Nevada Heat (15 page)

"Me? Oh, no. No, no, no…" Ezra's bandanna moved frantically over his flushed face. His pale eyes widened and his head shook violently. "That, uh… wouldn't be uh, seemly, you know. No. Not at all. I, uh…" He hurried around the couple, grabbed the door latch, and pulled it closed behind him. As he stepped onto the porch they heard him say, "I'll be right out here… standing guard. That's what I'll do. Yes. Stand guard. Oh, Lord… help with a baby? No, no…"

The door clicked shut quietly. Miranda smiled. “I know how he feels."

Jesse's lips quirked. So did he.

#

Three hours later Miranda wanted nothing more than to go outside on the boardwalk with Ezra. In fact, she'd much prefer sitting on the cliffs watching for the Indians to attack. Anything would be better than this waiting, she told herself.

She looked over at the bed. In the soft glow of candlelight, Serena Dexter lay pale and ghostly against her pillows. An almost constant frown of discomfort rode her lips, but she hadn't cried out loud since they'd first arrived.

Miranda's gaze moved to Jesse, sitting on the edge of the bed, holding Serena's hand and speaking in quiet, reassuring tones. His long fingers smoothed over the other woman's palm, and when a pain racked her body and she gripped his fingers in a powerful squeeze, he didn't flinch.

He was gentle, kind. Just as she'd known he would be. Miranda smiled as she remembered Serena's surprised expression when Jesse walked into her bedroom. But his soft voice and matter-of-fact attitude had wiped away any trace of awkwardness. And, Miranda told herself, Serena had been so anxious to deliver the child, she was more than willing for anyone's help.

But how much longer could this go on? Jesse kept saying that it wouldn't be long. The pains were closer now. And harder. The last one had reduced Serena to pitiful whimpering. And every time Serena's back arched with a new spasm, Miranda cringed in sympathy. She couldn't understand why any woman would willingly go through such agony over and over. Surely the birth of one child would be enough to convince them never to do it again!

Serena moaned and Miranda knew that simply witnessing a birth was more than enough for her. Her wishful imaginings for a child of her own had faded with the onslaught of each new pain.

Jesse suddenly jumped up and moved to the foot of the bed. Serena's head twisted from side to side on the wet, pillow and her hands clutched at her upraised knees. Miranda hurried to the other woman's side and stood helplessly, waiting for instructions.

"Jesse…" Serena breathed his name, inhaled sharply and groaned.

“It's all right, Serena. Everything's fine." His voice was deep, calm.

He lifted the sheet covering Serena's body from the waist down and Miranda looked away, embarrassed. Somehow she'd never really imagined everything that actually went on at a birth. And it seemed to her that the loss of one's dignity was every bit as terrible as the pain.

“I think we're about to meet your little Dexter, Serena." Jesse lowered the sheet again and smiled at her. "And whoever he is, he's got lots of black hair."

“Like her daddy." Serena smiled and licked her lips. Her back arched, she groaned and struggled to sit up, pulling at her knees.

“Don't be in such a hurry now, Serena," Jesse whispered. “Let him come in his own time." He looked over at Miranda. “Sit behind her. Prop her up. It'll make it easier for her to push this child out when it's time."

Miranda swallowed, nodded, and did as she was told. Once set, she smoothed Serena's matted hair back from her face and tried to smile. Jesse glanced up at the two women then turned back to the baby.

“He's on his way now, darlin'." He looked up, smiling. “It’s almost over, Serena. Just a little ways to go now."

"Want… to… see… her…" Serena's voice was raspy, dry. She struggled up determinedly and Miranda helped her.

Jesse smiled. "Don't blame ya. After all this work, you ought to be the first to see him."

"Her."

He grinned. "We'll see who's right, won't we?"

Then he pushed the plain white sheet down so that Serena's view of her baby's birth would he a clear one.

