One Pink Rose; One White Rose; One Red Rose (19 page)

My God,
Douglas thought,
I could accidentally break one of his bones if I'm not careful.
The sheer beauty of God's creation both awed and humbled him. Now Isabel needed one more miracle to keep her son alive.

“You've got to be a fighter, little man,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

Isabel heard him. “He'll have help. The sisters told us that every time a baby is born, God sends a guardian angel to watch over him.”

Douglas glanced up at her. “I sure hope he gets here soon.”

She smiled, for in her heart she knew Parker's guardian angel was already here.

He was holding her son.

*  *  *

It took a good hour to get Isabel and the baby settled. Douglas had to alter the plan to use the cradle her husband had made because when his knee brushed up against the side, the bottom fell out. It was evident Grant had used rotten wood to build the base. Yet even if the wood had been freshly cut, Douglas would still have thrown the contraption out. Nails as long as a man's hand had been driven inward from the outside of the uneven slats, and long, dangerously sharp points angled down toward the bedding. He shuddered to think of the damage those rusty nails could do to an infant.

He was too tired to do anything about it now. He stripped out of his clothes, put on another pair of buckskin pants, and went back to the bedroom to make a temporary bed for the baby. He used the bottom drawer of her dresser and padded it with towels covered with a pillowcase.

By the time he was finished, Isabel was sleeping soundly. The serenity on her face was captivating, and he couldn't turn away. He watched her sleep; he watched her breathe. She was as beautiful and as perfect as her son. Her hair was spread out on the pillow behind her in a tangled mess. She looked like an angel now . . . and not at all like the Beelzebub he had compared her to during her labor.

Another yawn shook him out of his stupor. He carefully transferred the baby to the drawer and was leaving the bedroom when she called to him.

He hurried to her side, forgetting his state of undress. He hadn't put a shirt on yet or bothered to button his pants, but he was more concerned that she was going to tell him the bleeding had increased.

“Is something wrong? You're not . . .”

“I'm fine. Sit down next to me. I want you to tell me the truth and look me in the eyes so I'll know you aren't just telling me what I want to hear. Will my baby make it?”

“I hope so, but I honestly don't know.”

“He's so small. I should have carried him much longer.”

“He looks like a fighter. Maybe he just needs to put on a little weight.”

She visibly relaxed. “Yes, he'll get stronger. Isn't he beautiful? He has black hair, just like his father's.”

“Yeah, he's beautiful.” She had already asked this question at least five times. “He's still beautiful.”

“Shouldn't you bring the cradle into the bedroom?”

“I couldn't use the cradle. It fell apart.”

She didn't seem surprised. “What did you do with my baby?”

“I put him in the dresser.”

“The dresser?”

He motioned to the bottom drawer. She only had to lean toward him to see her baby. She fell back against the pillow and laughed. “You're resourceful.”

“Practical.”

“That too. Thank you, Douglas. You were the answer to my prayers.”

“No crying, Isabel,” he told her. “You need to sleep.”

“Will you stay with me for a few minutes . . . please?”

He shifted his position so that his shoulders could rest against the headboard and his legs could stretch out on top of the covers. “Have you decided on a name for your son?”

“Parker,” she said, “for his father.”

“That's nice.”

She heard him yawn again. He was tired, and she shouldn't keep him up with her rambling, yet she couldn't make herself tell him he could leave. She didn't want the intimacy between them to end. They had shared the miracle of birth, and she was feeling closer to him than she had ever felt toward any other man. Her husband would have understood, she knew, and she pictured him now smiling down from heaven upon his son.

Her thoughts returned to Douglas. She was about to ask him where he was going to sleep when she heard his soft snore. She didn't wake him. She edged closer to his side, put her hand in his, and held on tight.

And then she slept.

D
ouglas had walked into the middle of a nightmare. He knew Isabel's situation was bad. If what she'd told him the day before was true—and he was certain that it was—then she was in serious trouble. Not only was she being preyed upon by a group of thugs under the direction of a malevolent bastard named Boyle, but she was also completely cut off from town, which meant she couldn't get help or supplies. Last, but certainly just as troublesome, was the fact that she had just given birth. The infant needed her undivided attention, and both mother and son were too weak and vulnerable to be moved.

Then bad got worse. The rain didn't let up. Since dawn, it had alternated between a soft sprinkle and a thundering deluge. He'd become extremely concerned about the weather as soon as he stepped outside in the gray light of day and saw exactly where the log cabin was situated. Last night it had been too dark to see much of anything when he'd ridden down the slope, guided by only a faint flickering light in the field below. He'd already known the cabin was surrounded on three sides by mountains, but what he hadn't known was that her home was sitting smack in the center of the flood floor. Any overflow from the lakes and creeks in the mountains would have to pass through her cabin in order to get to the river below.

He couldn't believe anyone would build a home in such a dangerous spot. Douglas didn't usually speak ill of the dead, but facts were facts, and it was apparent Parker Grant, Senior, had been an incompetent imbecile. Douglas had given Grant the benefit of the doubt when he'd seen the cradle. Some men weren't any good at making furniture. Nothing wrong with that, he'd reasoned. Building a home on a flood path was an altogether different matter.

Still, Douglas didn't want to jump to conclusions. Someone else might have built the place years ago, and Grant might simply have moved his wife inside as a temporary measure until he could build a proper home up on higher ground.

