Sarah's Child by Linda Howard
He pulled her onto his lap and kissed her, careful not to let his arm touch her stomach; instead, he put his hand on her knees. “I think you’re beautiful,” he said, and she was. She was glowing, her hair lustrous, her skin radiant. He kissed her again, his hand going automatically to her full breasts.
She sighed with pleasure, her lips parting for his. Shaken by her nearness and by the softness of her in his lap, he kept kissing her while he unbuttoned her top and sought the warm satin of her flesh. Her breasts were rounded, growing to fulfill the needs of his child, filling his palm. Her nipples strained to the touch, and she clenched her hands in his hair, kissing him wildly.
“I’m going to explode,” he groaned, pulling his mouth away.
Dr. Easterwood hadn’t told Sarah that she had to abstain yet, but she didn’t try to push Rome into making love to her. That was his decision, and she felt a little shy at the thought anyway. She was no longer slender; she’d feel awkward and not sexy enough for him.
He rebuttoned her blouse, and Sarah knew he’d made his decision. She accepted it without argument, sliding from his lap. “I’m sorry for being such a crybaby,” she apologized, then suddenly realized what she’d said, and that she’d broken her promise.
He gave her an unreadable look, one that made her flinch inside. No matter how she felt, she never mentioned her problems to him again. When the baby began kicking so energetically that she couldn’t sleep at night, she tolerated it in silence. She endured the growing aches and pains in her over-burdened muscles, the total discomfort; though it seemed like forever, she knew that in a matter of weeks it would all be over.
On the first of October Dr. Easterwood told her to stop driving at all, and to get more rest. That was something she had to tell Rome, as that effectively put a stop to working at the store. So instead of being fussed over by Erica and Derek and a steady stream of customers, there was only Mrs. Melton to fuss over her, though Marcie did run up to see about her several times a day. Rome began spending all his evenings at home, though Sarah knew he would normally have at least a few business dinners to attend. Max was covering for him, was all he said when she asked him about it.
Sarah found that she was too lethargic to even miss the store. She read a great deal and tried to decide on baby names, but she really couldn’t concentrate on anything. She slept a lot in the afternoons, because that was when the baby seemed to sleep. At night, it did aerobic exercises.
During the nights, lying awake with only her unborn child for company, Sarah tormented herself, trying to decide if she’d made the right decision. Just the very thought of not having the baby was insupportable; it was Rome’s child, conceived in an act of love, and even before its birth she loved it with a deep devotion that startled her, for somehow she hadn’t expected to feel such a sense of physical ownership. The child was part of her too, an extension of herself. As such, she felt it keenly when Rome rejected the child.
But the decision she’d made, even if it had been the only decision she could make, could blight the child’s life. She knew that Rome’s aversion to it wasn’t one to be taken lightly, that it had been formed in the blackest days of his life. She could still feel his anguish, his deep and utter despair, and even now she cried for him when she remembered the emptiness of his eyes. She had backed him into a corner, forced him to choose between accepting the physical presence of a child he didn’t want, or losing the warmth of his wife’s love, which still seemed so new and fragile to him. He’d never even hoped to find love again, not after the tragedy that had left his life a wasteland; when he did love, he was both astonished and frightened by it. But when faced with a choice, he’d chosen Sarah, even at the cost of considerable emotional pain to himself.
Adoption was an alternative that kept springing to Sarah’s mind, only to make everything in her writhe in rejection. There was no easy answer; no matter what she did, someone would be hurt. If she gave up her child, its loss would haunt her for the rest of her life. If the love Rome felt for her eventually died under the weight of a burden he couldn’t carry, would she come to resent her own baby?
Ever since she’d made the decision to keep the baby, she hadn’t let herself think of all those things. She’d taken each day as it came, not planning too far into the future, ignoring the problems she knew were waiting for her, because she simply couldn’t handle them. All she had been able to do was live in the present, her mind and body preoccupied with the processes of life going on inside her. She’d been kept busy by the store, distracted by the constant company of other people. But now she was spending her days mostly alone, with nothing to do but think, and she was afraid.
If she lost Rome now, what would she do? She’d reached for a miracle when she married him, and found it. To have him walk away from her now would shatter her. Yet she’d risked destroying her marriage, and done it deliberately. Already he was more remote from her, and growing farther apart every day. He was kind, and solicitous of her comfort and health, but the baby prevented any real intimacy with him, and she was beginning to fear that they were merely polite strangers.
The Rome she knew was an impatient, dynamic man; he made things and people move. He’d overcome a horror so great that many men would have buckled under it, broken forever. That Rome wasn’t the polite, carefully controlled man who came home from the office every night, asked if she felt all right, and ignored her for the rest of the evening. What if his distance was the result of indifference, and he wouldn’t approach her even without the bulk of pregnancy as a barrier? Was he simply doing the polite thing and lending her his name until after the baby was born?
