by Diana Palmer
“Actually, it is,” he replied. “Pine Cottage is how it’s listed. You’ll get put through. I promise.”
“Thanks,” she told him, averting her face. “But I can manage.”
He ground his teeth together. She was proud. Far too proud to accept help from a stranger. He didn’t blame her, but he wanted to help her. It was like making up for all he’d done to Emma. He hated what he’d done. He couldn’t live with it.
“My wife is alone,” he said unexpectedly. “We were expecting a child. I didn’t even know. She lost it, because of me. I got stinking drunk and pushed her headfirst out of my life.”
Emma was shocked at the anguish in his voice. She hadn’t expected that he might still feel guilty about having her arrested.
“So I have a personal motive for wanting to help you,” he added quietly. “I’d like to think someone is doing for her what I’m trying to do for you. I guess that doesn’t make sense.”
It made too much sense. She felt his guilt. He only wanted to help. But she didn’t dare let him. She got to her feet and clutched her cane. “Thank you. I really mean that. But... I don’t need help.”
“Remember what I said,” he told her, his voice soft and low. “Neighbors look out for neighbors.”
She had to bite her lip to keep from crying. He was basically a kind man. If only she’d never gotten behind the wheel of that speedboat! “Thanks,” she managed in a hunted tone.
She was in so much pain that she couldn’t even look at him as she made her way down the beach. What she’d lost!
He hadn’t known she was still in jail. He’d never meant for her to be hurt like that. He’d even made sure that she got out and had a place to go. She drew in a long breath. She really wished she could hate him. It would make living without him so much easier.
She had to watch every word she said. She didn’t want him to start asking questions about her, being suspicious about her. She knew he had doubts. But she hoped she’d convinced him that she had a husband in Saudi Arabia and the child was due in two months instead of about two weeks. If he believed those two things, he’d never suspect she was the woman he’d had thrown in jail.
* * *
Connor watched her walk, saw the pain it caused her to take each step. Something was wrong with that leg. He wondered why her doctor hadn’t done more to cure her. He wondered if she had an obstetrician. She was alone at Mamie’s house. What if something went wrong? It was reckless. She was reckless. There was a posture in her that he recognized. He’d seen it in his own tall form when he’d lost Emma, when he knew she hated him. It was the look of total defeat, disinterest in the world. It was the posture of despair.
He didn’t know what to do next, what to say to her. He wanted to help, but she was making it obvious that she didn’t want help from him. Was it really pride? Or had he gone too far with his questions? He didn’t know. Sadly, he turned and walked back toward Pine Cottage.
He called Alistair the next day. “Her hair is red, but she could have dyed it,” he said abruptly. “She says she’s six months pregnant. But her stomach looks as if she’s almost due to deliver.”
Alistair hesitated.
“You know something,” Connor said curtly. “Tell me!”
“If she thinks you even suspect it’s her, she’ll run,” Alistair said abruptly.
“It’s her!” Connor burst out in anguish. “It is Emma!”
Alistair drew in a breath. “She’s sure that you’ll insist on getting rid of it if you know she’s still here,” he returned. “I found out quite accidentally. I ran into her in town. She was buying a maternity dress at one of the consignment shops. She begged me not to give her away. I’ve never seen anyone so upset.” He tamped down the pain of remembering.
Connor’s eyes closed. He tried to breathe normally. Emma and her thrift shops. He was a multimillionaire, and his wife dressed out of thrift shops. “I would never, ever do anything to harm the child,” he said. Emma was pregnant. His baby was growing inside her. The emotions that shot through him were unfamiliar, humbling. He was going to be a father. For the first time in his life, the thought wasn’t terrifying.
“Emma won’t believe that,” Alistair continued. “You’ve never made a secret of the way you are about kids. You made a religion of protection. Emma knows all that. She thinks that you’d take her to court to make her end the pregnancy.”
“I wouldn’t,” Connor said heavily.
“What I’m trying to get across to you,” Alistair said patiently, “is what she thinks. You have to be careful.”
“Does she have an obstetrician at least?”
Alistair sighed. “I couldn’t get her to tell me. She mentioned that she has a midwife, though.”
“Her mother died in childbirth,” Connor said, anguish in his tone. “She knows that!”
“It worries me, too, Connor,” Alistair replied. “I don’t think she’s well fixed financially, despite what Mamie pays her. If she doesn’t have insurance, and many young people don’t, there’s no money to pay for specialists or even the prenatal vitamins she should be taking daily.”
Connor leaned back in his desk chair. Here was the fruit that his hateful seed had planted. Emma, alone, pregnant, with not even enough money for competent medical care. Emma, with his child inside her.
“I’ll think of something,” he said curtly.
“I did offer to help financially,” Alistair confessed. “She refused. She’s very proud.”
“Yes.” Connor drew in a breath. “Did you tell her that the divorce never went through?”
“She didn’t mention it, so neither did I.” He hesitated. “She’s invented a fictional husband, though.”
“Yes, he of the oil fields in Saudi Arabia who can’t be bothered to come home and take care of her,” Connor said with biting sarcasm.
