by Неизвестный
As the minutes passed, Dylan grew increasingly fractious. Victoria jiggled him up and down, hushing
him, but to no avail, so she started to sing.
When Connor came back, Dylan’s cries intensified at the sight of the bottle.
“Give me a second, Dyl.” As Dylan protested she removed the plastic seal and replaced the top of the
bottle, then sank onto the plump cushions of the couch and positioned him in the crook of her arm.
“There you go,” she murmured, giving him the bottle.
She resumed humming a snatch of “Big Rock Candy Mountain,” then ceased as she became aware of
Connor watching her, a smile lurking around his mouth.
“Don’t stop.”
Flushing, and terribly self-conscious under his intense scrutiny, she said, “I don’t hum—or sing—very
well.”
“It sounded fine to me, and more importantly Dylan liked it. Look, he’s complaining because you’ve
stopped.”
Victoria glanced down to see Dylan’s mouth working frantically, his tongue clearly visible as he
prepared to let out a loud bellow.
“That’s not my humming he’s missing—it’s the teat.” Victoria offered the dislodged teat to him and the
baby, latched on with gusto.
She slanted a faint smile up at Connor. “But thanks for saying he was missing it, even if it was the tallest
tale I’ve ever heard.”
“It wasn’t that bad.”
“It was worse, but we’ll keep that our secret, okay?”
He gave her a long look. “Our secret.”
Suddenly feeling as if her skin had grown too tight, Victoria pulled Dylan closer. The silence
surrounding the three of them seemed to quiver.
What in heaven’s name was happening to her? Victoria started to hum again. Anything to break that
seething quiet. After a while she switched over to “Old MacDonald Had a Farm” and Connor joined in.
Dylan sucked the last dregs out of the bottle and his eyelids started to droop.
“I’ve been thinking…”
Instantly Connor had all her attention. “What?”
“Dylan should stay here.”
Euphoria swept Victoria along. She’d gotten what she’d wanted. Now she had to make it work, prove to
Connor it was the right thing for Dylan. “I’m so glad you realized I was right.”
His gaze narrowed to cool slits and all the easygoing camaraderie evaporated. “Hang on, we’re not
changing the custody arrangement of the will. He stays with you for now, but we’ll review the
arrangement in a month.”
No, that wasn’t what she’d intended.
She considered arguing that his solution only meant unsettling Dylan later down the line, then decided to
quit while she was still ahead. When the time came, she was sure she’d be able to convince him that
Dylan would be better off staying with her. As for her resolve to tell Connor that she wanted to keep
their relationship formal as Dylan’s guardians, it appeared that would not be necessary. Connor was all
business. He certainly showed no signs of being a man overwhelmed by desire. She suppressed a
ridiculous stab of something suspiciously like disappointment.
He was speaking again. “Dylan needs you. I can’t deny it—you’re so good with him.”
Victoria stared at him, astonished. Connor thought she was good with Dylan? He wasn’t the kind of man
to give false praise. A surge of happiness swept her. So much for all her fears that she’d be terrible at the
mothering stuff.
He was still talking. “But it’s going to slow down your career track.”
“I know, and I’ve come to terms with that.” She would have to speak to Bridget and tell her that she
wouldn’t be working late into the evenings anymore. She gave Connor a bright smile that faded a little
as his gaze intensified in a way that made her shiver inside.
“So you’ll need to take leave for a couple of weeks.”
Take leave? Averting her face, Victoria placed the empty bottle on the coffee table. How could she take
leave? Especially now when everyone at ACE was working to full capacity. She’d tell him later that she
had no intention of taking leave. Now was not a good time. He might renege on his decision to leave
Dylan with her.
When she was sure she had her emotions under control, she raised her head—and clashed with Connor’s
intense gaze. Her stomach rolled over.
Victoria drew a steadying breath. Now was not the time to be sucked in by Connor’s lethal charisma.
She wasn’t looking for a man. And he was the last one on earth that she’d pick. Surely she hadn’t
forgotten that?
He was all wrong for her—he’d just proved it beyond a shadow of a doubt. He’d never let her retain the
financial and emotional independence she’d fought so hard to attain. He’d want a woman who he could
control and command. A woman who would give up work at his demand. And that would never be her.
She would never risk being at the mercy of a man’s whims. Like her mother had been. It wasn’t only the
woman who suffered, but her children too. She had first-hand experience of what happened when
children paid the price of impulsive passion.
But she wasn’t about to lose custody of the only son she’d ever have. So Victoria said carefully, “Yes.
And I’m going to take a leaf out of your book and delegate more—hire a junior to assist me. That’s just
one more thing I need to discuss with Bridget.”
Six
A fter Connor had gone, Victoria called Bridget Edge.
The assurance that Victoria would be at work the following day was met with a sigh of undisguised
relief. And after a small pause Bridget had agreed to Victoria’s suggestion that hiring a junior accountant
would be a good idea—provided, of course, that Victoria’s client base kept growing.
