CULLEN'S BRIDE Page 24

  As he catalogued everything he would have to do, everything he would need to take, Cullen's thought processes sharpened, clarified, shifting into the disciplined cadences of tactical planning. He let out a slow breath, deliberately relaxing his muscles, then reached for the phone. He knew the extent of his strength and endurance; he'd been tested often enough and in worse conditions than these. Ironically, now that Rachel was in trouble, she couldn't be in better company.

  After he'd spoken with Cole, Cullen began filling the day pack with everything they would need. He retrieved a small tarp from the back of the truck and rigged that, along with the rope he'd used to rescue the mare, behind Mac's saddle. If they didn't make it to the rendezvous with Cole before the baby came, they were going to need every bit of shelter he could contrive.

  When everything was ready, Cullen deposited Rachel's oilskin-draped figure on Mac's back, then swung up behind her. When he was settled, he turned her so she was sitting across the saddle, her legs to one side, her head cradled in the curve of his shoulder. Her arms slid around his waist as if they belonged there, filling him with the intense pleasure of her nearness and another grim jolt of determination.

  Mac's hoof-falls thudded steadily through the wind and rain as Cullen guided the horse, sometimes by memory, sometimes by pure instinct, through pathways, gullies and bush-shrouded slopes he hadn't seen since he was a half-wild boy running from a violent father. The higher they went, the steeper the country got, but Mac was as agile as a cat. They stopped periodically, to rest Mac and ease Rachel's discomfort when the contractions began to strengthen.

  Cullen kept clear of the thickest bush as long as he could, but when the river blocked their path, they were forced beneath the dark canopy. Although they were now sheltered from the worst of the wind, water cascaded through branches and dripped from fronds. Woody roots and rotting vegetation made the ground treacherously slippery, and some groves of trees were too thickly tangled to penetrate on horseback.

  Cullen brought Mac to a halt before a particularly dense stand of trees. "This is where we get off."

  Rachel roused herself from the semiaware state she'd instinctively retreated into when the contractions eased. "You can't carry me through that."

  Cullen helped her from the horse. "I routinely carry packs and equipment that weigh more than you."

  Rachel held on to the branch of a small sapling as Cullen untied a tarp and rope from Mac and rigged it to his pack. "But you'll need both arms free to—"

  Dropping the pack, Cullen bracketed her face with his hands and kissed her, his mouth moving with a gentle hunger over hers. The wind and rain receded, the forest ceased to exist, and warmth flowed through Rachel on a wave of sweetness that was cut abruptly short by another contraction.

  He lifted his mouth from hers. "The baby?"

  Before she could answer, he unbuttoned her oilskin and slid his hand beneath her sweater and shirt to the tightening muscles of her stomach. "How long?" he asked tauntly.

  "Could be hours, could be minutes," she muttered, her voice tense with the effects of the contraction. "If there was such a thing as a practice run, maybe I could tell you something different."

  "If there was such a thing as a practice run, I'd be damned if I'd let you go through it," he said as he refastened her buttons. "You're already in too much pain."

  "How much is too much?" she retorted with a touch of asperity. "I've got a feeling this is only the beginning."

  Cullen's arms came around Rachel, enclosing her. She breathed him in, almost tasting his heady, hot vitality, feeling some of his strength run through her in the subtle uplifting of her spirits, the rock-solid certainty that he would keep her and the baby safe no matter what.

  His fingers stroked her jaw, tilted her head back until she was once again locked in the clear, metallic purity of his gaze. "If I could, I would take the pain for you. Always."

  Tears sprang to Rachel's eyes. Damn, she was raining from the inside out now. "I know," she said huskily. And suddenly she knew she couldn't hold back how she felt. If she didn't tell him now, she might never get another chance. "That's just one of the reasons why I love you."

  Cullen went absolutely still. His fingers trembled against her jaw. "Rachel," he said hoarsely.

  "Don't," she said, afraid he would express regret and not sure she could bear that. "Don't say anything."

