Chapter Eleven
Adam felt her quick inhale. The sudden stiffening that was just as suddenly an exhale as Laurel began kissing him back.
It took everything he possessed not to forget where they were. That he couldn’t very well pull Laurel into him until everything outside of them, outside of that moment, fell away.
When he finally lifted his head, her aquamarine eyes looked dazed. She lifted her hand and touched his lips, so lightly it could have been nothing but a dream.
“We were celebrating my twenty-first birthday,” she whispered. “I brought champagne and we nearly spit it out because it was so dreadful. But you still insisted on finishing it, because it was our first bottle of champagne together.” Her hand lowered and her fingers fluttered to her throat. “You gave me this necklace.”
And the next day she’d moved in with him and he’d started working extra shifts so he could afford to buy a ring.
A ring she’d never accepted.
He pushed the thought away and looked over her head, turning her so she was looking out at the beauty spread out before them. “I think I saw an eagle over there.” He pointed over her shoulder.
“Mmm.” She leaned back against him and tugged at his arm until he lowered it and wrapped it across her shoulders. And there they stood. Floating above the treetops.
It was inevitable that such an idyllic moment couldn’t last.
Unlike the two-hour balloon trip he’d scrimped for months to surprise her with on her birthday, this up-and-down ride wasn’t even fifteen minutes. And it was Bobby who reminded him of that fact.
“You folks want a picture before we descend?” The balloonist was looking at them expectantly. “Most people do.”
So Adam handed over his cell phone and the kid held it up, snapping several shots. Then he handed it back and reached for a line and the balloon immediately began descending.
Adam started to pocket the phone, but it vibrated in his hand. He glanced at the screen and tensed.
Laurel’s expression tightened. “Your girlfriend again?”
He frowned at her as he slid his thumb across the screen and held it to his ear. “Kane, you heard from the social worker?”
“Not yet. Johnson called. Baby started running a fever this afternoon.”
He swore under his breath. He’d spent more time in the last week feeling helpless than ever before in his life and he hated it.
“Where are you, anyway?” Kane asked.
“Colorado. How the hell did Linus get a fever? They’ve had him nearly hermetically sealed for weeks!”
Laurel’s face had paled and she was clutching the side of the basket again as though her life depended on it.
“Adam,” Kane’s voice was irritatingly reasonable, “all I know is he’s got a fever. Doesn’t mean he’s rejecting the transplant.”
“Doesn’t mean he isn’t,” Adam countered flatly.
“I’ll drive over to the hospital tonight,” Kane told him. “At least to be there.”
“Thanks. I’ll call the hospital myself, too.” Dr. Patel—the guy in charge of the transplant unit at the hospital—and the nurses assigned to Linus would tell Adam anything he needed to know. That fact was only because of Eric’s doing, and was just one more reason why Adam’s resentment of him made him feel like a crumb.
There was a hard bump as the basket contacted earth again and he gestured for Laurel to climb out. She did so, then clutched her arms around herself as though they’d just spent fifteen minutes in the alpine rather than beneath the hot blasts of the balloon’s burner.
“I’ll be in touch, Kane.” He shoved the phone in his pocket and barely had the presence of mind to remember to tip the pilot before he took Laurel’s arm and turned toward the park’s exit.
The ticket lady jogged after them and Laurel took the shopping bag they’d both forgotten with a weak thank-you.
“Wait.” Adam called the woman when she started back to her ticket table. “What’s the fastest way to get back downtown?” He told her the name of their hotel.
“Trolley if you catch it right. Otherwise it’s probably just as fast to walk as it would be to wait for a ride share or taxi.” She gestured. “Nearest stop is over there by that row of park benches. There’s a sign but you can’t see it from here because of the trees.”
“Thanks.” He immediately steered Laurel in the direction of the benches. “We’ll wait a couple minutes,” he told her. “If it doesn’t come, we’re hoofing it.”
She didn’t look inclined to disagree. “What’s the reason for the social worker?”
He swallowed the explanation that automatically sprang up. “Transplant stuff,” he lied and hoped she was unfamiliar enough with the actual donor process that she wouldn’t realize it.
Now was not the time for her to learn that Adam was their son’s father.
She’d started chewing on her lip. “Thank you.”
He forced himself to slow his pace when he realized she was skipping to keep up. “For what?”
She gaped for a moment. “For keeping up with Linus, obviously.” She tugged at her sleeve, then seemed to realize it and stopped. “I’m sure not every donor takes such a keen interest. But you know I’m his mother and...” She trailed off, not finishing.
Just as well. He was practically choking as it was.
Fortunately, he spotted the distinctive red shuttle approaching. “Trolley’s nearly to the stop.” He looked speculatively from it to the row of benches to her. “Think you can beat it?”
“I wasn’t a runner for nothing,” she said not so far under her breath that he couldn’t hear, and took off like a shot.
He balled the shopping bag in his fist and ran after her.
They made it with barely a second to spare, and then only because the driver saw them coming and pulled to a stop again after he’d already begun pulling away from the benches.
