Right by Her Side

by Christie Ridgway

  It seemed fitting that the first person to greet Rebecca the next morning was her ex. At dawn, she’d slipped out of Trent’s bed—he hadn’t stirred—and slipped out of the house as quickly as possible. Her shift at the hospital started at 6:00 a.m. that day and she’d decided to get her tea in the hospital cafeteria.

  That was where Ray found her. He came up behind her in the checkout line, carrying a tall coffee and smelling of the overpriced cologne he’d asked for and she’d bought him four Christmases before. “If it isn’t the beautiful bride!”

  When she turned to reply, he actually took a step back. “What is it, Ray?” she asked. “Am I not so beautiful, after all?”

  He frowned. “No, I…”

  With a shake of her head, she faced forward again.

  “Becca.”

  She didn’t look at him. “What is it, Ray?”

  “You are beautiful. I’d forgotten.”

  Right. “What do you want? I found your old baseball cards and gave them back to you months ago. I have no idea where your black cashmere overcoat is, and as I explained to you the last time you demanded to be told of its whereabouts, I can’t be held responsible for it, since you bought it after our divorce.”

  “I shouldn’t have married you.”

  Rebecca didn’t flinch. Instead, she spun to face him. “Look, we both wish that, Ray.”

  “No, no, I’m saying this wrong.” His forehead wrinkled. “When I heard you’d remarried, it got me thinking, and when I saw you in line just now, when you turned and looked at me, I remembered why I did marry you. We met in a hospital cafeteria line, remember? You had this…radiance, and I wanted that in my life. My parents had just cut me off because I chose dermatology over the family tradition of cardiac surgery. I felt angry and alone and then…there you were.”

  He’d been handsome and self-deprecating. She’d been lonely and flattered. “But your parents eventually softened and brought you back into the family fold, didn’t they? Then you didn’t need me anymore. Not only that, but you wanted someone else.”

  “I never meant to hurt you.”

  “But you did.” What was the point of pretending otherwise? Rebecca thought. “You should have been honest with me if you weren’t happy.”

  “I thought you could feel it, too. I assumed—”

  “Never assume, Ray.” Bitterness, regret, an ugly sense of failure seeped out of her heart and into her voice. “That’s what I learned from you.”

  “Well.” He shrugged his shoulders as if to shrug away the truth and then gave her a bright, fake smile. “You’re remarried now. All’s well that ends well.”

  Did it, Ray? she wanted to shout. Did it end well? Or are you just assuming again?

  Because despite spending the night in Trent’s bed, despite the fact that he’d made playful, wonderful, brighter-than-the-stars love to her the night before, she couldn’t bring herself to believe there would be any substantive change in their relationship. She didn’t want herself to start believing in that.

  He was still Trent Crosby, rich, powerful CEO. She was still Rebecca, navy brat turned nurse.

  It was safer to assume nothing, to depend on nothing and no one except herself.

  It was with that sobering thought that she began work and it seemed to color her entire twelve-hour shift. The OR was packed all day long and she never had a chance to sit down or snatch a bite to eat. When her replacement showed up, her only thought was finding someplace where she could hide from herself, her thoughts and Trent.

  She was unclipping her name badge and waiting for an elevator when she heard Sydney Aston’s voice. “Rebecca, what are you up to?”

  “I’m thinking about heading for the airport and buying a one-way ticket to Tahiti.” Or at the very least some downtime in her old duplex that was sitting, unoccupied, until she could decide what to do with it. Scrounging up what she hoped was her final smile of the day, Rebecca turned toward her friend.

  Sydney was dressed in a sapphire-colored, chic business suit and she carried a huge basket covered in clear wrapping and tied with a cabbage-size bow of pale green ribbon. “No Tahiti until after the baby shower for you. You didn’t forget it, did you?”

  “Baby shower?” Rebecca frowned, then used the heel of her hand to tap her forehead. Morgan and Emma’s baby shower that the PAN group was throwing tonight. “Yes, I did forget.”

  “Then it’s lucky for you that we went in on a gift and that I was in charge of buying it.” She held up the basket for inspection. “Everything new parents might need.”

