44 Cranberry Point

Twenty-Three



Ian Randall was in no hurry to get home. For six months at sea, he'd counted every second he was away from Cecilia. He'd crossed off each day on the calendar until they could be together again, eagerly anticipating their reunion. Being apart from her was agony. But now that he was home, he could hardly stand to be around her because it was an even deeper agony to have her there and not make love to her.



As he neared the highway exit that would take him home, Ian slowed the vehicle to a near-crawl. He dreaded what would happen once he walked into the duplex. The tension between them had begun the instant she announced she wanted another baby, and it seemed to increase day by day.



Cecilia tried to pretend everything was as it should be, tried to ignore his bad mood. Every night it was the same: she arrived home from work and immediately set about preparing dinner. While he buried his face in the newspaper, she talked about her day in the office. She was employed by a large accounting firm in Cedar Cove and liked her job, as much as Ian liked his. Above all, they did love each other; there was no question of that. They should be happy.



Nights were the worst. He made excuses not to go to bed at the same time as his wife. He saw the hurt in her eyes, but not once did she confront him.



If Cecilia had brought the situation out into the open, it might have helped. She wanted a baby and the fact was, he didn't. Cecilia had let him know that if they were going to use birth control, it was up to him. After that one disastrous night when she'd seduced him, he decided making love to Cecilia was just too dangerous.



She made him forget. As soon as she was in his arms, he lost all thought except his need for her. The risk of getting her pregnant was just too high.



There'd been a few nights when he'd given in—and been furious with himself afterward. He'd crawled into bed, assuming she was asleep. She wasn't, and he'd surrendered every time without even token resistance. Before he knew how he'd allowed it to happen, they'd made love, and on at least two of those occasions, it was without protection.... He tried to sleep on the sofa, but Cecilia wouldn't let him, insisting she'd sleep there with him.



The only way to be safe was to avoid her. Unfortunately, his self-imposed abstinence didn't always work. Ian had never viewed himself as an undisciplined man; the navy had drilled self-discipline into him from the minute he set foot in boot camp. But when it came to his wife, he had little resistance.



Those times he hadn't used protection—Cecilia was bound to get caught if she hadn't been already.



Ian couldn't bear the thought of another pregnancy going wrong. Losing Allison had nearly destroyed them both. Healing would come in time; he was sure of it. If only Cecilia wouldn't press the issue.



As he approached the stop sign off the freeway, Ian took a left instead of a right, going in the opposite direction from home. He drove through unfamiliar streets, dread building in him. The second he walked in the door, it would be the same thing all over again—the same desire, the same frustration. He could feel it.



By sheer force of will, he hadn't touched Cecilia in three nights. It had been torture, and Ian just knew he wouldn't be able to resist her tonight.



When he discovered that he was driving down the road to the cemetery where his daughter was buried, Ian slowed and turned in. His baby girl had died after living only a few days. She'd been born with a defective heart and there was nothing the doctors could do. As a submariner he'd been under the polar ice cap at the time and unable to be with Cecilia. In fact, he hadn't even known about his daughter's birth until he learned of her death. Upon his return, he'd requested reassignment aboard an aircraft carrier, and that request had been granted.



Parking the car, Ian climbed out. Hands in his pockets, he walked over to Allison's grave, where he stood on the grass staring down at the small marker that recorded the dates of her birth and death. Amazing, really, that so little information could involve so much pain.



He gazed down at the marker for several minutes. "Hello, Allison," he whispered. He talked to his daughter whenever he visited her grave. He'd never even seen her, never had a chance to hold her or kiss her and he felt cheated to have been denied this one small consolation. The only photo of Allison had been taken in the hospital shortly after her birth. She'd been so tiny. Her life, so short and traumatic, had been filled with pain. Each breath was a struggle.



"I see your mother's been by," Ian said. He noticed the single pink rose, a sure sign that Cecilia had visited recently.



He didn't know how often his wife came to the cemetery, but he suspected it was every three or four days. "Did she tell you she wants another baby?"



Ian took a deep breath. "I don't think it's a good idea." He smiled as he said it. "The thing is, I wasn't ready when your mother told me she was pregnant with you. You took me by surprise, you know? I didn't realize a girl could get pregnant that easily." He hadn't been unhappy at the news, however; he'd been excited because it'd given him a good excuse to do what he wanted to do anyway—marry Cecilia.



His smile faded. Even when she got pregnant, Cecilia wasn't that keen on marriage. She had all kinds of stipulations. Apparently her mother had been pregnant with her when she married Cecilia's father, and the marriage had been a disaster from the beginning. Cecilia had no intention of repeating her mother's mistakes, so she'd insisted on a prenuptial agreement. It was lunacy, but he would've signed anything. The prenuptial had saved him in the end because Judge Lockhart had denied the divorce based primarily on that agreement.



