Meeting the bairn… — free short story.

Meeting the bairn… — free short story.

Spoiler Alert *** Spoiler Alert *** If you haven’t yet read My San Francisco Highlander, you might want to read that book first.


“Damn!” Angel kicked at the flat tire. “Is there some unwritten law that states all things must run amok when one plans the perfect day?”

She looked at the long line of cars building up behind her. Irritated drivers pulled into the first and third lanes to pass. One silver Michael Jackson glove flipped her the finger and cursed out of his downed window. She wanted to flip him back, but what would that accomplish? Nothing. That didn’t stop her from uttering a few harsh curses of her own. Not that anyone could hear her mutterings.

The dark clouds that had ridden the horizon all afternoon now swirled overhead and a steady drip, drip, drip pinged against the roof of her car. Below her feet, a thick blanket of fog obliterated the cold, choppy waves of San Francisco Bay.

Angel stomped to the rear of the car while her radio belted out Mick Jagger’s and David Bowie’s newest hit, Dancing in the Streets. “Surely, I can change a stupid flat tire!”

In truth, she never had. Where did she insert the jack? The chances of her removing a flat and installing the spare spiraled down to a big fat zero. A flat tire occurring smack in the middle of the second lane in the center of Golden Gate Bridge at—she shoved her jacket back from her wrist to expose her Minnie Mouse watch—at 3:55 on a Saturday afternoon, with not an inch of space to maneuver around the car, offered no hope of success. There may even be a law prohibiting such an attempt.

“Why did I decide I had to go to my favorite bakery on Sausalito Island today of all days? I could have found everything I needed much closer to home.” But Angel had wanted a few hours to herself and a bit of pampering at her favorite salon while Brian worked at the Pharmacy.

The minute he’d left that morning she’d cleaned every inch of their apartment, run to the local florist stand down the street and bought bundles of pink and red roses. She’d set the table with their best linens, china, crystal glasses and placed a bottle of Martinelli’s non-alcoholic sparkling cider beside a split of champagne to chill in the fridge. Even though the evidence of fetal alcohol syndrome had only entered the medical literature a few years ago, she would take no chances with their child.

This was their third pregnancy and she’d waited to tell Brian until she passed that three-month mark. Two previous pregnancies had ended in disappointment in those first precarious months. She’d even gone as far as to fake her monthly menses to keep him from discovering her secret and witnessing his concern and regret. Although, his hungry familiarity with her body made her wonder if he already suspected. But he’d never asked or made a comment. Only in the past two weeks had a tiny bulge begun to show below her belt.

“May I help you, Ma’am?”

Angel jumped so quickly she thwacked the back of her head on the uplifted trunk lid. “Jeez, you startled me,” she said, rubbing at a quickly rising knot. Her barely suppressed irritation exploded. “Do I look like a ma’am to you? Why not a Miss or a Mrs.? Of all the…”

“My apologies, Miss. I’ve called a tow truck.”

She gave a curt, affirmative nod. “It’s Mrs.” And right on cue the drip, drip became a torrential downpour.

He ignored her correction. “In the meantime, you need to get in your car and pull it over to the far-right lane. I’ll halt traffic for the maneuver.” His initially congenial tone had turned to sharp command.

“Of course, Officer, I apologize, it’s just…” a helpless wave of her hand said it all. Angel sloshed through the puddles while her newly coiffed big-hair blew around her face in a sloppy tangle of sticky hair product. The box of fresh profiteroles in the back seat would be soggy and unpalatable by the time she finally arrived home.

It took a mortifying thirty minutes for the tow truck to arrive. The surly officer’s vehicle with its whirling, flashing lights sat behind her car during the wait. “Couldn’t he have changed the damn tire? That certainly would have sped up the process and reduced the traffic. Whatever happened to the slogan ‘protect and serve’?”

When the tow truck arrived, she had to go into the wind and rain again while the driver hitched up her car. The not helpful police officer whizzed by when the truck driver took over, splashing her with water as he departed.

“Damn, him, he did that on purpose,” she hissed. Suddenly, a gush of tears coursed down her cheeks and her breast hitched with wretched sobs.

“Now miss, it’s nothing to distress yourself over, just a bit of water. I’ll have the tire replaced in a jiffy once we’re off the bridge.” He hustled her into the truck with a string of assurances and awkward pats on her arm.