Laurel was breathing very hard as she collapsed into the first seat she came to. She leaned over, hanging her head between her knees while Adam paid their fares. He sat down in the seat opposite her. “Are you all right?”
“I will be.” She sat up, looking annoyed. Whether at him for asking or at herself for showing any sort of physical weakness, he couldn’t tell. “As soon as I know Linus is all right.”
And if he wasn’t?
He scrubbed his hand down his face. Giving in to the panic clawing at his gut wasn’t going to help. Getting Laurel to the hospital in Houston as quickly as possible would. “We’ll get a few hours of sleep and head out early.”
“How much further is it to Texas?”
The trolley stopped at a bus stop even though nobody was waiting to board and nobody was waiting to get off. He shoved down his impatience with the trolley driver. “Little over a thousand miles to Houston. Rambling Rose is a little under. We’ll get there day after tomorrow.”
“If we left now and drove straight through, we’d be there tomorrow.”
He shook his head. “It’ll be too hard on you.”
Her chin set. “Taking it easy on me won’t make it better. Not when my son—” Her voice choked off.
The trolley lurched into motion again. In comparison to the balloon, the ride felt as smooth as a bucking horse.
“Fine. We’ll stop and take a break every few hours,” he said, more to appease his own conscience than to reassure her.
She looked even more put out. “Have to make sure not to overwhelm the woman with the faulty brain?”
He exhaled roughly. “That’s not what I meant. And stop calling yourself that.”
“Or what?” She threw out her hands. “You’ll drive off and leave me alone to make my own way? We both know you’ll never leave me.”
It felt like being cracked with a whip. “Don’t push it, sweetheart. Even I have limits.”
&nb
sp; “The only limit you have is being too good and too protective.”
Too good?
He nearly laughed. If he were good at all, he’d have contacted her parents the second he’d hung up the phone after Dr. Granger’s first call. He’d have swallowed his pride and asked them for assistance in arranging a flight that Laurel could board without any ID.
Maybe she’d be in Houston right now with her son instead of sitting on this damn trolley that was taking a freaking eternity to get them where they needed to go.
He shoved out of his seat, too restless to sit, and held on to one of the loops hanging from a rod near the roof. He stared out the front windshield, as if he could will the driver to go faster.
Of course, he didn’t.
And even though the drive had taken maybe ten minutes when it finally stopped in front of the familiar souvenir shop, it felt like three times that.
Laurel took the bag and they exited quickly, crossing the street to the hotel just as the street lamps began to light up.
He barely noticed.
Albuquerque by midnight, he figured.
Lubbock by dawn.
Houston by early afternoon.
He’d never driven fifteen hours or better at a single stretch, but he was going to now.
They entered the hotel and Adam pulled the keycard from his pocket and handed it to her. “Go up to the room. Take a shower or whatever if you want. Do you need your bag from the car?” Since the room hadn’t been ready, they’d left their belongings in the car while they’d gone to the restaurant.
“The parking garage is two blocks away.” She patted the shopping bag. “I’ve got the pj’s. I can change into them.”
“I’ll go fill up on gas, then. We can be on the road in less than an hour.”
She plucked the card from his fingers then turned and started up the wide staircase. She paused midway and looked back at him. “Everything is going to be all right, Adam.”
He wasn’t used to being on the receiving end of reassurance.
Particularly where Laurel Hudson was concerned.
But she wasn’t talking about them.
She was talking about the baby.
Their baby.
“The gas station isn’t far from the parking garage,” he said gruffly. “It won’t take me long.”
“I’ll be ready.” Then she turned again and headed quickly up the stairs.
* * *
Not only was Laurel ready and waiting when Adam returned to the hotel and knocked on the room door, but she’d filled the shopping bag from the souvenir shop with several bottles of water, plastic-wrapped sandwiches, a few pieces of fresh fruit and a large package of cookies.
She’d also obviously showered. Her hair was hanging dark and damp around her shoulders, and she was wearing the new pajamas under her sweater.
She didn’t look a day older than she’d been in college.
“I reached the hospital while I was getting gas.” He closed the door behind him and couldn’t help a double-take at the sight of the spacious suite. When he’d heard “one room available” from the registration clerk, he hadn’t asked for details.
Laurel’s eyes were wide. “And?”
“His regular nurse was already gone for the day, but the night nurse admitted Linus does have a low fever they’re not happy about. They don’t think it’s a sign of rejection, though. So that’s the good thing.”
She closed her eyes and her shoulders sagged. “Thank you, God,” she whispered. When she looked at him again, her eyes gleamed wetly.
He couldn’t take it if she started crying. Not when it was what he’d wanted to do, too, when the nurse had told him. And he hadn’t cried even when Laurel told him she was engaged to another man.
He reached in the bag and lifted the cream-filled cookies. “I was only gone thirty minutes. Where’d you manage to get all this?”
Her smile was a little shaky around the edges, but at least it was a smile. “There’s a small shop downstairs.” She suddenly looked uncertain. “I had to charge it to the room. I hope that’s okay.” She looked over her shoulder at the luxurious suite. “I figured it would be cheaper than raiding the minibar.”