Sitting behind her friend, feeling the spasms of pain shake through her, Miranda, too, stared down at the juncture of Serena's thighs. Embarrassment forgotten, she was completely caught up in the slow emergence of a tiny head. Miranda's jaw dropped.

"Oh, Serena," she whispered, "here he comes."

Dancing candlelight flickered across Jesse's features. His hair fell over his forehead and his eyes were shining when he looked up at Serena. "All right now, darlin', you're gonna have to give him a little push out of the nest now."

Serena obliged, the veins in her neck standing out with her effort. Awed by the strength flowing from the tiny woman, Miranda held her as gently as possible. And then it happened.

The three adults watched in fascinated silence as the baby's head appeared. Slowly, magically, while cradled in Jesse's strong fingers, the baby turned.

Miranda held her breath as Serena gave her child the final push it needed to join the world. An angry howl shattered the silence and Serena laughed gently at the healthy sound. Tears filled Miranda's eyes and she blinked frantically, trying to clear them.

The tiny, bloodied baby lay across Jesse's palms, its small legs and arms waving furiously. After setting his precious burden down on the sheets, Jesse hurriedly cut and tied the birth cord. All the while Miranda could hear him talking softly to the new baby and chuckling at the child's screams.

A swell of love and fierce envy raced through her and Miranda suddenly understood why women could endure such pain. To be able to feel such a tiny burst of life slip from your body and live on its own… yes, it would be worth almost anything. Well, she thought… maybe.

"Jesse?" Serena's arms reached out for her baby. “Is it a girl?"

Miranda watched him reluctantly pull his gaze from the screaming infant and smile at its mother. "You lose the bet, Serena. It's a fine, big boy. You want me to keep him?”

"A boy. A son." Serena tipped her head back and grinned up at Miranda. “I have a son!"

Miranda kissed her friend's forehead. "A beautiful son."

Jesse looked down at the baby and smiled as he lifted him from the bed. "Well, guess that means your mama wants you after all, boy!" The baby screamed even louder and Jesse laughed. "Hungry already!" He looked over at the women. "Miranda, come here and get this little squaller while I take care of his mama."

She eased out from behind Serena, laying the woman down on her pillows. A quick glance told her that the lines of strain and fatigue were already fading from Serena's features. A soft smile wreathed the woman's face as she lay perfectly still, listening to her son's indignant cries.

"I think this child needs a bath before he goes callin' on his mother." Jesse tenderly laid the baby in Miranda's arms. He seemed reluctant to let go though and ran one finger down the boy's cheek. "Ain't he somethin'?" he whispered to no one in particular.

“Yes,” Miranda answered softly, “he is."

Her gaze slid up to his and she wasn't the least surprised to see a sheen of dampness in his eyes. "Thank you, Jesse."

He looked down at her for a long, quiet moment. Then he reached out with one hand and touched her cheek as he had the baby’s. “No, M'randa. Thank you."

Chapter 9

Shelly cuddled in closer, resting her cheek against his chest. Dave smiled and ran his hand softly up and down her arm. He glanced up at the cloudless night sky, shivered, and held Shelly tighter. Listening for a long moment to her deep, regular breathing, he counted himself a lucky man, frostbite or no. If it wasn't so durn cold, he knew Shelly would never be snuggling up next to him. Asleep or awake. At least not yet.

He grinned and laid his head back against the rocks. It was amazing how much better he felt for having told her he loved her. Oh, Dave knew it hadn't changed a damn thing. She still watched him like he was a loco dog. But still, it was good to have your cards on the table. Now she knew exactly what he had in mind.

And she could start gettin' used to the idea.

He shifted position slightly then held perfectly still when Shelly stirred. He didn't want to wake her up just yet. He wanted to enjoy holding her for a while.

Dave kissed the top of her head gently and inhaled the soft, clean scent of her. Hell, maybe she and Buck were right. Maybe he was crazy.

