by Tina Beckett
Not that she was in danger of that from this particular ale aficionado.
But from Dean?
Lord, she hoped not.
She spun around, suddenly deciding she didn’t want or need his help. He’d decided he didn’t approve of this particular man? Well, she would show him that, from now on, she made those kinds of decisions.
Up went her brows. She needed to cut him off before he got started. The last couple of times he’d wanted to get rid of a man who had his eye on her, he’d pretended to be her significant other.
“Mum isn’t expecting us home until later.” She smirked up at him, daring him to contradict her.
His response? A slow, knowing smile.
“Mum knows what we’re like, when we’re out on the town.” He took the ale from her hand and set it in front of the Scotsman. “Enjoy.”
The man let go of her, his possessiveness appearing to change to horror when Dean lifted a brow and said, “Dance with me...sis.”
Then he whirled her into his arms and headed toward the floor where other couples were already moving to the beat of some slow song.
Jess couldn’t hold back a laugh. “I can’t believe you just did that. You’ve probably scarred that man for life.”
There was no way she was going to admit she was relieved. Relieved she wasn’t going to have to try to wave him off on her own.
“I can’t believe you called me your brother.”
“Serves you right for interfering.”
He leaned back to study her face. “Did you want to leave with him?”
No, she didn’t want to leave with him or anyone. But she’d gotten herself into a mess and wasn’t sure how to get herself back out of it. “I thought we had a deal. I leave with three different men, and you leave with no one.”
“I’ve changed my mind.”
A warning tingle began at the back of her skull. “What do you mean you’ve changed your mind? Are you reneging on the bet?”
“Yes.” The word brushed across her, and the tingle became a full-fledged shiver.
He pressed his cheek to hers and drew her closer. If the Scotsman wasn’t scarred before at the way Dean had whisked her away, he probably was now.
Jess swallowed. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“I mean neither of us is leaving with a stranger. Not you. Not me.” His hand tightened on hers just the way the Scotsman’s had. The intimate contact filled her with alarm, but a completely different kind of alarm. Because she liked it.
“Well, you not leaving with someone was kind of the point, wasn’t it?” Although her voice sounded as shaky as her legs felt, she managed a smile.
“I’m forfeiting. As of now.”
So he was tired of frittering his nights away with nothing to show for it in the end. She should be glad. Because that meant she didn’t have to pretend to leave with anyone now.
But she wasn’t glad. And she wasn’t quite sure why. “You’re a free man. I assume you already have someone in mind.”
“I do.”
Jess turned her head, trying to figure out who the lucky woman was.
He tucked his fingers under her chin and shifted her face back toward his. “You’re wrong. Are you so oblivious about what you do to a man like that?” He nodded in the direction of the bar where she’d sat a few moments ago.
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“He wanted to take you home with him.”
“Oh.” Of course she knew that, but then again people in places like this probably weren’t particularly choosy. After all, they were here for the same reason that Dean probably came here. To find a companion for a night of sex.
He chuckled. “You really don’t have any idea, do you?” His fingers left her chin and trailed up the line of her jaw. “There’s only one woman I’m interested in leaving with.”
“Who?” The trembling in her legs came back full force.
“Let’s just say I’m thinking some very unbrotherly thoughts right now.”
Her? He wanted to leave with her. Why?
Wasn’t it obvious? Casual sex, remember?
It was on the tip of her tongue to give him a resounding yes and leap into his arms. But whatever had been niggling in the back of her head grew as she thought through the implications. He was tired of playing the wingman...tired of his little hunger strike. And now he was hoping to break his fast. What easier target than the person he’d coaxed into taking this ridiculous bet in the first place? The person he’d dared to have casual sex with three different men. How easy would it be for Dean to be that third man?
It had nothing to do with her at all. She could be a plastic mannequin for all he cared.
Casual sex, indeed. Maybe that was good enough for him, but it wasn’t for her. He might think her a prude, but she didn’t care anymore.
Hurt surged up from somewhere inside her—a large festering lump that threatened to burst open in front of everyone in the pub.
“I don’t think so, Dean. I have no clue what put this idea into your head, but you can put it right back out. If you want someone to pass the night with, you’d better keep on looking. Because this girl is leaving this whole scene. Alone.”
With that, Jess yanked free of Dean’s hold and stomped out of the pub and into the night.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE BABY WASN’T BREATHING.
The second the newborn was placed in his hands, Dean went into full crisis mode, belting out orders, even as he raced through possible treatment options, ruling them out one by one. Exhaustion pulled at his limbs, but at least he was able to put that fiasco with Jess last night out of his head. For now. He had no space for anything but what was currently happening in this room.
The victim of a drunk driver, the newborn’s mother had been fatally struck as she crossed an intersection to go to work. CPR at the scene and efforts to resuscitate at Cambridge Royal had proved unsuccessful. The decision was made to put mum on life support and do an emergency C-section in an effort to save the baby, even as a grief-stricken husband waited outside the surgical suite.
