Maggie's Dad (13 page)

“And afterward?” she asked, clinging to Powell's strong hand.

“I can't make any promises.” He looked at her file, frowning. “You have a rare blood type, which makes it even more dangerous….”

“Rare blood type?” she echoed. “I thought Type O positive was garden variety.”

He stared at her. “Yours is not O positive—it's much more rare.”

“It is not!” she argued, surprised. “Dr. Claridge, I certainly do know my own blood type. I had an accident when I was in my teens and they had to give me blood. You remember,” she told Powell. “I wrecked my bike and cut a gash in my thigh on some tin beside the house.”

“I remember,” he said.

She looked back at Dr. Claridge. “You can check with Dr. Harris. He'll tell you I'm Type O.”

He was frowning as he read the test results again.
“But, this is your file,” he said to himself. “This is the report that came back from the lab. The names match.” He buzzed his nurse and had her come in and verify the file.

“Have we ever done a complete blood profile on Antonia in the past?” he asked. “There's no record of one here.”

“No, we haven't,” the nurse agreed.

“Well, do one now. Something is wrong here.”

“Yes, sir.”

The nurse went out and came back a minute later with the equipment to draw blood. She drew two vials.

“Get a rush on that. Get a local lab to do it. I want to know something by morning,” he told her.

“Yes, sir.”

The doctor turned back to Antonia. “Don't get your hopes up too high,” he said. “It might be a misprint on the blood type and everything else could still be correct. But we'll double-check it. Meanwhile,” he added, “I think it would be wise to wait until tomorrow to make any more decisions. You can call me about ten. I should know something then.”

“I'll do that. Thank you.”

“Remember. Don't expect too much.”

She smiled. “I won't.”

“But, just on the off chance, has anyone you've been in contact with had infectious mononucleosis lately?”

She blinked. “Why, yes. One of my female students
had it a few weeks ago,” she said. “I remember that her mother was very concerned because the girl had played spin the bottle at a party. Ten years old, can you imagine…?” She laughed nervously.

He went very still. “Did you come into contact with any of her saliva?”

She chuckled weakly. “I don't go around kissing my girls.”

“Antonia!”

“We shared a soda,” she recalled.

He began to smile. “Well, well. Of course, there's still the possibility that we're no better off, but mono and leukemia are very similar in the way they show up in blood work. A lab technician could have mixed them up.”

“It might have been a mistake?” she asked hope fully.

“Maybe. But only maybe. We can't discount the other symptoms you've had.”

“A maybe is pretty good,” she said. “What are the symptoms of mononucleosis?”

“Same as leukemia,” he confirmed. “Weakness, sore throat, fatigue, fever…” He glanced at Powell and cleared his throat. “And highly contagious.”

Powell smiled crookedly. “I wouldn't care.”

The doctor chuckled. “I know how you feel. Well, go home, Antonia. We'll know something in the morning. The labs are careful, but mistakes can happen.”

“If only this is one,” she said huskily. “Oh, if only!”

When they were outside, Powell held her hand tight in his, and paused to bend and kiss her very gently on her mouth.

“I can't think of anything I'd rather have than mononucleosis,” he remarked.

She smiled tearfully. “Neither can I!”

“You're sure about that blood type.”

“Positive.”

“Well, we'll cross our fingers and pray. Right now, let's get some lunch. Then we might go for a drive.”

“Okay.”

He took her back to his hotel for lunch and then they drove out of town, through the Saguaro National Monument and looked at the giant cacti. The air was cold, but the sun was out and Antonia felt a little more hopeful than she had before.

They didn't talk. Powell simply held her hand tight in his and the radio played country and western music.

 

Barrie was home when they drove up to her apartment building. She was surprised to see Powell, but the expression on his face and on Antonia's made her smile.

“Good news, I hope?” she asked.

“I hope so,” Antonia said.

Barrie frowned, and then Antonia realized that she didn't know what was going on.

“We're getting married,” Powell said, covering for her.

“We are?” Antonia asked, shocked.

“You said yes, remember? What else did you think I meant when I started talking about children?” he asked haughtily. “I won't live in sin with you.”

“I didn't ask you to!”

“Good. Because I won't. I'm not that kind of man,” he added, and he smiled at her with a new and exciting tenderness.

