by Lori Foster
“I can do that myself, you know. I’m not handicapped.”
“I want to do it.”
It didn’t seem worth the effort of argument. “Yeah, all right. Knock yourself out.”
He chuckled. “So, has your mind altered enough that you’ll agree to move in with me?”
Though he said it casually enough, Ashley heard his reservation, his uncertainty with her and her acceptance of him. The lethargy left her, and a great thumping entered her heart.
Now would be a good time to tell him about the baby. She had no right to keep the news from him. He needed to know. The sooner the better.
But she couldn’t get the words out.
She knew his thoughts on unplanned pregnancy, on unwanted babies. She wanted her baby—but how would he feel about it?
No way could she commit to living with him. Not until he knew. It wouldn’t be fair. But neither did she want to cause a void between them tonight. She needed him. She needed to feel secure and loved—for just a little while.
“Give me some time, Quinton.”
He left the bed and went back into the bathroom, but returned in only moments. The bed dipped again, and he stretched out beside her, propped on an elbow. “Time for what?”
To get used to the idea of being responsible for two, instead of one . But again, she held that back.
“Everything has changed so much.” It seemed easier to converse with the lights out, the darkness concealing. “For the longest time, it was just me. I mean, I had May for a friend, but I didn’t have anyone else. No family, not even any close associations. And that was okay. It worked for me.”
His large, warm hand, so strong and capable, settled on her belly, and her heart lurched. His touch was so protective, so caring, when he had no idea a baby rested beneath his palm.
Tears filled her eyes, and she swallowed with difficulty—then put her hand over his. “I had no thoughts of dating, of involving anyone else in my life.” Her voice broke, and she wanted to curse herself. “Now there’s not only you, but Denny and Tim keep turning up.”
“Like bad pennies?”
“Like caring friends.” Feeling like a fraud, feeling dishonorable, she turned toward him and nudged nearer. Tucking her face into his throat, she whispered, “It’s so different from what I’m used to, I need to adjust to it all.”
His hand drifted to her bottom, pressing her closer. One of his legs went over hers. “If you’re here, I can help you adjust.”
“Quinton.” She finally turned her face up to his. “Don’t you see? This could be more of your macho protectiveness toward the poor little woman.”
“No.” He stroked her skin, lazy and confident of his purpose, familiar in a way she’d never imagined. “It’s because I want to be with you, Ashley Miles, and your crazy schedule makes it almost impossible.”
Yet her schedule was about to get crazier still. “I’ll think about it, okay? And while I do, I want you to consider all the ramifications.”
“You in my bed every night, with me in the morning for coffee, safer with me. I know what I’m asking, honey.”
Desperation brought a tremor to her voice. “It’s not that easy.” His tenderness wore her down. She had to find a way to make him back off before she blurted out her news and destroyed their quiet time together. “Do you know that I got a C-on a test the other day? I’ve never scored that low, but instead of studying, I was…” Guilt choked her, but she forced herself to continue. “I was daydreaming about you, trying to cut corners so I could be with you. And my grades suffered.”
The silence following her accusation felt like a scream, resounding in her head. Quinton moved to his back beside her, still there, but not quite touching. “I’m sorry.”
Oh God, it wasn’t his fault. In frustration Ashley started to curl her hands into fists, and her broken wrist protested with a sharp pain.
“ I’m to blame, Quinton. It’s my damned stupid plan that suffers when I get off track. I should—”
He rolled over her, touching her all over without hurting her at all, silencing her with his size and looming position, and his caring. “We’ll work it out, okay? Let’s give it a week to sink in, then we’ll sit down together and discuss things.”
He had no idea they’d be discussing baby things, but she was a horrible coward, so she gratefully took the postponement. “Okay.”
He gave her a loud smooch. “Get comfortable and I’ll settle around you.”
That made her laugh, but tears infused the sound. She only hoped Quinton hadn’t heard them—or if he did, he said nothing.
