need you to hang around and play nursemaid.
Hank jumped into the Jeep, inserted the key and revved the motor. He sat there for a couple of minutes, the motor idling, while the morning sun shed its dawn cloak and exposed a new day to its naked brilliance.
What are you waiting for? Leave, dammit, man. Leave!
He killed the motor, shoved the keys into the pocket of his camouflage pants and jumped out of the Jeep. He stomped up the driveway and onto the back porch.
You're an idiot, Bishop.
After entering the kitchen, he closed the door behind him and went out into the hallway. "Susan?"
She didn't reply, but she moaned.
He would rather face a pack of wolves than go into that bathroom. It wasn't as if he could actually do anything for her. If the situation was reversed, the last thing he'd want would be for her to try to soothe him. But she was a woman, dammit, and women were different. They wanted and expected to be soothed and pampered when they were sick. Especially pregnant women. Right?
When he saw her on her knees in front of the commode, he stopped abruptly in the doorway. Damn, she looked vulnerable. Small. Helpless. And pitifully sick.
"Susan?"
Ricky and Fred sniffed at his legs. He gently eased past them.
Susan glanced up at him with teary eyes. A tight knot formed in the pit of his belly. She opened her mouth to speak, but turned suddenly and threw up again.
"Honey, what can I do?" he asked.
She rolled tissue from the holder and used it to wipe her mouth, then tossed it into the bowl and flushed the commode. "Could you get me a wet washcloth?"
"Sure thing." Reluctantly he stepped farther inside the spacious bathroom and looked around, searching for the linen closet. Finding it to his right, he opened the door, reached inside to the neatly arranged shelves and retrieved a cloth. While he dampened the cloth, he glanced over at her. Sweat coated her pale face and moistened her cotton gown. There was a soft, pleading look in her eyes.
He knelt beside her, handed her the washcloth and resisted the urge to wipe her face himself.
"Thank you." She washed her face, tossed the cloth into the sink and then wrapped her arms around her stomach.
"Still sick?"
She nodded. "I'm cramping."
"Is that normal? I mean, is cramping a part of morning sickness?"
"No, not that I know of." She held out her hand to him. "Help me stand up, please. I'd better get in touch with Dr. Fair."
"Do you think something's wrong, more than morning sickness, I mean?"
"I'm cramping and spotting a little and … Oh, Hank, I'm really worried."
He lifted her into his arms. She gasped. "It's all right, honey. You're going to bed and I'm calling Dr. Farr myself."
"His number is by the phone on my nightstand," she said. "You'll get his service when you call, so you'll have to leave a message."
Hank laid her on the unmade bed, sat on the edge and picked up the telephone. He opened the pad on the nightstand and found the obstetrician's number. While the phone rang, he glanced back over his shoulder at Susan.
"You've got cramps, you're spotting, and you've been vomiting. Anything else?"
"No, that about covers it."
The minute the service responded, Hank explained the situation and asked for the doctor to return his call immediately.
Susan lifted her hand and placed it on Hank's arm. He jumped. "Thank you. I'll be okay, if you want to go on and meet Caleb. I'm sure Dr. Farr will call back very soon."
"Oh, hell, I forgot all about Caleb. I need to call him to let him know … Do you have call waiting?"
"Yes."
He pulled Susan's hand off his arm and clasped it tightly in his. He gave it a reassuring squeeze. "I'm not going anywhere until I know you're okay." Hank dialed his brother's number.
"Hello?" Caleb answered.
"It's me," Hank said. "I can't make it this morning. Susan's sick. We're waiting for the doctor to return our call."
"What's wrong?"
"Cramping. Spotting. And severe vomiting."
"Do you want Sheila and me to come over?" Caleb
Hank jumped into the Jeep, inserted the key and revved the motor. He sat there for a couple of minutes, the motor idling, while the morning sun shed its dawn cloak and exposed a new day to its naked brilliance.
What are you waiting for? Leave, dammit, man. Leave!
He killed the motor, shoved the keys into the pocket of his camouflage pants and jumped out of the Jeep. He stomped up the driveway and onto the back porch.
You're an idiot, Bishop.
After entering the kitchen, he closed the door behind him and went out into the hallway. "Susan?"
She didn't reply, but she moaned.
He would rather face a pack of wolves than go into that bathroom. It wasn't as if he could actually do anything for her. If the situation was reversed, the last thing he'd want would be for her to try to soothe him. But she was a woman, dammit, and women were different. They wanted and expected to be soothed and pampered when they were sick. Especially pregnant women. Right?
When he saw her on her knees in front of the commode, he stopped abruptly in the doorway. Damn, she looked vulnerable. Small. Helpless. And pitifully sick.
"Susan?"
Ricky and Fred sniffed at his legs. He gently eased past them.
Susan glanced up at him with teary eyes. A tight knot formed in the pit of his belly. She opened her mouth to speak, but turned suddenly and threw up again.
"Honey, what can I do?" he asked.
She rolled tissue from the holder and used it to wipe her mouth, then tossed it into the bowl and flushed the commode. "Could you get me a wet washcloth?"
"Sure thing." Reluctantly he stepped farther inside the spacious bathroom and looked around, searching for the linen closet. Finding it to his right, he opened the door, reached inside to the neatly arranged shelves and retrieved a cloth. While he dampened the cloth, he glanced over at her. Sweat coated her pale face and moistened her cotton gown. There was a soft, pleading look in her eyes.
He knelt beside her, handed her the washcloth and resisted the urge to wipe her face himself.
"Thank you." She washed her face, tossed the cloth into the sink and then wrapped her arms around her stomach.
"Still sick?"
She nodded. "I'm cramping."
"Is that normal? I mean, is cramping a part of morning sickness?"
"No, not that I know of." She held out her hand to him. "Help me stand up, please. I'd better get in touch with Dr. Fair."
"Do you think something's wrong, more than morning sickness, I mean?"
"I'm cramping and spotting a little and … Oh, Hank, I'm really worried."
He lifted her into his arms. She gasped. "It's all right, honey. You're going to bed and I'm calling Dr. Farr myself."
"His number is by the phone on my nightstand," she said. "You'll get his service when you call, so you'll have to leave a message."
Hank laid her on the unmade bed, sat on the edge and picked up the telephone. He opened the pad on the nightstand and found the obstetrician's number. While the phone rang, he glanced back over his shoulder at Susan.
"You've got cramps, you're spotting, and you've been vomiting. Anything else?"
"No, that about covers it."
The minute the service responded, Hank explained the situation and asked for the doctor to return his call immediately.
Susan lifted her hand and placed it on Hank's arm. He jumped. "Thank you. I'll be okay, if you want to go on and meet Caleb. I'm sure Dr. Farr will call back very soon."
"Oh, hell, I forgot all about Caleb. I need to call him to let him know … Do you have call waiting?"
"Yes."
He pulled Susan's hand off his arm and clasped it tightly in his. He gave it a reassuring squeeze. "I'm not going anywhere until I know you're okay." Hank dialed his brother's number.
"Hello?" Caleb answered.
"It's me," Hank said. "I can't make it this morning. Susan's sick. We're waiting for the doctor to return our call."
"What's wrong?"
"Cramping. Spotting. And severe vomiting."
"Do you want Sheila and me to come over?" Caleb
Similar Books