  Rebecca gave an obligatory peek, but then stepped back. “I don’t think I’m in a party mood. Maybe I should—”

  “Nonsense,” Sydney said. “The only way to get in the party mood is to get to the party. Besides, you don’t think you can avoid giving us the obligatory details about your quickie marriage forever, do you? Everyone in PAN has been dying to know them. You might as well get it over with.”

  “That’s not an incentive, Sydney.”

  The other woman held the basket in one arm and latched on to Rebecca’s forearm with the other. “Don’t worry, I’ve already passed along that very skimpy account you gave me over the phone. There shouldn’t be more than a hundred or so questions still left for people to ask.”

  Despite herself, Rebecca laughed and let Sydney haul her toward the PAN meeting. But when they were within a few feet of the door, Rebecca could see that the room was packed. Second thoughts flooded her. “Sydney, really. I don’t think I can face a crowd tonight.”

  “Nonsense,” her friend said again. With a mischievous smile, she grabbed Rebecca’s hand. “There’s a surprise inside that I think you’ll like.”

  Warning bells went off. “Surprise?” Pulling her hand from Sydney’s, Rebecca jostled the shoulder bag slung over her friend’s arm. It tumbled to the ground, spilling some of its contents.

  “Oh, Sydney, I’m so sorry.” Rebecca crouched down to retrieve the errant items. She stuffed a lipstick, a package of tissues and a pen back inside. Stretching her arm, she snagged a small, leatherbound notepad. As she carried it toward the purse, a piece of paper fluttered free and landed faceup another few feet away. “Whoops.”

  “I’ll get it.” Sydney charged forward.

  Rebecca was closer, though, and swooped down on it. The paper was a clipping from a magazine, with an eye-catching headline that screamed out, Do You Know Where Your Child Is?

  She glanced over at Sydney, who was now staring at the article in Rebecca’s hand as if it was a hissing snake. Alarmed, Rebecca began to skim the words, but then Sydney snatched it away and stuffed it in her purse.

  “Is there something wrong, Sydney?” The few words she’d been able to read made it clear the story was about unsolved kidnappings. Remembering Nicholas’s bad dreams her friend had described at the last PAN get-together, Rebecca felt an icy chill roll down her back. “Is this more than a mother’s natural fears? Are you truly worrying that someone’s going to try and steal Nicholas?”

  “Steal my son?” Sydney shook her head and let loose a wobbly giggle. “Of course not. Now come on, they’re waiting for us in there.”

  Frowning, Rebecca followed the other woman down the hallway. “Something’s wrong.”

  Sydney shook her head just as they reached the meeting-room doorway. “Two children could have the exact same birthmark, couldn’t they?”

  “The same birthmark? What?” She turned her head to stare at her friend as they crossed the threshold into the room.

  “Surprise!”

  Rebecca’s head jerked toward the crowd. “What?”

  Wearing huge grins, the PAN members were watching her reaction. Her head and body stock-still, Rebecca rolled her eyes toward Sydney. “Why did they just yell ‘surprise’?”

  “Because it’s a surprise.” Sydney was smiling now and looked much more like herself. “Can’t you see the writing on the wall?”

  Rebecca cautiously looked left where a pastel-colored b
anner read, “We can’t wait to meet you, Baby Davis!” The adopted infant Morgan Davis and his wife were expecting any day.

  Sydney laughed. “The other wall.”

  There was the answer. On the opposite side of the room, another banner read: “Best wishes Rebecca and Trent!” And under the dot of the exclamation point was the one person Rebecca had been hoping to avoid tonight.

  Her husband.

  Her face flushed with heat and went even hotter as he came toward her, winding his way around the tables and the people. As he came to a stop in front of her, cameras flashed.

  “Did you know about this?” she whispered.

  “I got a call at work today,” he answered. His expression was unreadable; his eyes stared straight into hers.

  “I don’t know what to say.” How to act. What to think. Only what not to think.

  Assume nothing.

  Don’t imagine anything has changed.

  Don’t expect him to be any more your husband than he was before.

