Free Never Let Go by Deborah Smith Page B

glanced away, frowning. "If she's realty going into labor . . . well. It's no fun to give birth alone."
    "Were you alone?" he asked grimly, and his expression told her that the thought upset him.
    "Basically, yes."
    "Where . . . no. You can't tell me. I won't even bother to ask."
    She nodded and faced him stoically, her heart twisting as she remembered how much she had needed him. "It's no fun," Dinah repeated.
    "What's your schedule? Have we got time to stay and help?" he asked. His tone was softer, and there was grudging admiration in his eyes.
    "Yes."
    "Okay, then. It's gonna take me all afternoon to fix the truck, anyway." He paused, studying her. "Didn't anybody tell you that lady spies are supposed to be wicked and heartless? Don't you watch the movies?"
    Dinah smiled wryly and nodded. She hugged herself against the cool wind and the shivering urge to lean forward and kiss him. "They're not supposed to love their husbands, either."
    He flinched and started to lift his hands toward her. Dinah urged him with her gaze. His restraint was almost palpable, a force that conflicted with every beautiful memory she saw replayed in his eyes. After a tense second, the warmth faded from them. He lowered his hands wearily. "Spies can still love their husbands?"
    "Yes."
    "But then leave them without lookin' back? That takes pure meanness."
    She felt his rejection as if he'd shoved her physically. "I looked back," she whispered. "Every step of the way." Dinah turned from the searing disbelief in his eyes and numbly went to the house.
    ***
    A grandfather clock ticked in one corner of the Chase living room and fading afternoon light made the room shadowy. Good smells drifted from the stove in the kitchen. Laurie's monopoly on the conversation suited Dinah.
    The girl rocked next to her, stroking a big orange cat that purred in her lap. Dinah let her own rocking chair remain still.
    "Do you know who your husband reminds me of?" Laurle asked abruptly. 'That writer. Rucker McClure."
    Dinah jumped. She gathered her wits quickly and replied, "We've heard that before. He does look a little like him."
    "I've got all his books. Walt, I'll show you."
    Dinah straightened fearfully, searching her memory as the girl hoisted herself from the rocker and went to a nearby bookcase. How much did Rucker's publicity photograph resemble him? Laurie withdrew a slender hardback.
    "This is the last one he wrote. It's my favorite. Hot Grits and Honeysuckle . About bein' married. It's got a lot of funny stuff about marriage in it, but you can tell that he realty loves his wife."
    The girl handed the open book to her and pointed at a photograph on the inside cover flap. "He's older lookin' than your husband and a little heavier. Plus he wears glasses. Look at that tailored jacket. Bet that tie's made of silk. He's a slick-lookin' devil. Not like your husband. I mean, that's a compliment."
    Dinah sighed with relief and tried to smile. "I understand." Thankfully, she'd encouraged Rucker to dress up for the photograph. The glasses, which he used only for reading, were a last-minute addition. "Now I look like a man who likes poetry Instead of Sports Illustrated ," he'd grumbled.
    "Go ahead and read some. I'll check on supper." Laurte told her.
    As she left the room, Dinah lovingly smoothed a hand over Rucker's book. When she'd first met him, he wanted to write about her, but she was distrustful and frightened. Her past contained secrets that he might expose. It had taken a long time for her to understand that Rucker wanted to erase the past and give her a future.
    Now she had to do the same, for him.
    "Bethesda?"
    She glanced around. "Hmmm?" Laurle Chase stood in the kitchen door, clutching the frame.
    "My water broke."
    ***
    Rucker rarely looked clumsy or ill at ease, regardless of the situation. "I feel about as graceful as a rhinoceros on a bicycle," he muttered tensely, as he bumped furniture and caught his boot toe on a braided rug.
    "Relax, Abe . Everything's