All That Remains

“We might have to do some washing. I mean, between me and Cupcake. Maybe we could rinse things out in the rain….”

Alec shook his dark head. “I don’t think they’d dry.”

Worrying over the problem, she retired to the end of the attic, aware that Alec had politely turned his back again. Flushing with embarrassment, she used the jar, dumped the contents out the window he’d already opened and let the rain rinse it. Then, before she could struggle to close the window, he reached around her and did it. She felt the heat of his body behind her, the strength of the arms that momentarily caged her, and her stomach did a dip and roll.

Stepping back, he said in a curiously gentle voice, “All right?”

She bobbed her head and, without looking at him, retreated to her pallet. Her throat had formed another of those impossible-to-swallow lumps. Cupcake was so tiny, and Wren realized suddenly that she was exhausted. It had to be hormones that were causing her mood swings. Joy to fear to gratitude to lust and back to fear again in mere minutes. Realizing that she wasn’t altogether sure she could lower herself to a sitting position gracefully and without pain was enough to make her eyes burn. Had she torn? Alec hadn’t said, and why would he when he couldn’t do anything about it?

Before she could begin any kind of undignified maneuvering, Alec lifted her up and laid her down. She squeaked, and he smiled.

“You were giving the problem more thought than it deserved.”

“My body is holding a major protest.”

He crouched over the first-aid kit. “It hadn’t occurred to me, but—” He made a pleased sound. “Here we go. Aspirin or ibuprofen?”

“Really?” Wren struggled up to her elbow, careful not to shift Cupcake, who she’d snuggled against her.

“Yeah, I thought about it earlier, when you were in labor, but I wasn’t sure what was safe for you to take.” He grimaced. “Or how much good either would do. Sorry that I’m only now remembering it’s here.”

“I haven’t hurt that bad. But I won’t say no to some ibuprofen.” She took the two capsules, popped them in her mouth, then swallowed them with a sip of water. “Thank you,” she murmured, settling back down.

“Hey, these dressings should work as menstrual pads for at least a few changes.” He sounded pleased. “I should have thought of it.”

Paper rustled as he laid out a small pile of sterile dressings then closed the velcro fasteners on the case, and stood. “I’m sorry, but I need to…” He gestured toward the window.

“Feel free.” Wren curled more comfortably around Cupcake and tugged the blankets higher over them. One of them was particularly scratchy wool, but it was warm. She tried not to listen to the sound of Alec lowering his zipper and then, a moment later, pulling it up again, and was grateful she couldn’t hear what he did in between.

The window grated as he shoved it down, and then his footsteps neared.

“The sun is going down, isn’t it?” Wren whispered.

“Yeah.”

She’d hardly noticed the deepening of the gray light.

“Is it still raining?”

“Yeah,” he said again.

“If we’re going to be biblical, it’s poor Noah we ought to be identifying with. And his wife. Doesn’t it figure that nobody can remember her name? She probably took care of all the animals and still put dinner on the table every night for him, and all anyone remembers is her husband because he built the boat.”

Alec knelt beside her. “I suspect he’s remembered because the vision was his.” Amusement roughened his voice.

“Who says? Maybe it was her idea. Wouldn’t it figure he took the credit?”

He sat and untied his boots. “As it happens, I know her name. Emzara.” He tugged off the first boot and set it aside. “Don’t ask me why that stuck from Sunday school.” In the act of pulling off the second boot, he paused. “Come to think of it, I know why. It was Mom. She said something pretty similar to what you did.”

“Smart woman.” Wren was beginning to feel drowsy, even though she wished there was a whole lot more padding between her and the floor.

Jeez. Talk about ungrateful.

Alec dropped the second boot, then in a quick move lifted the blanket and stretched out beside Wren, sandwiching Cupcake between their chests.

“She won’t smother under there, will she?”

“No. These blankets feel like wool. Wool breathes. And warm air would be better for her.”

“Okay.” She couldn’t help being disconcerted by how close his face was to hers.

“I’m using the first-aid kit for a pillow,” he said unnecessarily. “Why don’t I stretch my arm out, and you can pillow your head on it?”

She noticed the careful way he spoke. Just as politely, she said, “Oh, but it’ll go numb.”

“I’ll retrieve it if it does.” She couldn’t tell if that was amusement again in his voice, or something else.

But she lifted her head as he slid his arm beneath it. After a few wriggles, she settled far more comfortably onto his bicep. As if doing so was entirely natural, he curled his arm around her and she felt his big hand clasp her shoulder.

“Let me know if you get cold,” he said. “I’ve got on a heavier shirt than you do. I can give you the vest. Or we can find some other things for you to wear.”

Although she had no intention of taking his down vest, she said, “Okay.”

He squeezed her shoulder. “Go to sleep, Wren. I’ll watch out for Cupcake.”

She snuggled into him and let her eyes drift closed. She could smell male sweat overlying soap and a hint of forest. She liked how he smelled. “Okay,” she heard herself murmur again, drowsily.

Falling asleep hadn’t been so easy in a long, long time.

CHAPTER FOUR

ALEC SLEPT IN SNATCHES, an hour here and there. He was uncomfortable, but unwilling to disturb Wren or the baby by moving. The floor seemed to get harder as the night wore on, the cushioning beneath him thinner and more inadequate. He felt as if he was pillowing his head on a square rock. Tomorrow night—if they were still here—he’d find something else. His arm did go numb under Wren’s head, and sharp pains stabbed his right shoulder, the one he’d landed on when he fell through the window.

How long had it been since he’d slept cuddling a woman? Two years, maybe? No, longer than that—closer to three. Oh, who was he kidding? He and Carlene hadn’t been that friendly in bed for a while before their divorce. And his few sexual encounters since hadn’t included sleep—or much in the way of cuddling, either.

Early on, Wren had snuggled onto her side and shifted her head to his shoulder. He had a suspicion she would have been nestled against him if not for the small lump that was Cupcake between them. Wren, he thought, was a cuddler.

She was also a quiet sleeper, or maybe simply exhausted to the point where her body had decided to suspend all but essential operations. Once she settled in, she went boneless. He couldn’t even hear her breathe. Every so often, to reassure himself, he tilted his face so that he could feel a soft stir of warm air on his cheek when she exhaled.

He’d never slept in bed with a baby, although he’d been known to snooze on the sofa with one of his daughters on his chest, their knees tucked up and thumb in mouth. Remembering the sweet weight of a baby gave him a piercing pain beneath the breastbone that was sharper than the one in his shoulder. That memory led to others, even less welcome.

Maybe he hadn’t been the best father in the world, not given his working hours. The last straw for Carlene had been when he’d missed India’s fourth birthday party.

“You’ll be here when I blow out the candles, won’t you, Daddy?” India had begged him, her blue eyes wide. “You will, right?”

“I’ll do my best,” he’d promised, giving her a big hug and kiss on the nose before he went out the door.

But there had been a shooting, not an especially ugly one—he didn’t even remember the specifics, except that Benson was out because his mother was dying and Molina had come down with the flu, so Alec and his partner had gotten the call even though they shouldn’t have been top of the rotation yet. It was his job. Somebody had died. A kid’s birthday party didn’t cut it as an excuse.