by Brenda Novak
He told her he loved her and strode out as she was removing the plastic hood that protected her permed hair from the rain.
The windshield wipers squeaked and the heater hummed as he drove to Chantel’s condo. The roads were still wet, and a light fog was starting to replace the rain. He fiddled with the radio, settled for an old rock station, then cursed when he had to stop for yet another traffic light.
Finally he turned into the lot at Chantel’s condo, only to find her parking space empty. It was one o’clock and she’d been ill. Where was she?
He thought briefly of Wade and how badly he might have taken the news of the pregnancy. Could he have become violent? God, he hoped not. In Chantel’s current condition, she’d be no match for him…
“Don’t borrow trouble,” he told himself aloud. Odds were she was with Stacy. He sat idling, wondering whether or not to go to Stacy’s when his cell phone rang.
“Chantel?”
“No. It’s Stacy.” Her voice sounded odd, strained.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“I am, but I’m not so sure about Chantel—or the baby.”
Dillon’s stomach knotted painfully, and his throat constricted until he could hardly breathe, let alone speak. Fortunately Stacy needed no prompting.
“I think maybe you should meet us here.”
“Where?” he managed.
“At the emergency room.”
STACY GREETED Dillon almost as soon as he entered the hospital. Mascara streaked her face, testifying to earlier tears, but her eyes were dry now.
“What happened?” he asked.
“When I got home, I found her backing out of my drive. She looked terrible. She was shaking and crying about the baby.”
“Is she going to be okay?”
Stacy took a deep breath and nodded.
“And the baby?”
“She’s cramping and spotting. They don’t expect the baby to make it.”
Dillon felt dazed. He stared down at Stacy without really seeing her, thinking about the baby Chantel wanted so badly.
“If she miscarries, she may never get pregnant again,” he said, stating the obvious.
Stacy pushed the hair out of her eyes. “Probably not.”
Don’t let her lose it, he prayed.
“She’s been asking for you.” Her expression was unreadable. Had Chantel had a chance to talk to her about what had happened that night in the Landcruiser? Clearly Stacy knew he was the father of Chantel’s child or she wouldn’t have called him. But from her attitude, he couldn’t tell how she’d reacted to the news.
Only two other people waited in the lobby, a man holding a bloody cloth over one arm and an old woman who sat with her purse at her feet, hands folded primly in her lap. Both were staring at the television bolted to the ceiling.
He and Stacy passed through a door across from the street entrance and hurried down a short hall that led into a large examination room, separated into compartments by blue cloth dividers. A baby cried at the far end. Two doctors conferred near a desk up front. He followed Stacy to the second cubicle on the left.
Chantel was lying on a table, curled on her side and facing away from the door. At first he thought she was sleeping, but at the sound of their approach, she turned. Her eyes were rimmed with red, her hair was a damp tangled mess, and she wore nothing but a hospital gown.
“Thanks for coming,” she said.
Stacy had stopped at the door. Trying to be sensitive to her feelings, Dillon didn’t pull Chantel into his arms. He wanted to hold her and rock her and bathe her face with kisses—anything to reassure her that he wasn’t going anywhere even if the baby died. But he merely ran his knuckles over her arm.
“You sure like to scare everybody,” he said, trying to ease the tension in the room.
She made an effort to smile. “I’m sorry I upset everyone with news of a baby and then—” A tremor passed through her, and she didn’t finish.
Dillon felt a lump rising in his throat and tried to swallow it down. “Have you already lost it?”
“Not yet. The doctors gave me a muscle relaxant to stop the cramps, but they’re not going away.”
Forgetting about Stacy, he cupped her chin in his hand and tilted her face toward him. “You really want this baby, don’t you?”
Fresh tears streamed down her face as she nodded.
“So do I,” he said.
A noise at the door told him Stacy left. Part of him wanted to go after her and apologize for what she had to be feeling, but he couldn’t leave Chantel standing vigil over their baby alone. He’d talk to Stacy later.
“Did you tell her?” he asked.
Chantel closed her eyes. “I never got the chance.”
“Then how—”
“Wade.”
A curse hovered on Dillon’s lips, but for Chantel’s sake he didn’t utter it. There was no need to upset her any more, especially when the damage was already done. He promised himself he’d have a little talk with Wade, though, when this was all over. “So did you tell her how it happened?”
She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. She won’t believe me, anyway. Not after hearing it the way she did, and not after what happened with Wade ten years ago.”
He smoothed the hair off her forehead. “But she brought you to the hospital. She could have left you to make it here on your own.”
“She’s a nurse. She would have done as much for anyone.”
Dillon’s heart twisted. Chantel had lost her career because of Wade. Now she was going to lose their baby. And she felt like she’d already lost her sister a second time.
“Are you sorry about that night in the Landcruiser?” he asked, knowing she had to be and wishing he’d somehow been able to keep his hands off her.
A smile curved her lips, but her eyes drooped again, and he realized she was growing sleepy. The relaxant the doctor had given her was finally taking effect. “Are you kidding?” she asked softly. “That was the best night of my life.”
He stroked her hair and bent down to kiss her temple. “I’m just sorry it’s cost you so much, babe.”
