The baby.
God, it was hard to believe—almost impossible to believe, really—that soon she would be dressing her own child in the soft white outfit dotted with ducks, putting booties on the little feet, the matching cap with the yellow tassel on a little head. She was going to be a mother. Suddenly, the reality of it all washed over her with an emotion so powerful her hands trembled.
She doubled over as a contraction hit her more forcefully than any she had experienced up until now. It was about another two weeks to her due date, but Baby Thumper didn’t seem to care. He or she was on the way.
“Claire, I made you a cup of tea.”
She glanced up to find Logan striding into the room, teacup in hand. “It’s some kind of orange spice something-or-other. I hope you don’t mind. I’m out of the other stuff. What’s the matter, sweetheart? Are you okay? Is the baby okay?”
Before she could so much as blink, he was on his knees in front of her, his big hands on her knees. “Claire, sweetheart, say something.”
The contraction abated and she looked down into his starkly beautiful face. When she saw the worry carved in lines around his eyes, on his forehead, she put her hands atop his. “I’m fine and so is the baby, but I think Baby Thumper’s a little anxious.”
“What do you mean?” His fingers tightened on her knees.
“Logan, my water broke.”
“What?” He looked around in comical bewilderment. “Where? When?”
She smiled softly. “About half an hour ago, I think, in the bathroom.”
“Half an hour ago?” He shook his head. “Jesus Christ, Claire, why didn’t you say something? We have to get you to the hospital. Now.”
He shot to his feet and began pacing the room like a caged tiger. “We have to pack your overnight bag.”
“Did it.”
“And call your sister and your mother.”
“Good point. But that can wait until we get to the hospital.”
“True.” Logan raked a hand through his hair. “Can you walk, sweetheart, or do you want me to carry you?”
She couldn’t quite contain the giggle that rose in her throat. His concern was so charming, so sweet. “I don’t think you can pick me up right now. Besides, I can walk just fine. There have only been a few contractions so far.”
“Contractions? You’re having contractions?” Logan looked and sounded as if he were about to have a heart attack.
“It’s okay.” She stood and walked to him, looking up into his eyes. “Everything that’s happening is normal. Don’t worry.”
“How can I not worry?” His voice sounded hoarse, almost desperate. “I’ve never done this before. I have no idea what to expect and it scares the hell out of me.” He paused. “Should you be standing up right now?”
“Standing is fine now that I’ll be having the baby,” she assured him. “Besides, it feels so good to stretch my legs.”
“Why don’t I help you downstairs and then you can stay with Derek while I load up the car?” Logan suggested, still looking as worried as before.
She allowed him to help her downstairs, not because she needed the assistance but because it seemed to make Logan feel better to be holding on to her. He bellowed for Derek when they reached the first floor and Derek came running from the kitchen, a half-eaten taco in his hand. “What’s going on?” he demanded.
“Her water broke,” Logan informed his friend, seeming to think that the contractions had affected Claire’s ability to speak for herself. “Watch her while I go back up and get her overnight bag, will you?”
Before Derek could so much as nod, Logan shot back up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Grinning, Claire turned to Derek. “He’s a little worried.”
“He cares, Claire,” Derek said pointedly.
The way Logan was reacting confirmed Derek’s words. But the real question was how much did he care? And was his concern mostly for the baby, or for her too?
Logan practically launched himself down the stairs then, carrying a large canvas tote. Claire bit her lip. “Logan, that’s the wrong bag,” she told him, feeling guilty for making him run all the way back upstairs again. But she couldn’t take the bag of books she’d brought with her to keep her occupied during bed rest and not her clothing. “It’s the green one with the leather that’s supposed to look like croc.”
“Shit.” Without another word, he turned and took the stairs three at a time.