  A rough sound tore from his throat; then he pulled her close, wrapping her in so tightly that she could feel the shudders running through his big body.

  Minutes later Cullen slapped Mac on the rump, sending the horse mincing indignantly back the way they'd come. He lifted Rachel into his arms. "Hold on around my neck, and I'll be able to use one arm to clear branches when I have to. Tell me when you feel a contraction coming on, and I'll stop."

  Rachel settled her head on the curve of his shoulder. As they climbed higher into the steep hill country, Cullen's breathing deepened but never faltered. She could feel the smooth bunch and shift of his muscles beneath her hands, the relentless rhythm of his ground-eating stride. He was sweating, and a startling amount of heat radiated from his body, but he only stopped when she needed to, and he only altered his pace for her comfort.

  "I am too heavy," Rachel protested when Cullen had to take a particularly long detour around a sheer rockface.

  He didn't answer. His breathing was still deep and even, but Rachel didn't know how long he could keep it up. With a rigorous morning's work behind him and the rain soaking his pack and boots, adding to the weight he had to carry, even Cullen's strength had to have its limits. But then again, maybe not. His strength and endurance, his fierce will, awed her. In many of the men Rachel knew, those qualities were present, but subdued and perhaps seldom tested. In Cullen, they burned with furnace heat, blasting through normal barriers.

  After a period of time, she realised they were going downhill. The wind and rain had dropped considerably, but the afternoon was darkening toward an early dusk. Finally they walked free of the bush. Cullen stopped, setting her on her feet while he scanned the area.

  He grunted with satisfaction and pointed out a glow in the distance. "Cole's waiting. Twenty minutes and we'll be on our way to the hospital."

  Hospital. She went still as a pain that had nothing to do with the baby poured through her. That was where she wanted to go, but Rachel was suddenly reminded of exactly what the hospital meant. The end of her marriage.

  Cullen mistook her tension as the beginning of another series of cramps. Rachel didn't disabuse him.

  The last few hundred metres seemed to take forever. Cullen cradled her with exquisite care, but the contractions were closer together and had strengthened, arching Rachel like a bow every time one struck. Leaving her breathless and trembling when they finally ebbed.

  Cole was waiting beside a four-wheel drive. There were several other vehicles and an array of neighbours, presumably gathering to form a search party if needed.

  Cole opened the passenger door of his extended-cab truck. "You're early," he said roughly.

  Cullen lifted Rachel onto the rear passenger seat and stripped her oilskin away before stowing it in the covered back of the truck along with his own. He climbed in next to her, belted them both in, and settled her in the curve of his arm. "Forty minutes, forty-five at the outside, and we'll have you in hospital."

  His molten gaze seared into Rachel with such force that she had to believe that if it were possible to keep the baby from being born by will alone, then Cullen would achieve it. But Cullen's will was so very strong, strong enough to push her and the baby out of his life no matter how hard she tried to break through his barriers. No matter how much they needed him.

  No matter how much he needed them.

  Cole reversed the truck, then turned it, pointing them in the general direction of the road. Powerful lights cut through rain and wind and darkness, picking out a fence line, an open gate and finally the lighter outline of the farm road. Despair seeped through Rachel, even as
Cullen's warmth, his magical touch, sank into her. She could measure the time she had left with Cullen in hours, minutes. Ten minutes to the main road. Ten minutes into Riverbend. Half an hour at the outside to get to Fairley. And no time at all until the baby was born. Once this baby was out, any hold she had on Cullen would be gone. The years stretched ahead barrenly, and Rachel knew with dull certainty that she wouldn't be able to stay in Riverbend. Not only had she lost Cullen, she'd lost her home.

  Another contraction began its relentless stretching and squeezing. Rachel gasped, wrapping her arms around her taut belly and trying to breathe through the pain. Even so, a keening note escaped her, etching out her grief. With an effort of will she reached for control, for the dignity not to beg Cullen to stay with her, not just for now, but forever. When the pain ebbed, she lay against Cullen's chest and closed her eyes.

