by Lara Lacombe
“Thanks.” He handed over the fragrant cone and she brought the flowers to her nose, inhaling appreciatively. “That was sweet of you. But you should probably leave soon. Hurricane Brenda is about to make landfall, and you don’t want to get caught up in the chaos.”
“I’m not leaving you,” he said solemnly. “I’ll take my chances with your mother.”
His declaration was unexpected and Maggie wasn’t sure how to respond. She’d thought he would welcome an excuse to leave, but he clearly had other intentions. “Are you sure?” she asked, trying to give him one more chance to back out.
He nodded. “I’m staying. The doctor said you’re going to need someone to take care of you. And besides, we need to talk.”
Her stomach dropped. He was right, of course. They did have things to say to each other. She just didn’t feel like having that conversation now, while she was lying in a hospital bed and wearing a scratchy gown.
A light knock on the door saved her from having to respond. A tall, brunette woman in a white coat walked in, dragging a cart behind her. She maneuvered the equipment to the side of the bed, then turned to face Maggie.
“I’m Dr. Walsh,” she said. Her smile was quick but genuine, and Maggie immediately liked her. “Dr. Jenkins asked me to stop by for a consult. I understand you’ve had a bit of a day.”
“That’s one way to put it,” Maggie said. She sketched out the details of the accident, and her concerns for the baby. “I didn’t know I was pregnant,” she finished. “My regular gynecologist didn’t think it was possible. And we—” she glanced over to Thorne, feeling suddenly embarrassed. “We used protection,” she said.
Dr. Walsh nodded, her expression sympathetic. “I see. Let’s take a look at things, and then we can talk about your options.” She tilted her head, nodding ever so slightly to indicate Thorne. “Are you ready for me to proceed?”
“Yes.” If Thorne wanted to stay for the ultrasound, she wasn’t going to stop him. This was his baby, too, and he deserved to know if everything was fine.
She shifted a little as the doctor applied gel to her lower belly; the slick liquid was cool and triggered a rash of goose bumps on her arms and legs. Then the doctor applied the wand and turned on the sound, and Maggie forgot her discomfort as a steady “whoosh whoosh” sound filled the room.
“Is that the heartbeat?” Thorne’s voice was low, as if he was afraid of interrupting.
“Yes, indeed,” Dr. Walsh confirmed. She moved the wand around, pressing here and there in her search. “And this is the baby.”
She rotated the monitor and Maggie gasped softly. There on the screen was her baby. It was small, but instantly recognizable, with a large head, rounded belly, and two thin arms and legs that shifted and stretched as she watched, as if the little one was exploring its boundaries.
“Why can’t I feel it move?” she said, her eyes glued to the screen.
“The baby is still pretty small,” Dr. Walsh replied. “Right now, it’s about the size of a lime, so even though it’s pretty active in there, it still has plenty of room and isn’t bumping into the walls of your uterus yet. Give it a few weeks.”
“Is that...” Thorne’s voice was husky and Maggie realized he was now standing next to the bed. She’d been so focused on the screen she hadn’t even noticed his approach. “Is that the nose?”
Maggie’s gaze traveled back to the head, which was shown in profile. She ran her eyes along the line of the baby’s face, from forehead to chin. How could something so small already look so perfect?
“Yes. And here are the lips.” Dr. Walsh moved an arrow along the image, pointing out features in a running commentary. “Here is the heart, and this is the stomach and kidneys.” She moved the wand lower on Maggie’s belly. “Here you can see the long bones of the legs forming. And this is the placenta.”
Maggie hung on her every word, hardly daring to breathe for fear of missing anything she might say. She glanced over and found Thorne leaning forward, his expression rapt as he took everything in. He must have felt her gaze because he turned to look at her, and in that moment, all of Maggie’s hurt feelings and disappointment were buried in an avalanche of joy over the shared experience of seeing their baby for the first time. No matter what might happen between them, they had created this miracle together. They were no longer just Maggie and Thorne; they had new roles to play now. Mother and father.
“Congratulations,” he whispered, his brown eyes shining with emotion.
“Congratulations,” she whispered back. Her heart was so full she could barely speak, but words weren’t needed right now.
Thorne took her hand in his own, his warm, calloused fingers wrapping around hers. In silent agreement, they turned back to the monitor to watch their baby squirm and kick, safe inside her body and blissfully unaware of today’s dangerous encounter.
I will keep you safe, Maggie vowed silently.
Always.
Chapter 7
Thorne eyed the staircase that led to his apartment, his mind whirring as he considered his options. It wasn’t an especially dangerous structure, as far as stairs went. He ran up and down the things on a regular basis, never giving it a second thought. But now that the mother of his unborn child was involved, he saw them in a new light. They were steep, strewed with bits of hay that might cause her to trip and not terribly well lit. He was going to have to install a light overhead, he mused, and maybe put down some traction strips to keep her from slipping...
Not that she would be using them anytime soon. Maggie’s doctors had been very clear with their discharge instructions: she was to spend at least three days in bed, doing nothing more strenuous than walking from the bed to the bathroom and back again. He’d seen the mutinous glint in her blue eyes, but it had quickly faded once the obstetrician had stressed how important it was for her to rest and recover completely, lest she risk complicating the pregnancy.
