“Are the press and protestors supposed to be coming in?” Naomi gestured to the news media and demonstrators that moved toward them, albeit slowly. Naomi pushed a hand into her back, stabilizing herself.
“We have a conference scheduled shortly. They are just setting up.”
Although that was true, a wave of nerves pulsed in her blood at the forward progression of angry people pushing at the simple orange tape barrier.
One. Two. Three. Four.
One. Two. Three. Four.
Isabeau counted through each breath in and out to subdue her nerves. The crowd’s chants became louder, more urgent than before. Drums were added to the protestors’ repertoire. She searched for Paige, and her dog seemed attentive but relaxed, which reassured Isabeau. Ignoring agitators, she turned her attention back to Naomi.
“Hmm,” she said, absently fanning herself. Sweat crested on her forehead, discomfort contorting Naomi’s mouth.
“How are you feeling?”
Naomi grimaced. “Fine.”
“Are you sure?” Scanning the woman, Isabeau noticed other signs of discomfort. Naomi shifted her weight from foot to foot.
“I mean, I feel a little tired. But this wasn’t something I could miss. Too big of a deal to leave to someone outside the family.”
Another roar pulsed through the crowd. Protestors pushed through the barrier tape, banging their hands together, voices screechy. Panic mounted in Isabeau’s throat.
“I can understand that. Perhaps a doctor’s visit after this?” Her voice cracked, throat closing slightly as Paige whined and pawed in warning. The dog circled in agitation.
Surging forward, the gathering crowd closed in on them, drowning out Naomi’s response. Panic fixed Isabeau to the spot. Colors and sounds faded, lost their vibrancy as the crowd jostled around them.
Light-headed, she could just make out the muscular build of Trystan pushing toward her. Shouting something she couldn’t quite understand.
A protestor shoved into her, sending Isabeau stumbling back against Naomi. Paige let out a warning bark as the protestor advanced, and then the dog shifted her attention, body tense and alert as she raced back and forth between...Naomi and Isabeau? Barking and barking.
Had the jostling crowd and shouts confused Paige? Unusual, but Isabeau was struggling to process the mayhem. Dimly, she registered strong arms—Trystan’s arms—yanking the protestor away from her right before...
Trystan punched the man square in the jaw.
Eight
Trystan knew he’d blown it.
Too bad he hadn’t figured that out before he’d started swinging his fists.
But once Royce Miller and a security guard pulled him off the guy who’d been crowding Isabeau, the red fog of protective anger dispersed from Trystan’s mind. The guard and Royce had quickly shuttled him into the site foreman’s trailer, along with Isabeau, Naomi and a very agitated yellow Lab.
Once the door clicked closed, Trystan shrugged off the hands guiding—restraining—him. “I’m okay. I’m in control.”
Royce eyed him skeptically, backing up a step and nearly running into a pull-down bed in the narrow Airstream. “If you’re sure.”
Trystan planted a hand on the built-in desk crowded with papers and calendars. His head throbbed with agitation. And worry.
“Absolutely.” Trystan turned his attention to where it should have been all along—Isabeau. “Are you alright?”
He took in her pale face, her dog leaning heavily against her leg as she drew in deep breaths. His pulse still hammered in his head with concern for her.
“I’m shaken but fine.” She stroked her dog’s ears. “We need to think through how to spin this because the photos are going to be all over the internet before we even step back out.” She glanced down at Paige. “Settle, pup-pup, settle.”
The dog whined, tugging away from Isabeau, so unlike what Trystan had seen from the highly trained service dog. “What’s going on?”
“I’m honestly not sure. Paige is giving the alert for diabetes, but I really don’t think there’s an issue for me right now.”
Trystan shifted restlessly from boot to boot. “Should you check your blood sugar, to be safe?”
“I will, I will.” Her forehead furrowed, and Trystan slid a bracing arm around her waist. “She’s usually so focused on me. The only time I’ve seen her do this was back in the early days together. I was at a doctor’s appointment, and she alerted to an older lady right before she suffered from diabetic shock—”
Naomi gasped, pressing her fingers to her lips, her other hand on her stomach.
Royce was by her side immediately, hand around her waist. “What is it?”
Naomi paled, a sheen of sweat on her forehead. “Paige was barking at me—”
Her words grew slower and slower, stretching out as if she were reaching for thoughts, for even the ability to speak, until she went completely still, pale and confused.
And ill.
* * *
Back at the compound in Naomi’s old suite, Royce opened the fridge door, searching for fruit. He pulled out raspberry and mint leaves, placing them next to the small bowl filled with oranges.
He’d always been a man of routines, particularly in moments of stress and uncertainty. And damn. The events of the last twenty-four hours had pushed his limits, trying his well-tuned strategies. Starting with the oil malfunction and ending with his fiancée passing out after the altercation at the protest.
Protectiveness mobilized his movements after Naomi had zoned out. He’d barely registered the ride to the ER. He couldn’t forget what the doctor had said. Naomi had gestational diabetes and needed bed rest to ensure her health and the health of the baby.
