by Diana Palmer
“She’ll be fine,” the volunteer added, and winked.
“Thanks,” he said.
“You’re welcome.” She breezed out and Worth sighed heavily. Amy grinned at him, tears in her eyes.
“She really is tough as old combat boots,” she said on a watery laugh.
“I’m ready to believe it,” he said.
Minutes later, Jeanette was wheeled past them on a stretcher, with an IV tube in her arm and a bottle of solution on a pole rolling right along beside her. She looked white as a sheet and she wasn’t moving, but at least, thank God, she was alive.
The doctor was just behind her. He came in, called Worth to one side and explained what had been done and what Worth could expect. They shook hands, and Worth stretched hugely.
“He says it will be about seventy-two hours before we can be sure that everything’s going okay,” he told Amelia, reaching down a big hand to help her to her feet. “But the procedure went well and she’s responding exactly as she should. He’s cautiously optimistic.”
“Now she’ll take up tennis,” she told him with a dry smile. “She was muttering something about it the other day, and complaining because of her age.”
He burst out laughing. “My God, just don’t encourage her!”
“Spoilsport,” she chided. “I’ll buy her a tennis racket!”
“How about something to eat?” he asked. “I think I could manage a sandwich if you could.”
“Yes, of course.”
But if she’d hoped they might talk, she was doomed to disappointment. He kept the subjects general. Politics, current affairs, even the South American project he was going to start on. He wouldn’t let the conversation get personal. And then she knew that last night had been something he was uncomfortable about. Perhaps he was afraid she might want commitment, but she was going to show him that he was wrong. Just because she’d made a fool of herself once, she wasn’t going to do it twice. She could be as indifferent about it as he was. So she smiled and talked, and her heart cracked open inside, where he couldn’t see it.
Later, after Jeanette was moved from recovery into the cardiac intensive care unit, they were both allowed in to see her. She didn’t say anything, and she seemed part of the tangle of machinery that filled the tiny cubicle. All around, there were other unconscious patients with nurses and doctors and orderlies breezing past, doing tests, taking vitals.
Worth took his grandmother’s frail hand and stared down at her pasty face, with the breathing tube making something foreign of her mouth. “You’re doing great, old girl,” he murmured. “Hang on. Just hang on.”
There was no response, but Amelia had a feeling that Jeanette had heard him and understood.
It was after dark before they left the hospital, when he was finally convinced that he couldn’t do much in the waiting room and that he could be reached quickly if anything happened.
He let Amelia fix him a ham sandwich and then he went into his den to work.
“It will give me something to do,” he said quietly. He searched her eyes. “You won’t have to lock your door, if you’d been worrying about that.”
Her eyes flickered as they met his. “Last night was a one-shot deal,” she said curtly. “You needed something and so did I. We’re even.”
“As you say,” he returned mockingly. “But I appreciate the gift of yourself, regardless of intent. It got me through a rough night.” He took his hands out of his pockets and lit another cigarette. “Tonight, I’ll stick to whiskey. It’s safer.”
She wanted to hit him, but under the circumstances, that would have been all too cruel. She turned. “Then I’ll turn in. You’ll wake me, if you hear anything?” she asked, remembering vividly the way his grandmother had looked.
“Of course. Good night, Amy.”
“Good night.”
Amelia got out her cotton gown and slid into it, then climbed between the covers with a long sigh. She turned out the lights, remembering how it had been the night before, the wildness of passion making her body burn. Potato chips, she thought miserably, you can’t stop after eating just one. She tossed and turned for what seemed hours.
She tried counting sheep and forcing her mind to relax, but nothing worked. Glancing at the clock beside the bed, she saw that it was two in the morning. With a long sigh, she stared toward the window, where moonlight was streaming in. She wondered how Jeanette was, and if the morning would bring joy or sorrow. The big house seemed empty without its mistress. Lonely. It would be harder than this on Worth. Perhaps he was able to keep his mind on business, and would be diverted. He was right; sleeping together was a risk, and she should be grateful for his consideration. If only her body wasn’t so tormented. Up until now, it had never known passion. But apparently passion was an addictive thing, because it was almost dawn when she slept.