“I suppose she thought it would throw you off the track,” Alistair said. “She saw the Realtor’s sign on the property. She thought you were gone for good, that she’d never see you again. She said she felt safe at Mamie’s house.”
Connor drummed his fingers on the desk. “I’ll let her think she’s safe,” he replied. “But I’m going to have her watched, to make sure she is. If anything happens, I’ll take care of her. Whether she wants me to or not.”
“I don’t like that limp,” the other man said. “If the inmate slashed her leg, it could mean a tendon was torn or partially severed. She needs to have it seen about. I don’t know if they’d be willing to operate at this stage of her pregnancy, though.”
“My best friend, Harry Weems, is a doctor in Atlanta. He’s one of the foremost obstetricians in the country,” Connor said. “He has a branch office in Gainesville. I’ll find a way to get her to him.”
“It had better be a cautious way.”
Connor laughed softly. “I’ll think of something.” He leaned back in the chair with a long sigh. “I’m going to have a child.” He smiled to himself. “How about that?”
“I must confess, I expected a rather different reaction from you.”
“Something along the lines of threats and intimidation?” Connor mused. “That might have been possible, with any other woman. Not my Emma. She’ll love being a mother.”
“I believe she will.”
“I won’t tell her that you said anything to me,” Connor promised. “But thank you. I was suspicious. It was the due date and the fictional husband who threw me.”
“You didn’t have my advantage. I came upon her unexpectedly.”
“So did I, on the lakeshore. Twice,” he added with a chuckle. “But she kept her nerve both times.”
“I’m glad you decided to take the house off the market,” Alistair said. “I still have the house where I lived with my late wife. I can’t imagine living somewhere else. I can see her in ev
ery room, everywhere I walk. It gives me comfort.”
Connor was only beginning to understand how a man could feel that way. “That’s why I came back,” he confessed. “I never saw Emma in the house—I was blind then. But I could feel her presence, in every room. It was comforting. Life without her has been...very lonely.”
“Perhaps not for much longer. If you’re careful.”
Connor smiled. “Careful,” he said, “is my new middle name.”
Sixteen
Emma had a bad night. Her leg was throbbing so much that she couldn’t sleep. She got up, put the lights on and went into the kitchen to make coffee. Sometimes it helped her sleep. Since she was pregnant, it was decaf, but she made it strong.
She was halfway through her first cup when she heard the knock on the door. She didn’t want to answer it. It was frightening to have someone at her door at three in the morning.
She stood up, wishing she had a weapon. She didn’t even have the cell phone with her. There was the landline phone in the living room. Maybe she could get to it if she needed to. She hadn’t been worried about intruders before. But she’d been healthy and robust, confident in her ability to protect herself. Now, she was pregnant and nervous.
She went to the front door slowly as the knock came again. Steeling herself, she looked through the peephole.
Her gasp was audible to the man on the other side of the door.
She opened it, slowly. “Mr....Mr. Sinclair,” she faltered, tugging her thick cotton robe tighter at the throat.
“Are you all right? The lights were on and I was worried,” he said quietly.
It was the last thing she’d expected to hear. He was wearing slacks and a sports shirt with deck shoes. His eyes looked bloodshot and he seemed worn-out, as if he hadn’t even been to bed.
“I’m fine...”
He gave her a sardonic look.
She swallowed. “My leg hurts,” she said. “It keeps me awake.”
“What happened to it?”
“I told you. An accident.”
“Falling off Mount Everest is an accident. So is a shark attack.”
She drew in a long breath. “Do you want some coffee?” she asked impulsively.
“Yes.”
She opened the door and let him in. She led the way back to the kitchen, haltingly. She gasped as he bent and swung her up into his arms.
How familiar she felt. How familiar she smelled. It was like touching heaven, just to be so close to her. Even if Alistair hadn’t given her away, he knew now that he had his own Emma in his arms. He carried her into the kitchen and lowered her gently into a chair.
She remembered his strength with pain. He’d carried her to bed many times during their brief marriage. She loved the way she felt in his arms. The sadness drained her of joy.
He pretended not to notice her sadness. He got a cup out of the cabinet—obviously he’d been to Mamie’s house more than once—and poured coffee into a cup. “Does yours need warming?” he asked.
“No. It’s fine.”
He sat down at the table with her, studying her drawn young face, her soft brown eyes, the swollen contours of her body. Possession, he thought as he smiled gently. That was what he felt. Possession. Especially with the pregnancy making her body swollen with his child.
“What, exactly, is wrong with that leg?” he asked.
She grimaced. “A deep cut. I think it might have done damage to a muscle or tendon. The doctor at the time just sewed it up, but he said I needed to see a specialist.”
“I see,” he said gruffly. “Did you get a second opinion?”
She gave him a long, speaking look. “I don’t shop at Neiman Marcus, drive a Jaguar, or spend summers on the beach,” she began.
“Oh, hell.”
She flushed. “Sorry, I live within my means. I was lucky to have it sewn up at all.”
“What the hell sort of doctor did you have?”
