer of a miracle, he finally heard a rhythmic beat, so faint, as the doctor said, that it was really hard to pick up on. Quincy wanted to hear a damned
thud-thud-thud
, something to tell him his kid was okay. But this was normal, the doc said. A tiny little heart, pumping in a minuscule body not yet all the way formed.

A huge grin spread over his face, making his cheeks almost hurt with the stretch. He kept the chest piece pressed to that exact spot and glanced up at Stevenson. “Put the prongs in Ceara’s ears, please. I want her to hear it.”

The doctor chuckled softly and did as Quincy asked. Lying on her back, Ceara squeezed her face into an expression of pained concentration, her eyes closed. And then, with a radiant smile, she lifted her lashes. “I hear it!” she cried. “Me babe’s heart. ’Tis so tiny a sound.”

“Your baby is still very small,” Stevenson said. With a smile she added, “But the perfect size for two and a half months.” She glanced at her chart. “My notes say you feared that this might be a high-risk pregnancy. Can you explain why?”

Quincy cleared his throat. “I do have a concern.” He avoided meeting his wife’s gaze. “Ceara . . . um . . . well,
we
have been drinking of an evening. Not a lot, really. Ceara usually had, oh, say, four to six ounces. Only wine or champagne, never any hard stuff. But Saturday before last—she didn’t know she was pregnant, you understand—she drank at least a full bottle of wine, maybe a little more than that.” Quincy’s throat had gone scratchy. “I know drinking is bad for the fetus. Should we be worried about our baby?”

Ceara gasped and clamped a protective hand over her stomach. “Wine, ’tis bad for me babe?”

Dr. Stevenson smiled. “Countless women drink before they realize they’re pregnant.” She directed her gaze at Quincy. “And many overindulge before they know. I won’t say that’s
good
for the baby. Alcohol the mother takes in goes straight to the fetus, and the fetus metabolizes the alcohol much more slowly than the mother does, meaning the alcohol content of its blood remains high for a much longer period of time, with the propensity to cause harm.”

Ceara’s eyes filled with tears, and she shot a frantic glance at Quincy.

“But!”
Stevenson held up a staying hand and smiled. “In my experience, mothers who imbibe prior to realizing they’re pregnant and quit drinking all alcohol as soon as they do realize rarely deliver babies with problems. In short, Ceara, if you don’t drink any alcohol from now on, plus stay away from caffeine and nicotine, I have every reason to believe your baby will be delivered in perfect health.”

* * *

On the way home, Quincy stopped at a medical supply store and purchased a good-quality stethoscope so he and Ceara could listen to their baby’s heartbeat at home. Before he allowed his wife to dash upstairs to lie on the bed and do just that, he told her they had some phone calls to make.

“Calls?” Standing in the kitchen archway in a ready-to-go stance, she fixed him with a puzzled gaze. “What is so important that we must make calls this verra moment?”

Quincy’s heart squeezed just looking at her. “Have I told you today how much I love you?”

“Nay.”

“Well, I do, more than I ever thought it’d be possible to love anyone.” Quincy waited a beat. “Do you feel the same about me?”

Her eyes shimmered like blue sapphires. “When ye walk into a room, the sight of ye makes me heart do a happy jig.”

Quincy really wanted to hear the words
I love you, too
, but he guessed she wasn’t quite ready to say them. “As for the phone calls”—he paused for emphasis—“we are
pregnant
.” He jabbed his chest and leveled a finger at her. “You and me, doll face. We’re going to have a baby!”

Her countenance lit up as if a candle flame flickered within her. “Yes,” she agreed, touching her belly. “A babe! ’Tis a miracle, fer certain.”

“And news we should share with family. We need to call my dad and Dee Dee first and then trickle down through the hierarchy until we’ve shared the fabulous news with everyone we love.”

Her smile dimmed. “What of me family? ’Twould be grand if we could tell me mum and da.”

