Cherokee Baby Part 13

They cut through the trees and reached the porch just as the sun disappeared behind the hills.

Bobby glanced at his truck and she knew he would be leaving soon.

"I forgot to give you the number of where I'll be tonight," he said.

"I'll get a pen and paper." She went inside and returned with the tablet that contained the information he'd written down earlier. He scratched out the phone number. "Call if you need anything." What she needed was him, warm and strong against her body. Just one emotional embrace, one reminder of the intimacy they'd shared. He shifted his stance, glanced at his truck again. "I guess I better go." "Okay." Julianne held the pen and paper, not knowing what else to say. What would happen after she went back home? Would they struggle to make conversation on the phone? Would they drift apart until the baby was born? He reached out and, for a moment, she thought he was going to brush her cheek or maybe slip his fingers through her hair. But he pulled back and jammed both of his hands into his pockets. Leaving her aching for his touch.

Chapter 7.

Bobby entered his nephew's house and seventy-five pounds of black squirming fur greeted him at the door.

He gazed at Michael's dog and chuckled.Chesterwas about the ugliest canine in existence. His coat was curly in spots and long and coa.r.s.e in others. His snout came to a point and his eyes drooped. And those ears.Dumbo would've had a good laugh overChester.

The mutt whined and Bobby petted him. Apparently Michael wasn't home. If he were,Chesterwouldn't be bugging Bobby for attention.

He headed for the guest room, withChestertromping beside him, his elephant ears flapping.

Bobby leaned his crutches against the wall and tossed his duffel bag on the bed. After unpacking, he placed the book he'd just acquired on the nightstand. He'd made it to the library before it closed and he intended to settle in for the night and read about his kid. He'd found a six-hundred-and-fifty-page hardback about child development, from conception to adolescence.Which, he decided, just about covered it.

Chesterleaped onto the bed and wiggled his b.u.t.t. Bobby rolled his eyes and scratched the mutt's head.

"You're a pest," he said.

Chestergrinned and plopped down on Bobby's pillow. What the h.e.l.l?he thought as he continued a conversation with the dog.

"Guess what? I'm going to be a dad." He picked up the book and found the page that had caught his attention at the library. He showedChestera picture of a five-week-old embryo. "That's what my kid looks like. For now, anyway."

The mutt c.o.c.ked his head and woofed, as if to ask who Bobby had made it with. Even the dog knew he'd been living like a monk.

"She's a redhead and her name is Julianne. She came here for her fortieth birthday." He paused and then added, "We were only together once. But she got pregnant just the same."

Chesterpanted excitedly, and Bobby realized he'd told the mutt too much.

"Yeah, I know. You like redheads, too." The dog was forever running off to a nearby ranch, where an Irish setter peddled her wares.

He gaveChestera serious study and tried not to wince. Thank goodness Michael had neutered him. Chester's offspring would probably look like the hind end of a baboon.

Preparing to relax, Bobby stripped down to his boxer shorts and removed his prosthesis. He usually gimped around on his crutches in the evening, as he put in long hours and often needed a break by the time his workday ended. He knew how much stress his residual limb could tolerate and he rarely pushed himself beyond those limits.

He headed for the bathroom and washed his residual limb, wiping away the sweat from the day. It perspired inside the socket, as any body part would that was encased in plastic. Next he cleaned the prosthesis with alcohol, taking care to sanitize it properly.

When he returned to the bedroom, he scooted onto the bed and glanced atChester. The dog was still mulling over the book, probably thinking the image resembling Bobby's kid wasn't any cuter than his own pups would be.

The five-week-old embryo did look a bit like a kidney bean, with a big head and a little tail. But according to the text, its tiny heart was already beating.

Wow. How amazing was that?

He shifted his gaze to the next photo, a seven-week-old embryo. At that point, theeyes, nose, digestive system and even the first stage of toe formation was visible.

And finally, at eight weeks, the one-and-a-half-inch organism was clearly recognizable as a human fetus.

Bobby set the book on his lap, awed by the changes that would take place in Julianne's womb.

Suddenly he couldn't wait for the next few weeks to pa.s.s, to know his kid was a full-fledged fetus.

A bit too anxious for his own good, he thought about the expectant mother and wondered what she was doing.

He stole a glance at the phone. He could call her, he supposed. Just to make sure she was all right.

"What do you think?" he askedChester.

The dog gave him a big, sappy grin.

"Okay. You talked me into it."

He dialed the number and it rang and rang. Then rang some more. Any minute, the answering machine would pick up. d.a.m.n it. Where was she? What if something was wrong? Just as he started to panic, Julianne's breathy voice came on the line. "h.e.l.lo?"

"What took you so long? Are you okay?"

"Bobby?" she asked, obviously surprised to hear from him. "Is that you?"