Her eyes flicked open, and her hand went to her stomach. “It gave me what I wanted most. If only I can hang on to it…”
“You can hang on to me,” he whispered after a few minutes, even though he knew she’d fallen asleep. “If this baby doesn’t make it, Chantel, we’ll do whatever is necessary to make another one. And we’ve got my girls.” He paused. “I think I’m ready to share them with you.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
STACY DROVE OUT of the hospital parking lot without a backward glance. She knew her sister would probably lose the baby, but she wasn’t going to hang around long enough to find out. She was too numb to care; too much had happened. And Chantel had Dillon, anyway. What more could she want?
The rain started again, but Stacy didn’t bother with the windshield wipers. It was only sprinkling and there wasn’t much traffic. She stared beyond the water beading on her window at the wet streets and remembered the concern in Dillon’s eyes the moment he arrived at the hospital. Then there was the gentle, almost reverent way he’d touched Chantel when he’d rushed into her room, and the conviction in his voice when he’d said how much he wanted their baby.
All of it told Stacy he was in love—head over heels in love—and the jealousy that stemmed from this realization almost overpowered her. It was one thing to think he and Chantel had had a steamy sordid affair. It was another to think they cared for each other.
Stopping at a traffic light, Stacy smacked the steering wheel. Why couldn’t he have returned her feelings? She’d mooned over him for two years! And he’d just started asking her out when Chantel came on the scene.
Stacy chuckled bitterly. Well, let them have each other. I’ve lived without my sister before, I can do it again. Only this time, there’ll be no turning back.
CHANTEL AWOKE to the sound of Dillon’s voice, hushed as he spoke on his cell phone. “Can yo
u get them off to school for me, Mom…? I know, but I don’t want to leave the hospital…Tell them I love them and that I’ll see them after school…Okay, I appreciate it…No, there’s a van from Children’s World that picks them up…You bet…Thanks.”
He punched the “end” button, then glanced over his shoulder and gave her a welcoming smile when he saw she was awake. “How are you feeling?”
“Better.” She expected the cramping to set in again, but it was gone, at least for the moment. Had she lost the baby while she slept? She was too afraid to ask. “What time is it?”
“Just after seven.”
She carefully surveyed the room, searching for any evidence that something significant had occurred, but everything looked as it had the night before. Except Dillon. Lines bracketed his mouth and eyes, revealing his exhaustion, and a dark shadow of stubble covered his jaw. He’d stayed with her all night?
“You look tired.”
“I dozed a little—” he indicated an orange vinyl chair that hadn’t been there when Chantel had fallen asleep “—but they had a drunk-driving accident about four in the morning, and this place turned into a zoo. I didn’t get much sleep.”
“You shouldn’t have stayed.”
He raised a hand to caress her cheek. “I wanted to.”
A warm feeling began in the pit of Chantel’s stomach and radiated out to her limbs, as though he’d just wrapped her in a cozy quilt. But then she remembered her sister, and the warmth disappeared. “Where’s Stacy?”
Compassion flickered in his eyes. “She left.”
“When?”
He paused, obviously wishing he could soften the truth for her, then said, “Last night, shortly after I arrived.”
“She thinks we’ve been seeing each other behind her back. I tried to explain, but she wouldn’t listen. She was too hurt.”
“She’ll come around,” he said, and Chantel tried to act as though she believed him. There was no need for him to share her guilt. He’d done nothing. She was the one who’d betrayed Stacy with Wade. She was the one who couldn’t stop herself from wanting Dillon. And she was the one who’d told him she couldn’t get pregnant, ensuring they used no form of protection.
“Hello.” A doctor who looked wide awake and freshly scrubbed stepped into the cubicle. Evidently there’d been a change of shifts, because Chantel didn’t recognize him. “I’m Dr. Wiseman. How are you feeling this morning?”
“My cramps are gone.”
“Good. Let’s take a look at the bleeding.”
Dillon left the room, giving her some privacy.
Dr. Wiseman made a cursory check. “There’s some spotting,” he said, pushing her gown higher so he could place his stethoscope on her abdomen. She knew he was listening for the baby’s heartbeat. She prayed he found one. Otherwise, they’d do a D&C and finish up what the cramping had started.
He frowned in concentration as he moved the stethoscope to a new place.
Please, oh, please, oh, please, Chantel chanted to herself.
Dr. Wiseman shifted the cold metal end of his stethoscope again, and frowned harder.
“Dillon!” Chantel called to him despite her state of undress. She felt vulnerable, exposed, but she couldn’t take the news alone. Not when he was standing right around the corner and could be holding her hand…
The doctor raised his head as Dillon entered the room. “I can’t get a heartbeat,” he said, straightening and letting his stethoscope dangle around his neck.
Chantel clenched her fists and silently stared up at Dillon. She expected him to comfort her in some way, but he looked almost as bereft as she felt. “Are you sure?” he asked.
The doctor seemed slightly offended. “I just examined her.”
“Check again, please.”
With a sigh Dr. Wiseman bent over Chantel’s belly. Again she felt his impersonal fingers and the cool metal of the stethoscope sliding from place to place. Then he froze and listened for several seconds.