The next morning, Worth left her at the house and went to sit in the intensive care waiting room until he could see his grandmother.
“And you’d better move back to your own place,” he said over breakfast, his eyes dark and wary. “I can handle things now.”
“God forbid that people might gossip,” she tossed at him haughtily.
“It isn’t my reputation I’m worried about,” he countered. His dark eyes cut into hers. “Your generosity is going to get you into hot water one of these days. You give too much.”
“That’s the first time I’ve ever been accused of that,” she laughed mirthlessly. She stirred her coffee aimlessly.
“You did mean what you told me?” he asked suddenly, his eyes speculative. “There’s no chance that I might have made you pregnant?”
“Of course not,” she lied smoothly. And felt sick, because the thought had already occurred to her. She’d taken no precautions and neither had he. She’d thought the risk was worth it, but now it didn’t seem that way anymore. Now she felt guilty and ashamed and empty. And she didn’t know how she was going to live.
“If…when Grandmother gets better, and comes home,” he said then, “how would you feel about nursing her?”
“I’m not a nurse,” she began hesitantly.
“I know that. But you were a nurse’s aide. You could look after her. She likes you very much.”
“Let me think about it, please.”
“Of course.” He checked his watch. “I’d better go. See you.”
“I hope everything goes well,” she said quietly.
“So do I,” he said wearily, and all the apprehension he felt flickered instantly in his eyes and was quickly removed. He left without another word.
Amelia moved back into her apartment. But she started going to the hospital every day, to be there while Worth took care of urgent business that cropped up inevitably at his office. Within two days, Jeanette had her eyes open and was sitting up in bed. The breathing tube was removed. By the third day, she was ready to be moved into a private room on the cardiac ward.
“You are one more tough lady,” Amelia said with a grin as she helped her employer sip some juice while Worth stopped in at his office.
“I told you so, didn’t I?” Jeanette asked smugly. She tried to laugh, and caught her chest. A thin line was the only evidence of the surgery, because they hadn’t used stitches at all. There was a wide, clear strip of tape over the incision. But the breastbone had been severed, and the doctor had told Jeanette it would be a good six weeks before it healed, possibly longer. She’d be able to go home Friday if she kept improving, but it would be weeks before she could move around very much.
“Thank God, I’ve got you, dear,” Jeanette told Amelia fervently.
Amelia tried to smile, thinking how desperately she’d like to get away from the house and its bittersweet memories and having to see Worth every day after what had happened. But now she was trapped. How could she leave Jeanette?
“Was Worth very worried?” the elderly lady asked, her pale eyes solemn, her face still drawn and pale.
“Yes,” Amelia said. “I’d thought at first
that he was invincible, you know. But it crushed him, seeing you that way. He was afraid he might lose you. All of us were,” she added on a smile. “Especially Baxter. We had to call him every night. Carolyn’s been keeping everything spic and span, and Mrs. Reed,” she added, “has been told that she is not to allow you any fatty, fried foods no matter how sweetly you plead.”
Jeanette imitated a bulldog, glaring up at her secretary. “That’s dirty pool!”
“That’s survival,” came the reply. “Doctor’s orders. You want to live forever, don’t you?” she added, teasing.
“Well…if I can break dance and play tennis, why not?” Jeanette murmured dryly.
“I’ll buy you a racket. I promise.”
“You’re a good girl,” Jeanette said, patting the slender hand beside her on the bed.
Amelia could have laughed at that. Yes, she’d been a good girl. What was she now? Worth’s cast-off lover. He’d tired of her very quickly, she thought bitterly. After all, he didn’t want any complications in his private life. The last thing he needed was a little country girl from Georgia who drove a battered old Ford. It didn’t help to remember that she’d practically thrown herself at him.