  Cullen stared at Rachel in blank anguish. He touched a finger to the pulse in her throat. Her skin was cold, her heart rate much too fast. "Step on it, Cole," he said quietly.

  Cole looked at the big man cradling his little sister like a piece of precious porcelain and drove.

  * * *

  Chapter 17

  « ^ »

  Rachel was whisked away for an examination as soon as they arrived at the hospital, and since she was in the middle of another painful, wracking contraction, Cullen didn't have any chance to speak with her.

  The only other person in the waiting room was a small bald-headed man who was holding an ice pack to a red swelling on his cheekbone. He nodded at Cullen. "That your wife they've just taken in?"

  Cullen inclined his head, barely paying attention to the man, just as he was only peripherally aware of Cole shadowing his every move. Fury at his own helplessness consumed him. He could see why expectant fathers paced—there was no other way to siphon off all this frustrated urgency.

  The man bobbed his head knowingly, then winced, reapplying the ice pack. "Thought so," he said. "My wife's in there, too. On her fifth. Your old lady hasn't got a weapon anywhere on her, has she?"

  Cullen stared at the man blankly, his mind almost solely occupied with what was happening to Rachel and whether or not anyone in there knew what they were doing. Whether the bored young doctor who'd taken charge of her knew how desperate her situation was. And, most of all, just how damned much the next contraction was going to hurt her.

  "Better check," the man said sagely. "Women get mighty unreasonable on the delivery table."

  A nurse pushed through the waiting room door. "You can go in," she declared sunnily.

  Cullen's head jerked up. "Is the baby all right?"

  "The baby's hours away yet," the nurse said drily. "First one?"

  "How many hours?" Cullen asked.

  "If it's a first baby, chances are it could take a while." She smiled brightly. "But you never know, your wife could surprise us all. Some women deliver so quickly they never even make it to a doctor's surgery."

  Cullen felt the blood drain from his face.

  Cole came to stand beside him. "Is she well enough to have the baby?" he demanded, abrasive as ever. "Shouldn't she have surgery?"

  The woman glanced distractedly at her wristwatch. "We've taken a urine sample, administered a painkiller, and the doctor's checked her over. Mrs. Logan is quite relaxed. She's reading a magazine and listening to some soothing music. I'm sure she's quite capable of having the baby naturally."

  Disbelief combined with the fury already shuddering through Cullen. After hours of intense physical effort, of ruthlessly keeping his fear for Rachel's safety—for her very life—at bay, no one here seemed to be providing her with anything like the attention his wife should be receiving.

  The two men watched the nurse walk briskly away to deal with another patient. They exchanged a look. Music? Magazines? For once they were in perfect accord. If the nurse wasn't going to give Rachel the attention she needed, then they would.

  * * *

  "Do you need another painkiller?" Cullen asked Rachel three hours later in a voice taut with strain.

  A young nurse who didn't look old enough to be out of school, let alone caring for a pregnant woman, gave him a patronising smile. "No more painkillers."

  "Damn it, you gave her some before. Why not now, when she really needs it?"

  "It's bad for the baby this close to delivery. The drug's only for the early part of labour."

  Rachel gripped Cullen's hand as another contraction began. He was sitting on the bed, and she was leaning against him; he could feel the excruciating tautness of her muscles, the fine tremors that kept running through her.

  Cole was pacing. He'd become good at it during the past few hours.

  Rachel whimpered, almost arching off the bed.

  "Get a doctor," Cullen snarled. "Now."

  Cole strode through the swing doors of the delivery room and appeared seconds later with a dazed woman, then disappeared as rapidly as he'd arrived.

  "Are you a doctor?" Cullen rasped.

  She nodded.

  "Good. See to my wife. She's having a baby."

