Chapter 2
MARA
The ride to the doctor’s home is almost as bumpy as it was away from town, and even though I don’t really want to be back in Hope’s Stand, I can’t deny my relief when the wagon stops.
Warren tried to get me to sit up front with him, but that would have meant sitting beside him. Probably touching him at times.
Like he’s trying to do now.
Ugh…men.
Always wanting to put their hands all over me.
“Don’t touch me!” I slap at Warren as he reaches for me. I stink, my dress and legs are wet, I’m in pain, and the last thing I want is to be touched. Part of me even wonders if this will all be just a waste of time once the doctor sees who his patient is. “I can get out by myself.”
He pushes his hat higher on his head as he flattens his lips. “Sweetheart, you need some help.”
“Don’t call me that,” I retort. “My name’s Mara.” Slowly swinging my legs over the side of the wagon, I inch down. I can’t see my feet, though, and I slip over the cobblestones. “Oof!”
Strong arms catch me, and the scent of man and horse fills my nose. “I’ve got you, Mara darlin’. Just hang on.”
“Put me down!” I should have saved my breath for the fresh wave of pain that has me gritting my teeth and clutching my straining belly.
“Don’t worry, I’m not gonna let you fall.
” Warren tightens his arms even further, holding me all too close to his chest. It’s not until I see how high I am from the ground that I realize his height.
Even so, falling is the least of my worries.
Since I know there is no chance of walking on my own, I reluctantly surrender and focus on my breathing, releasing short, quick puffs as I’m carried through the gate.
Warren nods ahead. “Abner, knock at the door, would you?”
With a grunt, the boy stretches on tiptoe to clap the brass knocker and chuckles when it falls with a clank. A housekeeper with a white cap soon opens the heavy door, and before she can even utter a greeting, Warren blurts, “Jolene, where’s Doctor Smith? We need him mighty bad.”
“I’m sorry, Warren,” Jolene apologizes. “He’s not in.”
“What do you mean, not in?” At the frustration in his voice and arms, I tense even more than I already am. Men are unpredictable when they’re upset, and unpredictable men are dangerous.
“He’s not here at all. Doctor Smith took the train for Chicago a few hours ago and won’t return for at least four weeks.”
Bitterness pulls my lips down in a wry smile at the wary look she gives my bulging belly.
I knew it. More like the good doctor doesn’t treat people like me.
But to my surprise, the woman pulls the door wider.
“Mrs. Smith is available, though,” she adds as she gestures us inside with a hurried wave, “because she didn’t want to go to the fair.
Come in, and I’ll tell her you’re here.”
Warren swings us sideways through the doorway and comes to a stop by a walnut grandfather clock that dominates the fancy parlor.
“Put me down. We’re inside now and I can walk just fine.” Struggling only results in my cheek being pressed even closer to his chest. I like this even less…this forced awkward intimacy from this stranger’s heart steadily ticking in my ear.
“Just a little longer, Mara,” he says, light brown eyes running over my face. “I swear it’s all gonna be okay.”
“Why?” I ask listlessly. “What do you think you’re getting from this? I’m neither in the condition nor of the inclination to repay you for your efforts.”
One eyebrow crooks upward. Is the damnably handsome man surprised I saw through his ruse? Anyone with half a mind could.
“I get the satisfaction of knowing my hand was the one extended to a woman who needed it.”
Jolene breaks in with a soft cough. “Is she...did you—oh, there you are, Mrs. Smith.” The housekeeper drops a small curtsy to the small white-haired woman entering the room just as the clock strikes three quarters past the hour. “Warren’s here with—I didn’t catch your name, dear. I apologize.”
“Mara,” Warren answers for me, running those damn eyes of his over me again. “Her name’s Mara.”
Oh. So he can remember to call me something other than sweetheart or darling.
“And she’s gonna have a young’un,” Abner interjects helpfully from somewhere below me. “Any second now. Thought she’d near ‘bout have it in the road, what with her bellerin’ on the way here and all.”
Even though he can’t see me, I roll my eyes even through my discomfort. I did not bellow.
“A baby! Oh, dear. Set the water to boil, Jolene.” The doctor’s wife has a commanding voice that belies her small stature, but something in it calms me just the slightest bit. “And grab some towels.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The housekeeper gathers her dress and hurries from the room with a pitying glance to me. I know good and well they’re all judging me right now. Not that I blame them, because who wouldn’t?