But he'd never wanted anyone or anything in his life the way he wanted Shelly Port. Almost from the minute he'd seen her in Big Pete's place, he'd made up his mind to have her. He wanted to take her home to Texas. He wanted to build a life with her. Have lots of babies together, then grow old and watch their babies' babies. There was so much he wanted to give her. To tell her.

His smile disappeared. What would she say when she knew the truth about him? Would she fear him even more than she did already?

She sighed and nestled her head against him.

A fierce, protective surge of love rushed through Dave and he just managed to keep from squeezing her in response. There was only one thing he could do. He had to make her trust him. Love him. And he had to do it quick. Before it was time for him and Buck to leave the canyon behind forever.

#

“What d'ya think, Birdwell?" Buck asked quietly. “They gonna hit us or not?"

Birdwell stretched his massive body and tried to find a comfortable spot on the rocks. He glanced over at the man next to him and studied him thoughtfully in the moonlight. "Hell, I don't know any more than' you do," he said finally. "Them Indians are notional. Never know what they're fixin' to do. Don't believe they know till just before they do it.”

"Maybe so." Buck nodded and stared out over the desert floor below. Between the yuccas, the ocotillo, and the Joshua trees, there were enough shadows to disguise a troop of cavalry, let alone a small raiding party. He shook his head. They'd never spot an Apache anyways, unless the Indian wanted 'em to.

He thought fleetingly of Dave and hoped the man had his eyes open to more than Shelly. Buck snorted. Who woulda thought that ol’ Dave would go all doe-eyed over some woman in a bandits' holdout? Wait'll the folks back in Texas heard about it! If they ever got back to Texas. Shit, this little job of theirs had already lasted months longer than they'd planned. They were supposed to have finished up long ago. Hell, the boys back home prob'Iy figured they was dead.

"Somethin' wrong?"

Buck turned to face the big man. He'd have to be more careful about what he was thinkin'. Birdwell noticed too damn much.

"Nah." He said the first thing that popped into his head. “Just thinkin' about Dave and Shelly… trapped on the other side of the wash together."

Birdwell smiled. "Don't envy Dave any. That Shelly's a wildcat sometimes."

"He don't seem to mind."

"No, he don't." Birdwell shook his head. “Never can tell.. He just might wear 'er down."

“Maybe.” Buck didn't really want to talk about Dave. As long as he and Birdwell were stuck together on the cliff, maybe there were a few other things he could find out. Carefully he said, “What about Miranda?"

The older man's eyes snapped to Buck. “What d'ya mean?"

"Oh, nothin', nothin'." Buck held up both hands. “Just wonderin' how her and Jesse are makin' out with Serena."

"Oh." Birdwell relaxed a little, his gaze sweeping out to the desert. "All right, I s'pose."

"You ever hear of this fella before now?"

"Who, Jesse?"

"Yeah."

"No, I never."

"Don't you think that's a little peculiar?" Buck shifted uneasily under Birdwell's curious stare. “I mean most of the fellas that come here're known to somebody."

"S'pose that's true," "Birdwell said slowly "'Course, I never heard of you and Dave neither."

Buck cleared his throat. “Yeah, but we told you that we was in prison with Sonora Mike. You knew him."

“Yeah, but Mike's dead. He ain't likely to up and call you two liars, now, is he?"

"Well, no… Birdwell, are you sayin' we lied?"

"No, I ain't, Buck." Birdwell stared at the man steadily. "All I'm sayin' is I don't know you two any more than I do Jesse. And at least Jesse had Jim Sully to speak for him."

Buck swallowed.

“And as long as we're talkin', Buck…" Birdwell rubbed one hand over his full beard. “I might's well tell ya, there's one or two things about all three of ya that don't sit right."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just that I’m keepin' my eye on all of ya." "He leaned back, cradled his shotgun in his beefy arms, and closed his eyes. “Y'see, it's almighty strange to me how come none of ya find the time to bring in a little money before winter."

"But-"

“And none of ya seem too anxious to talk to the others."