Because the stitches on her face made sleeping on her right side nearly impossible, Ashley turned to her left side and positioned her cast in front of her. Quinton spooned her, settled his arm around her waist and, with a kiss to her shoulder, said, “Sleep. If you need anything during the night, let me know.” Within minutes his breathing had evened into sleep.
Because she couldn’t take any pain meds, Ashley had no intention of waking him. With her mind churning on consequences, deceptions, and guilt, it took her much longer to fall asleep. But finally the warmth of Quinton’s touch and the even rhythm of his breath lulled her.
———
Something woke Ashley bright and early the next morning. She hadn’t heard Quinton leave the bed, but she instinctively knew she was alone. She was still tucked in, and the remnants of sleep made her sluggish, but Quinton’s overwhelming presence and the peace she felt when with him were gone.
Then she realized a conversation in the hallway had roused her. Dull pain throbbed throughout her body, centering in her head, her arm. Her heart.
Struggling into an upright position, she listened hard and detected Quinton’s voice, as well as others. Had the workers arrived to install new security measures? From the little bit of the conversation she could detect, that seemed the case.
Groaning with each movement, she crawled from the bed, dragging the blankets with her.
The door opened and Quinton peeked in. “Sorry we woke you.”
She felt like hell warmed over, but managed a smile. “What time is it?”
“Only eight o’clock. You want some coffee?”
She groaned for an entirely different reason. “I’d kill for coffee.”
His grin did much to revive her. “Everyone will be back out of the house in a few minutes. I’ll bring the coffee to you here so you can get started.”
Keeping the blankets in place with one hand wasn’t easy. “My hero.”
“I hope so.”
While Quinton saw to the coffee, Ashley ducked into the bathroom. A look in the mirror didn’t reassure her. Denny had nailed it—she did look like shit, and a night of restlessness hadn’t improved anything.
Sometime during the night the bruising had turned a vivid blue and crimson, and in places, purple. The skin around her eye had puffed up, giving her a squinty, uneven look, and her hair resembled a witch’s.
She shrugged, knowing there wasn’t anything she could do about it. No amount of makeup would cover the discolorations, and with her cast, her hair was about as good as she could get it. With no help for it, it wasn’t worth worrying over.
Then she glanced at the rest of her body. Almost in slow motion, she lowered the blankets and searched for signs of pregnancy. She was as slender as ever, her boobs still nonexistent, her belly concave. She felt different inside, but outside, nothing showed.
How long did she have before noticeable changes occurred?
She put her hand over her abdomen. Would the baby look like Quinton? He was so beautiful to her that she hoped so. She didn’t care if she had a boy or a girl. It was odd, but she already loved the baby more than she knew was possible.
When the tears dribbled down her cheeks, she realized she was crying. Stupid, stupid. The doc had said she’d have emotional highs and lows, but she hadn’t said anything about her becoming a damned crybaby.
Ashley dashed a hand over her face, washed, brushed
her teeth, and stepped back into the flannel pants. When Quinton returned, she was sitting on the end of the bed, unable to get the sweatshirt on.
Two steps into the room, he paused. His gaze went over her belly, exposed by the low-hanging pants, and then to her breasts. One brow lifted. “Damn, that’s a good look for you.”
Ashley gave him a sour frown. “Quit leering and help. I’m freezing here.”
Smiling, he said, “All right.” He set the coffee aside and eased the left sleeve over her cast. It hurt to move her fingers at all, not that she could much, anyway. But it seemed aches and pains had settled in overnight, and it made her cranky.
As he assisted her, Quinton said, “It occurred to me that you wouldn’t have anything to wear to school this morning.”
Ashley groaned. “I hadn’t even thought of that.” She snatched up the coffee and gulped it so fast, she burned her tongue. But damn it, she had to get it together. She had too many responsibilities to just fall apart. “I better get on the ball so I can run by my place first.”