“Let’s bag her.” He laid the baby on a table and a manual resuscitator was placed in his hand.
“Come on, sweetheart.” The words whispered through his skull, with each squeeze of the Ambu bag. The tiny chest rose and fell. There was a heartbeat, but, so far, no effort at breathing on her own.
Going through his mental checklist, he had one of the nurses take over the bagging so he could test reflexes. He was gratified to see there were at least some reactions, though not what he would have liked. But babies’ brains weren’t fully developed. He’d seen some amazing recoveries in newborns even more premature than this one.
Most had not been deprived of oxygen for this long, however.
He glanced at his watch. Five minutes since delivery.
“Stop pushing air for a moment and let’s see what we’ve got.”
The nurse lifted the BVM and the whole world stopped breathing. At least Dean did. Then there was a gasp. And the kick of a small leg.
Suddenly the baby’s face screwed up tight, and she let out a squeaked puff of air. Her lungs reinflated, and it became a full-fledged cry. Joined by another. Then another.
The sense of relief couldn’t have been greater if it had been Dean’s own flesh and blood lying on that metal table. Because at least the new father wouldn’t have to mourn two deaths. And the baby’s mum, still on a ventilator behind them, might be able to save more lives through organ donation, which was what her husband said she would have wanted.
“Let’s take her down to Special Care to do the rest of the workup.” The sooner they got her into one of the incubators, the better for her tiny lungs. They would monitor her for a while to make sure she kept breathing and re
mained stable.
The second they arrived on the ward, Dean noticed Jess’s sister was in the room, seated beside her baby’s incubator, but she didn’t have exam gloves on. Nor did she have her hands through the openings so she could touch her baby’s skin. Instead, she just sat there slumped forward. Glancing at the observation window behind him, he spied Jess. Her face was turned away as if she were staring at something down the hall. Maybe she just couldn’t face looking at her sister.
He hadn’t spoken with Jess since that disastrous scene last night at the pub. Why the hell had he pulled something like that?
He had no idea.
Turning his attention back to his newest charge, he directed the staff as they hooked the newborn up to the monitors and checked the baby’s oxygen levels. So far, things were looking more hopeful than they had for the last half-hour.
“Let me know if anything changes.”
Satisfied that everything was under control with this particular baby, he headed over to where Jess’s sister sat and greeted her. When he asked if she wanted to interact with the baby she shook her head. “I don’t want to do anything that would hurt her.”
Something in her face tightened, and her eyes strayed toward the window.
Ahhh...so she did know her sister was there. When he turned his attention in that direction, he noted that Jess was now looking at both of them. And something in her stricken expression made his chest ache. Surely they could put what had happened between them last night aside—for a little while, at least. He motioned her inside. Jess hesitated, and he wondered if she might ignore him for a second, but, finally, she pushed through the door and slowly headed their way.
“I don’t want her here.” The low, angry words made him blink. The ache in his chest tightened even further.
These two women might look alike, but he’d been right earlier. The resemblance began and ended there.
“She’s your baby’s aunt,” he said.
“And she caused this.” Her hand swept around the room. “All of it.”
“She caused all of these babies’ problems?” He knew what she meant, but he wanted to hear her actually say the words. To say that she blamed Jess for what happened.
The woman’s head jerked as she looked up at him. “Of course not. But my baby is here because of her.”
When he realized Jess was close enough to have heard the ugly words, his heart hardened into a rock. The same rock he’d carried as a child when his father’s anger had come at him and his mum in the form of ridicule or through his fists. But when Jess made to turn around and flee, he reached out and caught her by the wrist before addressing Abbie again. “No. Your baby is here because she was born too early. Nothing more. Nothing less.”
The nurses working on the other baby threw them a curious glance, but he didn’t budge. Jess had worried herself sick over her niece as evidenced by her vigil over the incubator that first night. And the way she made sure the nursing staff had her mobile number and made them promise to ring her at the first hint of trouble.
It took repeated tugging before he got her close enough to slide his arm behind her back and hold her in place, and even then she looked as if she wanted to crawl under the nearest rock. Or the nearest incubator. But he was not going to let her run away the way he’d once done. She was going to stand and face this particular bully head-on. And unlike Dean when he was a child, she would not have to do that alone.
Right on cue, Abbie’s glance cut from one to the other before settling on the point of contact between the two of them. “Exactly what is going on here?”
Beneath his hand, Jess squirmed, and he was quite sure she wanted to ask him what the hell he thought he was doing. But she didn’t. Nor had she made the slightest effort to defend herself in the face of her sister’s ire.
Something swelled up inside of him—an urge to protect that was both familiar and foreign. Time to put someone firmly in her place. And he thought he knew the perfect way to do that. He was pretty sure Jess was going to kill him later, but he’d deal with that fallout when the time came.
