Her mouth curved.
“You’re right—it is a public world we live in, when almost everyone’s life can be laid bare with the right keystrokes on the computer. The Internet is an endless font of information—yet there isn’t anything about you.” Her mouth dry, she took another long sip, letting her words sink in. “It’s almost as if you didn’t exist outside of the nine to five business world.”
He thought about the past week. He’d barely had time to come home and change. It felt as if he hadn’t slept at all. “It’s hardly nine to five.”
She realized that generalization didn’t apply to him. “All right nine to midnight. The point is—” still petting the dog with one hand while holding on to the glass with the other, she moved slightly forward on the chair “—who are you?”
The warmth in the cabin was imprinting itself on the woman’s cheeks. Sin-Jin wondered how he could be annoyed and attracted at the same time. No doubt about it, he definitely needed to get out more.
“The point is, business takes up all my time and who I am is my business.”
The man was good, she’d give him that. He’d probably drive a lawyer crazy under cross-examination on the stand. “Nicely put, Mr. Adair. You know how to use words to your advantage.”
Sin-Jin narrowed his eyes. “If I did, you wouldn’t be here.”
“Speaking of here,” she gestured around the cabin, “how is coming here business?”
Enough was enough. He shouldn’t even be talking to her. “I think you’ve asked enough questions.”
It was an interesting phenomenon. The more Adair scowled, the more at ease she seemed to feel. “We’ll put it to a vote.” She glanced down at the Irish setter at her side. “How about you, dog?”
An unfamiliar possessiveness came over him. “Her name’s Greta.”
Sherry nodded at the backhanded introduction. “Even better. The personal touch.” She looked into the setter’s eyes. “How about you, Greta? Do you think I’ve asked enough questions? No?” She looked up at Adair, the essence of cheerfulness. “That settles it. The vote’s two to one—I already know how you’re voting—for me to continue.”
Not that he wasn’t amused in some strange, abstract sort of way, but it was time to cut this short. “In this case, might makes right.”
She raised her eyebrows innocently. “You’re planning on Indian wrestling me?”
“No, I plan on carrying you to your car if necessary, fixing said car if necessary, and sending you back on your way.”
She twisted around to look at him. “You really know how to fix cars?”
He put his hands on the back of the chair, debating slanting it just enough to urge the woman to her feet. “Don’t change the subject.”
She’d come too far to be sidetracked now. Even though that strange feeling was back, she couldn’t be deterred from her purpose. “That is the subject—you are the subject.” He might not realize it, but she was picking things up about him. “What else do you know?”
The smattering of patience that he’d temporarily uncovered was gone. “I know when to end a conversation, something you apparently do not.”
Time to switch tactics. She looked around. “Your friend has good taste.”
The comment was out of left field, catching him short. “What?”
“Your friend,” she repeated with emphasis. “The man who this cabin belongs to. John Fletcher,” she added for good measure. “He has good taste.”
The statement almost made him smile. Sin-Jin looked around, as if seeing it for the first time through someone else’s eyes.
“Yes,” he finally allowed, “he does.” He looked at the half-empty glass of water she was still holding. “Are you finished with that?”
“Not yet.” To prove it, she took another long sip. For some reason it just made her hotter. “You know, it’s true what they say, about mountain water,” she added when he looked confused. “I’m a tap water person myself, but there is a difference.” She held the glass aloft as if to underscore her point.
Sin-Jin leaned his hip against another chair, his arms crossed before him as he regarded her. “Do you ever stop talking?”
“Feel free to jump in anytime.” Her grin was wide and inviting and for a moment, managed to sneak in through a crack. He found himself being drawn in.
“I—” Stopping, Sin-Jin shook his head and laughed. She’d almost had him for a second. “That was transparent.”
Undaunted, she shrugged. “Sometimes it works. Most people find me easy to talk to.”
Yes, he supposed he could see that. But there was another factor involved. “When would they ever get a chance?”
She cocked her head, her eyes warm, coaxing. “All you have to do is start. Once you do, I’ll shut up.”
But better people than she had tried to worm their way into his world and get close to him. He’d stopped each in their tracks. Other than with Mrs. Farley, all his relationships were hallmarked by a distance, a space that none were allowed to cross.
“Sorry, Ms. Campbell, but I don’t intend to tell you anything about myself.”
She wasn’t going to go away empty-handed, and something was better than nothing. There was no telling how one thing could lead to another. “All right, then tell me about John Fletcher. How long have you two been friends? When did you meet him? Did he go to the same school as you did?”
He felt as if he was being shelled with torpedoes. “I value my privacy and John values his.” His expression was unshakable. “We’re leaving it at that.”
She stared at him for a long moment, reading her own meaning into his words. “Oh.”
“What do you mean, ‘oh?”’
“Just that. ‘Oh.”’
The word was even more pregnant than she was. Visions of a headline rose in his mind. He wasn’t about to drop it until she laid his fear to rest. “What are you implying?”
Her smile was easy, kind. Sin-Jin had no idea that there could be so many layers involved in such a simple action as the curving of the lips. “Now who’s asking questions?”