Victoria set the phone down and closed her eyes. For the first time since learning of Michael and Suzy’s
deaths her sense of optimism blossomed again.
Everything was going to work out.
She quashed the growing apprehension that Connor would not be happy with the outcome.
The next day, Victoria dropped Dylan at the day care center that Suzy had enrolled Dylan in. Leaving
him was a terrible wrench, but she assuaged her guilt by slipping out during lunch time to check on him.
One of the young day care employees murmured that the baby hadn’t settled and appeared to be fretting.
Of course Dylan was fretting.
Poor baby! Victoria picked him up, inhaling the scent of powder and baby. Dylan was missing Suzy and
Michael. And she’d left him in this unfamiliar place. Guilt overwhelmed her. She’d added to his sense of
dislocation—but what other choice did she have?
Connor, a little voice said, she could have called Connor for help. He’d offered to take the baby. But if
she called him he would crow in victory—and claim Dylan.
She would lose her baby.
And Connor wouldn’t look after the baby personally, either. He’d simply hire a nanny, which was no
different from what she was doing. Dylan wriggled in her arms. Victoria kissed his head apologetically
and loosened her grip.
But what if she confided in Connor that she was Dylan’s biological mother? Would he understand…
would he be prepared to compromise? She nuzzled Dylan’s soft baby hair and thought of the Connor
North she knew.…
Hard. Decisive. Ruthless. There wasn’t a compromising bone i
n that strong, too-male body.
No. She couldn’t tell him.
She would have to get through this by herself.
The rest of the day passed in a rush. And Victoria, who’d intended to leave not long after lunch for the
first time in her life, left work far later than she’d intended.
Dylan still hadn’t settled by the Victoria went to collect him. But the staff were sure Monday would be
better.
The weekend went by in a blur of sleepless exhaustion. Victoria missed a call from Connor while she
and Dylan napped, and after listening to the recording of his deep, provocative voice saying, “Just
wanted to see if you’re coping,” decided against phoning him back.
So he thought she wasn’t coping?
Well, she certainly wasn’t going to cry for help.
By the following Tuesday Dylan was visibly querulous, and one of the day care workers called to say he
was running a slight temperature.
Panic flooded Victoria and she wasted no time getting to the day care center.
“He didn’t drink his last bottle.” The day care attendant looked concerned. “If his temperature rises
further you may want to take him to the doctor.”
By the time Victoria got Dylan home, after an hour in peak-hour traffic, he was hot and flushed. Pausing
only to take his temperature, which had rocketed alarmingly, she faced the fact that this was more than
grief and dislocation. Dylan was ill.
A call to her doctor garnered his pager. Victoria swore. But within minutes a doctor on call had phoned
and told her to take the baby to the nearest medical center. Berating herself for leaving it so long, she
hoisted Dylan into the baby seat, secured him and hurried to the front door.
Connor had been waiting all week for Victoria to phone and beg him to take Dylan, to admit defeat. But
she hadn’t. To his annoyance she hadn’t even responded to the message he’d left on her answering
service. And Connor was left wishing he’d never allowed the hollowness in her eyes to persuade him to
leave Dylan in her care. What had he been thinking? Dylan was the most important person in his life.
Five days had passed since the funeral, and he couldn’t wait any longer. The driving urge to see Dylan—
a primal, deeply-rooted need to reassure himself that his baby was happy—dominated him. Yet as the
Maserati ate up the now-familiar route Connor admitted it wasn’t only Dylan he’d been missing—he
wanted to see Victoria, too.
It was perfectly normal, this desire to spend time with her. Right. It was perfectly normal to crave the
presence of someone who drove you crazy?
Connor’s mouth slanted.
They’d each lost someone they loved—an aching loss that the other understood better than anyone else
in existence. That made sense. But it wasn’t convincing. It sure didn’t explain why the shape of her wide
mouth haunted him when he should’ve been thinking about work. Or why the memory of her slender
body bending over Dylan’s car seat could wake him in the middle of the night, even though he’d always
preferred blondes with hourglass curves. Or why he kept fantasizing about the silken softness of her skin
under his fingertips.
Hell, he’d even wondered how she’d coped with telling Bridget she was taking more time off work to
look after the baby. He’d actually considered calling earlier in the week to see if she needed support.
But he’d managed to hold out.
Until now.
As he lifted his hand to ring her doorbell the front door flew open.
“Oh, you startled me.”
His first thought was that he must have been blind. Victoria was beautiful. How had he ever missed it?
How had he ever thought her plain?
Her long hair swirled about a face that was simply perfect. Straight, uncompromising brows, direct hazel
eyes and a wide mouth of such delicious rosy-red that he fought the urge to kiss it.
Then he saw that she was upset.
His gaze dropped to the infant seat. “Are you going out?”
“Dylan isn’t well. I’m taking him to the medical center.”
