Prince Charming in Dress Blues (2 page)

“A
re you alone?” he asked.

“I
was,
” she said, then winced. Stupid. She never should have told him that. Should have said her big, burly, football-playing husband and eight of his biggest friends were in the next room. Too late now.

“You’re pregnant,” he said.

“You’re a genius,” she muttered, and reached toward the table. Keeping one eye on him, she fumbled for something else to throw at him.

She’d come out of a fretful sleep to the sounds of someone crashing around in the living room. Fear had shot through her but was quickly swamped by an almost overpowering sense of protectiveness. She would defend herself—and her baby—with everything she had. Even if that was only—she spared a glance at her arsenal—a paperback novel, a pad of paper and a cordless phone.

Oh, God.

Pitiful.

Annie snatched up the phone, reared her arm back to throw it and stopped when he held up both hands, palms out, toward her.

“Cease fire,” he told her.

“Why should I?”

“Because you might hit me.”

“That’s the point.” Really, she’d never expected a burglar to be so chatty. Or so handsome. She mentally erased that thought. His looks had nothing to do with his personality. Weren’t there mobsters once known as Pretty Boy Floyd and Baby Face Nelson?

“Look, lady,” he said, slowly dropping his arms.

She lifted the phone higher, and his arms shot right back up.

“Okay, okay.” He shook his head. “Relax, all right? I’m not going to hurt you.”

“If you
were
going to hurt me, would you admit it?” she asked.

“I guess not,” he admitted. “But that doesn’t change the truth.”

She hoped he was telling the truth, because frankly, she just couldn’t see herself holding him off much longer. The pains in her back were quickening, and she was fast running out of ammunition, anyway. But how to know whether to trust him or not? How could she be sure that he wouldn’t hurt her and her baby?

His eyes, she thought, studying those pale-blue depths that held neither threat nor shadows. She’d always prided herself on being a good judge of character. And those were good eyes. Not necessarily
kind,
but definitely good.

But even as she thought about lowering her weapon, she reminded herself that she’d once looked into Mike Sinclair’s eyes and hadn’t seen him for the rat he was.

“I don’t know what you’re doing here,” he was saying, “but the guy who owns this place is a friend of mine and—”

Aha! she thought, ignoring the flash of pain down low in her back. Now she had him. “What’s his name?” she asked, her gaze narrowing in suspicion.

“Whose name?”

“The owner.” Annie scooted back farther against the headboard, knocking a tumble of pillows to the floor. “You see,
I
happen to know the owner, so I’ll know if you’re lying.”

Slowly, carefully, John lowered his hands to his sides, and when she didn’t threaten him, he drew a deep breath. Tilting his head to one side, he looked at her and asked, “And how do I know that? If I tell you his name, you’ll just say you knew it, anyway.”

“Unless you’re lying.”

“I don’t lie,” he said, and leaned one shoulder against the doorjamb.

A Boy Scout intruder. Though he looked incredibly relaxed and calm for a burglar. And that fact irritated Annie more than she could say. Frowning, she said, “Fine. We’ll each say the owner’s name at the same time.”

A short laugh shot from his throat. “What is this? Second grade?”

She ignored that. “On the count of three. One…two…three.”

“Peter.”

“Lisa.”

They stared at each other. As the reality of what must have happened sunk in, Annie asked, “Peter loaned you the cabin?”

“Yep,” he said, nodding. “And Lisa did the same for you?”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake.”

Another, sharper pain poked at her spine, and Annie winced as she sat up and swung her legs off the edge of the bed. Shooting him a long look, she said, “Well, Peter obviously made a mistake, and you should go.”

“I was here first.”

“Now who’s in second grade?” she demanded.

“Lady…”

“And stop calling me
lady
in that tone.”

“What tone?”

One blond eyebrow lifted into a high arch. “That tone that says, ‘calm down crazy person.’”

He frowned and straightened away from the door. “That’s not what I meant.”

She winced as another ripple of pain unwound inside her, this time rolling from the base of her spine all the way around her immense belly and back again.
Not now,
she silently pleaded with the baby. For pity’s sake, give Mommy a break.

