by Diana Palmer
She drew in a breath. “It was long ago. The Griers took me in when I had no place to go. I lived with them and worked as a cook in a local café. I often took care of their two children while they went shopping or if she had to go on a trip with him. He gave lectures at the FBI Academy once or twice.”
He frowned. “You never mentioned them.”
She sighed. “I was trying to hide my past from you, while I got up enough nerve to confess what I’d done,” she said sadly. “I was afraid that if you knew about them, you might take it out on them, too, if you ever found out who I was.”
He lowered his eyes. His fingers tangled with hers. “I’m not a nice person, Emma,” he said after a minute. “I was wrapped up in vengeance. I got even with people for the slightest offenses.” He smoothed his fingers over hers. “It’s hard to change the habits of a lifetime. But after what I did to you, I lost my taste for getting even with people.” He smiled wanly. “I suppose it takes a hard jolt to make us look at ourselves. I didn’t like what I saw. I went all the way to France, trying not to face what I did.” He added huskily, “I am more sorry than you’ll ever know for what I did to you.” He searched her pretty brown eyes. “But I am not sorry for getting you pregnant,” he added gruffly. “It’s the only thing in my whole damned life that I got right.”
She flushed with pleasure. “Really?” she asked.
His fingers contracted. “Really,” he replied. He drew in a long breath. “Oh, baby, it’s been a long few months. So long!”
The flush grew redder. He’d only called her that pet name in bed, and it brought back raging memories of exquisite passion.
He was remembering, too. His big fingers eased between hers in a slow, sensual motion. “After the baby comes,” he whispered, wary of eavesdroppers, “we might lock ourselves in a room and never come out.”
She laughed. “Connor!”
He brought her fingers to his lips and nibbled the ends. “It’s been a long, dry spell for me,” he said, his voice husky with desire. “Very long.”
Her eyebrows raised. “A dry spell?”
“No women, Emma.”
Her heart jumped. “You’re n-not serious,” she stammered.
“I’m deadly serious.” His eyes fell to her pretty bow mouth. “A man who gets used to the most expensive champagne isn’t likely to suddenly develop a taste for cheap beer,” he mused.
“You had parties in France,” she said, and her voice was faintly harsh. “It was in all the newspapers. You were dancing with some tall brunette...”
“Dancing, yes,” he agreed. “Nothing but dancing. Ever. With anyone. Not after we’d been together,” he added softly, every word emphatic. “Never after you, baby. I couldn’t.”
Tears stung her eyes. She hadn’t expected that. Maybe it was guilt, and only guilt, but it touched her. She certainly was more emotional these days, because of the baby.
He got up, picked her up and sat back down with her in his lap. He kissed away the tears. “It’s all right,” he whispered. “I’m going to take such exquisite care of you, Emma.” His mouth was warm and slow and tender. “You and the baby. My baby. Our baby.” He buried his face in her warm throat. “Dear God, I’ve been out of my mind with worry! I didn’t know where you were, what had happened to you, if you were all right.” His arms contracted, while she felt like treasure. “It’s like coming home, to have you here, in my house, in my life.”
It was for her, too, but just as she started to say it, Marie came back into the room and smiled with pure joy at the two of them.
“Would you like some lunch?” she teased. “I made a fresh pasta salad.”
Connor lifted his head and searched Emma’s eyes. He smiled. “That would be nice. Thanks.”
Emma smiled back.
Seventeen
Connor did go with her to Dr. Weems. He even went into the examination room, exchanging robust hugs with the taller, thinner man.
“Harry and I went through college together,” Connor told Emma. “He was smarter, though. I took my degree in business. His took brain power.”
“Don’t let him fool you. He’s smart.” Harry grinned. “Okay, when was your last period?” he asked Emma, and glanced at Connor’s outrage. “She can tell me,” he added with a laugh. “I’m an obstetrician, remember?”
Connor ground his teeth together. “Sorry.”
