Rhys rocked back on his heels, feeling awkward, helpless. “Can I… do anything?”
“Else?”
“Damn it, Mariah. I told you I didn’t try to make you sick. What can I do for you?”
“I think you’ve done enough, Rhys.” Her arm was still over her eyes.
He couldn’t see her face. He needed to see her face. She scared him when she was like this.
He went over to the bed and sat down beside her. She rolled away. But he reached over and took her hand and pulled her arm away from her face. She tried to snatch it away, but he held her fast.
There was a bit of color in her cheeks again, though he guessed it was probably from anger, not from a return to good health. They stared at each other. She looked ragged, worn. No glow now, he thought.
“Can I bring you some water?”
“No.”
“A soda, then? You ought to drink something.” He wasn’t sure why, but it seemed to make sense.
She hesitated, then sighed. “There’s some ginger ale in the fridge.”
“I’ll get it.”
“I don’t need you doing me favors.”
But he didn’t pay any attention to her. He strode out of the room and got the ginger ale, poured it into a glass and brought it back.
Mariah had pushed herself halfway up against the headboard of her bed. He handed her the glass and stood watching while she sipped.
“Stop staring,” she muttered.
But he couldn’t. It was the first time he’d seen her up close in ages. It was the first time he’d really looked at her in a long, long time. She looked fragile. It surprised him. Mariah had never seemed fragile in the least.
“I said, stop staring,” she bit out.
“Sorry.” This time he shifted his gaze. He paced around the small room. But there was nothing else to look at that interested him. Only her. He turned back. “Better?”
“Yes. Thanks.” The last was grudging. She shoved herself farther up the headboard. “You don’t have to wait around.”
He ignored the invitation to leave. “Does this happen every day?”
“Only when I get handed packets of fish. Or corned beef and cabbage.” At his blank look, she explained. “Sierra once brought some by for an early lunch. We had peanut butter and crackers instead.”
“Want me to get you some crackers now?”
“I’m not… hungry.”
“You have to eat.” Besides fragile, she looked skinny. He couldn’t ever remember thinking Mariah looked skinny before, either. “You’re supposed to be gaining weight, aren’t you? Not losing it.”
“I’m not losing. Not anymore.”
“You did?”
She shrugged. “At first. Some women lose weight at first. If they get sick.”
“Have you been sick a lot?” He couldn’t seem to stop asking questions.
“Some days. The doctor offered me some medication for it, but I don’t like taking stuff. Not any more than I have to. And mostly I can live with it. It’s getting better. Especially if I start the day a little slower and a little later than I used to.”
“You used to get up early.” He felt a pang of guilt. “I thought you’d like some fish,” he muttered. He didn’t let himself think about how determined he’d been to get here bright and early and make sure she regretted her late night.
Where the hell had she been?
The question was almost out of his mouth before he managed to squelch it. It wasn’t his business where she’d been. And he didn’t care.
“Thanks for the thought.” She didn’t sound sarcastic. She set the ginger ale down on the bedside table while he rocked from heels to toes and back again. She looked up at him. “You don’t have to stand around, Rhys. I’m not going to perish. It’s just morning sickness.” She said the words bluntly.
“I know what it is,” he retorted harshly. Sarah had had it, too. He’d brought her crackers and soda. He’d doted. He’d hovered.
The phone rang. Mariah picked it up. “Oh, Kevin! Hi. Just getting up.” She yawned. “I know. I enjoyed it, too. This afternoon?” She paused, flipped through a planner beside her bed, then said, “Yes, that’d be great. See you then. Bye.”
Rhys heard the smile in her voice when she said goodbye to Kevin Whoever-He-Was. He remembered that smile. She used to use it with him.
“One of your men?” he asked acidly, all sympathy evaporating.
“What? Oh, yes. I guess you could say that.” Mariah did smile then, but the smile still seemed to be for Kevin.
“Think you’re going to be well enough for him this afternoon?” Rhys couldn’t seem to stop himself from asking.
Mariah nodded slowly. “I think so.” Then, “Yes, I’m sure I will be.”
He scowled at her. “I’ll leave you to it, then. Maybe when he gets here you’ll feel well enough to come down and get your fish.”
He probably banged the door louder than he should have on the way out.
Kevin would laugh when she told him.
Kevin Maguire was The Office Stud—the Man of the Hour, the Flavor of the Month—the guy all the women in the building lusted after.
Kevin was her colleague whom she’d never, ever dated because he went through women the way Sierra went through hair color. Kevin was the man she’d spent until three in the morning with trying to put together a story last night. Kevin was the least likely guy in the universe to want to date a pregnant lady.
Which was why Mariah was surprised that afternoon when she told him that she’d used him as a defense mechanism, and Kevin said, “Why not? What are you doing tonight? Let’s go out.”
She couldn’t imagine why he was asking her out now, and said so.
A wide grin slashed his handsome face. “I’ve never been out with a pregnant lady before.”
“I’m a novelty.”
“And a defense mechanism, too. Every other woman in New York I take out has marriage on her mind. You don’t—at least not with me.” He cocked his head. “So, how about it?”
