Dangerous Secrets

Epilogue

Parker’s Ridge

Nine months later

Jacob Franklin Ireland was in a big hurry.

Charity Ireland moaned and Sheriff Nick Ireland stepped on the gas. He had to clutch the steering wheel hard because his palms were wet with anxious sweat.

They were in the middle of a raging summer storm, the rain coming down so hard the windshield wipers were almost useless. It didn’t make any difference. Nick knew the way to the hospital, though this was more like piloting a boat than driving a car.

Charity gave another little moan, biting her lips.

He was driving as fast as he could without risking an accident, to the very edges of his driving ability.

“Hang on, honey,” he said, keeping his voice soft and reassuring when he was sick with anxiety and fear. He glanced quickly over to where Charity was slumped in the passenger seat, panting between contractions.

Suddenly, he saw her belly ripple. God!

She gave another little cry and he pressed on the accelerator. Any faster in this wet weather and the car would be a hovercraft. Charity’s forehead was beaded with sweat, though not as much as his.

“Nick,” she moaned.

“It’s okay, honey,” he said, trying not to let his panic show in his voice. It’s okay? What the fuck did he know? All the prenatal lessons had left him so queasy hardly anything penetrated. Any time he opened one of those birth and baby books Charity consumed by the ton, he never got beyond chapter one before breaking out in a cold sweat.

He turned the corner and knew that now it was just a straight run, directly into the hospital’s emergency area, and risked upping the speed a little, hoping no other cars were crazy enough to come out in a storm that was dumping a year’s worth of rain in one afternoon.

A few minutes later, he was carrying Charity in through the hospital doors, shouting for nurses, doctors, anyone. Charity’s face was drawn in agony and he tried to remember why anyone ever had kids.

Nurses came, brisk and efficient and calm, rolling Charity onto a gurney. A nurse palpated her distended belly, lifted her skirt, cut away Charity’s panties and jolted.

“The baby’s crowning!” she said. Even if Nick didn’t know what that meant, he could see it. Between Charity’s legs he could see a rounded thatch of black hair.

His son.

Nick held Charity’s hand, shouting, “Breathe! Breathe!” like an idiot.

While he stayed by Charity’s head, a gaggle of medical personnel gathered around the foot of the gurney, calmly doing things Nick didn’t want to see. Charity was squeezing his hand so hard it almost hurt. He hated to see her suffering, hated it.

Then, suddenly, it was all over. Charity let out a huge cry, astonishingly loud for so small a woman, a bundle of something red slid into the attending doctor’s hands, and the nurses and doctors started snipping and suturing.

A loud wail started, and Nick looked over, heart pounding.

His son. That funny creature that looked like a skinned rabbit was his son.

Charity laughed and he looked at her in astonishment.

“That was funny?” he asked.

She smiled that slight witchy smile that drove him nuts. “Not funny,” she said softly. “Wonderful.”

Someone touched his elbow. “Sheriff,” one of the nurses said. “Here’s your son.” She placed Jake in his arms.

Nick looked down at his son’s face, features a tiny replica of his own. The fury of coming into this world was already gone. His small face was calm, a little pucker between two tiny eyebrows showing that he was puzzled at this new world.

Nick brushed Jake’s cheek with his forefinger, amazed that anything human could be so soft.

Suddenly, Jake’s eyes opened wide—they were a bright, brilliant blue—and to his dying day, Nick would swear that his son smiled at him. A tiny hand clutched his finger. His son, holding onto his hand.

His son. Jesus. His son.

For the second time in his life, Iceman burst into tears.