She’d left the keys to the Mercedes on his desk and was driving that old car again, silently challenging him to forbid her. But he hadn’t seemed to notice or care. Why should he, she thought bitterly. He’d had what he wanted from her. She’d wanted to comfort him, but he’d needed a woman, just as he’d said. And she’d mistaken what they’d shared for caring on his part. But men didn’t have to care about women to make love to them. She should have remembered that. She should never have let it happen. It was all her fault. But her soft heart had overruled her mind. The regrets were piling up on her, and with them a vague fear of consequences. Of all the gross stupidity, not to have taken precautions. What in the world would she do if she were pregnant?
Her heart leaped. But it didn’t always happen, she told herself. Only during that fertile period. She remembered then, with cold horror, that that had been her fertile period. Her eyes closed on a silent prayer. Please, she thought, please forgive me and don’t let my stupidity foul up so many lives.
Her parents would never get over it if she were pregnant. They lived in a small town, where everyone would know, and the shame would never leave them. If she stayed in Chicago, on the other hand, how could she support a child when she couldn’t even support herself? She wouldn’t be able to go on working for Jeanette, not carrying Worth’s child.
She bit her lip almost through. No, she told herself firmly, there was no sense in this self-torment. Lots of women had affairs. Lots of them didn’t get pregnant. Perhaps she was even barren; some women were. And why worry herself over something that would probably never happen? She tossed back her hair and asked Jeanette if she wanted a soft drink, and when the older woman nodded, she went out to get it. Everything would be all right, she told herself. And at least Jeanette was going to get well. That was one good thing to come out of all the torment.
Nine
Amelia stayed with Mrs. Carson every day, almost all day. Worth came and went as his time allowed, but he was committed now to two projects, and they saw little of him during the day. He teased Jeanette and did what he could to make her comfortable. But he spoke to Amelia only when it was unavoidable, and he seemed brooding and reserved with her.
On Friday, he came to take his grandmother home, in her own Rolls, and the nurses stood and stared lovingly at its sleek lines. Jeanette, flattered by the interest, wouldn’t rest until they’d all taken turns sitting in the front seat, sighing over the luxurious interior with its built-in stereo, TV, bar and phone.
Worth settled his grandmother in her room, in a hospital bed he’d rented for her recuperation. Baskets of flowers were everywhere, and Jeanette went into ecstasies examining them.
Amelia left her long enough to walk out to the porch with Worth. It was just barely autumn, warm and lazy days with a soft breeze and birdsongs. Amelia stood in the sunlight, bareheaded, thinking back a week to happier times, to companionship and soft loving at night. She didn’t dare look at Worth, because he might not want to see that wistful sadness in her eyes.
He stuck a big hand in the pocket of his beige slacks, looking big and much darker in the suit and vest that emphasized his powerful build. His black hair had fallen onto his broad forehead, over dark eyes that grew darker as he stared down at Amelia, with her own dark hair loose and blowing in the wind around her shoulders. She wore a soft gray sleeveless dress and sandals.
“I’ll be out of the country for a couple of months, Amy,” he said, eyes narrowed as they searched her face. “I have to go down to Colombia, to oversee our project. It’s too important to entrust to any of my executives.”
Her heart fell. She lived for the sight of him. But it would be easier. She folded her hands. “When will you leave?”
“Monday morning. You can have your old room back. She’ll need you at night, you understand.”
“Yes.”
He tilted her chin up, searching her sad eyes with his own. “It’s still haunting you, isn’t it? You with your strict upbringing and your puritan conscience. I should have sent you to bed alone that night. But I was half out of my mind with worry, and full of whiskey.” He studied her closely. “Do you still hate me?”
“You didn’t force me,” she replied. “You were worried about Jeanette. I knew that.”
“And took pity on me.” He laughed coolly. “Your soft heart is going to be your undoing some day.”