He heard her sigh and glanced over in time to catch a look of frustration flit across her face. She caught his gaze. “I don’t suppose you’re going to let me walk upstairs by myself?” she asked, sounding a bit hopeful at the prospect.
Thorne shook his head. “That’s definitely against your doctor’s orders. Besides, I think you’ve been through enough already today—no need to put any more stress on your body.”
“I suppose you’re right.” She paused, and they both looked at the stairs. Was she thinking of the last time she’d walked up to his apartment, on that fateful night that felt like a lifetime ago? “How am I supposed to get up there? I’m guessing there’s not an elevator tucked away in an unused corner of the building.”
“Well...no, there isn’t.” Truth be told, Thorne hadn’t really thought this far ahead when he’d suggested Maggie come stay with him for a few days. He’d been so focused on keeping her close he hadn’t considered the logistics of everything. But he wasn’t about to let a little thing like a flight of stairs prevent him from taking care of her. Not only was he worried about her health and that of their baby, but he wanted to make sure Livia and her goons didn’t get another chance to hurt Maggie.
“I’ll carry you up,” he declared. “If you’ll let me,” he added quickly, seeing her eyes widen at his suggestion.
“I don’t think so,” she stated flatly. “I’m way too heavy for that.”
“Oh, please.” Thorne rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry about your weight—you’re perfect just as you are. Now come here.”
He stepped close and handed her his keys, then bent to get an arm under her knees. Maggie gasped as he lifted her up, snugging her against his chest. He started up the stairs, trying hard not to register the warm weight of her body in his arms or the feel of her breath on his neck. She smelled like smoke and hospital, but as she shifted against him he detected notes of vanilla and coconut, that same tropical scent he remembered
from their night together.
His body relished the contact of hers, and his soul purred in contentment. It felt so good, so right to be holding Maggie again! It was almost enough to make him forget about the rift between them, a gulf he had caused and had yet to apologize for. Her parents' visit to the hospital had prevented him from saying his piece. But he would. Now that she was staying in his apartment, he could wait for the right moment to explain everything.
Thorne paused at the door, and Maggie fumbled it open. Then he stepped across the threshold, his skin prickling with awareness of the symbolism inherent in the gesture. If he hadn’t made such a mess of things, perhaps they would have shared this moment in a happier time, with her in a white dress and him in a tux, bits of rice falling from their hair...
He ruthlessly stomped on the image, knowing it would do no good to dwell on what might have been. Moving down the hall, he carried her to his bedroom and placed her gently on the bed. He stepped back immediately, needing to put some distance between them as images from that night battered him from all sides.
The bedside lamp let out a quiet “snick” as he turned it on, and the resulting flood of light chased his memories back into the shadows where they belonged. “The sheets are clean,” he said, sounding a little gruff even to his own ears. He cleared his throat and tried again. “You know where the bathroom is, and I’ll set out some fresh towels for you. Are you hungry?”
“Thorne, I can’t take your bed.” Maggie stared up at him, her expression shuttered. “It isn’t right. I’ll sleep on the couch.” She made to get up, but he shook his head.
“Absolutely not. If you honestly believe I’m going to let the woman carrying my child stay on the couch, I’m taking you back to the hospital for another brain scan.”
“Thorne—” she began, but he cut her off.
“Are you hungry?” he asked again.
She sighed, apparently recognizing he wasn’t going to budge on this issue. “A little.”
He nodded. “I’ll go make some sandwiches. And after that, I’ll run out and get you some toiletries and clothes.”
“You don’t have to do that,” she said quietly. “You can just pick up some of my things from my apartment.”
“Do you have a key? I thought your bag was destroyed in the explosion.”
She frowned, her mouth pulling down at one corner as if she’d just tasted something bitter. “It was. But I have a key hidden in the flowerpot on the porch.”
Now it was his turn to frown. “That doesn’t sound very safe. Anyone could find it and let themselves in.”
“Can you save the lecture for another time? I don’t really feel up to it right now.” Maggie closed her eyes, and he noted the slump of her shoulders and the lines of fatigue on her face. Contrition slammed down on him, making him feel two inches tall. She was clearly exhausted and in pain, and he should be supporting her, not questioning her approach to home security.
“You’re right,” he said. “I’m sorry. I’ll go work on those sandwiches.”
He made it to the door, but the sound of his name made him pause. He looked back at Maggie, so small in his big bed. She looked fragile, but he knew her bruised and battered body housed a will of iron. “Yes?”
“Thank you,” she said softly. She gestured to the bed, the room and him. “For everything.”
He smiled, unable to put into words how relieved he was that she was alive. Seeing her lying unconscious on the ground had taken years off his life, and it was an image that would haunt his nightmares, especially now that he knew she was pregnant. He’d made a lot of mistakes where Maggie was concerned, but starting now he was going to do his best to make things right between them.
“Of course,” he whispered. “It’s the least I can do.” He swallowed hard and turned away before she could see the glint of tears in his eyes.
* * *
Thorne finished slicing a tomato just as his phone rang. He wiped his hands on a dish towel and dug the phone out of his pocket, not bothering to check the display before answering.