“A very busy, harassed one,” she said, not liking the memory of the physician who’d done the quick suture job in the infirmary. She’d been a prisoner, not a pampered aristocrat. Just the same, a nurse had questioned the resident’s rushed care, but just then another accident victim from a devastating highway collision had been brought in and she was forgotten.
“You should see a specialist.”
“I’ll stand on a street corner with a cup and solicit donations starting tomorrow,” she promised.
He laughed abruptly. The sound startled him. He hadn’t realized how long it had been since he’d felt like laughing. He studied her quietly and frowned. She couldn’t even afford decent medical care, and it was all his fault. His pale eyes glittered over her like seeking hands. She’d been stabbed and almost killed in an attack that could have cost her a child he didn’t even know she was carrying. A baby. Emma’s baby. His eyes closed. The pain was incredible.
“What is it?” she asked.
He looked down into his cup, his face drawn like cord. “My wife was pregnant,” he said abruptly, hating the faint waver in his deep voice. “She lost our child. I told you about it when we met in the woods.”
He sipped coffee, scalding his lip.
She didn’t say anything else. She didn’t know what to say.
He swallowed more coffee. “I don’t even know where she is right now,” he bit off.
“You’ve tried to find her?”
He averted his eyes. “Yes. It’s a big country when you’re searching for one person.”
“I guess so.” Her heart had jumped at the thought that he had regrets, that he’d tried to find her.
His pale eyes narrowed. “Why doesn’t your husband want a child?” he asked abruptly.
She started. “He...he never said, really,” she stammered.
“You’re six months along, you said,” he persisted.
She forced a smile. “Almost seven,” she agreed. “He doesn’t want it, but I do, so much!”
Almost nine. She was lying about her due date, and he knew it. He looked at her with such hunger that he had to stare down into his coffee to hide it. “I see.”
Emma was nervous. He thought she was his Emma. He didn’t say so, but it was there, just the same. She’d hoped that she’d thrown him off with her fictional marriage, her false due date. But she saw in his face that he hadn’t believed a word. He knew who she was!
She stood up. She hadn’t fooled him at all. It was her own sheer bad luck that he’d come home unexpectedly, that he’d decided to stay on the lake. And what would she do now? She backed up, holding on to the chair while she searched her whirling mind for an option, any option, to save her child.
Her long, soft hair fell out of its barrette and down over her shoulders like a red-gold cloud. Now that he was closer, he could tell that the roots were blond. Platinum blond.
She put a protective hand over her swollen stomach. “You know. Don’t you?” she asked, her big brown eyes accusing and frightened on his hard face as he, too, rose.
He studied her hungrily. “Yes, honey. I know.”
“I won’t do it.”
He scowled. “Do what?”
“I won’t give up the child,” she said, her voice breaking. “I’ll run. I’ll hide. I’ll do anything...” She was almost screaming.
He moved forward quickly and caught her up in his arms, holding her tight, enfolding her against him, rocking her hungrily. “I’ve made too many mistakes already,” he whispered into her throat, where his face was buried there, in the softness of her hair. “I won’t make that one. I swear I won’t! I’d never do anything to hurt our child, Emma!”
She was shivering. He’d said “our” child. She stilled in his arms. She stopped fighting him.
He felt that softening in her. It went to his head li
ke liquor. His arms slid all the way around her, protecting, comforting. Against his stomach, he felt the thick swell of hers. “You have my child inside you,” he whispered. And he sounded...fascinated. Wondrous.
“You won’t...force me to do anything?” she pleaded.
“Oh, Emma,” he groaned. “No! God, no!”
She let go of the fear, bit by bit, and pressed close to him. “I was so afraid,” she choked.
“I know. How do I even begin to apologize for what I’ve done to you?” he asked huskily. “I thought you’d sold me out, seduced me into marriage. I didn’t know, didn’t suspect, that you were the one driving the boat. When I found out, I just...went crazy. There’s no other way to explain it.” He drew back, so that he could see her flushed face. “I was in over my head almost at once.” He traced her cheek with warm, strong fingers. “You were always there when I needed you most. I got used to having you around. I wanted you. But I never considered your feelings. In fact, I ignored them. You see, Emma, I didn’t want commitment. I didn’t believe in forever.”
“I know that,” she said, feeling her heart break. He was telling her that he didn’t want her permanently. He probably didn’t want the baby, either, really, but he was going to make the best of it, out of guilt.
He was trying to express feelings he’d never really had, and failing miserably. He wasn’t a man who shared anything about himself, even with his closest friends. He drew in a breath.
“After I lost my first wife, I drew into myself,” he said. “I felt such guilt.” He bit down hard on remembered grief. “And then I did the same thing all over again. I threw you out and never considered what might happen to you. I wanted revenge.”
“I know,” she said sadly. “It was my fault—”
“It was an accident, Emma,” he interrupted. “I was on a Jet Ski, not paying attention, and you were in a speedboat, not paying attention. I was blinded, or thought I was.” He smiled sadly. “You came to work for me, trying to make amends for what you’d done. Didn’t you?”
