“Of course not.”
In the kitchen, he rested his forehead against the cool stainless steel of the refrigerator door. This wasn’t going to work. He’d find someone else to help out, but it couldn’t be him.
Desire was a steady ache in his gut. And it wasn’t even entirely about sex. He wanted to crawl into that bed and hold her. Too many nights in the last few years he had summoned Simone’s image to get through the hot, lonely hours. He’d missed home. He had missed his friends and colleagues. He had even missed the unpredictable Texas weather.
Now he had returned home, and almost everything was back to normal. Almost, but not quite.
On autopilot, he retrieved the bread and prepared a single piece of toast. Simone had to start slow. Her stomach had suffered significant trauma in the past few days.
In the end, he was gone maybe twenty minutes. When he returned, she was sitting up. He frowned. “You should have let me help you.”
Simone’s smile was sunny. “I think I can eat,” she said. “You’re a miracle worker, Dr. Hutchinson.”
“Don’t get too excited,” he cautioned. “The nausea will likely come back.”
“I can handle that,” she said. “At least if I can have some normalcy in between.”
He offered her the small plate. “One bite at a time. We’re in no rush.”
She nodded. Carefully, she took one dainty bite. Clearly, she was so excited about eating that she had forgotten her state of dress. He tried not to stare. Instead, he prowled her bedroom, studying the things with which she had surrounded herself.
Between two large windows, a tall set of antique barrister bookshelves held a collection of travel books, popular novels and childhood favorites. In another corner, an overstuffed armchair and matching ottoman provided a cozy reading spot. Books were only one of many passions he and Simone had shared.
He remembered a summer picnic in the country long ago when they had laughed and enjoyed playful sex and finally rested in the shade of a giant oak. While he had drowsed with his head in Simone’s lap, she had read aloud to him from a book of poetry. That might have been the moment he knew he was in love with her. She was so much more than a beautiful woman or a wealthy debutante or a Texas Cattleman’s Club darling.
Simone Parker was a free spirit, a lover of life. She was warm and intelligent and effortlessly charming. Other men had looked at him with envious eyes when he and Simone were out together in public. She was the kind of woman some guys considered a trophy girlfriend.
To Hutch, she had simply been his life. When they met, he’d been twenty-eight. Plenty old enough to have sown his proverbial wild oats. About the time he’d been rethinking his plans to head off to Africa, Simone had cut him loose. She’d insisted that he was a gifted doctor and that she wouldn’t stand in his way.
“Hutch!”
Pushing the painful thoughts away, he spun around, alarmed. “What is it?”
Simone beamed. “I ate it. And I think it’s going to stay down. Will you pour me some water?”
He did so immediately and handed her the glass. “Tiny sips,” he cautioned.
She scrunched up her face as she drank the water one tablespoon at a time. “That’s enough,” she said finally.
“How do you feel?”
“Tired. Weird. But not pregnant. Is that bad?” She bit her bottom lip, a telltale sign she was agitated.
He took the glass and set it back on the table. “Of course not. It will be a long time before you start to show, especially because you’ve lost weight already. As far as actually feeling the babies kick, I’d guess that will be weeks from now. So it’s no surprise you don’t feel pregnant. That’s why Mother Nature gives you three trimesters to get used to the idea.”
“I suppose...”
“Can you go back to sleep now?”
She slid back down in the bed and straightened the covers. “I think so.”
“And the nausea?”
“Hardly any right now. Thank you, Hutch.”
He shrugged. “I’m glad the acupressure worked. Sometimes modern medicine looks for answers when they’re right at hand.”
“Right at hand.” She giggled. “Dr. Hutch made a funny. Get it? You held my hands?”
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’d been drinking,” he said ruefully.
“I would never do anything so foolish. I’m just giddy with relief that you made the nausea go away, even for an hour. Are there other people in Royal who might know how to do what you did?”
The intent behind her question was obvious. Neither of them thought Hutch should be the one to help her through the terrible sickness produced by her pregnancy. Nevertheless, he spoke the truth. “I doubt it, Simone. Maybe in one of the big cities. But Royal is not exactly a hotbed of ancient Asian medical practice.”
“I see.”
It was impossible to miss the layers of frustration and unease she gave off. “We’ll figure something out,” he promised. “One day at a time.”
She moved restlessly. “I shouldn’t have let you kiss me the other day. That was wrong of me. I’m sorry.”
“Forget about it. I could have stopped.”
“Why didn’t you?” she asked softly.
It was a very good question. One he had asked himself a dozen times since. He was a grown-ass man. He knew better than to show weakness to Simone.
“I guess part of me wanted to remember,” he muttered. “But now all I want to do is forget.”
Six
When Simone awoke next, she realized she had slept for six hours straight. Her head was clear, and although she did indeed feel sick again, it wasn’t at the intense level she had experienced recently.
As she stretched and tried to convince herself she could get up and go to the bathroom without incident, a woman in navy scrubs peeked her head around the door. “Ms. Parker? Good, you’re awake. I’m Barb Kellum. Dr. Hutchinson called me and said you needed some help.”
“That would be great,” Simone said. “I’d love to get a shower.”
