Their Precious Christmas Miracle. Линда Гуднайт

had something to distract her from her personal life. No one at the chamber had asked for her input. Was she merely butting in out of self-preservation?

      Maybe, she admitted, as she began typing some notes for Belle and the other directors. But needing the distraction didn’t preclude also having some darn good ideas. Busy brainstorming, she barely noticed how much time had passed until May walked back in the door. With a start, Rachel sat back in her chair. When was the last time she’d been so engrossed in something, so confident in her abilities to help a client?

      Okay, not a client, exactly. She glanced at some of what she’d written, considered the pictures she could take to bring the ideas to life. At least, not yet.

       Chapter Eight

      “All right.” Rachel felt surprisingly unself-conscious about talking to her belly through the thin cotton of her pink T-shirt. “You’ve made your point.”

      Today, she and David were supposed to meet at the OB’s office and find out for sure if she was pregnant. But the baby had chosen now to make its presence known beyond a shadow of a doubt. While Rachel had experienced increasing twinges of nausea in the past few weeks, this was the first time she’d truly succumbed to full-on morning sickness. The back door to the house was still open—she’d been letting the dogs out in the yard when she’d had to make a sudden run for it.

      Hadn’t she read somewhere that an expectant mother tossing her cookies was a sign of a healthy, growing baby?

      She got to her feet slowly in case the room had any plans of spinning again, then she went into the kitchen, planning to call the dogs inside and consider breakfast options. The pregnancy books she’d bought the first time were buried in a closet back at her and David’s house, but she remembered reading that, while it seemed counterintuitive, food would help ease the nausea. As she reached the back door, she heard the barking. She peeked her head out and saw the dogs with their noses pressed to the wooden planks of the fence. On the sidewalk beyond, David’s posture was sheepish. The hounds raised enough of a ruckus to wake the entire neighborhood.

      When he saw her, he called, “I was just out jogging.”

      “Of course.” She whistled, causing the dogs to glance her way. None of them actually came toward her, however. The two older ones were at least quiet now, but Hildie kept yipping her excitement. Rachel took another step outside, wincing at the cold of the ground through her fuzzy socks. “I don’t think they’re going to leave their post until you pass by.”

      David didn’t seem in any hurry. “Well, I guess I’ll see you at Dr. McDermott’s office … unless you want to ride together?”

      It was a seemingly innocuous suggestion, yet she was left with the distinct impression he hadn’t heard anything she’d tried to tell him in his office yesterday. “David—”

      “You know, with gas prices being what they are,” he added, “and carpooling being the more environmentally friendly option.”

      Exasperating man. “Sic him, Hildie.”

      “Honestly, Rach, what are you worried about? The few minutes alone in the car can’t possibly be as intimate as the visit itself. I mean, we’re going to find out for sure whether or not we’ve created a new life, hopefully get to see the first sonogr—”

      “Shh! It’s bad enough that the dogs probably woke up everyone in the subdivision. We shouldn’t be out here discussing private matters.”

      “You’re absolutely right,” he said smoothly. “I’ll come inside.”

      He went from leaning against the fence to sprinting before she had time to protest. She’d say this for him—he could move.

      But paying him compliments was the furthest thing from her mind when she opened the front door. “I don’t want to ride with you.”

      Peering at her beneath the foyer chandelier, he frowned. “Up close, you don’t look … I mean … Rough morning?”

      “I guess there’s really no debonair way to tell a girl she’s green and disheveled.”

      “You’re sick to your stomach, aren’t you? I’m an ass. You shouldn’t have been standing out in the cold talking to me—you should be off your feet. Why don’t you go relax, and I’ll make some coffee? No, caffeine’s bad for the baby. I’ll pour juice and—”

      “You’ll go away,” Rachel said firmly. “I appreciate the sentiment, sort of, but I don’t need help.”

      “Why are you being so stubborn?”

      “Why are you? David, I don’t want you to take care of me.”

      He surprised her by putting a hand across her abdomen. “It’s my baby, too, Rach. Let me be part of this. Don’t shut me out again.”

      She flinched at his soft words. “I would never try to push you away where the baby’s involved.”

      “There was a time I wouldn’t have believed you would push me away, period.” He let his hand drop away.

      He blames me. Worse, on some level, so did she. “It’s not—it’s not like I set out to create distance between us. But there were times when it was hard to be around you.” Like the day the doctor had called with the results from the routine test confirming that David was not the infertile one.

      Of course he wasn’t. Robustly healthy, he didn’t even have the decency to come down with the occasional flu so that she could commiserate with other wives about what a lousy patient he was. Hell, if he ever did get sick, he’d probably be perfectly gracious about it. A tangle of long-suppressed emotion bubbled to the surface—resentment for her do-no-wrong husband and self-loathing that she hadn’t been able to love him more unconditionally, that she’d ever allowed resentment to take root.

      “You know, it wasn’t exactly me pushing you, it was more pulling away. Retreating like a turtle. For my own defense.”

      “Defense? I never would have hurt you!”

      Not on purpose, but it was amazing the accidents that could take place in close quarters. “You don’t think it hurt when you pushed me to put my miscarriage behind us like it never even happened?” She cupped her hands over her belly, as if the protective gesture could somehow keep such a thing from happening again.

      “I was encouraging you to look forward, to consider other possibilities. You were in such a dark place,” he reminded her, frustration thick in his voice.

      “I was.” Tears spilled down her cheeks. “And I felt very alone there.”

      “I was trying my damnedest, Rach. What the hell more did you want from me?”

      She struggled to find the right words, her own emotions and his growing impatience making an already difficult task nearly impossible. “Maybe what I needed was less from you.”

      He shoved a hand through his hair. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

      “Well, you know me. Overwrought, crazy Rachel.”

      A muscle in his jaw twitched. “I can’t talk to you when you’re like this.”

      “Finally.” She choked on a sob, wanting him gone so she could fall apart without losing the remains of her dignity. “Something we agree on.”

      “I DON’T GET men,” Arianne said, leaning against the doorjamb.

      “Then we’re even.” David kept his gaze on the spreadsheet in front of him. He needed to go in a few minutes, and he hated leaving things unfinished. “Because I don’t get women.” His curt tone would have warned away most would-be conversationalists.

      His little sister, however, was impervious.

      She sauntered inside the office and dropped into a chair. “Seriously,