Quincy wished with all his heart that were possible. He knew she sorely missed her own family, and he guessed that no amount of love and acceptance from his would ever make up for the loss. A sudden idea occurred to him. “How’s about we invite everyone over to celebrate with us, and you can ask Loni if she could . . .” Quincy wasn’t precisely sure how to phrase it. “Well, you know, hook you in with your mother?”

Ceara’s expression brightened. “What time is it?”

Quincy glanced at his watch. “Twelve thirty. Why?”

“’Tis eight hours later in Ireland, and me mum is old so she seeks her bed fair early. Do ye think Loni could hurry to get here?”

Quincy rang his sister-in-law on his cell. “Ceara and I are throwing an impromptu celebration today, inviting the whole family, and Ceara would like you to come early, as in right now.” Quincy laughed. “Ah, no, I can’t tell you what we’re celebrating right yet. I have to call Dad and Dee Dee first. You and Clint will hear the news next, and so on down the line.”

“You’re pregnant!”

Quincy winced and held the phone out from his ear. “Don’t tell anyone. Dad deserves to be told first. Go ahead and bring Aliza. I’ll take her out to the arena to meet Beauty while you hook Ceara up with her mother and father to tell them the good news.”

* * *

By the time Quincy finished making his calls, everyone in his family had either guessed or felt certain that a baby was on the way. Both Sam and Mandy thought to bring bottles of sparkling cider for Ceara so she could join in all the family toasts to be made with champagne. Dee Dee showed up with a gigantic jar of dill pickles, which she’d apparently had on hand, and a half gallon of rocky road ice cream, which she insisted all pregnant women loved if they liked chocolate. As Quincy put the tub into his freezer, a vision of Ceara topping rocky road ice cream with artichoke hearts flashed through his head, and his stomach lurched. He’d gone to the market over the weekend and stocked up on anything sour and canned, including sauerkraut, and he had shuddered all the way through checkout.

Clint arrived later than everyone else, because he’d stayed behind to pick Trevor up when he got off the bus. Aliza, who’d been in Quincy’s care since one o’clock, when Loni had shown up, bounced across the kitchen in a five-year-old gallop to leap at her father as if she hadn’t seen him for a week. Clint swung the dark-haired child high into the air, and on the downward loop growled and made gobbling sounds as he pretended to devour her belly. Aliza shrieked in delight. Watching, Quincy wondered if he’d soon have a beautiful little girl to love. Then his gaze shot to Trev, who’d grown so tall over the last few weeks, his dad was threatening to stack books on his head.
Hmm
. Maybe, Quincy decided, he and Ceara would have a boy. Quincy honestly didn’t care, just as long as the child was healthy.

After setting his daughter back on her feet, Clint glanced around the kitchen, nodding in greeting to Frank and all his brothers. “Where are the ladies?”

Quincy hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “In my office, talking to ghosts. I went in to say hi to Ceara’s parents. Couldn’t see anyone, so it felt a little weird. But according to Loni, they can see us in Ceara’s mum’s crystal ball.”

Frank, lounging at the table with his legs outstretched and crossed at his booted ankles, took a sip of his Jack and Coke. “I went in. Figured I should, since we’re gonna share a grandchild. Like Quincy, I couldn’t see no parents, but maybe they got a gander at me. Hope it didn’t scare ’em to death.”

Clint found a chair between Tucker and Zach. He lifted a black brow at Parker, who sat across the table near Frank. “You go in?”

“Too weird for me, pal. I’m staying right here.”

Clint shrugged. “Nothing weird about it. If Loni says she’s hooking in with them, she’s hooking in.”

“Then get up off your lazy ass and go in to introduce yourself,” Parker replied. “Me, I’m more inclined to avoid conversations with folks who’ve been dead over four hundred years. Gives me the willies just thinking about it.”

Zach laughed and took a long pull from his bottle of Mirror Pond Pale Ale, a brand produced in nearby Bend. “Big pussy. I went in, and I’m not hearing the theme of
Twilight Zone
playing in my ears.”