  Don’t believe.

  “You forgot something this morning when you left so early,” he said.

  “I did?” Her face burned again as she remembered having to gather up her clothes from the floor of his room and from the stairway. Had she missed something crucial? “Wh-what did I forget?”

  He cupped his hands around her face. “This.”

  And to the sound of whoops and hollers and whistles from her friends around her, Trent laid on her one fancy, thorough and very, very sweet fairy-tale kiss.

  Nine

  It was excruciating. The man whom Rebecca had hoped to avoid until she could figure out a way to behave around him was shoulder-to-shoulder with her, guest of honor at a surprise party in celebration of their marriage. A marriage that they’d taken to a new, intimate level the night before.

  Staring down at the mound of gifts piled on the table in front of her and Trent, she didn’t know where to look or whom to blame.

  “Sweetheart?” a voice prodded from a long way off. “Sweetheart?”

  Rebecca jumped. “Huh?” Her gaze found its way to the tip of Trent’s left ear. “What?”

  “Did you want to tell them all about our romance, or should I?”

  “Huh? What romance?”

  “Our romance.” Chuckling, Trent slanted a smile at the crowd around them and wiggled his eyebrows. “Nothing dreamier than a woman in love, right?”

  Rebecca’s face burned. But I’m not in love with you! Though she could hardly scream it out loud, could she? Oh, but she wanted to. She wanted to assure him that she knew last night had changed nothing essential about their relationship or their views on love. “I’m sorry. I didn’t get much sleep last night—”

  Rebecca broke off as the group exchanged knowing looks and laughed. She shifted her mortified gaze to Trent’s face, and then another wave of embarrassment scorched her. “I mean, I—I—”

  His hand came up to give her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “She means she had a long day at work and wants to know what’s inside all these packages.” The Davises had already opened all the baby gifts and she and Trent were now in the group’s sole spotlight. He slid a beribboned box her way. “Go ahead, honey.”

  Honey. Sweetheart. Oh, he was good, she thought. He didn’t look the least bit discomfited by the situation or by the teasing, despite what had happened between them the night before. As a matter of fact, he looked cool and calm, as if nothing had happened at all.

  Because it meant nothing to him, silly.

  Yes, that must be it. She focused on unwrapping the package even as the knowledge sank to the pit of her stomach like a heavy weight. Last night hadn’t affected him at all.

  The proof was in the way he was handling the ongoing PAN inquisition. As she opened the presents—among them were monogrammed towels, a romantic picnic basket for two and crystal candlesticks—he deftly fielded the questions they threw at him. They clamored for the details of how they’d met, how they’d courted, how he’d proposed. She knew she should be jumping in with explanations—these were her friends, after all—but Trent didn’t appear to need her.

  He charmed, he hedged, he negotiated, then he doled out the tiniest of details as if they were concessions on a multibazillion-dollar contract.

  She could only marvel at his cool. While her nerve endings were hopping around like teenagers at a high-school dance, not by word or deed did he give away the fact that they’d married for reasons as untraditional and unromantic as a shared cynicism about love.

  Rebecca sneaked another peek at him as he fibbed about how he’d taken one look at her “valentine face” and fallen hard. Valentine—wasn’t that laying it on a bit thick? But everyone seemed to be buying his baloney.

  The thought made her tension ease a little. On the one hand, it seemed a bit insulting that sharing a bed with him left him so unaffected that he could blather on. But on the other hand, his composed demeanor was reassuring. If last night had meant so little to him, then she didn’t have to worry that he’d expect a repeat. Because that seemed like much too big a risk to take—for their agreement, for her heart.

  She reached for the last package.

  “Oh, Rebecca,” someone called out from the back of the crowd. “Let Trent open that one.”

  Something about the laugh in that someone’s voice gave her pause. She made a big show of looking at her watch. “Look how late it is! We’ll just take this home as is and—”

  “Nuh-uh-uh,” her co-worker and PAN member, Peggy, said, pushing to the front of the group. There was a mischievous grin on her face. “That one’s from me and I want Trent to do the honors.”