“Surprised you didn’t get peanut butter cookies.”
“Those are your favorites. If I didn’t remember wrong.” Her face suddenly colored and she pulled the package out of his hand and stuck it back in the bag. She tucked her hair behind her ears. “There’s a coffee maker if you want me to make you a cup.”
“Coffee would be great.” He glanced inside the bag again. “Where are the rest of the clothes I bought?”
She set the bag on the table alongside the door. “I laid them out in the bedroom. I figured you’d want to shower and change, too. The shower isn’t quite up to Captain’s standards,” she joked, “but it gets the job done.”
“Five minutes and we’re out of here.” He strode into the bedroom, snatching up the shirt and pack of boxers and socks he’d also grabbed at the souvenir shop while Laurel had been waiting outside.
Despite the situation, he couldn’t help smiling when he went into the bathroom. It was bigger than the entire Captain’s Quarters room. When he flipped on the shower, hot water shot from four different showerheads, engulfing him in steam.
It would have been a hell of a room, he thought as he grabbed the soap. If they’d have been able to enjoy it.
He toweled off roughly afterward and ripped open the bag with the boxers. They were printed with smiling jalapeño peppers but they were clean. Same thing went for the cannabis-patterned socks. He hitched up his jeans and grabbed the new T-shirt.
The smell of coffee was strong and welcome when he walked out of the bedroom.
“You’re right,” he said, pulling the T-shirt over his head. “Almost up to the Captain’s standards.” He pushed his arms through the short sleeves and grimaced as he tugged the tight shirt into place.
“Told you it looked too small.” She handed him a disposable coffee cup and picked up the bag of provisions.
“Next time I’ll let you choose.” He pulled open the suite door.
“Nicest hotel suite I’ve never stayed in.” She paused in the doorway and gave him a twisted smile. “Don’t imagine many guests leave wearing pajamas.”
“If it weren’t for the purple flying pigs on your pants, nobody’d know that’s what they are. Do you still have the room key?” She handed it to him and he dropped it in the key drop when they reached the lobby.
He’d left the car parked in front of the hotel in a temporary loading zone.
“Surprised you didn’t get a parking ticket,” she said once they were on their way. “But you always were lucky like that.” She fussed with her wet hair, pulling it over one shoulder and braiding it loosely. “If I parked in front of the apartment building in Buffalo overnight, there was always a ticket under the wiper blade greeting me in the morning. But never when you did it.”
He could almost forget that she had amnesia. That she couldn’t remember so many other things. So many other critical things. “Luck of the Irish,” he dismissed.
She made a sound. “You’re not Irish. Just lucky.”
Not when it came to her.
“That was a nice town,” she sighed a while later when the city lights were nearly gone in the rearview mirror.
“Maybe you’ll get back there one day.”
“It wouldn’t be the same.” She looked over at him. “I could drive, you know. If you get tired. I remember how.”
“You don’t have a license on you. Car rental agency would probably have an issue with it.”
“Only if they knew,” she scoffed. “You didn’t use to be such a rule follower.”
“I didn’t use to be a lot of things,” he said dryly. “But if I know you, you’ll be sleeping in thirty minutes anywa
y.”
“The least I can do is stay awake and keep you company.”
It was his turn to scoff. “Whatever you say, sweetheart.”
She tsked. “You shouldn’t call me that.”
He glanced her way.
“Sweetheart,” she said as if he were thick. “If I were Ashley, it would seriously annoy me.”
“You’re not Ashley.”
“Tell me about it,” she said under her breath.
He told himself he didn’t relish the moment. “You don’t sign my paycheck.”
Aside from the lights on the dash, the inside of the car was dark. He still felt the look she gave him.
“Ashley owns Provisions,” he said patiently. “She’s my boss. And I guarantee she doesn’t care how many women I call sweetheart.”
“Your boss.”
“Along with her two sisters, yes.”
“Your boss texts you a lot,” she said after a moment.
He chuckled. “She’s good at what she does, though. I wasn’t sure she would be, at first. Seemed too young to own her own restaurant. But I have to give her props. She’s been in the business one way or another since she was in high school. Her sisters, too. They’re no slouches. What Ashley still lacks, her fiancé makes up for.”
“She’s engaged?”
“To a guy named Rodrigo Mendoza. His family has a winery in Austin. And a successful restaurant.”
She shifted in her seat. “Tell me more.”
“About Rodrigo?”
She huffed. “About Rambling Rose. About your life there.”
“Until recently, there hasn’t been much to tell.”
“How’d you go from studying industrial engineering in New York to managing a restaurant in Texas?” She barely waited a beat. “And don’t say it’s a long story. We’ve got nothing but time on our hands here.”
“Why do you want to rehash the last decade of my life?”
“If we’re talking, you’re not falling asleep at the wheel.”
Like the guy who’d caused her accident, he realized. Point taken. “Wouldn’t you prefer Twenty Questions?”
The Texan's Baby Bombshell (The Fortunes 0f Texas: Rambling Rose Book 6) Page 14