The Nurse's Baby Secret

by Janice Lynn

  Her fingers itched to smooth out the ruffled tufts of thick hair left in the wake of his frustration, but she stayed them by tucking her hands into the pockets of her nursing scrubs.

  “Fine,” she huffed, not moving out of the doorway, almost afraid to move for fear of jostling where her dinner precariously sat in her belly. “Set it down there and I’ll get your stuff so you can leave.”

  “I was leaving. You opened the door.”

  His frustration was palpable and had her shaking her head.

  “You’d been in my hallway long enough that Mrs. Henry was having a conniption.”

  “She always was nosy.”

  “I thought you liked her.”

  “I did.” He raked his fingers through his hair again. “I do.”

  Savannah winced. Two little words she’d once thought she’d hear him say, but under very different circumstances.

  Unable to bear looking at him a moment longer, she turned away, put her hand to her lips to stay anything that might be going to come out.

  “Are you okay?” he asked from behind her.

  She gritted her teeth to keep from verbally attacking him. No need to have Mrs. Henry calling the police for real.

  “I’m fabulous,” she lied.

  You could mend a broken heart back together, but it was never the same. She’d never be the same or look at Charlie the same.

  That magic giddy bubble was popped forever.

  She’d trusted in his feelings implicitly and he’d shattered that trust. He’d unilaterally made a decision that had torn apart what she’d thought had been a permanent relationship and he’d not had remorse or guilt or a sense that he should have talked with her first. Her complete misjudgment of that meant she would never allow herself to trust in her own feelings again. Not with Charlie or any other man. How could she when she’d been so completely wrong about Charlie?

  Exhaustion gripped her body, making standing a challenge and all she could do. “Are you gone yet? Your stuff is by the door. Grab it and go.”

  She just wanted him to leave. But instead he stepped into her apartment. Maybe he’d get his stuff, then go.

  “Tell me whatever your good news was.”

  Spinning to stare at him in disbelief, Savannah’s stomach dropped. Her jaw did, too.

  “Tell me whatever it was you wanted to tell me a month ago, Savannah.”

  For a brief moment she considered telling him. Right or wrong, she wasn’t ready to share her news with him. She just didn’t feel strong enough tonight to face whatever reaction he might have. Not tonight.

  She squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and tried to look as if she could successfully take on the world.

  Normally, she could.

  “Maybe you should have thought of that before you took a job two hours away,” she tossed out.

  “My taking a job two hours away has nothing to do with you,” he insisted with more than a hint of annoyance.

  Good. His words annoyed her, too.

  And hurt. His words hurt. Deep and to the core.

  “It should have,” she said so softly she wasn’t even sure he’d hear her.

  “Says who?”

  “Says me.” She lifted her gaze to his and dared him to say otherwise.

  His jaw worked back and forth and a visible struggle played on his face. “Why do you get to decide that it should have?”

  “For the same reasons you got to decide that it didn’t.”

  He let out a low breath. He stepped closer, stared down directly into her eyes. His gaze narrowed. “You think I should have said no to the position?”

  Her stomach rumbled and she clenched the tips of her fingers into her palms. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

  “Then what are you saying?”

  “That I should have mattered enough for my opinion to have counted. I didn’t.”

  He studied her for a few long seconds. “My career means everything to me.” His tone was flat, almost cold. “I won’t let anyone or anything stand in the way.”

  Ouch. There it was. The truth.

  A truth she’d not understood because for the past year they’d obviously been on the same page. Sure, he worked hard and long hours, but so did she. Their jobs hadn’t been an issue. Finding time to spend together hadn’t been an issue.

  She’d thought they’d been each other’s priority. Obviously, in Charlie’s case it was more a case of convenience than priority.

  She’d been easy.

  No, she hadn’t. She’d not immediately fallen into bed with him. Not immediately. But too quickly. The attraction had been so strong. The sexual chemistry so magnetic.

  Even now, with everything that had happened, with her body threatening to reject her evening meal, his nearness made her heart race, her breath quicken, her nipples tighten, her thighs clench. He made every sense come alive, made every nerve ending aware.

  She hated it. Hated that even knowing she didn’t mean what she’d thought she’d meant he had such power over her body.

  He wasn’t the man she’d thought he was—wasn’t the man she’d fallen so hard for. That man had been an illusion. She’d fantasized and projected upon him. Maybe because of their strong sexual chemistry and her desire to believe the intensity of their lovemaking was due to something more than just physical attraction. Outdated of her, no doubt, but that had to be it.

  She didn’t know how she was going to handle her future, her baby’s future, but at the moment one thing was very, very clear to her.

  She looked Charlie straight in the eyes and felt an inner strength that surprised her. Sure, he’d probably always affect her physically. He was a good-looking, virile man who gave off an over-abundance of pheromones and her body remembered all too well the magic he wielded. But he’d destroyed the rose-colored glasses that she’d adoringly looked at him through. What she now saw wasn’t worthy of what she’d been willing to give him.