Two hours late, she pulled into the garage beneath their apartment. A typical brownstone, three stories high, with front lattice work painted a soft sky blue. A quick glance over her shoulder took her eyes to the beckoning greenery of Lands End Park and the dark choppy waves beyond. The place where she and Brian had first met, first touched, first fell in love, and where they still enjoyed at least one jog a day together.

She climbed the stairs, resolved to keep her tears at bay. This was a happy occasion. But the minute the door swung open at her approach and Brian pulled her into his warm, muscled embrace, all determined calm exploded into wracking sobs as her tears soaked his shirt.

“Ah, my bonnie lass, what has ye upset?” He relieved her of the sodden packages, removed her soaked coat while she kicked off her shoes, and brushed at the unrelenting stream of tears with the pads of his thumbs.

Around the room, Brian had lit the dozens of candles she’d arranged. Along the floor she noted a trail of rose petals leading to the bedroom and burst into another rousing round of blubbering.

He noted the direction of her eyes. “Now, dinna fash, my love. ‘Tis not your roses I scattered. I thought you had in mind a romantic evening, so I went around the corner and picked up another bunch.”

Brian pulled her into a tight embrace then lifted her off the floor and carried her to the bedroom. He quickly divested them of their clothing, and vigorously rubbed warmth into her limbs with a soft towel and heated kisses. In minutes, her husband’s hard body stretched alongside hers as he continued to croon and kiss her hair and face.

Once she finally had her emotions under control, damn these pregnant hormones, Brian asked for the dozenth time, “What has my beautiful love so distraught. What dragons must I slay to make her happy again.?”

Oh, how she loved this man. Passion had not waned between them over the years, no matter what difficulties or tragedies came their way. She still craved his mouth over hers, his hands flashing every nerve to heated desire. He dragged his lips along her collar bone, down to suckle her newly swollen breasts. With the first lap of his tongue, wet heat surged between her legs. She rolled them over and slid down his burgeoning shaft, her hands braced on either side of his face.

“I love you, my wild Highlander. More with each breath, each beat of my heart. You are my treasure, my reason, my madness.” With each word she dragged her breasts over his chest then plunged down until he filled her completely.

An hour later, sated in tousled sheets strewn with crushed rose petals, Brian’s hand sliding languidly up and down her spine, he held his lips to her forehead then asked, “What do ye need to tell me, my heart?”

Angel pushed away so she could see the deep green of his eyes. She took his hand into hers and slid it over the tiny bump on her abdomen. “Meet your bairn, my love.”

Brian half sat up running his hands all over her tingling skin. “Are ye certain? Did I hurt you? Was I too rough? Why didn’t ye warn me? How far along are you?” The last question carrying the weight of their previous loses.

It took a minute for her to interject a word over his concerns. “I’m fine. Everything’s fine. I saw the doctor yesterday. I’m healthy as a horse and the babe is doing fine.”

Angel cupped his face and pulled his lips to hers, smiling against his sputtering until he ceased. “I’m about three and a half months along.”

He sat up scowling, running his hands through his tousled hair. “Why…how could ye keep this from me?” He stopped abruptly. “You’re certain you and the bairn are well?”

Angel scooted up against the headboard tucking the sheet around her breasts. “I wanted to wait until I passed three months. I couldn’t bear to disappoint you again.”

Brian pulled her forward into a fierce embrace. “My bonnie lass, ye could never, never disappoint me. No secrets between us, remember? Your worries are my worries, your pain, my pain, your joy, my joy. We are a family.”

Then he held her at arm’s length, a broad smile blooming across his face. “We are a family,” his hand settling on her stomach, he leaned forward caressing her mouth with the sweetest, most reverent kiss they’d ever shared. “I am the luckiest man alive. What shall we name our bonnie lass or laddie?”

Angel laughed and reached into the night stand extracting a journal. “Do you remember our honeymoon?”

“Aye, every blessed minute.” Brian tilted his head toward the journal she held.

“Well, I wrote down the list of names we might consider for our children.”

Brian pulled her against his hard chest. “Have I told you how much I love ye, my sweet Angel?”

He didn’t need to tell her, he showed her every day and soon he’d become the best father in all the world.

~ The End ~

4 Replies to “Meeting the bairn… — free short story.”

    1. Hi, So glad you loved the short story. It does make that connection and carries us along in the story. Want to see more short stories? Of course, most will happen after book three!

  1. So descriptive. Getting deep into the relationships. Feelings, thoughts, joining. It all becomes so much more real. I am so looking forward to the third book!!

    1. Hi Janell,
      I’m looking forward to book three as well!!! Laughing as I try to unscramble a glitch in the storyline. Happy Days.

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