Pulling out a cutting board from the small kitchenette in Naomi’s loft apartment in the Steele compound, Royce focused on what he could control. Like slicing perfectly sectioned oranges to add to the glass of ice water for Naomi.
The knife glided through the skin of the fruit, juice gathering on the cutting board, stinging the scratches on his hands from working on models as he continued to think through better safety features for the oil refining process.
He added two orange slices, four raspberries and a few mint leaves to the glass. Wanting to do more for Naomi. Knowing that she had reacted poorly to the news about bed rest. One of the reasons he adored her was for her streak of independence, her ability to take care of herself.
But the gestational diabetes scared the hell out of him.
The concern over her health and the twins’ health took him back in time. To his former fiancée and her miscarriage. How she’d walked away. He’d lost everything. The pain of that breakup had haunted him ever since.
Losing Naomi?
The thought was more than he could bear.
He shuffled toward where Naomi stretched out on the sofa. Nerves pulled at him and he was careful not to spill the fruit infused water.
He wanted to make everything easier for her. But he tried not to drive her crazy by hovering. Though if he had to be honest, he was halfway to going crazy too being stuck in this house full of Steeles and Mikkelsons.
So. Many. Damn. People.
Naomi slumped deeper into the sofa, tossing a magazine back on the coffee table. “Bed rest for gestational diabetes. Seriously.” She reached down to pet their Saint Bernard, Tessie, sprawled on the floor by the couch. “I’m going to lose my mind.”
“No, you’re not.” He gave her the glass of water and moved the remote control closer to her reach. “I’ll keep you entertained.”
“I enjoy you, don’t get me wrong, but just the two of us—and Tessie—24/7? You may enjoy the life of a recluse, but it’s not my cup of tea, at all.” She took a deep gulp of water.
He stifled a wince at her grouchiness. Her frustration was understandable and she ha
d to be scared. He just wished she hadn’t mentioned how damn different they were, something that had been bugging him more than he wanted to admit.
“You have more family than anyone I’ve ever seen. Maybe you and your dad can share recliners in the sun.”
She rolled her eyes, rubbing her stomach slowly. “I’m not sure the world is ready for both of us to be tied down in the same place.”
He chuckled softy. “Valid point.”
Sighing with resignation, she said, “Go hibernate at work. Really. I’ll be fine.”
“I can work here.” He forced an easy smile, even as the walls closed in on him. He gravitated toward the wall of windows showcasing the Alaska landscape...mountains, water, seclusion. He turned back to Naomi. “You might need something.”
“I have a phone, along with a houseful of family and staff. I will be fine.”
“But you’re my fiancée.”
“Then let’s go to your place.”
His place? Wasn’t it their place?
“No...” He shook his head. “You’re right that it’s safer to be here at your father’s compound, closer to town.”
“I could be stuck like this until the babies are born. You would really live in the middle of all this chaos?” she asked, shock and disbelief stamped all over her beautiful face. “All these people?”
“For you. Yes.” He meant it too, even knowing it wouldn’t be easy. Already he was itchy, mentally listing places he could hole up on his own.
“But it’s not in your comfort zone.”
“It’s not forever.” He wouldn’t let himself think about the idea of his isolated home making her feel as stir-crazy as this place made him. “Your health and the health of these baby girls is top priority.”
Picking up her crystal water glass, she eyed him skeptically and stirred her straw through the fruit. “Okay, for now. Let’s revisit this once we’ve recovered from the surprise.”
“Sure,” he said, not that he intended to back down. She needed to be here. He kissed her forehead, breathing in the scent of her shampoo. “Rest. I have work to keep me company.”
“Okay, then,” she answered, yawning, her eyes already at half-mast. “I’ll be quiet...” Yawning again, she started to drift off in that near narcoleptic way he’d learned was common with pregnant women.
Exhaustion hit him hard and fast. Adrenaline letdown, no doubt. He eyed his computer across the room, but dropped into a fat recliner instead, snapping his fingers for his dog to join him. Tessie cast a soulful look at Naomi, then ambled over to him.
His heart turned over when he looked at Naomi, no question. He loved these two babies that—while not biologically his—were already his in all the ways that mattered.
But he was a man of logic and he couldn’t ignore the hard, cold truth.
As he stroked the Saint Bernard’s head, he couldn’t help but think about how fast he and Naomi had jumped into this relationship. Their chemistry had been powerful; the emotions had run high. They were in love long before realizing how damn different they were.
Now, watching her cradle her pregnant belly even in sleep, his heart turned over on itself. A new ache cracked open in his chest and he knew he wasn’t going to be able to close his eyes and rest even though he was exhausted. She was starting to talk about how different they were.
How long before she decided the compromises were too great?
* * *
Isabeau drank in the Alaskan wilderness from atop a horse, hoping to figure out a way through some of the recent tensions. After taking Naomi to the hospital, they’d regrouped at the Steele compound.
Jeannie’s home on the outskirts of Anchorage didn’t have stables, so they’d opted to gather at the Steele mansion to confer with the family on the pipeline accident and the resulting press nightmare.
She’d sent out some social media messages that calmed the storm, or at least refocused the attention. Footage of an interview with Royce the day after the incident had certainly helped. He’d been surprisingly calm and collected during his scientific statement of opinion on the pipeline—despite his pregnant fiancée’s health problems.