“Actually, I put your clothes from last night into the wash. If the stains come out, they’ll be good to go in half an hour. At the very least, the jeans should be okay, and you do look fetching in my sweatshirt. In fact, feel free to look through all my shirts and make use of anything that appeals to you.”
“You really are my hero.” She went on tiptoe to kiss him—and nausea hit her with the force of a tsunami. “Oh, hell.”
She caught only a glimpse of Quinton’s startled concern before she plopped the coffee cup back onto the dresser, lurched into the bathroom, and fell to the floor in front of the commode. Her knees stung from the impact of connecting with the tile floor, and she clunked her cast on the seat, sending pain screeching through her. She’d barely gotten the seat up before the awful heaving racked her body.
She felt Quinton behind her, standing there in appalled silence, and she violently gagged again.
Her hair in her face, her stomach churning, Ashley snarled, “ Get out , “in a tone of horror-movie magnitude.
She didn’t think he would leave her, but then he stepped out of the room and pulled the door shut, giving her the privacy she needed. The morning sickness seemed to go on and on. Each time she started to stand, her stomach roiled.
“Oh God,” she whispered, and she wondered how she’d ever survive this. She had homework to do. She had two jobs. Never mind her grand plans for her future; she had a baby to think of. “Oh God, oh God.”
“Are you praying,” Quinton asked gently, from just outside the door, “or merely expressing yourself?”
Ashley struggled to her feet. Thank the heavens, her belly didn’t protest. She flushed the toilet, took a couple of deep breaths, and tried to stop shaking. Bracing her hands on the sink, she said, “I’m okay.”
“No. You’re not.”
She turned on the water and rinsed out her mouth. “I am if I say I am.” But she sounded raspy and Quinton came in uninvited.
“You’re ill.”
“It’s nothing,” she lied, hating herself even as she fabricated the fib. “Just leftover upset from last night. Those cheese sandwiches…” She almost gagged again and had to swallow convulsively. “They’re coming back to haunt me.”
Quinton got a fresh washcloth out of a drawer and rinsed it in cool water. She took it from him and wiped her face. Her hands shook and her mouth felt gritty. “I guess you’ll be buying a new toothbrush, huh?”
Ignoring her jest, he put a hand to her forehead. “You don’t feel feverish.”
“Because I’m not.”
“Let me take you to the doctor.”
Oh, no. Hell, no. She shook her head. “I’m okay now.” And she really did feel better. With any luck, the morning sickness would stay away for the rest of the day. She pushed past Quinton and left the bathroom. The coffee cup remained where she’d left it, but rather than gulp this time, she sipped—and her stomach agreed to that method.
“See.” She summoned a smile, knowing she looked ghastly but unable to do anything about it. “I’m okay.”
Quinton eyed her. “I don’t like it, Ash. You’re pale under all the bruising. And you didn’t sleep well last night.”
He’d noticed that? She thought he’d slept through her bouts of discomfort and fear.
“You should take it easy today.”
“I will,” she promised. “I have some time between my classes, and I’m not working at the restaurant.”
He rubbed his head. “You need a day off, some time to recoup.”
“Are you taking the day off?”
“I will if it’ll keep you home.”
“Oh.” She hadn’t expected that. She couldn’t afford to start slacking off now, but neither did she want him to worry. “Tell you what. If I feel sick again, I’ll call in. But honest, I think it was just the way I gobbled the food last night, on top of breathing all that smoke and getting stitches and everything. Right now I want to stay busy to keep my mind off Elton and his sick attacks.”
Quinton didn’t appear convinced, but one of the workers called his name, forcing him to concede. “You’re sure you’re okay now?”
“Yes. Right as rain.”
He held her face and brushed his thumb over her bruised cheek. “All right. If you feel up to eating anything, maybe some toast, I’ll be in the kitchen.”
The thought of food didn’t thrill her, but she knew she had to try. “That sounds good. Thanks.”
“You’ve got it.” He kissed her forehead and walked out of the room, leaving Ashley alone with her thoughts and her guilt.