John took half a step forward and stopped dead. She still didn’t trust him, he knew, so she wouldn’t want him offering to catch her when she fainted.

And she was going to faint, he thought. Or worse. His mouth dried up and his throat tightened. He’d watched a wave of pain overtake her. Could actually
see
it grabbing her, tensing her body. Her small, oval-shaped face went so white her pale-blond eyebrows actually stood out in sharp relief against their colorless background.

His gaze dropped briefly to her swollen belly, and John frantically wished himself into the middle of a firefight somewhere. Hell, he’d take flying bullets, exploding mortars and hand grenades anyday…anything had to be better than being stuck in a tiny cabin with a woman about to go into labor.

Just thinking the word
labor
sent his stomach on a sharp plunge to his feet. At last he understood the expression
a sinking feeling.
It was kind of like stepping unknowingly into the La Brea Tar Pits. Every move you made only sucked you in deeper. There was no escape. Just the inevitable. The only question was, how long would it take you to go down?

“Are you all right?” he asked, hoping to God she’d say, Sure. Just a little toothache.

“Do I
look
all right?” she asked, lifting her head long enough to slide him a glare that should have toasted him on the spot.

“Actually,” he said, with an inward sigh, “no.”

Her lips twisted into a mocking smile. “Gee, thanks.”

Then she groaned and clapped one hand to her middle.

All the air left John’s lungs.

“C’mon, sweetie,” she murmured, smoothing one hand up and down over her stomach, “not now, okay?”

“It’s labor, isn’t it?” he asked when he’d managed to suck more air into his body.

She laughed shortly. “Well, I’ve never done this before, so I can’t be sure, but yeah. That’s my guess. I’ve been having a backache all day but the pain seems to be coming every few minutes now.”

“Swell.”

The little blonde shot him a bland look. “Gee, I’m sorry to inconvenience you.”

Shame swamped him. Here he was thinking about himself, when this woman was about to make a new human being. Well, hell, you couldn’t blame a guy, could you? He’d come to this cabin for a little peace and quiet. Not to be the first Marine midwife in history.

“I think you should take me to the closest hospital,” she said, scooting carefully off the bed.

If only he could. “There’s a problem.”

“Problem?” she echoed as she tried to slip her right foot back into a sadly misshapen loafer.

“We’re not going anywhere,” he said and watched realization dawn on her face with each of his words. Damn, it cost him to break this to her, but better she know straight-out that
he
was as close to a doctor as she’d be seeing tonight. God help her.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, the storm has turned into a blizzard. There are drifts of snow blocking the driveway, and I’m pretty sure the roads are in no better shape.”

Her blue eyes widened, and she shot a quick look at the nearest window. Outside, the wind hammered at the glass like an angry old man demanding entry.

“Well, find a snowplow.”

“I don’t have one.”

“What kind of mountain cabin doesn’t have a snow plow?”

Pointless to wish for things they didn’t have, he thought. “I’ll mention it to Pete next time I see him.” Along with a few other things, like making sure the cabin was unoccupied
before
you lent it out.

“There can’t be a blizzard,” she said, interrupting his thoughts and swinging her gaze back to him. “I’m having a baby.”

Oh, man. He forced a smile he didn’t feel and told himself she didn’t need to see just how nervous she was making him. The thought of becoming an instant obstetrician didn’t exactly electrify him. But what choice did he have? Hell, what choice did
either
of them have? That baby was coming whether they liked it or not.

And in this situation the baby had the last word.

“Maybe we could call for help,” she said, waving the phone she still held in one hand.

“Good idea,” he said and cursed silently for not thinking of it himself.

“I’ll call 911,” she said to herself as she turned the phone on and dialed. “This is an emergency, right?”

“Oh, yeah, I’d say so,” he told her. Heck, if he had any rocket flares, he’d be firing them about now.

She held the phone up to her ear, and he watched eagerness fade into disbelief and then fear.

“What?” he asked, not really wanting to hear her answer.

“It’s not working.”

“What do you mean it’s not working?” he asked, reaching for the phone.