  The doctor raised her brows, shared a look with the nurse, asked some questions about Rachel's condition, then pulled on a pair of tight, thin rubber gloves before proceeding with her examination. Cullen watched with narrowed eyes. He knew the doctor had to do an internal examination, but that didn't mean he had to like it. As gentle as the woman tried to be, she still hurt Rachel, and frustration raged through Cullen at his inability to help her when she needed it most.

  "Won't she need assistance?" Cullen asked. "Won't you need to do surgery?"

  The doctor smiled reassuringly, stoking Cullen's fury. Why didn't they take this business seriously? Were all the women in this hospital power crazy?

  "Your wife is almost fully dilated, Mr. Logan. She's quite capable of having this child unassisted. Surgical procedures are for when something goes wrong, not a routine birth."

  Routine. Cullen carefully unclenched his jaw. There was nothing routine about his wife having a baby.

  "Now, Mrs. Logan, did you want to be in any specific position to give birth?"

  "Hands and knees," she gasped. "I've heard it helps to push the baby out."

  "Right then. Mr. Logan, you can help us out here. Why don't you put all that restless energy to some use and help your wife turn over? The baby should be born sometime during the next few minutes."

  "Help be damned," he muttered. Cullen gently lifted Rachel and turned her over himself, arranging extra pillows so she was kneeling and resting at the same time, and able to hold on to the bar at the head of the bed for extra support.

  Rachel gripped his hand. "Stay with me. Here. Where I can see you."

  "I can't help you," Cullen returned from between gritted teeth.

  "Yes, you can," she said fiercely, her eyes linking with his. "I need you. Only you."

  Cullen felt as if he'd just had all the air squeezed out of his chest. Rachel needed him. Only him. Not Cole, not the doctor, not some other man. Only him. The ferocious tension of the past few hours tightened, making it even more difficult to breathe. He covered her hands with his, trying to ease her white-knuckled strain with the stroke of his fingers, willing her through the last violent birth pains with the only thing he had to offer: the love that twisted inside him, knotting up his gut almost as hard as hers every time she had a contraction. And this time—instead of holding to what he couldn't do, the ways he couldn't help—he answered the hunger, the need, in her eyes and poured his strength into her. She'd endured more than any woman should have to over the past few months, stoically accepting the difficulties of their relationship and awing him with her capacity to hope.

  She loved him.

  He broke out into a renewed sweat at the wonder, the reality, of her love. She needed him. He swallowed, cursing thickly. Damn it, he wanted to take the burden from her, take her pain, and something broke in him then, an internal shattering that made his head spin.

  Nothing mattered but Rachel
.

  Not his past. Not his fears for the future. Nothing but Rachel.

  "I love you," he declared hoarsely, just as she cried out on a different note. Her eyes, wide, almost wholly absorbed with the business of giving birth, flared with shock, and then, incredibly, a smile spread across her mouth. With her hair clinging damply to her forehead and cheeks, and sweat sheening her pale skin, she was the most luminously beautiful creature Cullen had ever seen.

  "One more push, Mrs. Logan," a distant voice intruded. "The head's crowning."

  "Cullen. Oh, God, Cullen…"

  "Sweet heaven," Cullen muttered, as she cried out again. She grasped his hands, her nails slicing deep enough to draw blood, but he barely felt it; his whole being was locked on Rachel. Locked on the incredible miracle of the woman he loved giving birth to their child. And he knew with stunning clarity that he couldn't let her go. Ever.

  "Would you like to catch the baby, Mr. Logan?"

  "Do it," Rachel said between controlled breaths. "Hold our baby, Cullen."

  Cullen relinquished Rachel's hands. Awe shuddered through him again as he positioned his big, scarred hands under the tiny glistening head of the child. A few seconds later the warm, wet body slid into his palms, and his daughter screwed up her delicate red face and waved her tiny fists and feet at him. Her dark hair was plastered to her head, and she was so defenceless, so utterly vulnerable, that his heart shattered again.

  Cullen felt as if he were dying. Being born again. Adrenaline slammed his heart into overdrive. He went cold, then hot, and his hands began to shake. Dimly, he recognised that he'd gone into mild shock.