Douglas hoped his guess was right. With any luck—and God only knew she was due for some—Grant had gotten a roof on the new cabin. If it wasn't too far away, Douglas could take Isabel and her son there in a couple of days.

Time wasn't critical yet. Although there were patches of water all over the field behind the house and barn, and the ground was soggy under his feet, he figured he still had some time before they had to leave. There was also the chance that the rain would stop. The usual hot summer sun would quickly dry up the water then, which would give them some additional time.

He needed something to cheer him up, he decided, and so he went to the barn to take care of the horses. He was eager to get a look at the Arabians again. The stallion was as magnificent as his brother had told him he was.

The horse was big for an Arabian, with a beautiful gray coat. Douglas could feel the power in the stallion and the distrust. Isabel had been right, Pegasus didn't like strangers, but fortunately Douglas had always had a way with horses, and once the stallion was used to his scent and his voice, he let him check his injury.

His mate was smaller, somewhat delicate looking, and definitely full of herself. She tossed her head about like a vain woman, which made Douglas like her all the more.

The pair was meant to stay together. As soon as he moved the female into the stall next to the stallion, they nuzzled each other and let Douglas brush them. No wonder Isabel had wanted to keep them. Her husband never should have sold the stallion without first discussing it with her, no matter how desperate he was for money.

The animals' feed was running low. He gave his sorrel and the Arabians as much as they needed, then calculated he had less than a week's ration left.

The supplies inside the cabin were just as sparse. He had only just finished taking inventory when he heard the baby's whimpering. He decided to change him so that Isabel could stay in bed, but when he reached the bedroom door, it was closed.

He knocked twice before she answered him. In a stammer she asked him to please wait until she finished dressing.

“You may come in now.”

She was standing by the chest of drawers dressed in a blue robe buttoned to the top of her neck. Parker was nestled in her arms. Isabel was getting prettier by the minute. Douglas realized he was staring at her, glanced away, and noticed then the dress she'd laid out on top of her bed.

“You really should stay in bed.”

She finally looked up. The glow of motherhood was still in her eyes, and there was a faint blush on her cheeks. She wasn't looking at him though. Her gaze was directed on the wall to his left.

“Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing's wrong.” She sounded nervous. “I want to get dressed and fix your breakfast.”

He shook his head. “For God's sake, you just had a baby. I'll fix your breakfast. You sit down in the rocker while I change the bedding.”

His voice told her not to argue. She sat more quickly than she should have, and let out a loud moan. “I think I'd better stand up.”

He helped her to her feet. She still wouldn't look at him.

“Why are you acting so shy with me?”

Her blush intensified. He shouldn't have been so blunt, he supposed.

“After . . . you know.”

“No, I don't know. That's why I asked.”

“It's . . . awkward. I was thinking about how I met you and you had to . . . it was necessary for you to . . . when the baby was coming . . .”

He started to laugh. He simply couldn't help it. She didn't appreciate his amusement.

“I was real busy at the time. All I remember is the baby. I was worried I'd drop him.”

“Honest?”

“Yes, honest. If it hurts too much to sit down, lean on the dresser until I get your bed ready. The last thing we need now is for you to fall. You've got to be weak.”

“Parker's fretful,” she stammered out, trying to change the subject.

Douglas leaned closer to her side and peered down at the sleeping infant. Fretful was the last word he would have used to describe the baby.

“He looks real peaceful to me.”

They looked at one another and shared a smile. Douglas was the first to turn away, but not before he noticed how pretty her eyes were. They were more gold than brown, and, damn, those freckles of hers were going to keep on distracting him if he continued to stand so close to her.

She had delicate hands too. He had noticed them during her contractions when she tried to choke him because he wouldn't knock her unconscious.

He made quick work of changing the bedding while she listed all the qualities she was sure her son possessed. She started out telling him Parker had already proven how smart he was, and by the time she finished listing his attributes, she had elevated him to genius.

Douglas couldn't figure out how she'd arrived at her conclusions. The baby wasn't a full day old, and all she could possibly know about him was that he slept and he wet.

She was sagging against the chest when Douglas took Parker away from her.

“I could go in the kitchen with you and help you fix breakfast.”

“You don't need to,” he said. “Is Parker getting enough to eat?”

“He will . . . soon.”

“Please, try to get past your embarrassment. I need to know if he's doing all right.”

“Yes, he's doing just fine. The doctor spent a long while telling me what to expect. I should be able to feed him by tonight.”

He nodded. “If you start bleeding, you'll tell me, won't you?”

“Douglas . . .”

“I'm thinking about Parker,” he explained. “Maybe I should go and get the doctor so he can check you. I could sneak him past Boyle's men during the night.'

“That isn't necessary. I promised I'd tell you if anything happens.”

After he put the baby back in his bed, he helped Isabel out of her robe. Her hands trembled as she tried to get the buttons undone, protesting all the while that she could undress herself. He took over the task anyway.

“I'm not at all tired. I've slept a long time.”

She kept on protesting, even after he'd tucked her between the sheets. At her insistence, he checked on her son once more before he left the room, and by the time he pulled the door closed, Isabel was sound asleep.

*  *  *

She ate breakfast early that evening. He fed her burnt toast and lumpy oatmeal sweetened with sugar. He thought it looked pretty good.

She thought it looked awful. Because he'd gone to such trouble to prepare the meal, she ate as much as she could without gagging and thanked him profusely.