Antonia caught her breath at the warmth in the look he gave her, tingling from head to toe with new hope.
Please God,
she thought,
let this be a new beginning.

Barrie was smiling from ear to ear. “Do I say congratulations?”

“Does she?” Powell asked Antonia.

Antonia hesitated. She knew that Powell only wanted her; maybe he felt sorry for her, too. He hadn't really had time to get used to the possibility that she might die. His motives disturbed her. But she'd never stopped loving him. Would it be so bad to marry him? He might learn to love her, if there was enough time.

“I'll tell you tomorrow,” she promised.

He searched her eyes quietly. “It will be all right,” he promised. “I know it.”

She didn't. She was afraid to hope. But she didn't argue.

“There's a nice film on television tonight, if you're
staying,” Barrie told Powell. “I thought I'd make popcorn.”

“That's up to Antonia,” he said.

Antonia smiled at him. “I'd like you to stay.”

He took off his hat. “I like butter on my popcorn,” he said with a grin.

I
t was the longest night of Antonia's life. Powell went to his hotel at midnight, and she went to bed, still without having told Barrie what she had to face in the morning.

After Barrie went to work, Antonia got dressed. When Powell came for her at nine, she was more than ready to sit in the doctor's waiting room. She wasn't about to trust the telephone about anything that important. And apparently, neither was he.

They drove around until ten, when they went to Dr. Harris's office for their appointment. They sat in his waiting room and waited patiently through an emergency until he invited Antonia into his office, with Powell right behind her.

They didn't need to ask what he'd found. He was grinning from ear to ear.

“You're garden variety Type O,” he told her without preamble, smiling even wider at her delight as she hugged an equally jubilant Powell. “Furthermore, I called the lab that did the blood work before, and they'd just fired a technician who kept mixing up test results. Yours was one he did. The other assistants turned him in, apparently. They're very professional. They don't tolerate sloppy work.”

“Oh, thank God!” Antonia burst out.

“I'm very sorry for the ordeal you've had because of this,” he added.

“I hid my head in the sand,” she said. “If I'd come right in for treatment, and you'd done more blood work, you'd have discovered it sooner.”

“Well, there is some bad news,” he added with a rueful smile. “You really do have mononucleosis.”

Dr. Claridge explained the course of the disease, and then warned them again about how contagious mono was.

“I've seen this run through an entire school in the cafeteria in the old days,” he recalled. “And sometimes people spend weeks in bed with it. But I don't believe that'll be necessary in your case. I don't think you will lose a lot of work time.”

“She won't have to worry about that,” Powell said. “She's marrying me. She won't have to work. And I don't think she'll mind a few days in bed, getting rid of the infection.”

She looked up at his suddenly grim face and realized that he was going through with the marriage regardless of her new diagnosis. It didn't make sense for a minute, and then it made terrible sense. He'd given his word. He wouldn't go back on it, no matter what. His pride and honor were as much a part of his makeup as his stubbornness.

“We'll talk about that later,” she said evasively. “Dr. Claridge, I can't thank you enough.”

“I'm just happy to be able to give a cheerful prognosis on your condition now,” he said with genuine feeling. “These things happen, but they can have tragic consequences. There was such a lab work mix-up in a big eastern city many years ago…it caused a man to take his own life out of fear. Generally I encourage people to have a second blood test to make sure. Which I would have certainly done in your case, had you come back to see me sooner,” he added deliberately.

She flushed. “Yes. Well, I'll try to show a little more fortitude in the future. I was scared to death and I panicked.”

“That's a very human reaction,” Dr. Claridge assured her. “Take care. If you have any further problems, let me know.”

“We'll be going back to Bighorn,” Powell said. “But Dr. Harris will be in touch if he needs to.”

“Good man, Harris,” Dr. Claridge said. “He was very concerned about you when he contacted me. He'll be happy with the new diagnosis.”

“I'm sure he will. I'll phone him the minute I get home and tell him,” Antonia added.

They left the doctor's office and Antonia paused on the sidewalk to look around her with new eyes. “I thought I'd lost everything,” she said aloud, staring with unabashed delight at trees and people and the distant mountains. “I'd given up. And now, it's all new, it's all beautiful.”

He caught her hand in his and held it tight. “I wish I'd known sooner,” he said.

