“Until you can take nourishment of some kind. I’ll show you how to unhook and stop the monitor from beeping when you need to go to the bathroom. You’ll have to promise me, though, that you’ll hold on to something and sit down the moment you feel dizzy. Otherwise, I’m going in there with you.”
“Over my dead body.” Her whole body flushed.
He didn’t bother arguing that one.
“You look tired,” she said impulsively.
Hutch half turned, his striking face in profile. “It’s been a tough day,” he said.
“Surely not as tough as Sudan.”
“Tough in a different way. You need to sleep now, Simone.”
“It’s only seven o’clock. Have you eaten?”
“I’ll get something later.”
“Go now,” she urged. “I swear I won’t move until you get back.”
He shook his head, his expression wry. “I’m not sure I trust you. For the next seventy-two hours, you’re my responsibility.”
“What am I supposed to do if I can’t eat or drink or get out of bed?”
“How about a movie?”
“Will you watch it with me?”
His dark gaze made her shiver, despite her weakened state. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and dropped his chin to his chest. After a moment, he lifted his shoulders and let them fall, then looked at her with a carefully blank expression. “If that’s what you want. I’ll go make myself a sandwich. Here’s the remote. You pick something out and I’ll be back shortly.”
She channel surfed halfheartedly, feeling almost normal for the moment. The pregnancy didn’t seem entirely real. Was that odd? Shouldn’t she feel a rush of maternal devotion? She did have a connection already. She knew life was growing in her womb even now. But those little blips on the screen didn’t have faces and personalities. What if they grew up to be like her?
Eventually, she found a Tom Hanks romantic comedy from the ’80s in the on-demand section. That would do the trick. She and Hutch could make fun of the sappy dialogue. At least that’s what she told herself. Never in a million years would she let him know how much she loved that story.
When he came back from the kitchen, he had his hands full. He stopped in the doorway as if expecting to find her flouting his orders. She smiled innocently. “I’ve been good as gold.”
“That’ll be the day.”
Her bed was a king, so when Hutch parked himself on the opposite side, there was an entire stretch of mattress protecting her virtue. Not that it mattered. Who was she kidding? She’d seen herself in the mirror.
Hutch got comfortable and began to wolf down his meal. Suddenly he looked at her in dismay. “Will the smell bother you? I can eat in the kitchen.”
“No. I’m fine. If you were eating Thai food, it might be different. That ham sandwich is nausea neutral.”
She started the movie, trying not to notice the way Hutch seemed entirely comfortable in her bed. When they had been a couple, she had lived in an upscale apartment downtown, as had Hutch. They’d split their time between locations, some nights in his bed, some nights in hers.
The sex had been incredible, but even more than that was the feeling of rightness... She didn’t know how else to explain it. In the beginning, they had talked for hours. She learned that Hutch decided to go into medicine after an older cousin had a difficult pregnancy when he was in high school. The mother and baby both died. Thus, maternal-fetal medicine became his focus when it was time to specialize.
Simone had been out of college barely a year when she met Hutch. She’d worked for a high-end clothing store as a buyer. Marketing was her passion, though, and she’d spent many hours telling Hutch about her intent to open an advertising agency of her own.
Aside from that, they had, of course, talked about their families. Simone was an only child. Hutch had a younger brother who was studying abroad and hoped to go into the diplomatic corps.
Hutch’s parents were warm and nurturing, whereas Simone’s were strict and cold. Though it was a sad cliché, her father had wanted a boy. But complications during her mother’s pregnancy meant no more children after Simone. No matter how hard Simone tried, she never seemed to measure up to a list of invisible standards.
Perhaps that was why she reveled in Hutch’s attention. Not that she saw him as a father figure. Far from it. The age difference was too narrow for that. But when she spoke, he took her seriously. It was heady stuff.
In her peripheral vision, she could see that Hutch’s attention was focused on the television. Was he really engrossed in the movie? She doubted it. More likely, he was thinking about important doctor stuff.
Unlike Simone’s endeavors, Hutch’s work actually involved life-and-death situations. She teased him about being a saint, but she had never met another man who impressed her so deeply with his work ethic and his compassion.
If he had stayed, they might have ended up married, and Hutch’s involvement with DWB might never have materialized. In Simone’s twenty-eight years, many people in her life had characterized her as self-centered. Sadly, that had probably been true at one time. But at least she had the comfort of knowing that in this instance she had done the right thing.
She had loved Hutch madly, deeply, desperately...but she had let him go.
When the memories stung too sharply, she hit the mute button on the remote and silenced the TV. “I’ve seen this one a dozen times,” she said. “What I’d really like is for you to tell me about Bethany. And about Sudan.”
Five
Hutch froze. He’d been a million miles away. Simone’s question caused him to flinch inwardly. Unfortunately, he couldn’t think of an excuse to deflect it quickly enough.
“Why?” he asked bluntly.
Simone turned on her side and tucked her hands beneath her cheek. She was drowsy. He could hear it in her voice and see it in her eyes. “You were gone for a long time. Two tours of service. Why didn’t you come home after the first one?”
