The Bravo Bachelor

She pointed toward the dining area. “In there. Opposite the kitchen…”

He walked her back there to the door on the left that led into her room. She got a change of clothes and disappeared into the bathroom.

She seemed to take a long time in there. That worried him. When over five minutes had passed, he knocked on the door. “You all right?”

“Yeah. Fine. Don’t you dare come in.”

“You need to get going. Don’t fool around in there.”

“Gabe?”

“Yeah?”

“I hate you.” She muttered the words, probably thinking he couldn’t hear them. Then, louder, “Never mind.”

He smiled to himself. “Just move it along.”

Maybe two minutes later, she emerged wearing clean clothes and carrying a stack of fresh towels. “I thought we might need these—you know, in your fancy car.”

God, he hoped not. “Good thinking.” He took them from her.

“And I have a suitcase all ready,” she said.

“Where?”

“Under the bed.”

So he set the towels on the bedspread and got down on his knees to drag it out for her. “I’ll just take this stuff to the car,” he said, rising. He picked up the stack of towels and hoisted the old hard-sided suitcase in his free hand.

She hobbled over and got the big, red shoulder bag from where it was hooked on the back of an old rocking chair. “Diaper bag.” She slid it onto his shoulder.

“Back in a flash,” he promised.

She pressed her lips together and nodded, reaching out to grasp the back of the rocker as another cramp started.

“Mary…” He took a step toward her.

She made a frantic waving-off motion with her free hand. “Go. Hurry. I’ll be…” She groaned. Hard. “Fine…”

He made himself leave her, turning and racing through the house, pausing only long enough to set down the suitcase and throw open the front door.

Outside, the Escalade waited, gleaming in the sun. The sight of it stunned him. He’d climbed out of it such a short time ago, certain of his ability to bend the Hofstetter widow to his will and the will of BravoCorp.

Somehow, things had gotten away from him—gotten away, big-time. In his pocket, his BlackBerry started vibrating. He went to the back and lifted the hatch and tossed in the suitcase and the diaper bag.

Then he took out the phone and glanced at the display. It was his father. Eager for a report on his meeting with the widow, no doubt.

You don’t want to know, Dad. He let the call go to voice mail and was putting the device away when it started vibrating again. This time he didn’t even stop to glance at it, just tucked it in his pocket and carried the towels to the backseat on the far side, where he left them, neatly stacked. In case she ended up needing them—a thought that made his gut clench.

He sent a fervent glance heavenward. He wasn’t a guy who prayed much, but he prayed then. Just let us make it to the hospital before she has that baby. Just that. It’s all I ask…

He ran around the front of the car, across the dusty yard and up the front steps. Inside again, he found her waiting in the open archway to the kitchen, slumped against the wall there. She was panting, staring at the floor. But when she heard him enter, she looked up, wiped her sweating brow and forced a smile.

“Got my purse…” She touched the strap over her shoulder and smiled wider, a smile that wobbled only a little.

“Good.” He strode toward her. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

“Wait.”

He stopped in mid-step. “What now?”

“Brownie.” The dog sat by the sofa. At the mention of her name, she stretched and wagged her tail. “She has a doggy door, in the laundry room off the kitchen. But if you could check her water bowl and pour her some food.” She gestured weakly over her shoulder. “Food’s in the cabinet next to the sink…”

He detoured around her and did what she asked. The dog came right over to sniff the bowl and eat a few lumps of dry food. He petted her on the head and then put the bag of food back in the cabinet.

“Okay,” he said, shutting the low door and rising. “Time to go.”

He went to her and wrapped an arm around her, noting abstractly that the lemon and soap scent of her had changed. Now, she smelled like.. .cleanser, of all things, a sweet sort of smell.

They hobbled to the door and out. She stopped to lock it, and the storm door as well, then leaned on him as they went down the steps and out to the car. He had the door open and her up in the backseat before he remembered he’d left his briefcase where he’d dropped it, halfway under the table, on the kitchen floor.

Too bad. He’d have to come back for it later. Right now, the goal was to get Mary to the hospital. ASAP.

He got in without noticing he’d left his Ray-Bans on the seat. They snapped as he sat on them. He swore and pulled them out from under him. Both lenses had popped out. He tossed the pieces onto the empty seat beside him and started up the engine.

In the back, Mary groaned and panted. He waited until she seemed to quiet—which meant she was between contractions—before he asked, “Where are we going?”

A breathless sound escaped her. “You.. .know Wulf City?”

It was blessedly close, maybe ten miles from there, just south of New Braunfels off I-35. “I know it. The name of the hospital?”

“Wulf City Memorial.” She rattled off an address.

He punched the information into the dashboard GPS. A moment later, the electronic map showed him where to go and the canned voice began giving instructions. He drove the SUV in the circle of driveway that went around her house. Her dog was sitting on the back patio, looking kind of lost.

He heard Mary whisper, “See you later, girl,” as they left the mutt behind.

In the backseat, Mary was hardly aware that they were merging onto the highway. She had one hand, whiteknuckled, on the armrest. The other was down low, holding her belly, her legs spread wide, all modesty forgotten.

She had a faraway awareness that Mr. Smooth, Gabe Bravo, had practically carried her, leaking, moaning and panting, to his fancy car. She probably should have been mortified.

But by then, she was pretty much beyond mortification. Actually, between the excruciating, never-ending contractions, when she could think again, she was grateful. That he was there. That she hadn’t ended up doing this impossible job alone.

Her heart hurt, knowing that Rowdy wasn’t behind that wheel instead. That he’d died before he even knew they were finally going to have the baby they’d been trying for since they got married. When she closed her eyes, she could still see his beloved, craggy face and hear his rough voice.

Oh, she did miss the way he would call her “sweetheart,” so shyly, with that look of adoration and wonder in his kind hazel eyes. She could see him as he left her that last time, kissing her at the sink and then going out the back door to check some fences, favoring his right leg, which had been injured in some long ago rodeo accident.

“Rowdy, oh, Rowdy…” She was crying, the tears streaming down her cheeks. She tasted them, salty, on her tongue. And she must have said Rowdy’s name out loud, because Gabe turned around in the front seat.