Page 53 of Harry

It had left a lasting impression on him, and she was afraid that one day he would find dealing with the mood swings, the different symptoms of a pregnant woman would set him off and make him walk. She could not bear that.

He was here now, and it was wonderful. Last night after supper, he had made love to her, the lovemaking so tender and sweet, it had left her crying in his arms. She knew he loved her, there was no doubt about that. She was also ignoring the fact that this gorgeous man, this utterly wonderful lover was in love with her.

So, she was walking on eggshells. Her appointment was coming up and she wanted him there.

So far, things were not so bad, discounting the bouts of nausea, the cramping of her legs, the soreness of her nipples and the indigestion which seems to come from nowhere, she was okay – sort of. And he was caring. His mother was on board as well as the entire staff over at the main house.

She supposed she should stop looking for disaster around the corner but could not help herself. Rubbing a hand over her stomach, she rose when she felt her stomach pitching.

*****

He found her curled up on the sofa with her eyes closed.

Placing the tray on the table, he sat at her feet and pulled them into his lap. Her eyes flickered open and she smiled at him.

“I thought you were asleep.”

“Just resting my eyes.” Her hands went to her bump. “I feel much better.”

“Constipation dealt with?”

She nodded.

“Sit up and drink the tea.”

When she did, he placed the tray over her lap and kept a firm grip on her feet.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Go ahead.”

“All this, the constipation, the passing of gas, the bloating, which is very personal and somewhat embarrassing. Does it turn you off?” Picking up the cup, she took a sip of the tea and felt it warming her throat.

“Of course it does.”

“I’m serious.”

He saw that she was and contemplated before responding, wanting to be truthful.

“I did think it might have.” He studied her delicate face for asecond and smiled. “You were the one who always had to go into the bathroom to fart.”

“It’s called passing gas,” she corrected with a sniff.

“Right,” his eyes twinkled merrily. “I was the one who offended you because I did not give a rat’s ass about the fart- I’m sorry, the passing of gas at the dinner table.” His expression turned sober as he massaged her insteps. “To answer your question, no, it doesn’t turn me off.” He eyed her quizzically. “You’re still afraid I’m going to run.”

“No. I…” she shrugged helplessly and nodded, “you’re dealing with a lot, and I know you don’t want to talk about the past…”

“Precisely.” His expression became remote and warned her that she was treading into dangerous waters.

“Okay, fine. I respect that. But I want to know that you won’t leave, no matter how difficult things are.”

“You don’t trust me. I am constantly trying to prove myself here.”

“I know, and I appreciate that…”

“It’s not for you to appreciate!” He blew out an exasperated breath. “I’m your man, the one who planted those babies inside of you. I might not have wanted to take that direction, but it’s done and I’m here – I am all in.”

She hesitated a moment, not willing to start another argument, but she wanted to know. Had to. “We haven’t discussed setting up the nursery.”

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