It was a logical question. That had been the assumption all along. Still, when the time came, the thought of returning to Royal and confronting Simone had seemed far more dangerous than anything he would face abroad. So he had stayed.
A month later, he’d met Bethany.
Sensing that Simone wouldn’t be dissuaded, he steeled himself for the pain and remorse that choked him when he allowed himself to remember. “I was introduced to Bethany just as I signed up for a second rotation. All the medical staff I had worked with were headed home. Bethany was one of the newbies.”
“A nurse?”
“No. A doctor. A pediatrician. Bethany was the daughter of medical missionaries in Central America. She had never lived in the United States full-time until she went to college and med school. She adored children. Wanted five or six of her own one day. In the meantime, her goal was to save as many as she could in Sudan, specifically West Darfur, the state where we were stationed.”
“Admirable.”
“You would have liked her, I think. She was only five foot one, but somehow you never noticed that about her, because her personality was so compelling. She was passionate about her work and truly believed she was fulfilling her destiny.”
“You said you fell in love,” Simone prompted him with an expression that was difficult to read.
He stretched his arms over his head, feeling the fatigue of a long day. The last thing he wanted to do was rehash his past with Simone. Especially when it came to talking about another woman. But Simone was relentless when she wanted something.
“I fell in love,” he said flatly. “It was slow. At first we were only friends. But I was lonely. I had been in Sudan for a long time.”
“And Bethany?”
“I don’t know what she saw in me,” he said. “It certainly wasn’t a romantic situa
tion. Sometimes I think we were just two people doing the best we could.”
Simone shifted restlessly. “You don’t have to tell me any more, Hutch. She sounds like a lovely person. I’m sorry you lost her. Another day I’d like to hear about your work, but not tonight. I’m tired. I think I can sleep now.”
He nodded. “I’ll bunk on the sofa. I’ve programmed my cell number in your phone. Just buzz me when you need to get up.”
“I have four perfectly lovely guest rooms, Hutch. You’re way too big for the sofa.”
He grimaced. “After the past five-plus years, I can sleep pretty much anywhere, trust me.”
“But why would you?” Simone frowned.
It seemed cruel to be blunt when she was so sick, but it was better for him to draw the line in the sand. Better, and necessary. “You said it yourself, Simone—you know the way gossip spreads in Royal. It’s important to me not to create the impression that I’ve moved in with you, even for the short-term.”
“I see.”
When her bottom lip trembled, he felt like a jerk and a bully. She looked small and defenseless in the big bed, though he knew that was only an illusion.
He sighed. “I don’t want to hurt you.” Hell, he didn’t want to hurt himself.
She smiled, though her eyes glistened with tears. “I can handle honesty, Dr. Hutchinson. Let me get my stomach under control, and after that I doubt our paths will cross very often.”
It didn’t take a medical degree to know when a woman was hurt and fighting back. Rolling to his feet, he straightened the covers on his side of the bed. There was probably some kind of comment that would smooth this situation, but he hadn’t a clue what it was.
“Do you want to try some water again?” he asked.
“Absolutely not.” She shuddered.
“You’ll have to eventually.”
“Thanks, Dr. Obvious.”
“I forgot what a smart mouth you have.” His neck heated.
“And I forgot what a pompous, holier-than-thou hypocrite you are.”
“Hypocrite? Seriously? How so?” His temper had a long, slow fuse. But Simone knew how to pour gasoline on any argument.
“You may be done with love and romance for now because Bethany broke your heart. I’ll leave you to your crusty bachelorhood, believe me. But I wasn’t the only one in the middle of that kiss the other day. I know when a man wants me.”
“Damn it, Simone.”
“Are you denying it?”
He’d taken an oath to heal and to protect. At the moment, he wanted to strangle his erstwhile patient. “Good night, brat. I’ll be in to check on you several times, but use the phone if you need to. I’m close by.”
She smirked at him. “Saint Hutch.”
* * *
He didn’t bother turning on lights in the house. During his rural rotations there had been many nights when he and his team only had enough fuel for two hours of lantern light. After that, he’d learned to maneuver in the dark under any circumstances.
He found a new toothbrush in one of the guest bathrooms. Since he always kept a change of clothes in the trunk of his car, he was able to put on a clean shirt and pants after a quick shower.
In the living room, he surveyed the sofa. Actually, it wasn’t as small as Simone had intimated. If he bent his knees or propped his feet on the arm, he’d be fine. The couch was leather and cool to the touch. He settled down and pulled an afghan over his lower body.
Fatigue could be measured in degrees. There had been times in Sudan when he worked sixteen hours straight. In the blistering heat. On those nights, he had stumbled to bed and collapsed, asleep in seconds.
Now he was definitely tired. But it was different. Though his body wanted rest, his brain spun like a hamster wheel. Going nowhere.
Simone made him ache—not only physically, though that was certainly true, but emotionally, as well. If he could go back and undo the past, he would never have asked her to dance. That one misstep had led them down a narrow, treacherous road that petered out into nothing.