"Your mother doesn't know this yet, but we might be heading back to sea." Although he hadn't told Cecilia, once orders came through, the word would be out soon enough. Under current circumstances, the navy wasn't likely to allow him the luxury of a long shore duty. That was the bad news as well as the good. He didn't want to leave Cecilia again, especially so soon, but he knew that if he was in port much longer, she'd get pregnant for sure.



"Look after your mother while I'm away, will you, sweetheart?" he asked. "Let her know how much I love her."



He waited a moment, nearly overwhelmed by sadness. What astonished him was how much love he felt for his little girl. This was a child he'd never had the privilege of kissing good-night or cradling in his arms, and yet she was as much a part of him as his own heart.



Ten minutes later, Ian left the cemetery and drove home. He half-expected Cecilia to comment that he was later than usual or ask where he'd been. She didn't. She was busy in the kitchen and barely looked up when he walked in the door.



"Did you have a good day?" she asked.



After glancing at the mail, he picked up the evening newspaper and settled into his favorite chair. "All right, I guess."



He opened the front section of the paper to block her from his sight. He found it incredibly sexy to watch his wife, walking barefoot in the kitchen in shorts and a cropped T-shirt. She dressed like that on purpose; Ian was convinced of it. The minute she got home from the office, she changed out of her business clothes and into something seductive. Half the time he couldn't keep his eyes off her.



"I had an all-right day, too," she said conversationally as she carried a large bowl to the table. "I made us a taco salad."



He nodded. "Thanks."



"Are you hungry?"



"Sort of." His appetite hadn't been good since he'd returned home. That was just another sign of the tension he'd been under lately.



"Dinner's ready," Cecilia said, sitting down at the table.



With little enthusiasm, Ian set the newspaper aside and joined her. Most nights he didn't contribute much to the conversation; Cecilia did practically all the talking. Every now and then, he'd ask her something because the silences troubled him more than the sound of her chatter.



This evening, however, she didn't seem to feel like talking, either. He was relieved when she finished dinner and brought her plate to the sink. Apparently her appetite wasn't good, either.



"Are you feeling okay?" he asked.



"I'm fine."



Ian frowned, unsure if he should believe that. But then she smiled so sweetly he couldn't doubt her.



They spent the evening in silence, each of them reading— Cecilia a magazine and he a thriller someone at work had lent him. By nine, she was yawning. "I'm going to bed."



He nodded. "I feel like staying up and reading for a while longer."



She didn't argue with him, but accepted his excuse. Then she wandered into the bedroom and closed the door. So far so good, he thought as he relaxed in his chair.



Ian made a genuine effort to read, but his mind was on everything except the words on the page in front of him. Nine o'clock was damned early for Cecilia to go to bed, he realized all of a sudden. He couldn't figure out why she'd done that. She almost always stayed up until at least ten.



At nine-thirty, he turned out the lights and walked into the darkened bedroom. It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the lack of light. Cecilia was curled up on her side of the bed, and he knew instantly that she was awake.



"Cecilia?"



"What?"



"You awake?"



"Yeah."



"Something's wrong, isn't it?"



She didn't answer him.



The mattress dipped when he sat on the edge of the bed. "You'd better tell me." His heart was starting to pound.



She pretended not to hear him. "Cecilia?"



"Are you coming to bed?"



He supposed the only way he could get her to talk was to join her in bed, so he undressed and slipped beneath the covers. Cecilia moved closer but didn't touch him. "Will you hold me?" she whispered.



"Okay." He lay on his back and Cecilia pressed her head against his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her. She felt small in his embrace, smaller than usual.



He waited but she didn't say anything. In his heart he knew. He should've guessed right away, he supposed, but denial could be downright comfortable. "You're pregnant, aren't you?"



"Yes." She sobbed once. "Are you angry?"



He snorted softly. "No. I don't have anyone to blame but me."



"I wanted everything to be different than with Allison. I thought you'd be angry then, too, and instead you were so nice about it."



He didn't have anything to say to that.



"The news of a baby should make us happy."



"Are you happy?" he asked.



Cecilia didn't answer right away. "I'd be leaping up and down for joy if you were pleased."



His fears wouldn't let him feel good about this. "I'm afraid, Cecilia," he finally said.



"I am, too, but I want our baby so much. I love you, Ian. You got home almost two months ago, and this whole time's been awful. It's... it's like you hate me."



"Cecilia, no..."



"What else am I to think? You hardly talk to me and you won't even go to bed when I do. You think I don't know why? You don't want to make love to me and whenever you do, you hate yourself for it."



She certainly had him pegged. "I got you pregnant, didn't I?'



He could feel her nod.



"Yeah, well, you knew how I felt."



"You knew how I felt, too!" She sniffled, apparently trying not to cry. "I want this baby and I want my husband to love me and be excited and happy and you're not. It's tearing me up inside."