Connor didn’t ask questions. “We’ll go in my car.”
When she looked like she wanted to protest, he added, “If I drive you can look after Dylan.”
She nodded.
Once he’d made sure she and Dylan were comfortably ensconced in the back seat of the Maserati,
Connor pulled out his cell phone and made a call, before climbing into the driver’s seat.
“This isn’t the medical center I meant,” Victoria said sharply fifteen minutes later.
Connor felt the impact of her accusing gaze on the back of his head, but he didn’t shift his eyes from the
road ahead. “I called a friend who’s a pediatrician. He’s meeting us at his rooms—he understands the
background.”
Chuck had known Michael, and knew Connor had been named guardian of his child. Chuck even knew
the truth about Dylan’s paternity. “If it’s necessary Chuck will admit Dylan to Starship,” he said,
referring to the well-known children’s hospital.
“Chuck?” She sounded doubtful. “How do you know him?”
“His name is Charles Drysdale, if that’s any better. We play squash at the same club.” A stab of pain
pierced Connor at the thought of visiting the courts without Michael. “And he’s one of the best
pediatricians in town. You’ll be charmed—most women are.”
Charles—or Chuck—Drysdale had twinkling eyes and a way of putting patients at ease within minutes
of meeting him. Victoria liked him at once.
“Tell me what you noticed, Victoria,” he asked when she’d taken Dylan out of the infant seat and sat
down with him on her lap.
Victoria shifted guiltily in the chair, all too conscious of Connor hovering anxiously behind her. “Dylan
has been a little crabby for a couple of days.”
Connor came closer and scowled. “You never let me know.”
“I thought he was missing his parents,” she said defensively.
“He’d certainly notice that,” Chuck said. “So two days? That’s how long he’s been crabby?”
Victoria thought back to how demanding the baby had been over the weekend, how only holding him
had settled him. “Maybe a little longer—from Friday perhaps. The funeral was on Thursday and he
seemed fine then. But I can’t say for sure.”
Chuck made a note on the pad in front of him. “Did you notice anything else?”
“Li called me at work earlier. Dylan had a temperature and—”
“Who is Li?” Connor paced closer.
Victoria shrank into the chair. “She’s one of the caregivers in the day care center.”
“Day care center? What’s Dylan doing in a day care center?” Connor’s eyes glittered with the kind of
rage she’d never seen. “We’ve never discussed putting Dylan in a day care center.”
Chuck held up a hand. “Connor, save it for later. Let’s see what’s wrong with the baby first.” The doctor
rose to his feet and crossed the room to an examining couch. He gave Victoria a sympathetic smile.
“Why don’t you bring Dylan here?”
Victoria felt totally wretched as she laid Dylan down on the bed. Every doubt she’d ever had about
mothering crashed in on her. “I’m not doing a good job, am I?”
“You’re doing just fine. Most new mothers feel a little frazzled and uncertain when their baby becomes
ill.”
He asked some more questions while he exami
ned Dylan. Finally he said, “Have you ever had chicken
pox, Victoria?”
“Chicken pox? That’s what Dylan has?”
“Certainly looks like it. It’s not common for such young babies to get chicken pox, but it does happen,
and the symptoms fit—the temperature, not drinking…and see here?”
She stared down to where he pointed to a small pink dot on Dylan’s chest. “And here.” He indicated
another spot, this one with a small scab.
“I saw that—I thought it was an insect bite. But shouldn’t there be more spots?”
“Not necessarily. Some cases only have a few spots here and there.”
Lifting her head, she said, “But I thought chicken pox spots were watery blisters.”
“That one,” he gestured to the pink dot, “will blister soon. Then it will scab over.”
Victoria stared at Chuck, conscious of an overwhelming sense of relief. Dylan wasn’t going to die. It
wasn’t scarlet fever or convulsions or some incurable disease. “He’ll be all right, won’t he?”
“Plenty of fluids, calamine lotion and cool baths. I’ll prescribe some acetaminophen for Dylan and a
mild sedative for you. Is there anyone to help you with the baby? He’ll need to stay home for a week.
And you need some rest.”
Oh, no. She gave a groan. “I need to go to work.”
“I’ll give you a note.”
What would Bridget and the rest of the partners say? “I can’t, I’ve taken too much time off already.”
“Your body needs rest if you’ve been up the kind of hours I suspect this young man has been keeping.”
Chuck drew a card from a holder on the nearby table. “This is for a nursing service. They’ll be able to
assist you over the next week, although he can go back to the day care center once he’s better.”
“That must be where he picked this up,” Connor growled from behind her.
Victoria felt awful, and remorse set in afresh.
“He could’ve come into contact with the virus anywhere.” Chuck shrugged. “But the incubation period
is ten to twenty days, so given the time he’s been at the day care center it’s highly unlikely he contracted
chicken pox there.”
Victoria could’ve kissed Chuck. It wasn’t her fault. But the feeling of relief that numbed her knees