Irritation sealed itself to frustration. “I have a right to ask questions if the subject concerns me.”
“I thought you weren’t going to be a subject.” She would have been enjoying this more if part of her wasn’t beginning to feel like a can of tuna fish being cracked apart with a rusty can opener.
He blew out a breath. As much as he hated drawing people into his life, maybe he should be calling the sheriff. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re infuriating?”
If she only had a nickel…
“Occasionally,” she said, tongue in cheek. “It usually happens when I stumble across a secret they don’t want to let out.”
“There is no secret to let out.” He almost shouted the words at her.
Sherry pressed the issue just a little, although she had pretty much decided what his answer was going to be, and that she believed it. “Then you and this John Fletcher are not in a relationship?”
“No.”
She was the soul of innocence when she asked, “And you’re not gay?”
Damn it, just because there wasn’t a string of women in his wake… “Of course I’m not gay,” he shouted. “I wouldn’t have found you attractive if I were.”
That caught her by surprise. She hadn’t felt remotely attractive for months now. Pregnant whales were not deemed attractive, except perhaps by other whales. Desperate other whales.
“You find me attractive?”
“Yes,” he shouted again, then lowered his voice, “in a very irritating sort of way. Now, if you’re finished with your water…” Not giving her time to answer, he took the glass out of her hand and put it squarely on the table. “I think it’s time you showed me where this car of yours allegedly died.”
Taking her arm to help her to her feet, Sin-Jin was surprised at how much resistance met the offer.
A beat before he took the water from her, she’d felt something awful happening
. She looked up at him with wide eyes. “I don’t think I can do that.”
“And why is that?”
Spacious or not, the room began to feel as if it closed in on her and there was this awful pain emanating from the center of her body. “Because I think my water just broke.”
He was almost disappointed. You’d really think a reporter could do better than that. “Ms. Campbell, I wasn’t born yesterday or the day before that.”
She was having trouble breathing. “I don’t think that when you were born…is going to be an issue, but this baby…wants to be born…today.”
She almost had him believing that something was wrong. Except that he knew better. He looked at her icily. “How convenient.”
“Not…really.” Convenient would be if she could get someone else to give birth to this baby for her.
The hitch in her voice had him pausing. He was beginning to have his doubts at how accomplished an actress she actually was. “You’re serious.”
She sucked air in, trying desperately to remember what it was that Lori had said. The last eight weeks of classes seemed to vanish from her brain as if they’d never taken up space there. “Yes.”
“You came up here on your due date?” The woman really was crazy.
Sherry wished that she’d listened to all those people who’d cautioned her about being careful, even though it went against her nature. “No…I came up here…almost a month away…from my due day.”
Okay, then they had nothing to be concerned about. Taking her hand again, he made a second attempt to get her to her feet. “Well, then—”
She winced and collapsed back into the chair. Lift-off had existed for only three inches. She was positive that she felt a contraction. A hard one. “Apparently…they don’t…issue calendars…along with…uteruses.”
Since he couldn’t get her to her feet, Sin-Jin sank down beside the chair, deciding for the moment to play along and give her the benefit of the doubt. No one could change color like that at will, no matter how good they were. She was definitely pale.
“Exactly what is it that you’re feeling?” He wanted to know.
Words failed her. “A whole bunch…of things I’d rather not…be feeling right now.” She looked at him, a mild panic setting in and rising up to her eyes. She could see he didn’t believe her. Sherry pressed her lips together, doing her best to explain. “I feel like…I’m a tube of toothpaste that…someone’s trying to squeeze the…last drop out of.”
He laughed shortly. “If that’s a sample of how you write, I suggest you change your profession.”
But even as he said it, the woman squeezed his hand so tightly the blood felt as if it would stop flowing. He started having doubts that she was doing this for his benefit. Early labors weren’t entirely unheard of.
Here came another one. “I’ll…do a…revision…on it later. Is there…a doctor close by?” The words were coming out in short pants. She hated this.
Sin-Jin thought of the small clinic that he’d anonymously funded. Its main function was to care for injured skiers, patching them up just enough to send them on to regular facilities that were far better equipped to handle emergencies. It was run by two physicians. “There’s a clinic about twenty miles from here.”
She gripped his hand harder. Why wasn’t that making the pain go away? “No…I mean close…like twenty feet…away.”
Sympathy began to stir. He’d never been one not to be moved by suffering. “You’re panicking.”
She tried to smile. The effort wasn’t entirely successful. “What was your…first…clue?”
He knew a little about what she was going through. “Look, if you are in labor, you’ve got a long way to go before the baby’s born.”
A lot he knew. It felt as if the baby was trying to tear its way out of her with the jaws of life. And then hope nudged forward on the wings of irrationality. “You’re not…a…closet doctor…are you?”
Part of him still couldn’t help wondering if she was pulling this stunt just to find out more information about him. He’d had some medical training, but she didn’t need to know that. At least, not yet.
“No, but haven’t you heard the horror stories about women being in labor for seventy-two hours?”