Emma was faintly surprised at his reaction. She studied his face curiously.
“Women love me,” Harry told her. “They fall all over me, especially in the last months of pregnancy before they deliver. One woman even proposed to me during the delivery and she’d been happily married for ten years. He’s jealous,” he added, his dark eyes twinkling as he glanced at Connor.
Emma was fascinated.
Apparently Connor didn’t like her knowing how he felt, so he excused himself while Emma went through some tests and questions. When she came back out, she was flushed and a little worried.
“He says my cervix is tilted the wrong way,” she said in the car on the way home. The window between them and Barnes in the limo was closed, so she felt comfortable talking to Connor. “He said it was almost a miracle that I even got pregnant. The baby’s okay. They did an amniocentesis to make sure. It’s just...”
“Just what, honey?” he asked softly.
She drew in a breath. “I’m scared.”
He knew why, without being told. He drew her into his arms and held her, his lips on her temple. “I’m right here. I’ll be with you the whole time. I promise.”
She relaxed. “All right.”
He folded her close. At least she didn’t hate him. It was something.
* * *
She slept fitfully that night. She had a nightmare. Connor was far away and she could see him, but he couldn’t hear her. She was screaming that she loved him, but he just kept backing away. When she woke, and realized it was a bad dream, she still didn’t feel comfortable.
The feeling got worse at breakfast when he announced that he had to fly to Arizona to sign some contracts on a partnership for his aerospace division. Emma felt chills even as he said it.
“I’ll only be away a day or so,” he promised.
“Are you going in the company jet?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Business class on a commercial airline, worrywart. Okay?”
She smiled. She beamed. “Okay.”
“So you worry about me, do you?” he teased, although the look on his face was oddly expectant, hopeful.
“I worry about you,” she confessed. “Be careful.”
He smiled. “Always.”
* * *
Two days stretched into five. He phoned her every night to talk. She was worried as her due date approached, but she tried not to let her fear seep into the conversation. She was being fanciful, she thought. If he was flying commercial, there was nothing to worry about. All the airlines had excellent safety records, and he built aircraft. He should know which airline was the safest.
A carpenter showed up the second day after his departure. He said there was a repair needed in Connor’s office. Emma was suspicious, but Marie came into the room and greeted the man like an old friend. He was close to her age.
“This is Danny Barton,” Marie introduced him. “We went through high school together. He’s a master carpenter.”
“Nice to meet you,” Emma said, smiling. “I’m Emma.”
“Mr. Sinclair’s wife? Nice to meet you, too. And congratulations.”
“Thanks.” She put a hand over her belly. “Any day now.” She sighed wistfully.
“Where’s the repair needed? I want to see it to know how much material I’ll need and what I’ll have to do to fix it.”
“It’s over here, near the ceiling.” Marie pointed to
a spot on the wood paneling. It was a round spot, splintered.
Emma frowned. “That looks like a bullet hole.”
“That’s what it is,” Marie said quietly. “We’ll leave you to work, Danny.”
He nodded, already setting up his ladder to climb up to do the repair.
“It’s a bullet hole?” Emma asked when they were in the living room, with the door to the office closed.
Marie looked uncomfortable. “Yes,” she said. She searched Emma’s eyes. “Mr. Sinclair didn’t tell you what happened?”
She grimaced. “We’ve been sort of tiptoeing around each other since he recognized me,” she confessed. Her eyes fell. “I’d die for him, Marie, and that’s God’s own truth. But he never says what he feels.”
Marie smiled and drew her into the kitchen. “How about a nice cup of tea?” she asked. “And I’ll tell you about it.”