She smiled faintly. “It was my problem, not yours.”

He didn't answer that. He could tell from her attitude that she was going to try to back out of their wedding. Well, he thought, she was going to find that it was more difficult than she imagined. He had her. He wasn't letting go now.

“If you're hungry, we can have something to eat. Late breakfast or early lunch, whichever you like. But first, we'll get these filled,” he added, putting the prescriptions into his pocket.

 

They filled the prescriptions and then went straight to Powell's hotel, and up in the elevator to his luxurious suite overlooking the Sonoran Desert.

“We can eat up here, and we can talk in private,” he said, “without prying eyes. But first, I want to phone your father.”

“My father? Why?”

He picked up the telephone, got an outside line and dialed. “Because he knew,” he said.

“How?”

He glanced at her. “I made him phone Dr. Harris. We both felt that something was wrong. He wanted to rush down here, but I didn't want you to know… Hello, Ben? There was a mix-up at the lab. She has mononucleosis, not cancer, and she'll be back on her feet in no time.” He smiled at the excitement on the other end of the line. “He wants to talk to you,” he said, holding out the receiver.

“Hi, Dad,” Antonia said softly, glaring at Powell. “I didn't know you knew.”

“Powell wouldn't rest until he had the truth. It is the truth, this time?” Ben asked sharply. “It really was a mistake?”

“It really was, thank God,” she said with genuine relief. “I was scared to death.”

“You weren't the only one. This is wonderful news, girl. Really wonderful news! When are you coming back? Powell tell you Maggie was going to tell the truth? You can get your old job back.”

She glanced at Powell warily. He was listening, watching, intently. “Nothing's definite yet. I'll phone you in a day or two and let you know what I decide to do. Okay?”

“Okay. Thank God you're all right,” he said heavily. “It's been a hell of a couple of days, Antonia.”

“For me, too. I'll talk to you soon. Love you, Dad.”

“Love you.”

She hung up, turning to glare at Powell. “You had to interfere!”

“Yes, I did,” he agreed. “I agree with your father—I don't like secrets, either.”

He took off his hat, holding her gaze the whole time. He looked incredibly grim. He slipped off his jacket and his tie, and loosened the top buttons of his shirt, exposing a dark, muscular chest thick with black hair.

The sight of him like that brought back long-buried needs and hungers.

“What are you doing?” she asked when his belt followed the rest and he'd dropped into a chair to shed his boots.

“Undressing,” he said. He got back up again and moved toward her.

She started to sidestep, but she was seconds too late. He picked her up and carried her into the bedroom. He threw her onto the bed, following her down with a minimum of exertion.

With his arms on either side of her supporting his weight, she was trapped.

“Powell…”

His black eyes were faintly apologetic. “I'm sorry,” he murmured as his mouth eased down against hers.

In the old days, their lovemaking had been passionate, but he'd always been the one to draw back. His reserve was what had convinced her later that he hadn't loved her.

Now, there was no reserve at all, and he was kissing her in a way he never had. His lips didn't
cherish, they aroused, and aroused violently. He made her tremble with longings she'd never felt, even with him. His hands were as reckless as his mouth, touching, invading, probing, against her naked skin while the only sounds in the room were his quick, sharp breaths and the thunder of his heart beating against her bare breasts.

She didn't even realize he'd half undressed her. She was too involved in the pleasure he was giving her to care about anything except that she wanted him to have access to her soft, warm skin. She needed the feel of his mouth on her, ached for it, hurt to have it. She arched up against him, moaning when the pleasure became more than she could bear.

Vaguely she was aware that a lot of skin was touching other skin. She felt the warm strength of his body against hers and there didn't seem to be any fabric separating them anymore. The hair on his long legs brushed her bare ones as he separated them and moved so that he was lying completely against her in an intimacy they'd never shared.

She panicked then, freezing when she felt his aroused body in intimate contact with her own.

His mouth softened on hers, gentled, so tender that she couldn't resist him. His hands smoothed up and down her body, and he smiled against her lips.

“Easy,” he whispered, lifting his head so that he could see her wet, dazed eyes. His hips moved and she stiffened. “Does that hurt?” he asked softly.

She bit her lower lip. Her hands clenched against his hard arms. “It…yes.”