He allowed his arm to drop, and when he glanced at her face, it was pink. Very pink. And it looked good on her.
One of the nurses came over to tell him the baby he’d worked on was settled in and seemed stable. “Good, thank you. I’ll keep an eye on her for a while.”
With that, the pair left the room, leaving just Dean, Jess and her sister.
Abbie again addressed them. “Does someone want to tell me what’s going on?”
Here went nothing.
“I take it Jess didn’t tell you?”
Two pairs of brown eyes swung to look at him.
“Tell me what?”
He draped his arm back around her shoulders. “Don’t be shy, sweetheart. Tell her.”
Jess’s mouth popped open, eyes widening in horror. “What?”
“I’m sure they’ve wondered where you’ve been the last couple of nights.”
“Dean...” The warning in her voice was unmistakable. But he’d come too far to turn back now.
“Jess and I have been going out.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. They had been going out to the pub, after all. Her sister didn’t need to know that Jess had turned him down flat as far as anything else went.
“Going out. You expect me to believe that?”
Anger pumped through his veins at the open disbelief in Abbie’s voice. Suddenly, he was very sure he was doing the right thing.
And if this little farce got out? Well, worse things had been said about him—at least from what he’d heard here and there.
Leaning down to her ear, he whispered, “I’ll explain later. Just play along.”
Out loud, he said, “It’s recent. We’re keeping it quiet. For now.” Another half-truth. Their going out had been recent. And he was pretty sure Jess wanted it kept quiet.
Jess didn’t agree. Or disagree. But a little of the sneer left her sister’s face.
“So what you said at the party... All of those texts Martin got wasn’t about you trying—”
Jess finally found her voice. “I’ve told you that. Many times, Abbie. Martin and I have been over for a long, long time. He loves you. Not me.”
So it was true. Jess had once been engaged to Abbie’s husband. And Abbie thought her sister still had the hots for him.
He looked at her with new eyes. If he had to choose between the sisters right here right now, there would be no question as to who he’d go with.
Jess. Hands down.
“I guess I owe you both an apology, then.”
“No, you—”
Dean squeezed her shoulder to stop the words. Abbie did owe her an apology, from what he’d seen. A big one.
“But as for the baby...” The woman’s glance went back to her child. She leaned forward a little. “What’s that on her leg?” She pointed at the incubator and tapped the side of it. The newborn startled for a second, then relaxed.
“What?” Jess shook off his hand and moved closer.
“There. That red thing on her calf.”
There was a small red mark the size of a thumbprint on the side of the baby’s leg.
The relief on Jess’s face was almost comical. “It’s just a little birthmark. A port wine stain. It’s nothing.”
“A port what?” Abbie trailed her fingers over the Plexiglas side as if tracing the mark. “Will it go away?”
“Probably not, but it’s nothing serious. I promise.”
There was a pause before Abbie spoke again. “I don’t want people to make fun of her.”
There was a note of sadness—or maybe it was fear—in her voice. It made Dean take a closer look, seeing something of himself in her words. Had Abbie been made fun of at some point by someone? It would explain some of that angry d
efensiveness she seemed to carry around with her. He’d had a little of that himself when he’d been younger. More so after his dad went to prison and his mum took off for parts unknown when he was just sixteen.
Dean had been angry all right. Angry at his parents. Angry at the group home he’d been placed in. Angry at life in general. Until he’d learned to harness that anger and put it to good use. And that included not pinning his hopes on any one human being. At some point, they all let you down.
“I’m sure they won’t,” Jess said. “Why would they?”
Her sister sniffed as if she was not about to listen to anything Jess had to say. Then she stood. “I think I’ll go back to my room. I’m knackered.”
She’d still made no move to touch her baby, and that bothered Dean more than he wanted to admit. Everyone had his or her own way of dealing with emotional pain, but to shut off physical contact with her own child?
Well, hadn’t he wished from time to time that his father had cut off physical contact? But he hadn’t. It had taken putting Dean’s mum in hospital that last time to keep the man from hurting them again.
“Do you want someone to walk you back to your room?” he asked.
Abbie shook her head. “I can manage. You’ll ring me if there’s any change?”
Dean might have thought the words were meant for Jess, except she was looking directly at him. Ignoring her sister just as she was ignoring her baby. “Someone will. Yes.” He was not going to let her use him to wound Jess even more.
She left the room without so much as a thank you or another glance at her child.
The second she was gone, Jess dropped into the seat her sister had just vacated. “Oh, my God, why on earth did you do that?”
He wasn’t sure why, himself. Maybe the urge to protect was overdeveloped in him—the result of having no one to defend him as a child. That could also explain why he’d felt such a strong need to help the most vulnerable of humans: newborns in crisis.