Clint sighed and set Aliza off his knee. “I reckon it’d please Ceara if we both went in, Parker. It’s her family, after all.”

“And pregnant ladies rule,” Zach inserted.

Parker swore and stood up. “Oh, hell, why not?” He directed a compelling glare at Tucker. “Your ass glued to the chair or something?”

Tucker laughed and pushed erect. “With all the girls already in there, won’t we be overwhelming them with too many new faces at once?”

Quincy checked the steaks he had thawing on the counter. Over his shoulder, he said, “Your faces won’t be new. Ceara’s mother has been watching our whole damned family in her crystal ball for nearly a year, and I’m sure her da has seen all of us, too. That’s how the woman finally determined I was the only bachelor left in our branch of the Harrigan line.”

“You saying two ghosts have been spying on us for months? Uh . . .
all
the time?” Parker sounded none too pleased by the thought. “This family is getting so weird, I could sell tickets.”

Chapter Fifteen

Q
uincy fell in love with being pregnant. Prenatal vitamins. Decaf coffee and tea. Enough cans of sauerkraut in the pantry to hold a Bavarian Biergarten festival at his ranch and feed everyone in Crystal Falls. Jars of baby dills overtaking the shelves as well. Morning sickness, always morning sickness, only Quincy couldn’t quite determine why it was called that, because Ceara grew nauseated at all times of the day or night. Worried consultation with Loni had reassured him that for some women this was quite normal. Privately, he suspected that some of Ceara’s sickness was because no human stomach could tolerate some of the combinations she put into hers. She had developed a passion for pizza, particularly one local pizzeria’s specialty called a Mount Bailey, which was topped with feta, spinach, and artichoke hearts. One night as they watched
Old Yeller
, she cried, tears sliding into her bowl of chocolate ice cream lined with pickle spears—Quincy’s most nightmarish version of chips and dip. He’d learned to will his smeller into inaction, but he hadn’t yet learned not to look.

But, oh, man, he cherished the whole experience. At four months along, Ceara’s nausea abated, and he seriously considered nicknaming her Hoover, because almost overnight she started sucking up food, any kind, with more efficiency than a name-brand vacuum cleaner. She craved crazy stuff, and more than once he made midnight runs to the country store, a corner joint at a deserted junction between his ranch and town, to get his wife weird foods. Peanut butter, because they’d run out, and bananas. One night it had been oven-ready pepperoni pizza. Another time it had been pickled Polish sausages, which made Quincy nearly gag when he bit into one. He brushed three times to get the coating of cold fat off his teeth. Ceara ate all of what remained of the sausages. Quincy couldn’t figure out why she didn’t weigh three hundred pounds, but Dr. Stevenson seemed pleased with her weight and told Quincy that cravings were normal. In other words, if Ceara got a hankering for something, her body probably needed it.

At a little over twenty weeks, Ceara received her first ultrasound. Although the hens had all explained the procedure to her, she’d been baffled by the idea that a picture could be taken of her growing babe. She climbed onto the table readily enough, but Quincy could tell she felt she was humoring him. Once the screen activated, though, and the doctor pointed out the baby, both she and Quincy stared at the screen, fascinated by the blurry images.

“Would you like to know the baby’s gender?” the tech asked with a smile.

Ceara’s eyes widened. “Ye can tell if it be a lad or lass?”

“I can,” the tech replied. “Well, I’m ninety-nine percent sure, anyway.”

Beaming with happiness, Ceara sent an appealing look at Quincy. He nodded at the young woman. “Sure, we’d love to know.”

“You have a little girl.”

Quincy’s heart leaped. Ceara’s smile lit up the darkened room as he pressed his cheek against hers and looked at the screen again. “Look, honey, she’s got your little nose,” Quincy said. Then with a sigh of relief, he added, “Praise God. A girl with my nose—well, that just wouldn’t do at all.”