“You're embarrassed. Shocked, too.” He brushed his lips against hers as he moved again, tenderly, but even so, the pain was there again and she flinched. His eyes searched hers and the look on his face became strained, passionate, almost grim. “I guess it has to hurt this time,” he said unsteadily, “but it won't for long.”

She swallowed. “It's…wrong.”

He shook his head. “We're going to be married. This is my insurance.”

“In…surance?” She gasped, because he was filling her…

“Yes.” He moved again, and this time she gasped because it was so sweet, and her hips lifted to prolong it. “I'm giving you a baby, Antonia,” he breathed reverently, and even as the words entered her ear, his mouth crushed down over hers and his body moved urgently, and the whole world dissolved in a sweet, hot fire that lifted her like a bird in his arms and slung her headlong up into the sky…

 

He didn't
look
guilty. That was her first thought when his face came into vivid focus above her. He was smiling, and the expression in his black eyes made her want to hit him. She flushed to the very roots of her hair, as much from the intimacy of their position as from her memories of the past few hectic, unbelievably passionate minutes.

“That settles all the arguments you might have against marriage, I trust?” he asked outrageously. He drew a strand of damp blond hair over her nose playfully. “If we'd done this nine years ago, nothing could have come between us. It was sweeter than I dreamed it would be, and believe me, I dreamed a lot in nine years.”

She sighed heavily, searching his black eyes. They were warm and soft now and she waited for the shame and guilt to come, but it didn't. It was very natural to lie naked in his arms and let him look at her and draw his fingers against her in lazy, intimate caresses.

“No arguments at all?” he asked at her lips, and kissed her gently. “You look worried.”

“I am,” she said honestly. Her wide eyes met his. “I'm midway between periods.”

He smiled slowly. “The best time,” he mused.

“But a baby so soon…!”

His fingers covered her lips and stopped the words. “So late,” he replied. “You're already twenty-seven.”

“I know, but there's Maggie,” she said miserably. “She doesn't like me. She won't want me there at all…and a baby, Powell! It will be so hard on her.”

“We'll cross bridges when we come to them,” he said. His eyes slid down her body and back up and desire kindled in their black depths again. His face began to tauten, his caresses became arousing. When she shivered and a soft moan passed between
her parted lips, he bent to kiss them with renewed hunger.

“Can you take me again?” he whispered provocatively. “Will it hurt?”

She slid closer to him, feeling the instant response of his body, feeling him shiver as she positioned her body to accept his. She looked into his eyes and caught her breath when he moved down.

He stilled, watching her, his heartbeat shaking them both. He lifted and pushed, watched. Her eyes dilated and he eased down again, harder this time, into complete possession.

She gasped. But her hands were pulling at him, not pushing. He smiled slowly and bent to cover her mouth with his. There had never been a time in his life when he felt more masculine than now, with her soft cries in his ear and her body begging for his. He closed his eyes and gave in to the glory of loving her.

 

Eventually they had lunch and went to Barrie's apartment when she was due home. One look at them told the story, and she hugged Antonia warmly.

“Congratulations. I told you it would work out one day.”

“It worked out, all right,” Antonia said, and then told her friend the real reason why she'd come back to Arizona.

Barrie had to sit down. Her green eyes were wide,
her face drawn as she realized the agony her friend had suffered.

“Why didn't you tell me?” she burst out.

“For the same reason she didn't tell me,” Powell murmured dryly, holding Antonia's hand tight in his. “She didn't want to worry anyone.”

“You idiot!” Barrie muttered. “I'd have made you go back to the doctor.”

“That's why I didn't tell you,” Antonia said. “I would have told you eventually, though.”

“Thanks a lot!”

“You'd have done exactly the same thing, maybe worse,” Antonia said, unperturbed, as she grinned at Barrie. “You have to come to the wedding.”

“When is it?”

“Ten in the morning, day after tomorrow, at the county courthouse here,” Powell said with a chuckle. “I have the license, Dr. Claridge did the blood work this morning and we're going back to Bighorn wearing our rings.”

“I have a spare room,” Barrie offered.

Powell shook his head. “Thanks, but she's mine now,” he said possessively, searching Antonia's face with quick, hungry eyes. “I'm not letting her out of my sight.”