As if she’d martyred herself to comfort him, she thought miserably. But how could she deny it? The only way would be to admit that she was in love with him. And that would finish her employment here. He’d have to get rid of her then, if she showed signs of wanting to cling.
“It wasn’t completely unselfish,” she said.
He searched her eyes slowly, deeply, and his breath seemed to catch. “You can’t know how much I wish…” He broke off and tore his eyes away to check his watch, avoiding looking straight at her. “I’m late again. Take care of her. I’ll try to get home in time for supper.”
She didn’t answer him. Apparently he didn’t expect her to. He got into the Mercedes and drove off.
Later, she told Jeanette she was going over to her apartment to get her clothes and went out to the garage to uncover her pitiful means of transport. And found it gone.
In its place was a little blue Japanese car, brand-new, with a big bow on top. There was a note as well.
“Amy, don’t argue. Just get in and drive it. Your Ford is now a compact. I had it towed away for scrap. Consider this a thank-you, for all you’ve done. Worth.”
She sputtered and fumed at his highhandedness, thought about rushing to rescue her faithful old car. And then realized that no amount of raving was going to bring it back. With a heavy sigh, she opened the door and slid in. The key was in the ignition. Forgetting the bow on top, she drove away.
But that night she tackled Worth the minute he came into the dining room. Mrs. Carson had been given her supper and was sleeping comfortably with a buzzer at her side to summon help if it was needed. Amelia was nibbling halfheartedly at a salad.
“That isn’t eating,” he grumbled, glaring at her bowl of lettuce and tomato. He tossed his jacket into a chair and sat down. Baxter peeked out and went back into the kitchen to bring the food.
“It is so. I want my car back,” she said shortly.
His heavy eyebrows rose. “What for? It’s about six inches thick by now. They run them through the crusher, you know.”
“I will not accept expensive presents from you,” she told him, her blue eyes spitting at him across the table. “I don’t need to be paid for one night!”
The look on his face was indescribable. His eyelid flinched, as if the angry remark had cut him to the heart.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said curtly, staring at her intently, broodingly. “I swear to God I didn’
t, Amy.”
She lowered her gaze to her lettuce. She felt sick. “I appreciate your good intentions,” she said after a minute. “But I don’t want your help, Worth.”
“You could have been killed in that damned piece of junk,” he shot at her. “It was twenty years old if it was a day. Any mechanic would have told you it wasn’t safe to drive. You’re no good to my grandmother dead!”
So that was it. It wasn’t concern for her welfare, it was concern about an employee who was useful. She might have realized that in the beginning.
She smiled at her own naiveté. “Okay. I’ll drive it while I work for your grandmother. But that’s all,” she added. “I won’t accept ownership of it.”
“You’re so damned stubborn,” he grumbled as Baxter came in with a huge steak and a side salad and baked potato, placing them neatly before him.
“Will you have coffee, sir?” Baxter asked.
“Yes, please. Have you fed Grandmother?”
Baxter beamed. “Yes, sir. She ate a good supper and went to sleep.”
“She’s resting very well,” Amelia added. “I’ve checked on her, to make sure.”
Baxter went to fetch the coffeepot and Amelia held out her own cup for a refill.
She and Worth finished the meal in silence. “You won’t change your mind about the car?” he asked quietly.
“I will not.”
“I owe you something, for all you’ve done,” he began.
“You gave me a car,” she said. “What do you usually give your one-night stands?” she asked with innocent mockery.
The reaction she got was astonishing. He slammed down his empty cup, breaking it in the process, and she jumped. He scowled at her, his face harder than flint. He got up and left the room without another word.
Baxter came in to see what the noise was, gasping when he saw the broken china. Amelia couldn’t speak. Tears had made her throat sore. They spilled over as she tried to calm down, sipping coffee that burned her mouth. Baxter was too polite to ask questions, but he gave her a sympathetic glance as he carried the remnants of the expensive old china out to the kitchen. She couldn’t look up. She was crying too hard.