Time was supposed to heal all wounds. By rights, he should be able to look at his past and acknowledge that things had worked out for the best. But the opposite was true. He felt empty. Even in Africa, when he knew he was saving lives and improving the quality of other lives, he’d learned a painful truth. His being there had been a lie, in part.
Unlike Bethany, who had been so very confident and sure of herself and her life’s goals, Hutch had gone to Sudan a broken man. He had utilized his training. He had contributed to the greater good. Still, it hadn’t been enough.
He’d been adrift...lost. Losing Simone had made him doubt himself and his place in the world. Eventually, falling in love with Bethany had helped heal the rough places and ease his loneliness. But even before she died, he’d wondered fleetingly if he was using her as a stand-in for the woman he really wanted.
Closing his eyes, he practiced the relaxation techniques he’d used in med school. One muscle group at a time. He dozed on and off, never fully comatose. Many doctors were light sleepers, ready to spring into action when the situation demanded. Which reminded him of the real reason he was here.
He had set the alarm on his phone for three-hour intervals. At one o’clock, he walked quietly down the hall and peeked into the patient’s room. If she was resting well, he didn’t want to bother her. “Simone?” He whispered her name. She wouldn’t hear him unless she was awake.
“Come on in.” Her voice was soft, but alert.
“Why aren’t you sleeping?”
“I did sleep. For a little while.”
“And now?”
“I’m hungry.”
“But still nauseated?”
“Oh, yeah...”
He hesitated. “Simone...”
“What?”
“I’ve seen acupressure really help in these situations. One of the doctors I worked with in West Darfur was Chinese. He taught me the technique, and I actually used it on half a dozen women in my care.”
“Is there a downside?”
“I’d have to hold your hand for three minutes. Each one.”
A long silence ensued.
Finally, Simone spoke. “Sounds pretty risqué.”
He choked out a laugh and sat on the end of the bed. Even at her lowest points, Simone was still able to manufacture humor. That ability boded well for a difficult pregnancy.
“Well,” he said, “what do you think?”
“I’d dance with the devil if I thought it would make me feel better.”
“Gee, thanks,” he said drily. “Your enthusiasm is duly noted.”
He stood up and moved closer. “We can do this with you sitting up or lying down, whichever feels the most comfortable.” The bizarre situation somehow seemed more acceptable, because it was the middle of the night.
“I’ll stay put,” she said. “Don’t want to make any sudden moves that might tip the balance.”
It made more sense to sit on the bed, but instead he grabbed the small chair from the vanity and positioned it at Simone’s elbow. He wanted the illusion of distance. For the same reason, he didn’t turn on the lamp. The faint illumination from the night-light in the bathroom was all he needed.
Most of this procedure was by touch, anyway. He had learned where to apply pressure. It wasn’t an exact science, but he had practiced enough to feel comfortable doing it.
Now if he could be equally at ease with his beautiful guinea pig, he might come out of this next half hour unscathed. “Let’s do the easiest one first,” he said. Her left hand rested at the edge of the mattress. He picked up her arm, noting that her fingers were cold.
“Will it hurt?” she asked.
He had a hunch that the nervous question was more about him touching he
r than any real fear of acupressure. “It shouldn’t. But if I press too hard, tell me.”
Over the years, he had learned that speaking to a patient in steady, reassuring tones while in the midst of a difficult or painful procedure was helpful. In Simone’s case, the distraction might prove useful for both of them.
Turning her hand palm up, he pressed his thumb to her soft skin. “The spot for this is P6,” he said. “About three fingers above the crease of your wrist and in between two tendons.” He applied pressure. “Okay so far?”
She nodded.
Three minutes was a hell of a long time when a man held a woman in a dark bedroom and knew every one of the reasons he couldn’t or wouldn’t let himself be drawn in again. He counted off the seconds in his head, trying to ignore the fact that she trembled.
After an eternity, he cleared his throat. “Other hand,” he said.
He hoped this was going to help, because it was tearing him apart. Her hair fanned out across the pillow. The thin, silky nightgown she wore was cut low in the front. Though at first she clutched the sheet in a death grip, when she shifted slightly and gave him her right arm, he could see the shadow of her cleavage and the outline of her breasts.
God help him. He kept the pressure firm, resisting the urge to stroke upward to the crease of her elbow. Kissing her there had been a game he played in the past, a teasing caress she always swore tickled. But it also made her sigh and melt into his embrace.
“Hasn’t it been long enough?”
Simone’s timid question snapped him out of his reverie. He’d lost count of the seconds. “I think so,” he muttered. He released her and sat back. “How do you feel?”
She rubbed her wrists together and flexed her fingers. “Better. I think. Is this honestly a valid treatment?”
“Been around for thousands of years.”
“I hesitate to tempt fate, but I think I could eat something.”
“Good. That’s usually the case. The effects aren’t permanent, of course, but you can take advantage in the interim. What can I get for you?”
“Let’s start small. Dry toast with a tiny bit of apple jelly? Do you mind?”
Triplets for the Texan Page 5