Sarah was thankful that the first natural childbirth class that she and Marcie attended came on a night when Rome was on an overnight business trip, so she didn’t have to explain to him where she’d gone. Sarah had put off the classes, hoping against hope that Rome would decide to attend them with her, but at last, time forced her to make a decision. If she didn’t attend the classes soon, the baby would come anyway. She felt shy and awkward about attending the classes so close to term, and she keenly felt Rome’s absence. Marcie was a dear friend, but every other woman in the class was accompanied by her husband, and Sarah intercepted several pitying glances that came her way.
The class made her feel better in one respect: She was near term, but there were a lot of women so swollen with pregnancy that they made her little pumpkin of a stomach look hardly respectable. She patted her unborn child fondly, thinking that she liked it just the way it was.
Rome came home early the next afternoon; he came into the living room where she was sitting with her feet propped on the coffee table while she industriously tried to complete every puzzle in a crossword puzzle book. Placing his briefcase down with controlled movements, he said, “I called you last night, but you weren’t here. Where were you?”
Startled, Sarah looked up at him; then her glance slid away. She’d been wishing that he weren’t so remote, but somehow she’d forgotten just how disconcerting he could be when he pierced someone with those fierce dark eyes. He wasn’t remote now; he was angry.
He unbuttoned his suit jacket and shrugged out of it, tossing it across the back of the sofa. Sitting down across from her, he raked his fingers through his wind-tossed dark hair. “I’m waiting,” he said softly.
Sarah closed the crossword book and laid it aside. “I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you before, but I didn’t know how to bring it up,” she admitted. “Marcie took me to the natural childbirth classes that hospitals give now; she’s going to be my coach. Last night was the first class.”
His mouth tightened, and again she caught the flicker of something deep in his eyes, the same unreadable something that had been there several times before. “I suppose I’m lucky you didn’t ask Max,” he said.
“Rome!” Shocked, a little hurt, she stared at him.
He made an abrupt movement with his hand. “Sorry. I didn’t mean that. Damn!” he swore softly, sliding his hand to the back
“A few more weeks,” she whispered, watching him with her heart in her eyes. “What then?”
He breathed deeply, his powerful chest stretching the fabric of his shirt. There were grim lines in his face, bracketing his mouth. “Then I’ll have my wife back,” he said bluntly.
“I know it’s been difficult for you—”
“No, you don’t know. You don’t have any idea.” His voice grew sharp. “You made it pretty plain when you gave me your ultimatum: Put up with it, or get out. You want that baby more than you want me. I thought about it, harder than I’ve ever thought about anything before in my life, and I came close to leaving, but in the end I decided to take what I could get. I may come in second with you for now, but that state of affairs won’t last. When that baby is out of the way, when I can touch you again, you’re going to be my wife, first and foremost, before anything else. If you can’t live with that, tell me now.”
She sat very still, a little pale, but meeting his gaze unwaveringly. “Your wife is all I’ve ever wanted to be.”
“I don’t want the baby between us. Take care of it, yes, but when I come home at night, your time becomes mine. I want your attention, all of it, without you jumping and running every time it whimpers.”
“Even if it’s sick, or hurt?” Couldn’t he hear his own words? Did he really expect her to ignore her own child?
He winced, as if he suddenly realized what he was asking. “No, of course not.” Shaken, he looked at her. “I don’t know if I can handle it. I want you, only you, the way it was before. I don’t want anyone else intruding.”
“We’ll manage,” she said softly, wanting to put her arms around him and reassure him of her love, but she knew he’d recoil from the pressure of her stomach. But something of what she was thinking must have been in her eyes, because he got to his feet and leaned over her. For the first time in weeks he kissed her, not just a brief touch of his lips to her cheek or forehead, but a deep, intimate kiss. She met it shyly, almost afraid to respond, but he cupped her chin and kissed her again, demanding and receiving the passion that he knew she could give.
“How much longer?” he murmured, lifting his head.
“About three weeks until it’s born, then…six more weeks after that.”
He sighed. “It’ll be the longest nine weeks of my life.”
The next week another trip came up unexpectedly. He’d been curtailing his traveling, with Max often going in his place, but Max was on the East Coast already when the emergency cropped up in Los Angeles. Like a general directing his troops, Anson Edwards sent Rome to California.
When he told her, Rome saw the disappointment on her face. “It won’t be a long trip,” he tried to comfort her. “Three days, at the most. The baby isn’t due for another two weeks, and I’ll call you every night.”
“I’m not worried about the baby,” she said honestly. “I’ll miss you!”
“Not for long. I’ll drive everyone into the ground getting this mess cleared up,” he said grimly, then stunned her by taking her in his arms, the first time he’d done that in months. Ignoring the bulk of her stomach, he kissed her with growing desire, his hand going to her full straining breasts. “I didn’t know,” he said in astonishment, lifting his head and staring at the ripe curves that filled his hand. “You’ve grown more than I’d realized.”
A warm blush was on Sarah’s cheeks as she leaned against him. He laughed and kissed her again, still fondling her. “I’ll be back before you know it,” he promised.