  “You don’t belong here,” she told him. “Not in my apartment. Not in my life.”

  Not ever again.

  * * *

  Savannah’s words stung Charlie in places deep within his chest. Places that weren’t supposed to be accessible to anyone, much less vulnerable to words that were all too reminiscent of those flung at him in the past.

  He took a step back.

  He wavered between wanting to beg her to forgive him and telling himself to walk away and forget her. She was right. He didn’t belong. He’d never belonged. Never would.

  He’d always known that. Had never been able to forget that until Savannah. Look at what that memory lapse had caused.

  Looking exhausted, Savannah closed her eyes then turned her back to him and walked over to her sofa, where she sat down. “I don’t feel up to doing this again, Charlie. I’m sorry, but I just don’t.”

  Her skin had lost its color and she had crossed her arms over her belly.

  “You look pale.”

  She didn’t comment, just proceeded to turn a few more shades toward ghastly gray. Hands over her stomach, she leaned forward and made a noise that might have been a moan, but might have been a dry heave.

  Despite not being invited in, he stepped further into her living room and toward the sofa. “Are you okay?”

  Without looking up, she shook her head. “No, I am not okay. Get your stuff and leave.”

  He was torn. She wanted him to go. She really did. He could hear it in her voice. But how did he just walk out when she looked as if she was majorly ill?

  Then she was.

  With a panicked glance at him, she bolted off the sofa and toward the half bath just off the living room.

  Worried, Charlie followed her to the small half bath, grabbed a rolled up washcloth from the basket that sat on the v
anity, and ran cold water over it, all the while keeping his eyes trained on Savannah. She knelt over the toilet, gripping the sides and heaving out the contents of her stomach.

  When he’d squeezed out the excess water, he folded the washcloth. He pulled her hair back away from her face, put the washcloth across her forehead, and helped support her while she leaned over the toilet.

  He didn’t say a word, just held the washcloth to her forehead, kept her hair back from her face, and felt torn into a million directions as to what he should do.

  He couldn’t leave her like this even if he wanted to.

  He couldn’t.

  He didn’t have it in him to walk away with her ill.

  When her heaving seemed to have subsided, she glanced up at him with a tear-streaked face and he felt something in his chest squeeze painfully tight.

  “I hate that you saw me like this.”

  Kneeling, he took the washcloth and gently wiped her mouth. “I’m a doctor, Savannah. I’ve seen worse.”

  A long sigh escaped her lips. “Not from me.”

  She looked lost, like a child, and more than anything he wanted to ease her distress and take care of her.

  “I’m going to carry you to your room, help you change out of your scrubs, wash your face and brush your teeth, then put you to bed.”

  She closed her eyes for a moment then shook her head. “I don’t need you. I can take care of myself.”

  “You’re sick. Let me help you.”

  Her expression pinched, and he expected her to argue, but instead, her skin going gray again, she lowered her gaze. “No carrying. Just...just help me get to my room.”

  Charlie steadied her as she stood, wrapped his arms around her waist, and walked with her to her room. He stayed close until she seemed steady on her feet in front of her en suite sink, where she washed her face, then brushed her teeth. He went to her bedroom, opened a drawer and pulled out an oversized T-shirt.

  His T-shirt.

  How many nights had he watched her pull on this shirt after they’d made love? Sleepily, she’d smile at him, then curl back up in bed. He’d tuck her in with a kiss, and then head to his place feeling like a million bucks. He’d never see that love-laden smile again. Never be the one to kiss her goodnight. He squeezed the worn cotton material between his fingers, then shook off the moment of nostalgia.

  She was better off without him. Just look at what had happened to his mother. He had his career. His career was what was important.

  “Here.” He held out the shirt through the bathroom door. “Put this on.”

  She glanced at his offering, then bit into her lower lip.

  “I’ll wait here while you change. If you feel sick again or need my help, call out. I’ll be right there.”

  Taking the shirt, she nodded and shut the bathroom door.

  The lock clicked and it echoed through his head that Savannah had forever closed off a part of herself to him.

  As much as he tried to tell himself that was okay, as he sank onto the foot of her bed he wondered at his great sense of loss when going to Nashville was definitely for the best.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  FEELING PHYSICALLY BETTER after emptying her stomach but mortified, Savannah splashed cold water over her face.

  She’d just thrown up in her bathroom with Charlie right there.

  To give him credit, he’d been a champ, keeping her hair back and putting the cold cloth against her forehead. But she wasn’t giving him credit. No way.

  Wiping her hands on a towel, drying them, she then placed her palms over her lower abdomen.

  Oh, God. What was she going to do?

  How was she going to explain vomiting?

  She’d known for a month now and hadn’t told him.

  She studied her reflection—the pale skin, the tired eyes, the tension tugging at her features.

  Why hadn’t she told him?

  Because he didn’t deserve to know?

  Maybe telling him would be punishment because he didn’t want children, didn’t want any ties to her.