“It’s not dialing.”

He took it, listened for a long minute, hoping the situation would change, then gave it up. That sinking sensation crawled back into his guts and he wondered if it was going to become a permanent part of him. “The phone’s dead.”

“Oh, God.”

“Don’t worry,” he said, and instantly told himself
how stupid
that
was. Of course she’d worry. She was probably terrified. Having a baby during a blizzard, with the only help available a complete stranger? Those wide blue eyes of hers shone with a glimmer of unshed tears and just a trace of dread. Hell, he was just short of panicking himself. But even as that thought registered, he put it aside. Marines don’t panic, for God’s sake. Marines fight battles. And Marines
win,
by damn.

She licked dry lips and gave him a quick, frantic glance. “Maybe it’s not labor. Maybe it’s gas.”

“You really think so?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head and rubbing her mouth with her fingertips. “Just wishful thinking. Oh, God,” she added in a soft, panic filled murmur, “what am I going to do?”

“We can do this,” he said, making sure his voice sounded firm but comforting.

“
We
can?” she asked, grabbing the phone from him and shaking it as if she could bring it back to life.

“I’ll help any way I can.”

She kept shaking the phone.

He took it from her and set it back into the cradle. “Shaking it won’t help. The line must have gone down.”

“The power line?” she asked.

“No,” he said with a grateful look at the lamplight, “power’s still on. I don’t know for how long, though.”

“This is
not
happening,” she whispered, and sank down onto the edge of the bed.

“Yeah,” John said quietly, “it is.” Though he wished to hell it wasn’t.

She shot him a quick look. “I had this planned, you know.”

“You
planned
this?” He took a seat beside her.

Unbelievably enough, a short laugh shot from her throat. “No, I didn’t plan
this.
I planned how it would be when the baby came.”

John just looked at her. “You can plan that stuff?”

She nodded, more to herself than to him. “You just have to be organized, is all.” She glanced at him and went on. “At home, I have the doctor’s number by the phone, my packed suitcase by the front door and the baby’s layette all pressed and ready.”

“That’s a plan,” he said, and told himself she’d make a halfway decent General.

She folded her hands in what was left of her lap and entwined her fingers. “This isn’t how I thought it would be. I thought I’d be in the hospital. With nurses. With doctors. With
medication.
”

Her voice notched up a bit higher with every word, and he felt the tension inside her escalate. He had to keep her calm. Hysteria wasn’t going to help either of them through this.

“But I’m stuck here. In a cabin. With—” she looked at him. “I don’t even know your name.”

“John,” he told her, offering his right hand. “John Paretti.”

Her bottom lip trembled a bit, and that hit him harder than he would have expected.

She took his hand and said, “Annie. Annie Foster.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“Yeah,” she said, and her mouth quirked into a mocking smile. “I’ll bet. You’re probably wishing you were out in that blizzard somewhere.”

“Nope,” he said, and surprised himself by meaning it. If he wasn’t here, she’d be alone. And he didn’t like the
thought of that at all. Better that he was here. Not that he knew what the hell to do, but at least she wasn’t alone. At least he could be another heartbeat in the cabin. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be at this moment.”

“Really?” she asked, and this time she gave him a genuine smile that hit him like a hard fist to his midsection. “I can think of at least a dozen places I’d rather be.”

“Can’t say as I blame you any,” John said, “but try not to worry.”

“Don’t
worry?
”

“Well, okay,” he said, keeping his voice low and soft, “I guess you’ll worry, anyway. But the point is, at least you’re not alone. We’ll get through this.”

She reached up and pushed one hand through her short cap of blond curls, “
We
will, huh?”

John gave her another smile he hoped looked more convincing than it felt and reached for her hand. “Sure. How hard can it be? People have been having babies for centuries.”

“Yeah,” she murmured, “and I wish some of them were here right now.” He smiled, appreciating a woman who could make jokes when things looked black. “Oh, no…here’s another one….” Then she grabbed at him, curling her fingers into his forearm until each one of her nails dug through the fabric of his jacket and the shirt beneath, to bite into his skin. Man, she had a helluva grip.