Late that night an ache low in her back woke Sarah, and she lay awake for a long time, but the ache faded and she sighed in relief. The baby was still, for a change, and she’d been sleeping deeply. She didn’t want the baby to come while Rome was so far away; even though he wouldn’t be in the labor room with her, or helping her with the delivery, she wanted to know that he was close at hand. As her time approached, she began to fret about the trauma of birth; she’d have clung to him like a frightened child if they were closer, if circumstances hadn’t put a wedge between them.
The next afternoon the ache began again and laced around to her lower abdomen. It wasn’t really pain, just an achy, heavy tightened feeling, but she knew. She alerted Marcie, then called Dr. Easterwood, who instructed her to check into the hospital then, rather than waiting until the contractions were close together. Sarah’s next call was to Rome’s hotel in Los Angeles; he wasn’t in, but she hadn’t expected him to be at that time of day. She left a message that she was beginning labor and told him which hospital she would be in. As she hung up a tear rolled down her cheek. She so wanted Rome there! But she wiped it away and touched her stomach. “We’re on our way,” she told her baby.
Marcie came up to collect the suitcase, and Mrs. Melton hugged Sarah; then they went to the hospital. Sarah was checked in and checked over. She was in the preliminary stages of labor, and everything looked normal. All she had to do was wait.
Rome sat in the office he’d commandeered from the West Coast district manager, an array of numbers and statistics before him, but he couldn’t concentrate on paperwork. He tapped his pen thoughtfully on the blotter, wishing he were at home with Sarah, rather than having to patiently sort out a mess that never should have developed in the first place.
Sarah. She was more on his mind lately than she’d ever been before, and he’d spent a lot of time over the years thinking about her. She was so determined to have that baby, and she’d dug in her heels with a stubbornness that belied her delicate, elegant appearance. He’d somehow never thought that Sarah would be the motherly type, though Justin and Shane had adored their “aunt” Sarah.
He winced as he thought their names, and their images swam before his eyes, coming between him and the papers spread out on the desk. Laughing, rowdy little boys, with Diane’s bright blue eyes and golden brown hair. How he missed them! How he’d loved them, through every stage of their development from the moment he knew of Diane’s pregnancies. Diane had gotten as big as a barrel with both of them, unable to struggle out of bed or even out of a chair without his help. Many times during the night when advanced pregnancy would force her to the bathroom every hour, he’d pulled guard duty, always ready to give her a supporting hand. He’d rubbed her back for her, tied her shoes for her, held her hand during labor, and supported and comforted her during delivery.
He’d done none of those things for Sarah.
He went rigid with the thought. She wasn’t as big as Diane had been, of course, but he’d seen her carefully edging her weight forward on a chair so she could get up, and he hadn’t helped her. He’d left her alone in her bed to cope with backaches and midnight visits to the bathroom. She hadn’t asked for help in anything, and he realized with a spear of pain that took his breath, that she hadn’t asked because he’d made it plain she couldn’t rely on his aid. She’d needed help, every day, but she’d never asked. She’d borne the burden of pregnancy alone, with the knowledge in her eyes that he didn’t want her child.
Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead. Regardless of how he felt about the baby, he should have been with Sarah, helping her through the months. In a detached way, he could even understand why she was so determined to have the baby: Because she loved him, she also loved his child. Sarah didn’t throw screaming fits, didn’t demand anything from him; she simply waited, and loved him, never giving up on that love. There was a gentle strength in her that had enabled her to wait for him for years, loving him, yet still being a good friend, the best of friends, to Diane. She’d loved his sons and been silently at his side when he stood by their graves, thinking that there was no reason left for him to live.
She had many graces, but the sweetest grace of all was the bottomless, unending love she gave, its gentle glow bathing everyone in her acquaintance, and he was at the center of that glow. How could he have discounted its worth?
Without thinking, obeying an impulse t
He opened the door and barked at the secretary sitting at her desk outside, “Get me a flight to Dallas, right now. I don’t care what airline, as long as it’s the next one out. My wife has gone into labor.”
Galvanized by both his tone of voice and the priority every woman gave to birth, the secretary got on the phone and in only a moment was demanding that a seat be found for Mr.Matthews.
Rome piled the reports into his briefcase and slammed it shut. He should have been there, damn it! She was two weeks early; was something wrong?
Dr. Easterwood had warned him of the possibility of complications. He knew, personally, how narrow Sarah’s pelvis was; how often had he held her hips in his hands as he made love to her, marveling at how slim and delicate she was? The baby wasn’t a large one, but was it too large? If anything happened to her—
He couldn’t complete the thought.
He never knew what strings the secretary pulled, or whose name she invoked, but someone was bumped off a flight leaving within the hour for Dallas, and he was on it. He didn’t have time to return to his hotel and check out, or get his clothing. He gave terse instructions to the secretary to have that done, and get his suitcase shipped to him. He said “thank you” roughly, then left.
Let Anson Edwards and Spencer-Nyle wait. Sarah was more important.
Four and a half hours later, after a ground delay in Los Angeles that had seemed interminable, an inordinately slow flight, and battling the traffic from the airport to the hospital where Mrs. Melton had told him Sarah had gone, he strode up to the desk nurse on the maternity floor.