* * *
Marie waited until they were sipping herbal tea before she began. “It was when we got back from France,” she said. “Mr. Sinclair was in the office—” she nodded toward the part of the house where it was “—and Mr. Sims came by to talk about the divorce. He’d sent the papers to have you sign, you remember. So Mr. Sinclair asked where you were, and Mr. Sims told him you were still in jail.” She drew in a breath and took a swallow of hot tea, noting Emma’s intent stare. “Mr. Sinclair thought you’d been out on bail all that time. He could see again, and he wasn’t so, well, so angry. He was shocked. He told Mr. Sims to get you out that very day, no matter what he had to do.” She toyed with her cup. The memory was painful. “That’s when Mr. Sims told him what had happened to you, and that you’d lost the baby—because that’s what he was told.”
“That’s what I thought,” Emma said. “It wasn’t until the doctor treated my wounds that he said the shiv hadn’t penetrated too deeply. I was so lucky!”
“Anyway, I heard a scuffle and the pistol shot. I ran to see what was the matter. Mr. Sims was yelling for Barnes and trying to restrain Mr. Sinclair.” She met Emma’s shocked eyes. “I’d never seen the boss like that. He was sobbing...” She swallowed, hard. So did Emma. “They got the pistol away from him and closed the door.”
“Dear God.” Emma whispered the words reverently as she realized just how deeply Connor cared for her. If they hadn’t got the pistol away in time...!
She fought tears. “I didn’t blame him, you know,” she said brokenly. “I loved him so much. I thought I deserved what happened, for blinding him. I was sure that he hated me. And I was afraid for my baby. You know what he always said, about not ever wanting one.”
“It’s certainly not the case now,” Marie replied, and she smiled. “You’ve had your worst time, Emma. You’re overdue for some happiness.”
“So is he,” Emma replied. She drew in a long breath and let it out. “He feels something for me, anyway.”
“Something very deep,” Marie agreed. “He isn’t a man to talk about his feelings, but it’s easy to tell from the way he is with you. I’ve never seen him show tenderness to a woman. Any woman. And he talks about that baby all the time.” She laughed. “Imagine, the boss looking forward to being a father. It really is like a miracle.”
“For me, it certainly is,” Emma said. She sipped tea and felt its warmth run down through her. A similar warmth brushed her heart. He cared. He really, really cared. It was more than she’d dare hoped for.
“There are plenty of good days ahead,” Marie said. She finished her tea. “I’ll just go see what he thinks we need to do to the wall,” She laughed. She hesitated, with a worried look on her face.
“I won’t tell Connor that you told me,” Emma said. “I promise.”
Marie relaxed. “He might not mind. But I’d rather not find out. Oh! I saved something...”
She went to the bookcase and extricated a file folder. She handed it to Emma.
Emma, puzzled, opened it. She caught her breath. It was the photo the man had taken at their wedding in Las Vegas. The look on Emma’s face spoke volumes about her feelings for the man she was marrying. The anguish she felt at her guilt was also there, and her hopes.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Emma said, shaking her head. “I look...beautiful.”
“You are beautiful, my dear,” Marie said gently. “You glow. When you look at the boss, you don’t see a millionaire. You see a man. That’s what sets you apart. You keep that,” she added, indicating the photo. “It’s the only one left.” She grimaced. “He was in such a temper, just after he had them take you away. He ordered everything burned. All those lovely photos. I saved that one. I had to. It was irreplaceable.”
“Thanks, Marie,” she said. She hesitated. “Has he seen it?”
Marie shook her head. “I was afraid it was worth my job to let him know I hadn’t done what he told me.”
“It will be all right. I’ll put it in a safe place.”
“Why don’t you lie down for a while and rest?” Marie asked. “Pretty soon, you’ll forget what it was like to lie down and rest.” She laughed softly. “The baby will be a handful.”
“I’m looking forward to it,” Emma replied. “I can’t wait!”
“The house will need some new furniture for little people. I wonder if we could persuade Danny to make you a cradle and a baby bed? He makes furniture, too. He uses oak and what he does is magnificent. I’m sure the boss wouldn’t mind.”
“Then please ask him,” Emma said with a smile. “I love handmade things.”