Mariah had always liked Kevin—from a distance. She’d enjoyed working with him. And she thought dinner with him would very likely be preferable to dinner with the men in her sister Sierra’s little black book. “Why not?” she said.
Afterwards she had second, third and fourth thoughts about agreeing, but just as she was about to change her mind she looked out her window and saw Rhys and some blonde bombshell in a bikini out in his back garden.
“Mr. Maguire, here I come,” she said.
In fact, she and Kevin had a good time. He took her to a small, lively southwestern restaurant on the East Side and they talked shop and sports.
For all his incredible good looks and charm, Kevin was easy to be with. Mariah enjoyed herself, and when he brought her back home and said, “Want to do that again?” she agreed at once.
“How about tomorrow?”
And she agreed to that, too. After all, what did she have to stay home for?
“I had a good time tonight,” he told her outside her front door. He touched her cheek, and she wondered fleetingly if he might kiss her, and wondered, too, what she’d do if he did. He hadn’t made a single move on her all night.
Then he grinned and gave her a wink. “G’night, Mariah.”
“Goodnight, Kev.”
The next night they went to a dinner and a jazz club. Two nights after that they went to a film in Tribeca. The following week they went for a walk in the park and swing dancing in the pavilion outside of Lincoln Center.
Every unmarried woman in the office was amazed. Kevin, who reputedly dated women once or twice, then dropped them, was sticking like flypaper to Mariah.
“What have you got that we haven’t?” they asked her.
A baby, Mariah was tempted to say.
But she didn’t think it was an answer they’d want to hear. And by now she understood why Kevin was marriage shy.
“I’ve already got a girl,” Kevin told her grimly that first night
, “back home in Cincinnati. At least I will have if she ever comes to her senses. But she isn’t ready to settle down. She wants us to see other people.” His mouth twisted. “So I do. But when I see other women they all want to get serious and I don’t, so I date ’em once or twice and move on. It’s a pain, if you want to know the truth. As far as I’m concerned, you’re a godsend.”
That’s me, Mariah thought, patron saint of New York bachelors.
But, as saviors went, Kevin did his part, too.
She had a man.
The multitudes had gone their way. She’d narrowed the field down to one. And she was seeing him a lot. Damn near every night of the week!
Rhys supposed he should be glad.
Hell, he was glad.
It was what he wanted, wasn’t it? For Mariah to find a guy who would support her, who would be there for her? A man who would bring her crackers and soda, who would give her back rubs and go to Lamaze classes with her? A man who would someday go to PTA meetings and chaperone junior high school dances with her, who would teach the kid to drive and would be the one to worry when he or she didn’t come home on time.
Of course that was what he wanted!
But he also wanted to know if this guy was up to it.
He was a good-looking stud, Rhys had to give him that. Black hair, lean, hard good looks. Muscular. Tall. Taller than Rhys by a couple of inches. Well, maybe only an inch and a half, Rhys corrected himself, standing up straighter.
He figured Mariah’s guy was about his age. A casual dresser. Rhys had never seen him in a suit. He usually came calling wearing shorts and a T-shirt or khakis and a blue or white dressshirt with the sleeves rolled up. No tie.
That didn’t sound very corporate.
Dominic always wore suits and ties. When he’d worked in his father’s corporation Rhys had worn suits and ties. Was this guy some dropout? He wasn’t a freeloader, was he? Some gigolo who was going to take advantage of a defenseless woman? What if he didn’t even have a job?
How was he going to find out?
He called his brother, Dominic. “When you want to scope out somebody, what do you do?”
“A competitor, you mean?” Dominic asked.
“Yes. I mean, no.” Rhys scratched the back of his head. “Hell, I don’t know. I want to know about some guy. Who he is. What he does for a living. If he’s trustworthy.”
There was a pause on the other end of the line. Rhys could hear Dominic’s unspoken, Why?
“What’s his name?” Dominic asked instead.
“Kevin.”
“Kevin what?”
“I don’t know. I’ll—I’ll find out.” How the hell was he going to find out?
“Are you okay, bro?” Dominic asked him.
“I’m fine,” Rhys snapped. “I’m just… doing a favor for a friend. Checking someone out.”
“Right,” Dominic said. He was clearly unconvinced. “Get me his last name. I’ll check him out.”
Trouble was, Rhys didn’t know how he was going to do that. He didn’t have a lot of time. In fact, he was due to go back to work the day after tomorrow. He’d be a lot happier going if he knew Mariah’s guy was up to snuff.
He scowled. He prowled. He paced.
He debated calling Sierra and asking just who this Kevin guy was. Then he remembered his close encounter with her Doc Martens and changed his mind. He debated calling Izzy or Chloe. He rejected that idea, too. Izzy had glared at him in the grocery store last week. Normally voluble, she had barely said a word. He’d seen Chloe in Zabar’s. She’d looked askance and said, “Rhys, how could you?” He didn’t have to wonder anymore. Everyone knew.
He thought of trying to explain. He knew he wouldn’t. It wasn’t any of their business. It was his—and Mariah’s. And no one else’s.
So he couldn’t ask them. Or Gib or Finn.