“I’ve found it,” he said at last, blinking in surprise. “The baby’s still alive.”
“WHO IS SHE?” Dillon’s mom asked, once he had Chantel situated in his bedroom upstairs.
Dillon smiled and leaned against the kitchen counter, still euphoric from their victory at the hospital and from Chantel’s willingness to let him bring her home so he could care for her. “She’s going to be my wife,” he said.
That made his mother choke on her coffee. “What?” she sputtered. “But you’ve never even mentioned her before.”
“I haven’t known her very long.”
Her browns descended. “And you’re planning to marry her?”
He smiled devilishly. All his mother’s suggestions came out as commands. He wanted her to think he’d actually followed one for once. “I’m just doing what you told me to, Mother. Didn’t you say it’s time for me to find another wife? Don’t tell me you’ve changed your mind.”
“I meant you should start dating. I didn’t mean you should pick up a woman at the hospital and move her in with you.”
He laughed. “Well, it’s a little late for clarifications now. You should be more specific when you tell me what to do with my life.”
“Dillon Broderick, you’re a contrary one. You always have been. Why couldn’t you be easy to raise—”
“Like my sisters?” He grinned. “I have news, Mom. I am raised. We all are.”
“But you’re not acting like you have a lick of sense, marrying a complete stranger. Didn’t Amanda teach you anything?”
The mention of his ex-wife sobered Dillon, and he turned away to stare out the window. “She called me yesterday.”
“Amanda?”
He nodded.
“What did she want?”
“Money. She plans to leave her new husband.”
His mother shook her head as if to say Amanda was no good and never would be. “Already? You didn’t give it to her, I hope.”
“Not yet.”
“That sounds like you will.”
Dillon didn’t have to see her face. He could hear her disapproval. “Probably,” he admitted. “She’ll come back and fight for custody of the girls if I don’t.”
“What makes you think she wants them? She abandoned them just a couple of months ago—”
He raked a hand through his hair. “I’m sure that on some level, she wants them. She’s just so screwed up right now. Besides, without the girls she gets no child support.”
His mother grimaced. “Talk about taking advantage of the system.”
“Bottom line is, I care less about the money than I do about keeping the girls’ world stable and positive, especially with my wedding on the horizon.” He shrugged. “If Amanda fights me, I’ll be spending money on attorneys.”
“Then make her sign over custody before you give her a dime.”
He took a sip of his coffee, which had been sitting on the counter ever since his mother had poured it. “I hate that everything seems to come down to dollars and cents. It shouldn’t be that way when you’re talking about children. But I’ll admit I’m tempted to use whatever leverage I’ve got.”
His mother stirred another spoonful of sugar into her coffee. “Do the girls miss their mother?”
That was something Dillon had wondered many times. Brittney and Sydney had to feel Amanda’s loss, but they rarely talked about her, unless he didn’t allow them some treat or indulgence they were used to getting. “I don’t know. I think they’re hurt, angry, probably confused.”
“Still, they’re better off without her. I’m glad she ran off.”
Dillon was glad the girls were living with him; he just wished it hadn’t happened the way it did. “I’m going to take Chantel something to eat. Why don’t you come up with me and get to know her a little?”
He rummaged in the refrigerator, retrieving the sliced turkey breast and other sandwich makings.
“She sure is tall,” his mother commented. “Even with you carrying her, I could te
ll that.”
“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” He heard the wistful adoration in his own voice and nearly chuckled at himself. He sounded like a lovesick boy.
But if his mother found Chantel as beautiful as he did, she was reluctant to admit it. Her lips pursed as she sipped her coffee. “What does she do?”
“She works for a state senator. But that may not last long.”
“Why, for heaven’s sake?”
Dillon looked up from spreading mayonnaise on two pieces of whole-wheat bread. “I guess I forgot to tell you. She’s having my baby.”
His mother’s cup hit its saucer with so much force Dillon was surprised it didn’t shatter. “How did that happen?” she asked.
He showed her his dimples. “In the usual way.”
“DILLON TELLS ME you’re pregnant.”
Caught completely off guard, Chantel put the sandwich Dillon had brought back on her plate and shifted in the bed. Avoiding his mother’s stern gaze, she quickly swallowed the food in her mouth and sought Dillon out where he stood leaning against the bedroom wall. But he merely folded his arms across his chest and smiled innocently.
She cleared her throat. “Yes, Mrs. Sutton, that’s true.”
Sitting on a chair not far from the bed, Karen Sutton clicked her tongue. “You don’t think it would’ve been wiser to wait?”
“It probably would have been, yes. But we didn’t, um, well, we didn’t exactly plan for this to happen.”
Chantel sent Dillon another glance, this one more pointed than the last. After his mother left, she was going to kill him for putting her on the spot like this.
“Dillon says you’re nearly thirty.”
Old enough to know what causes these things. The words went unspoken but hung in the air all the same. “The doctors told me I couldn’t have children,” Chantel explained, knowing she couldn’t expect anyone, much less his mother, to understand how it had been that night in the snow. She’d nearly died, he’d saved her life, and she’d fallen in love with him—all in the same night. In the real world it hardly seemed plausible.