The nurse smiled. “First things first, young lady. Let’s eat a bit of breakfast and go from there. I brought over some of my homemade chicken broth. Warmed it in the microwave. How does that sound?”
The nurse with the salt-and-pepper hair was midfiftyish, tall and sturdily built. Her eyes were kind, but her tone of voice was more drill sergeant than nanny.
Simone smiled hesitantly. “I’ll give it a try. But I make no promises.”
While Simone sat up in bed, the nurse bustled about, straightening the covers and carefully placing a white wooden tray over Simone’s lap. The serving piece must have come with Barb as well, because Simone had never seen it. Although the china, glass and silverware were arranged artistically, Simone’s stomach rebelled at the aroma of the chicken broth.
Barbara picked up the bowl and held it under Simone’s nose. “Don’t let your brain overrule your stomach. You’re hungry, even if you don’t know it. Breathe in and tell yourself you’re about to have a treat.”
Amazingly, it worked. Mostly. Inhaling the scent of the thin soup sent a sharp hunger pang through Simone’s stomach. She picked up the spoon and scooped up the first bite. “What if this doesn’t work?”
Barbara pointed at the floor beside the bed. “Basin and plastic ready. Nothing to worry about.”
It took half an hour, but Simone finished every spoonful. Afterward, she scooted down onto the mattress and lay there frozen, afraid to move. “How long before you think it’s safe to get up?”
The nurse shook her head. “Sorry, love, but you can’t play that game. It might help the nausea, but your muscles will start to atrophy if we don’t keep you on your feet. Exercise can actually help nausea.”
The following few hours were a lesson
in patience. Barb unhooked the IV and hovered as Simone visited the bathroom. After that, the two of them managed a modified shower for Simone. She threw up twice in the process, but it wasn’t as violent as the episodes earlier in the week.
Once she was clean and dry, she felt as weak as a baby.
Barb beamed at her. “I’d say we did well, Ms. Parker.”
“Please call me Simone.”
“And I answer to Barb. Now sit in that chair for half a shake while I remake the bed. Nothing feels better after a shower than clean sheets.”
By the time Simone was tucked back into bed and the IV was reattached, she felt embarrassingly exhausted. “How long do I have to be hooked up?”
Barbara checked her blood pressure and pulse before answering. “That all depends on how much you can eat on your own. I’ll draw blood after lunch and send it off to the lab. Then again before dinner. Tomorrow, Dr. Hutchinson will read the results and assess how you’re doing.”
The nurse was right about clean sheets. Simone’s eyes were heavy. “Is it okay if I nap?”
“Definitely. Later, we’ll try a walk around the house. Don’t worry, Ms. Parker. You’ll survive this, I promise.”
Simone dozed on and off during the next hour, watching the patterns of light and shadow on the ceiling. All her problems hovered just offstage, but for now, she was content to drift. She vaguely remembered Hutch checking on her a couple of times last night after the acupressure incident, but they hadn’t spoken since. Beneath the sheet, she laced her fingers over her abdomen. Her stomach was flat and smooth, the muscles taut and firm. Though she had friends and acquaintances who had already become mothers, she had never thought much about the process. At least not until her grandfather died.
Suddenly, she realized she hadn’t looked at her email in over forty-eight hours. Stealthily, not wanting to incur Barb’s wrath, she reached into the bottom drawer of the bedside table and retrieved her laptop. Leaning on one elbow, she opened it up and turned it on. Fortunately, her battery charge was at 50 percent. She could do a few things quickly without asking for help.
Email was not a problem. She deleted the junk and replied to a couple of queries that needed an immediate answer. Then, with shaky fingers, she logged on to Facebook and checked the message box. A tiny numeral one appeared on the icon. Damn. Most of her friends texted her. The only recent Facebook message she had received was one from the mysterious Maverick. Maverick—the anonymous, eerie, dark presence who had threatened many of the citizens of Royal, one after another.
Simone’s first message had appeared two weeks ago. Since nothing bad had happened in the interim, she’d hoped the blackmailer had moved on to someone else. Apparently not.
The message was brief and vindictive.
Simone Parker, you’re a money-grubbing bitch. Enjoy life now, because soon everyone in town will know what you have done and why.
Maverick.
She shut the computer quickly and tucked it under a pillow. This time, the nausea roiling in her belly had more to do with fear and disgust than it did with pregnancy. All she could think about was the look on Hutch’s face if he ever learned the truth.
Unfortunately, Barb returned about that time and frowned. “You’re flushed. What’s wrong?”
Simone didn’t bother answering. She was afraid she would cry. The thought that someone in Royal hated her enough to blackmail her was distressing. She wasn’t a saint—far from it. But she tried to learn from her mistakes.
The nurse took her pulse and frowned. “You need to calm down, young lady. Stress isn’t good for the babies. What brought this on?”
Simone scrambled for a convincing lie. “I have so much to do at work. Each day I get farther behind. I need to make plans...to decide how I’ll manage three babies. It’s a lot, you know.”