The women in her office had converged around her, sharing their experiences and making her feel that giving birth was a torture second only to being drawn and quartered during the Spanish Inquisition. Joining the Lamaze class was her way of trying to placate her own fears.
“I’ve got…a horror story…of…my own. Giving…birth without…a doctor.”
He looked at her pointedly, his voice firm. “You’re not giving birth.”
“I know my…own body,” she gasped. “It’s expelling the…foreign body…within…in this case, a ba—BEE!”
He winced as she suddenly jackknifed forward and shouted the last syllable in his ear. Sin-Jin could see the perspiration along her brow increasing.
He looked around, thinking. “Okay, let’s say for the sake of argument that you are in some kind of accelerated labor—”
She felt as if she was being crushed from several different directions at once. Was this normal?
“I…don’t want…to…argue, I want…this…to be over with.” She gripped his hand even harder, trying to pull together what strength she had. “Are you…sure…. there isn’t someone…you can…call?”
Sin-Jin made his decision. She was on the level. But he sincerely doubted the situation was as urgent as she believed it was.
“C’mon,” he tucked his hand under her arm. “I’ll drive you to the clinic.”
But even as he tried to get her to her feet, Sherry’s knees buckled. She wound up sinking to the floor in a less-than-graceful movement. “I don’t…think there’s…time.”
“You’re serious.” This time it wasn’t a question, it was a resigned statement.
She thought she knew what he was thinking, hoping. Right now she wished he was right. “I don’t…want…a…story this…badly.”
“Okay, I believe you.” Still on his knees beside her, Sin-Jin reached over to the sofa and pulled down the blanket that was slung over the arm. He spread it out on the floor as best he could while supporting her against him. “Let’s get this jacket off you.” Moving as swiftly as he could, he stripped the parka from her. It was drenched with perspiration. That clinched it. It wasn’t an elaborate ruse. No one could perspire like that on cue. He pulled a cushion off and placed it at the edge of the blanket for her head.
She sagged against him. “What…are you going…to…do?”
He brushed the hair from her forehead before gently moving her toward the blanket. “Nothing, you’re the quarterback in this. I’m just going to be the wide receiver, catching the football when you release it.”
She blew as a contraction closed its jaws around her and then finally released. “You…play…football?”
“Played,” Sin-Jin corrected. As he began to rise, Sherry caught his hand, her eyes widening. “I’m just going to wash my hands.”
She watched his every move as he crossed to the kitchen. She was putting her fate into the hands of a man she and the world knew next to nothing about, except that he was ruthless when necessary. It wasn’t a ringing endorsement. “Do…you know…what you’re…doing?”
He washed his hands quickly. “Probably more than you do.” Drying off, he crossed back to her.
“How?”
He shook his head. “Don’t you ever stop being a reporter?”
The contraction abated, allowing her to draw air back into her lungs. She was almost giddy from the respite. And then another began to gallop toward her, harder and faster than before. “Right now…I’m being a…scared…woman…about to give…birth…a hundred miles from nowhere…in a cabin…with a man…known as the Darth Vader…of industry.”
Feeling sorry for her, he opened the door to his privacy just a crack. “I’ve had a little medical training.”
He was try
ing to make her comfortable, she realized. “How…little?”
He’d been premed for a while, actually toying with the idea of becoming a doctor before he discovered that he had a truer calling. “Enough.”
Sherry groped around either side of her, crumpling the blanket beneath white knuckles. “Okay…I’m going to…trust…you.”
“Don’t see that you have much of a choice,” he told her gruffly.
He certainly wished he had. This wasn’t the way he’d envisioned his day when he got up this morning. The cup of coffee he’d poured himself just before Greta had begun barking was still standing on the table, stone cold now, reminding him how, despite his best efforts, he had little control over life.
A sense of panic washed over her. Maybe this was a bad idea. What if something went wrong? This was a baby she was about to produce, not a contract. What did Darth Vader know about birthing babies? “Are you sure…there isn’t…time?”
Rocking back on his heels, he regarded her quietly. “You tell me.” There was another option. “I could get you into the chopper and—”
She blinked. “Chopper?”
“My helicopter.” He nodded toward the rear of the cabin. “It’s on a landing pad a few yards from the house.”
He wasn’t a man, he was a superhero. She tried to focus on his face, the perspiration dripping into her eyes making it hard to see. “You fly…too?”
“Yes.” If he was going to do this, he had to hurry. “Look, no more questions. Are you up to a trip? I can have you back at the hospital—” His statement was cut short as Sherry grabbed his hand again and screamed. “I guess not. Okay, looks like the floor show’s going to be here.” He rolled up his sleeves. “What did you say your first name was?”
Panting again, she held her hand up until the contraction lessened. “Sherry.”
“Sherry,” he repeated, nodding. “All right, we’re going to get through this, Sherry. Just remember, you’re not the first woman to have her baby outside a hospital.”
He was talking to her. She knew he was talking, but his voice kept fading in and out. Sherry shook her head, trying to focus, trying to hear what he was saying. But everything was fading, being stuffed headlong into a large, dark cylinder.
A Billionaire and a Baby Page 5