She put a hand to her flat belly, protective, scared, and more uncertain than she’d ever been in her life.
After class, she’d set an appointment with a doctor. Once she had the pregnancy confirmed and a delivery date for the baby, she’d tell Quinton.
No more cowardice.
No more evasion.
She would do the right thing—and deal with the consequences, whatever they might be.
———
Three days later, mind made up, new plans in the works, Ashley went to Quinton’s office before her shift. Her heart pounded with dread, nervousness, and hope—all at the same time. She simply couldn’t keep the secrets to herself any longer.
Since the mailbox bombing, she’d remained in Quinton’s home. Not on an official basis, because she hadn’t yet agreed to move in with him. Keeping to his agreement, he hadn’t pressured her for an answer. But her hours were such that the only way to see him was to catch him at work, or climb into his bed after her late shift ended. She couldn’t do that if they weren’t in the same place.
Making love in the mornings seemed to be their best bet. Rather than going right to bed after her shift, as was her usual habit, Ashley stayed up to enjoy some time with Quinton.
He got up earlier than need be for his schedule, doing what he could to adjust to her off hours.
That worked out for her because it ruled out the possibility of waking with morning sickness, and it reduced her chances of rousing Quinton’s suspicions. Unfortunately, the morning sickness didn’t content itself with mornings only and had interrupted not only her class time, but both jobs.
With the current arrangement, neither of them got enough sleep. Ashley was used to that; she’d sustained a hectic schedule since moving away from home. Only now, she never felt fully rested. She longed to linger in bed after waking and had the awful urge to nap throughout the day. More often than not, she felt like a walking zombie, unable to do anything with competence due to growing weariness.
She had to make some adjustments, the sooner the better. So regardless of her continued reserve, she knew she couldn’t continue the sham.
Just hours ago, she’d seen the ob-gyn recommended to her by her family physician. The doctor was kind, not judgmental, and Ashley liked him a lot. After an examination and a few tests, he’d presented her with a delivery date of July twenty-second.
Knowin
g when the baby would arrive made it all so real.
She’d left the doctor’s office with a prescription for vitamins, pamphlets on what to expect, including the cursed morning sickness, and an appointment for another office visit in a few weeks—along with a good dose of new resolve.
Priorities ruled her life, and sometimes that meant adjusting. Right now her priorities were Quinton and the baby. The reality was that she couldn’t keep up both jobs, her schoolwork, a romance, and the physical toll of pregnancy, So her job at the office building would have to go.
If she worked a few more hours at the restaurant, she’d make just enough in additional tips to keep up with her expenses, plus she’d have more time for Quinton and school.
Once the baby was born, she’d have to cut back on school, too. Unlike some new mothers, she had no relatives to assist her, and she couldn’t afford sitters. She was realistic enough to know she couldn’t do it all. So it’d take her a little longer to become a nurse. That wasn’t the end of the world.
And if it turned out that Quinton was happy about the baby, that he wanted them to be a real family… but she wouldn’t let herself start on that particular fantasy just yet.
On the one hand, she wanted to call May in Japan and share the news right now. Without a single doubt, she knew how May would react. Her friend would scream with excitement and joy. She’d take charge, assuring Ashley that everything would work out. May would start going over names, colors for a nursery, the whole nine yards.
Ashley needed May’s enthusiasm and optimism.
But on the other hand, it would be grossly unfair to tell May before she told Quinton. The baby’s father deserved to hear the news first. She needed things settled with him before she started celebrating.
And if the baby caused a rift between them, she’d need May more than ever before.
Hell, given the circumstances, she might even need Jude—to keep her safe until the police found and arrested Elton, removing him as a threat.
No, she couldn’t see Quinton washing his hands of her, leaving her to fend for herself. He was the most honorable guy she knew, and the most responsible. But she had to consider every angle, and she had to accept that his interest in her had never extended toward children of their own.