There was only one person he dared ask.
Mariah herself.
Yes, he’d ask Mariah. Confront her. Express his concerns. The more he thought about it, the smarter it sounded. It was the sane, responsible, adult thing to do.
So he waited until Kevin brought her home one night— past midnight, Rhys thought irritably. And once he heard Kevin leave, Rhys tucked in his shirt, combed his hair, and went up to Mariah’s flat.
It opened almost at once. “Forget someth—? Oh.” Her tone changed and her smile faded. “What do you want?”
“I want to know his name.”
She blinked. “What? Whose name?”
Rhys jerked his head toward the stairs down which Kevin had recently departed. “Your stud.”
Mariah’s eyes went wide. Color rose in her cheeks. “I beg your pardon?” she said with enough ice to sink the Titanic.
“You heard me. What’s his name? Loverboy? Is he reliable? Trustworthy? Does he have a job? He’s over here day and night!” He hadn’t meant to be accusing. He’d intended to simply ask a few questions, get a few answers.
“Go to hell, Rhys.” She started to close the door.
He stuck his foot in it. “Just wait a damn minute!”
“No, you wait! How dare you? What do you think you’re doing, barging in here asking me questions about something that’s none of your business?”
“As your friend—”
“Friend?” She snorted.
Rhys felt heat begin to burn in his face. “Friend,” he insisted. “Just because—”
“I’m pregnant with your child and you want nothing to do with either of us, and you still think you’re my friend?” She was incredulous.
“I want what’s best for you.”
“Of course you do.” Not. He could see it in her eyes.
“I don’t want to see you taken advantage—”
“Buzz off, Rhys. Get out of here. Like I said, just go to hell!” She gave the door another hard shove, and kept shoving. Her face was red from exertion. She was going to hurt herself pushing like that.
He sighed and pulled his foot out. The door slammed in his face.
He stared at it. “Fine,” he said much more mildly than he felt like saying it. “Go ahead. Marry him. Whatever.” Then he turned and stomped back down the stairs.
“Marry him”? “Whatever”?
Hours passed. Mariah replayed the scene all night. Ran it through, dissected it, picked it to pieces. By the next morning she still couldn’t believe her ears.
One minute Rhys was barging in here wanting to know about Kevin, and the next he was stalking away telling her to marry him? It didn’t make sense.
Rhys didn’t make sense.
Nothing made sense.
“Maybe he cares,” Sierra said. She had brought bagels this time. Mariah could eat bagels. She chewed on one thoughtfully. “Weird.”
Mariah thought so, too. A month ago she would have taken Rhys’s interference for a sign that he did care. Now she wasn’t sure what it was. Or what to hope it was.
She wasn’t sure she ought to have hopes anymore.
“I really do know some good guys,” Sierra said. “Just met one last week when I was working at a shoot in Central Park. He looks dishy in a G-string,” she added with a grin.
Mariah tried to muster a smile. “Maybe not.”
“Still got it bad for the jerk?” Sierra asked.
“I guess I do.”
It was galling to admit it. She didn’t want to give a damn.
He didn’t!
Did he?
It was a relief to leave.
The minute he headed to the airport, Rhys felt his heart lighten. He breathed deeper. More easily. Another few hundred miles and he’d have his equilibrium back. After he’d taught a week-long seminar in oil fire containment in Texas, he’d be himself again.
He was sure of it.
When Rhys was on the road, teaching or, even better, fighting a fire, nothing existed outside the moment. Nothing mattered but the present.
He never thought about anything else.
Or he never had until now.
She seemed to be following him, pursuing him wherever he went.
He bought a sports magazine and a news weekly and a thick paperback thriller. They would keep him busy when he wasn’t working.
They didn’t keep him busy enough.
Baseball was only so distracting. Reading about tennis had never been his thing. The thriller wasn’t very thrilling. And he’d had the misfortune to pick one in which the missing woman was expecting a child.
When the hell had the world become so preoccupied with pregnant women?
He rented a car and drove out to South Padre Island when the work day was over. But that felt too much like being on vacation. And vacations to him still meant spending time with Mariah.
He wondered if she was still getting sick in the mornings.
He wondered if Kevin Whoever was still there every night.
He was glad when the week was over and he could move on to the next seminar. But Santa Barbara was no more distracting than Houston had been.
He wondered if he’d shut off the water in the sink.
Of course he had! He wouldn’t have just gone off and left the water running! He was a smart guy, savvy, sensible. He left home all the time without doing dumb stuff. He wouldn’t have forgotten to shut off the cold water tap.
Would he?
He supposed he could call Mariah and have her go down and check.
Oh, yeah. Sure. Just call her up and say, By the way, I might’ve left the water running ten days ago.
But if he didn’t call her—and he had left it running—he’d be paying his water bill for the rest of his life.
You shut it off! he told himself.
But the niggling sense of worry didn’t go away. He couldn’t be sure.
Not unless he called and asked Mariah to check.
He called Mariah.
She sounded surprised to hear his voice. “Rhys? Why are you calling? What’s wrong?”
Rhys's Redemption Page 8