Barb nodded sympathetically. “I understand, I do. But you can’t climb a mountain in bare feet. Baby steps, remember. First we have to get you stabilized and healthy. Then you’ll have plenty of time to plan for the future.”
“Easy for you to say,” Simone muttered in a whisper. Did no one understand what a colossal mess she had made of her life? It wasn’t as if she could wave a magic wand and get a do-over.
Lunch was not as successful as breakfast. Two bites of lemon gelatin came right back up. But Simone waited an hour and tried again with better results. Afterward, Barb brought in her tray of torture implements. Having blood drawn was no fun, but Simone knew she had to get used to it.
Next was another nap, and after that, Barb came in to say it was time for a walk around the house. Simone leaned on the older woman unashamedly as they made a circuit from room to room. Clearly, this was necessary, because already her muscles were quivering.
Finally, she was allowed to collapse into bed again. Meanwhile, Barb changed out the IV bag, straightened the room and drew more blood. As she packed up the vials, she eyed Simone with an assessing gaze. “Will you be okay for the next few hours? I hate to leave you alone, but I promised a friend I’d sit with her mother at the nursing home this evening.”
“I’ll be fine,” Simone said. “Dr. Hutchinson showed me how to unhook things so I can go the bathroom, and I’m feeling much stronger. Don’t worry about me.”
“There’s more gelatin and broth in the fridge. And I brought you a fresh box of saltines this morning.”
“You’ve been wonderful. Will you be here tomorrow?”
Barb nodded. “Dr. Hutchinson said at least three days.”
“Okay then. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Should I bring the meal before I go?”
“It’s still early. I’d rather wait.”
“All right then.” She gave a little wave. “I’ll let myself out.”
With the nurse gone and Hutch still presumably at the hospital, the house was desperately quiet. As the sunlight faded, Simone felt the weight of her situation drag her down. Whatever lay ahead, she would take care of these innocent babies. If she decided she was incapable of functioning as a single mother, she could give them up for adoption when they were born. There were likely dozens of couples in Royal with fertility issues who would be overjoyed at the chance to give three little babies a home.
The thought left Simone feeling hollow. Not only had she rushed into this situation with less than pure motives, she had given little or no thought to the future. Now that she was pregnant, the situation was painfully real.
At six thirty, she actually felt hungry...in a normal way. Hutch had said he’d be back, but who knew what kind of emergencies might have come up.
Mindful of her promises to Barb, she sat on the side of the bed for a full three minutes before attempting to get up. Unhooking the IV was not hard once she’d learned what to do. Walking slowly, she made her way to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. After eating a few bites of the gelatin, she drank half a glass of ginger ale. The calories she had consumed today were helping. She felt steadier and stronger already.
Darkness closed in, and with it, her uneasiness returned. Hutch had given her his phone number. Should she simply text him and tell him not to come?
When she saw headlights flash as a car turned into her driveway, she scurried back to the bedroom, reattached the IV and settled into bed. She didn’t want Hutch to think she was being reckless. It was important to her that he knew she was taking this pregnancy seriously.
When he finally appeared at her door, he looked tired, but wonderful.
“Hey there,” he said, his lips curving in a half smile. “Barb said you had a pretty good day.”
Simone nodded. “I’d give it a seven and a half. Thank you for suggesting her. She’s very kind and competent.”
“How’s your stomach?” He sat on the foot of the bed and ran his hands over his face. He had obviously showered before leaving the hospital,
because he smelled like the outdoors, all fresh and masculine.
She sat up and scooped her hair away from her face. Barb had taken the time to blow-dry it after Simone’s shower. Now it fell straight and silky around her shoulders. “We’re on speaking terms again. Barely.”
“Good.”
“Have you eaten?”
“I grabbed a burger in the cafeteria.”
“That’s not entirely healthy. Physician, heal thyself.”
“You let me worry about me. What did you have for dinner?”
“Some gelatin. I was contemplating Barb’s homemade chicken broth, but I’m feeling pretty normal at the moment, and I’d hate to tempt fate.”
“You look better.”
His steady regard made her blush. “Thank you.”
“How ’bout I warm the broth and bring it to you?”
“Okay,” she said reluctantly. “If you insist.”
Hutch grinned. “I do.”
While he was gone, she grabbed a small mirror out of her purse and examined her reflection. Other than having cheekbones that were too sharp, she didn’t look half bad. Pinching her cheeks added color to her face.
Hutch must have found the bed tray in the kitchen. When he returned with her modest meal, he had poured a serving of broth into a crockery bowl and added a glass of ice water, along with some soda crackers.
Simone scooted up in bed. “Barb is a good cook.”
“Her specialty is invalid food.”
She wrinkled her nose. “That’s a terrible way to describe it.”
“Sorry.”
The stilted conversation was awkward, to say the least. “You don’t have to watch me eat, Hutch. And you don’t need to spend the night. I’m much better. I appreciate all you’ve done.”
He shrugged, his expression impassive. “One more night won’t hurt. I’ll have the results of your blood work in the morning. If everything looks sound, you can follow up next week with Dr. Fetter at a regular appointment.”
“And you’ll ride off into the sunset to rescue another damsel in distress.”
Triplets for the Texan Page 6
