"Margaret Anne Wilder!"

I sighed. Any time my full name was used, it was not a good sign. I looked up to find Hank standing in the kitchen doorway. "Yes, dear?"

"Don't you 'yes, dear' me. You want to explain this?" He was waving a piece of paper.

"If you'll tell me what 'this' is?" I used the hem of my apron to wipe the sweat from my forehead.

"It's a three hundred and twenty-two dollar and forty cent phone bill, that's what it is. You want to mind telling me why you called a 900 number -- seventeen times?"

"Oh, that." I turned back to chopping up carrots. "I was talking to Mary Lou."

I could hear his teeth grinding and knew his patience was wearing thin. "Who is Mary Lou?" he asked in an unusually low voice.

"She's my psychic."

"Your psychic?"

"Uh huh." I turned and waved the knife as I spoke, for emphasis. "See, I figure if anyone can tell me when this heat spell is gonna end, it would be a psychic." I smiled, certain that he'd see my logic.

He stood there for the longest time, just staring at me and working his jaw, but no words came out. "You're not to call this number again, understand? With the baby on the way, we just can't afford it."

"Okay, dear." I blew him a kiss and turned back to the vegetables. I was making soup for supper, and all it needed now was the carrots and celery. "Besides, she didn't know when it would rain anyway."

I felt his arms slide around my waist and his hands lovingly caress my rounded waist. "Maggie Anne, what am I going to do with you?"

"Love me," I answered, grinning. I tilted my head up for his kiss.

His lips were warm and soft against mine. "That's what's responsible for your condition in the first place," he joked. "I loved you the right way."

He reached out and grabbed a piece of carrot, popping it into his mouth and taking several more.

"Hey! Get out of here before you eat all my vegetables," I scolded.

A smack on my rear was his retort.

"Margaret Anne!"

I was in the nursery, folding tiny clothing that I'd received at my baby shower the day before. When I was done, I would put them in the blue and white dresser that my brother had given us. Although it took a bit of struggling, I got up from the rocker and walked down the hall to the top of the stairs. "What's wrong, Hank?"

"Why is there a hundred and fifty dollar charge on the Visa for a 'Madame Twinkey'?"

"Oh, because she's this gypsy woman who just opened a shop on First Street -- you know, right there by the bakery. She advertised that she could read palms and give predictions, and I just wanted to know when it was going to rain." I started to walk back to the nursery.

"Maggie, you've got to stop this ... whatever it is. We can't afford it, and no one's gonna be able to tell you when it'll rain. Maybe the weather bureau, but not like you're wanting." He'd walked up the stairs and stood there on the top step, looking at me.

"I know this heat is about to do you in. This is the third week that the temperatures have been over 100 degrees Fahrenheit, and our poor air conditioner is on its last leg. I can get some portable fans from the hardware store if--"

I shook my head. "That's okay, honey. We need to be saving our money, that's what you said a few minutes ago. I'll just hang the clothes out on the line to dry and keep my cooking to a minimum. That should help, shouldn't it?"

He smiled, that crooked off-center smile that made me fall in love with him to begin with. "That'll do just fine." He headed back down the stairs, and I went to finish in the nursery.

"Margaret Anne!"

I jumped. I had been napping on the couch, but not any more. I tried to reach a sitting position. With my due date only one week away, I was not the most graceful of creatures.

Hank rushed forward to help me up, waving his hand to clear the air in front of him. "Where on God's green earth is all this smoke coming from?"

"Oh, it's from the incense I'm burning." I rubbed my eyes. It was a bit smoky in the room. Perhaps I'd lit too many sticks. I chewed on my bottom lip.

"Why are you burning incense?" He held up a hand quickly. "No, let me guess -- it's to help it rain, right?"

"Pretty much. I read in this magazine that certain types of incense can..." My voice trailed off at the mirth in his eyes. "You're laughing at me." Tears welled up in my eyes, and I started to bawl. Those pregnancy books never said my emotions would flip-flop this much.

Hank took me in his strong arms, helped me up, and led me out onto the front porch. He guided me into the porch swing and wiped my tears with the end of his shirt. "It's okay, sweetie," he said. "No harm done." He smiled, letting me know he wasn't mad. "I'm going to go back in and clear the house out. You just stay here and rest, okay?"