“Follow me, please.” Mrs. Smith briskly precedes us to the staircase.
“Sit tight, Abner.” Warren nods to the chair in the entryway as he follows the petite woman. “Can somebody take him to his parents at the fair? It’s a long story, but we were kinda in a hurry getting here.”
“Yes, of course. I’ll ask Beatrice to escort him.”
“And keep your fingers out of that clock.” Warren throws the words over his shoulder just before a discordant chime disturbs the air.
Over that same broad shoulder, I see Abner guiltily snatch his hand back from the rocking pendulum before pulling out his pocketknife.
Envy stabs at me as he picks at his nails. Such a shame it was taken from me.
Trying to minimize all points of contact is futile as Warren carries me upstairs. God knows how he or Mrs. Smith keep a straight face because I smell my own stench keenly now in the cooler temperature of the house.
“Gonna get you all taken care of, Ma—” He abruptly fumbles on a carpeted misstep, arms tightening around me as I hiss in surprise. “Sorry. Hit my head pretty good earlier.”
His head. The jaded part of me wants to tell him to drop me over the railing so I could hit my own head on the pine planks below. Hopefully breaking my neck. Out of all my options so far, that would be easiest because I wouldn’t have to initiate it.
Just give in and let it happen.
Close my eyes and wait for impact.
Open my eyes again in sweet paradise with just me and my baby. Even if there’s not a heaven, surely there’s an afterlife where the two of us can be together. If the Overstreets knew my thoughts right now, they’d likely beat more scripture into me.
Another contraction hits, stealing my breath for seven pulsating heartbeats. I wonder if my baby understands my thoughts and doesn’t like it. Sorry, baby. I’ll stop.
When the pain recedes, I open my eyes to a face much too close to mine. A face so near I can see the texture of the dark stubble running over his cheeks and jawline. “Is there anything I can do to make it better?” he asks with what sounds like concern.
“The room. Please,” I roughly add when he doesn’t move. I need out of this man’s arms immediately.
There’s something strange in the way he’s looking at me right now. Not outright lust like I’m used to seeing, but definitely something more than pity. Very peculiar. Then his expression clears. “Hang on. Almost there.”
Good, because he’s too much.
Too much man.
Too strong.
Too close.
Twenty strides has him approaching the bed just as Mrs. Smith pulls down the plush covers.
“Just put her here, Warren. Mara, dear,” she directs to me, “do you have any family we can call on for you? Your mother, perhaps?” Her gaze flicks over my torn apparel and over to the man looming over me. “Or a husband?”
In the middle of arranging the pillows behind me, Warren stills for some unknown reason. “No,” I say over his back before weakly pushing his chest to get him away. “No one. Just...just me.” Me and this baby. Pulling up the covers, I allow myself one small moment to wallow in my loneliness.
Breathe, two, three, four.
Out, two, three, four.
And repeat.
While painful, the contractions haven’t lessened my ability to think.
Or to feel shame.
Shame because I’m so dirty and the doctor’s fine house is so clean.
I don’t belong here. Lord knows I’ll taint these soft sheets just by laying on them.
Something fuzzy brushes over my sweaty forehead.
A kiss? A familiar pinch of fear darts through me when I see Warren’s mouth so close to me.
Why hasn’t he moved back? Too close. “Get away.”
The demand isn’t as strong as I’d like for it to be. Not with the way the last syllable stretches out on a moan and fades into the air as I clutch at my belly and hiss through my teeth.
“It’s okay, Mara. Breathe through it.” As the tightness eases, I’m increasingly aware of the male hand brushing wayward strands from my forehead. “You’re not alone anymore. I’m here now.”
I gather my strength to berate him, but before I can open my mouth, Mrs. Smith opens hers. “Are you claiming her and this child, Warren?”
Good Christ. I throw out a no at the same time as his yes.
“You don’t own me, and you can’t claim me,” I bite out as I awkwardly raise up. “You never will. No man will.” Never again.
His eyes soften, but he doesn’t back away as his heavy hand makes another bold pass over my forehead. “I don’t want to own you, Mara. No man should ever own another person.”
We’re in agreement then. My elbow slips over the silky sheets, but I just go with it, collapsing onto the pillow and away from the weight of his touch.
Why does he keep trying to touch me? It’s like he doesn’t even notice how dirty I am.
I can’t remember the last time I was able to bathe properly with hot water, let alone wash my hair. Christ, what I’d give for a bath.