  Was it fear that really held her back?

  The fear that, although she loved this baby no matter what, she might be on her own raising their child? She’d be fine. Just look at what a great job Chrissie was doing with Joss. Savannah could rock the single mom thing, too.

  “You okay in there?”

  She closed her eyes, unable to stand the reflection staring back at her a moment longer.

  “Savannah?”

  “I’m fine.”

  That wasn’t true. Not really. And they both knew it, although he had no clue as to the real reason.

  * * *

  Charlie moved toward the bathroom door the moment it opened, staying close to Savannah’s side as she came out of the bathroom.

  “Let me help you into bed.”

  “I don’t want to go to bed,” she protested.

  “You look awful. You need to be in bed.”

  She glared at him. “Good to know. Thanks.”

  “You know what I mean.” He fought the urge to roll his eyes.

  “Fine, then—I don’t want to go to bed,” she reiterated, shaking off his hand as he reached for her arm.

  “Do you have to argue with everything I say these days?”

  “No, but there’s no reason for me to go to bed.”

  “Other than the fact you worked a twelve-hour shift, look dead on your feet, and you just threw up?”

  “Yeah, other than that.” She looked ready to drop. Possibly her illness was related to exhaustion, but it was just as possible his presence had led to her sickness.

  “You make me sick.”

  He winced at the words from his past, shook them off, and focused on the fragile-looking woman in front of him.

  He let out an exasperated sigh. “At least lie down and rest a few minutes while I clean your bathroom.”

  “Go home. It’s not going to hurt if a used washcloth sits on the countertop overnight.”

  “I want to help you, Savannah. Let me.” He did want to help. He wanted her smiling and happy, not miserable and sick.

  Maybe he was destined to have a negative impact on anyone close to him. To make anyone unfortunate enough to get close to him miserable.

  She glanced toward the doorway leading out into the hallway, then sighed. Her remaining energy hissed out like a deflating balloon and she sat down on the edge of the bed. “I feel guilty letting you clean when I’m perfectly capable.”

  He’d really like to hold her, to stroke her hair, whisper words of comfort and stay with her until she felt better. It wasn’t his place to do any of those things. Not anymore.

  “If you looked perfectly capable I wouldn’t have offered. You don’t, so go to bed.”

  Surprisingly, she nodded and laid down on top of the comforter.

  “I’ll straighten your guest bathroom then be back to check on you.”

  Asking her to get into her bed struck him as odd. How many times had he gotten into that bed with her?

  Odd to think he never would again.

  That he’d lost that right.

  That privilege.

  Once he was in Nashville, had started his new job, made new friends, his having made the right decision would be reinforced. It was only because he was still here, still confronted every day with the life he’d become used to sharing with Savannah, that he was struggling.

  Savannah would be much better off once he was gone and she could move on with her life. He blamed himself for allowing their relationship to go on for so long. He should have stepped away long ago, for Savannah’s sake if not his own.

  Then again, that was part of the problem, wasn’t it? He should have protected her from ever
getting close enough to him to feel broken-hearted.

  Not that his track record for protecting those close to him was anything to brag about. Quite the opposite.

  Once he’d straightened her bathroom, he went back to her bedroom and wasn’t surprised to find her asleep.

  She hadn’t planned on going to sleep as she was still lying on top of the comforter rather than beneath it. Savannah was one of those that even if it were a hundred degrees outside she had to at least have a sheet over her. The fact she had dozed off spoke volumes as to how ill she was.

  He should have asked if she needed anything.

  He should have checked her temperature or something.

  He was a cardiologist, not an infectious disease guy, but she probably had a stomach virus. Hopefully, it would run its course within twenty-four hours and she’d feel better soon.

  He went back into the living room, grabbed a throw blanket off the sofa, and put it over her. She snuggled into the comfort of the blanket, but her breathing pattern didn’t change to indicate that she’d awakened.

  Charlie stood over the bed watching her for a few minutes. He’d told her she looked awful, but the truth was she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever known.

  Fearing he might wake her but unable to resist, he ran his fingers over her forehead, brushing back a stray strand of long red hair and gauging her temperature at the same time. That was why he was touching her. To check her temperature. To see if she were physically ill. Not because he’d longed to touch the creamy perfection of her skin, to trace over the faint laugh lines at the corners of her eyes, the high angle of her cheekbones, the pert lines of her jaw.

  To check her temperature.

  No fever. That was good.

  But she hadn’t thrown up because she felt great. Something was definitely wrong.

  Which left him in a quandary. Did he go or did he stay?

  Tomorrow was Saturday and he wasn’t on call this weekend. He’d planned to drive to Nashville in the morning to make a decision on living arrangements. Savannah wasn’t on duty either, as he’d checked her schedule earlier that day.

  No, he hadn’t checked her schedule.

  He’d just happened to glance at the nursing schedule and he’d just happened to note that she wasn’t working that weekend.