  Rebecca swallowed. “Oh. Okay. Sure.” What was Peggy up to? Rebecca didn’t know, but with wickedness glinting in her friend’s eye, she was more than thrilled to pass the gift over to Mr. Fluster-Free.

  Whatever it was, he’d handle it with aplomb.

  Trent took the gift from Rebecca like the cool customer he’d demonstrated himself to be. Wearing a half smile, he made short work of the silver paper. Beneath the box’s lid was a wealth of star-spangled tissue. And beneath that…

  Trent froze.

  Goose bumps burst across Rebecca’s skin. “What is it?” she heard herself ask anxiously. “What?” She didn’t know if she was more worried about the contents of the package or the change in Trent. His calm was her guarantee that things between them hadn’t changed.

  Both his hands reached into the package and came out with red satin spaghetti straps hooked around his forefingers. A red satin scandalous nothing of a shortie negligee dangled from them.

  Rebecca’s stomach jittered as she watched Trent’s face.

  Then he grinned. A natural, easy, I’m-a-guy grin. “Look, honey,” he said to Rebecca, turning to give her a full view of the embarrassing garment. “It says His.”

  And sure enough it did. Rebecca felt hot color crawling up her neck as she took in the three letters, H-I-S, embroidered in black like a Miss America banner across the skimpy lingerie’s front. Without her permission, a fancy flared to life in her imagination. Herself in that red satin nothing. Trent’s hand tracing those emphatic letters.

  H-I-S. His. His.

  She remembered the night before. Trent’s hands on her. Trent’s mouth on her skin. Beneath her practical scrubs, her nipples peaked and the place between her thighs went warm and heavy. Oh. Oh, no. This wasn’t good. This wasn’t the smart way to handle things.

  But she wanted him again. She wanted him bad, no matter that it seemed better not to take a chance on getting so close to him another time.

  Her gaze lifted to Trent’s face. His expression betrayed nothing but good-natured humor. How could he be so undisturbed? How could what they’d shared together not even spark a flicker of sexual heat? Suddenly, the calm depths of his eyes irritated her.

  If he could pretend for the PAN members they were a real couple, the least he could do was pretend for her that last night lingered somewhere in his mind. Okay
, it wasn’t her most logical thought, but this was another of those life moments where logic was unnecessary, if not downright unwelcome.

  “There’s more!” Peggy said.

  Rebecca looked over at her friend. “More?”

  Oh, she hoped that meant what she thought. She stepped nearer Trent and leaned toward the box, making sure her breast skimmed his forearm. Her upward glance showed not one single twitch of the muscles in his face. Gritting her teeth, she returned her focus to what was nestled in the spangled tissue. She snatched it up, then straightened, brushing against him once more.

  “Look, darling,” she said, pasting on her own noncommittal smile. With two fingers, she pulled the skinny, elastic sides apart so that the G-string hung between her hands. “This one says Hers.”

  But once again his expression showed nothing more than a mild interest. Didn’t the man have a memory? Had he got up and gone to work all day without giving a thought to what they’d done together? Didn’t red satin bring up a fantasy or two?

  Feeling even more miffed, she pretended to inspect the minuscule satin pouch suspended in the air between her hands. “Though it looks to be a little too big.”

  The men in the room gave a collective wince.

  Trent’s “valentine” gave him her most innocent, sugary smile.

  Trent laughed with more of that calm good nature. “Take this as a warning, my friends. Don’t leave your socks balled up on the bedroom floor. Your wife will find a way to get you back every time.”

  Rebecca wanted to stamp her foot at his complete self-possession. She wanted to get a rise out of him. She wanted to see him sweat, to see him show some reaction over what had happened between them the night before. Why was she the only one who remembered it was incredible, indelible, scary?

  “There’s one last thing in the box,” Peggy put in again. “You won’t want to miss it.”

  Without hesitation, Trent put his hand into the tissue and pulled out a book. He held it up and read the title aloud. “Sexploration: A His and Hers…” His voice lowered, hoarsened, and his gaze jumped from what was in his hand to Rebecca’s face. “…Atlas.”