Now that Isabeau could catch her breath, she was struck again by how the sprawling Steele estate reminded her of an oversize—and far grander—log cabin, recalling the old days of Alaskan exploration. And as a light breeze cooled her skin, causing a flutter in the meadow grass leading up to the Steele compound, she felt as if they’d stepped back in time.
Trystan had given her a brief tour of the barn and an introduction to the horses. Even though he hadn’t grown up on the Steele compound, she couldn’t help but notice the way all the horses responded to him with perked ears and low whinnies. It seemed to her as if they recognized a kindred spirit. No matter that he’d lost his patience when he thought someone was crowding her, he was still the most even-tempered man she knew.
She fluffed the paint mare’s mane, surveying the land and the horses that populated the pastures flanking the barn. Tucked in a field to the left, two massive draft horses chased each other. Mars and Jupiter, Trystan had said earlier. With their titan size and powerful haunches, they were inspiring. They seemed ethereal as they galloped, feet barely touching the ground in an awe-inspiring display. Thick manes and tales caught in the wind.
During moments like this, she felt like she understood Trystan’s need to be away from the world of media and business. To sink into nature and horses rather than cameras and sound bites.
With a deep inhale, she rubbed the soft leather of the reins, thankful for this stolen moment away from the media storm.
“The ride was a good idea. I feel more...zen now.” Even if her thighs felt like liquid fire. Muscles she hadn’t used in years were alive, awake. Reveling in the release offered by hoofbeats and country sky.
“Good, I’m glad to hear it.”
“There’s something timeless about unplugging from the world this way.” Reaching down to the horse’s shoulder, she dropped her reins, stretching as Willow the mellow paint stretched her long neck, letting out a low knicker as they approached the barn.
Trystan remarked from the flashy bay Abacus, “Interesting comment coming from a media specialist.”
They walked a few more steps before Trystan stopped fifty feet from the barn. He slid off, dismounting with ease. She paused, taken by his natural grace and prowess with these creatures. Abacus stood at attention, ears alert and ready.
“I understand the importance of balance.” At a slight tug on the reins, Willow stopped, patient as Isabeau adjusted her weight to dismount.
She paused, hand fixed on the horn of the saddle as Trystan approached, reaching for Isabeau. Her body slid down his in a long tempting glide. His strong arms held her suspended for a moment as they stared eye to eye, and then he eased her the rest of the way to the ground. “I’m sorry for losing my cool back there, but I’m so damn glad you’re alright.”
He angled down to kiss her. Or maybe she arched up. But his mouth covered hers in a perfect fit that was becoming increasingly familiar. It felt so very right, and that gave her pause, made her wonder what it meant. For her job? For her future in his life? She trusted him, but did not want that fist-throwing kind of staunch protectiveness around her. She’d become careful to rely only on herself.
But oh, how his mouth on hers tempted her to give in. Her toes curled in her shoes as desire spiraled inside her.
He stroked her hair and spoke against her lips. “I need to check in with the family.”
“Do you want me to come along?”
“Not this time. We’re going to talk mostly business rather than public relations. Take some time for yourself.”
“Actually, I would welcome the chance to talk to Naomi.”
“That would be helpful since maybe then Royce can be convinced to leave her side.”
“We ma
ke quite a team.”
He winked. “That we do.”
A dark-haired stable hand approached, grabbing both Willow’s and Abacus’s reins. The horses lazily walked behind him toward the barn. Trystan nodded his head, gesturing to the barn office where they’d left Paige.
The yellow Lab greeted them with a rapidly wagging tail and she happily trailed behind Trystan and Isabeau as they made their way toward the house.
Trystan squeezed her hand, igniting butterflies in her stomach. She pressed the button on the elevator that would lead to Naomi’s suite. When the elevator arrived, she felt reluctant to let his fingers go.
He flashed a deep smile at her as he dropped her hand, striding toward the study where the families were gathering.
She stepped into the elevator and pressed the floor for Naomi’s suite, along with the button for a doorbell announcing her arrival. Isabeau fidgeted with her hair, holding on to the feeling of his fingers twined with hers and the lingering sensation of Trystan’s kiss. Her stomach dropped as the elevator lifted.
The door dinged open, and she stepped out into a room bathed in natural light. The high ceilings and eclectic artwork suited Naomi’s free-spirited personality.
Her eyes stopped on Royce who hunched over his computer at the small table. Earbuds in and zoned out. Keys clicked in rapid succession, and she noticed the way his brow furrowed.
Naomi stretched on the light, airy sofa, chewing unenthusiastically on a celery stick.
Isabeau waved tentatively. “I hope you don’t mind some company.”
Naomi set aside her celery stick. “Oh Lord, thank goodness. I’m not even a day into bed rest and I’m going stir-crazy. So is poor Tessie.”
Isabeau released Paige from her leash and gave the command, freeing her from work to enjoy herself. “Free play.”
Tessie and Paige bounded over to greet each other like old friends.
Royce pulled his earbuds out. “Hello, thanks for coming up.”
The Love Child Page 10