"Of course, it's me. Are you sick?"

"No. I just got out of the shower. And I'm..." Naked and wet, he thought, deciding this call wasn't such a good idea after all. Now he had a mental image.

Damp hair. Fragrant skin. A line of water trailing down her body, clinging to her navel.

"I should let you go," he said.

"No. Wait."

He heard a rustling sound and a.s.sumed she was wrapping herself in a robe. He tried to cover her up in his mind.

And failed.

So he tried again, telling himself there was nothing s.e.xy about her showering in his tub. Not with the handicapped equipment in it. Then again, she was naked in the same place he got naked. Had she used his soap? Slid the sudsy bar over her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, down her tummy, between her legs?

"Why did you call?" she asked.

Bobby's brain went blank.

Chesternudged him, calling his attention to the book. To the baby.

He snapped into the daddy focus. "I just wanted to see how you were doing. If you two were settling in all right." "Two?"

"You and the baby."

"We're fine," she said with a smile in her voice. He smiled, too. Then couldn't come up with another thing to say.

Silence stretched the line like a gaping hole.

Bobby stammered, trying to fill it. "So..."

So he was an idiot a tough, old, one-legged cowboy rendered speechless by a pregnant lady.

"I should let you get back to putting on your pajamas or whatever you were planning on doing," he finally said, trying to find a dignified way to end the call.

"I am a little tired. But that's normal."

Because of the baby, he thought. "Then sleep tight and I'll see you tomorrow sometime."

"Okay. Good night, Bobby."

"'Night." He hung up, feeling stupid and mushy.

Not knowing what else to do, he picked up the book and resumed his studies, scanning information about the second trimester the fourth, fifth and sixth months of pregnancy.

During this period, he read, women felt the first flutter of life. A soft, light movement, like the wings of a b.u.t.terfly. Then later, little kicks and jabs.

He grinned, trying to imagine what that must be like. Now he was even more anxious for time to pa.s.s.

Time that didn't include him, he realized. In three or four months he wouldn't be able to put his hand on Julianne's tummy and feel one of those tiny kicks. Not if she went back home and he remained inTexas.

He frowned, wondering how many trips toPennsylvaniahe would have to make to experience the advances in Julianne's pregnancy.

Too many, he thought.

And what about after the baby was born? The time factor would become even more crucial then. If he wasn't there on a daily basis, the child wouldn't bond with him. He would miss everything the first time the baby lifted its head, smiled, crawled, walked, started school.

This baby was his destiny, a little Cherokee soul he'd helped create. Yet the child would barely know him.

He muttered a frustrated curse andChesterperked his gigantic ears. "What am I going to do?" he asked the dog.Chestergave him a befuddled look and Bobby cursed again. He wanted to be a full-time dad. He wanted to raise his son or daughter, to be a strong, steady influence in the child's life.

Which meant he had to convince Julianne to stay inTexas. For the next eighteen or so years. Dear G.o.d. He closed the book. He had to think of something,anything, that would keep Julianne nearby. Anything, he added, glancing at the gold band on his finger, except a marriage proposal.

* * * The following day Julianne arrived at the barn. She entered the building and checked the office, but Bobby wasn't there. Strange, considering this meeting had been his idea. She started down a row of box stalls, looking for him. Some of the horses whinnied and she smiled, feeling as if she were being rewarded with equine catcalls. She stopped in front of Caballero's stall. The gelding came forward and poked his head over the door. "Hi, there." She stroked his nose, wondering if he remembered her. "I brought you something." She reached into her pocket and removed a carrot. He sniffed her hand and s.n.a.t.c.hed up the treat, munching noisily.

"Julianne," a familiar voice said from behind her. She turned and saw Bobby, then stood like an imbecile, just staring at him, thinking how rugged he looked.

A slightly battered hat shielded his eyes and his clothes and boots wore a thin layer of dust. A hardworking rancher in his prime, with sweat beading his brow.

"Hi," she said.

"Hi, yourself."

He smiled, and their conversation faltered. Just as it had last night on the phone. Only she had been half-naked then.

"Where were you?" she asked, trying to gain control of her senses. She could feel Caballero breathing

into her hair.

"In the tack room, returning some equipment." He glanced down at his dusty clothes. "I've been working with a new gelding. He's still a little green."

"Did he kick some dirt at you?"

"More or less." Bobby lifted his gaze. "Are you hungry?"

How could a sweat-dappled man look so appealing? So touchable? "Not really. I made an omelette

about an hour ago."

"Do you mind if I eat? I haven't had lunch."

"No, go right ahead."

They headed to his office, quiet again.

Bobby washed his hands in the adjoining bathroom and returned within minutes.

Julianne waited while he opened the bar-size fridge, scanned the contents and grabbed a plastic

container.