“I noticed, from all those caps you knit.” Marie chuckled.
“I’m making you one,” was the reply.
“Thank you!”
“But I’m not telling you what it will look like,” she said. “It’s going to be a surprise!”
* * *
Two days later, Emma got a shock. She was watching a talk show on television when a news banner flashed across the screen. It was brief and utterly devastating. It said Millionaire Aviation Magnate Connor Sinclair Feared Dead in Tragic Plane Crash in Arizona.
The news feed went on to tell of three passengers on the plane who were well-known, one a famous singer. But Emma didn’t notice that. She was screaming. Absolutely screaming.
Marie came running. She’d heard it on the small television in the kitchen. “Oh, Emma,” she said, tearing up. “Emma!”
Emma didn’t hear her. The hysteria had her by the throat. “He’s dead. He’s dead. I didn’t even get to say goodbye. He’s dead!”
She started screaming again. It was like the nightmare she’d had, the one where she’d tried to get to Connor and he kept going farther and farther away. Her throat was raw. Her stomach began to throb as labor set in.
Barnes came running when he heard the screams. He, too, had seen the news flash on television.
“Call an ambulance,” Marie said urgently.
“Right now.”
* * *
They took Emma to the hospital. She had to be sedated, not only because the baby was coming, but because Connor would never see him. She loved him more than anything on earth, and now he was gone. She had nobody.
The labor was long and difficult, and finally Dr. Weems had no choice but to do a cesarean section because she never dilated even one centimeter. The shock of the news, he imagined, had contributed to her condition.
They rolled her into surgery. Minutes later, the nurse showed the tiny creature to a dazed, hurting Emma.
“It’s a little boy,” the nurse whispered. “Congratulations.”
“He’s so beautiful.” Emma dissolved in tears. “He’s dead. My husband is dead!”
He put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “You still have the baby, Emma,” he said softly. “At least you have a part of Connor.”
She nodded, but the pain was racking her. After they gave
her a sedative, she went out like a light. Harry Weems sighed. He’d lost his best friend. It was all over the news. Poor Emma, with a new baby and hope for a happy marriage, all gone now. He turned away, hiding the ache in his heart.
* * *
Marie had cried all day. She called often to check on Emma. One of the duty nurses was a cousin of hers, and was willing to relay information. The little boy was doing fine. Emma was still sedated.
She wished she was sedated. She’d called Tonia and they’d wailed together. Nobody knew exactly what to do. The companies were pretty much autonomous, but the board of directors would have to appoint someone to head them up. Connor had been the heart of the business. Nobody could replace him. Tonia said she’d relay the news to the divisional managers, if they hadn’t already heard about the crash. She’d called Edward in Nice, to inform him of the tragedy that had occurred. Edward had already heard the news. He’d sobbed on the phone, Tonia told Marie.
Barnes was morose, as well. He’d been close to Connor. He and Marie sat at the table, picking at salads and sipping black coffee for lunch. It had been a miserable day.
The front door opened. They both started, because it was kept locked all the time. Only someone with a key could get in.
“Where the hell is everybody?” Connor Sinclair asked irritably. He tossed his briefcase onto the side table and ran a hand through damp, wavy black hair. “I’ve had a hell of a day. My damned cell phone died.” He held it up and tossed it onto the briefcase. “Barnes, can you find a charger for it? I usually keep one in the briefcase but...” He stopped, aghast at their faces. “What the hell is wrong with you two?”
Marie ran and hugged him. So did Barnes.
“All right, what’s going on?” he asked. He frowned. “Has something happened to Emma?” he asked suddenly. He went quickly to her room, opened the door, and it was empty. He turned. “Where is she?” he asked with fear in every word.
“She’s in the hospital, sir,” Barnes said gently.
“She started screaming when she saw the report on television,” Marie managed through sobs of joy. “We couldn’t calm her. She went into labor. We called an ambulance and Dr. Weems—”