“I’ve got good news,” Knox said.
His words lightened Thorne’s mood considerably. He hadn’t spent much time thinking about the sheriff’s visit—seeing the baby and then dealing with Maggie’s parents had been more than enough distraction. But the idea that Jeffries would mismanage the investigation due to his hatred of Thorne’s family had been a nagging worry in the back of his mind.
“That was fast,” he remarked, tossing the towel to the counter. “What did you find?”
“They found explosives in Maggie’s trunk.”
Thorne frowned and smeared mustard on a slice of bread. “Well, yeah. Isn’t that kind of expected, since her car blew up?”
“Not necessarily,” Knox informed him. “The explosion could have been due to a spark hitting the gas tank, or something along those lines. The fact that they found an actual incendiary device makes it clear this wasn’t an accident.”
Fear wrapped cold fingers around Thorne’s heart and for a second, he struggled to draw breath. It was just as he’d suspected; someone was targeting Maggie.
“I thought you said you have good news,” he managed. Maybe Knox or the police already had a suspect, and it was just a matter of time before Maggie would be safe again.
“That is the good news,” his brother insisted. “Look, these were professional grade explosives, not something an amateur whipped up from a recipe in The Anarchist Cookbook. That means the focus of the investigation is shifting away from Maggie as the perpetrator to Maggie as the victim. They still have a few loose ends to wrap up, but the guys I talked to don’t consider her to be a serious suspect anymore.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Thorne replied. “But what about Jeffries? Do you think he might try to interfere just to make our lives more difficult?”
“He might.” Knox’s tone was thoughtful. “I hope not, though. He has to know there’s nothing for him to gain if he tries anything. And besides, the officers on this case seem very focused and professional. I don’t think they’d let Jeffries bully them into doing something that wasn’t beneficial to their investigation.”
Thorne digested his brother’s words, hoping he was right. Knox usually had a pretty good read on people, thanks to his skills as a former Texas Ranger. Thorne would just have to trust the man’s instincts on this one. He’d never been wrong before. Hopefully this wasn’t going to be the first time.
“Do they have any suspects?” Unfortunately, Thorne had no idea who among his mother’s associates would have the connections and know-how to plant explosives like that, but Knox might. And while he hated the thought of his family being dragged through the mud again, newspaper and internet exposés were a small price to pay for the safety of Maggie and his unborn child.
“Not yet,” Knox replied. “Or if they do, they’re keeping things close to the vest.”
“Did you mention Livia?”
“I didn’t have to. They’re already considering her, thanks to Cody’s case. The only problem is that they recently received some security footage from a Las Vegas hotel. It looks like Livia has been spending some time in Sin City, and given the time and date stamps on the footage, she can’t be the one who planted the explosives.”
Thorne wandered over to the windows in the kitchen, which had been damaged by the explosion. He peered through the cracked glass and looked down into the dooryard. The security lights attached to the barn cast the yard in a yellow glow, washing out most of the burn marks on the grass. The twisted wreckage of Maggie’s car had been removed, but he could still see the crater that had formed as a result of the blast. It was a stark reminder of how close she’d come to dying today, and he swallowed hard, anger building in his chest.
“Her fingerprints might not be on those explosives, but you and I both know Livia is invol
ved somehow,” he said, his voice tight. “No one is safe as long as she’s free.”
“Believe me, I know,” Knox said. “And they’re working to find her. Her escape was quite an embarrassment for all involved.”
“I don’t give a damn about anyone’s reputation,” Thorne replied. “I just want to keep Maggie safe.”
“Where is she now?”
“At my place. Her doctors said she needed complete rest, and I volunteered to take care of her.”
“Wow.” Knox sounded impressed. “And she agreed? Just like that?”
“Not exactly.” Thorne thought back to their conversation in her hospital room. It had taken a lot of time and effort on his part to get Maggie to even entertain the idea of staying with him, and despite that, if her parents hadn’t shown up and insisted Maggie come home to Houston with them, he wasn’t sure she would have agreed to his plan.
He smiled a little at the memory, able to find the humor in it now that he was removed from the situation. Maggie’s mother, Brenda, had come storming into the small room, her eyes wild and her hair an untamed tangle of curls around her face. She’d taken one look at Maggie and raced to her daughter’s bedside, talking a mile a minute. About thirty seconds later, a tall, slender man with salt-and-pepper hair had walked in. Maggie’s father had been more outwardly composed, but Thorne had seen the lines of strain on the man’s face and knew he shared his wife’s worry. He’d quickly taken up position on the other side of Maggie’s bed, but while her mother kept up a steady stream of chatter, her father had been content to sit silently, holding one of her hands between his own.
Thorne had stood in the corner of the room, quietly watching the domestic scene unfold. Part of him had felt like a voyeur, like he was intruding on a private moment. But he hadn’t been able to leave. He’d been fascinated by Maggie’s parents, and the way they genuinely seemed to care about their daughter. Having grown up with Livia for a mother, he’d never experienced true maternal concern. Mac had always been there, of course, but somehow his father’s love had only made Livia’s lack of affection even more apparent.
