Midwife's Longed-for Baby & the Prince's Cinderella Bride & Bride for the Single Dad (9781488022142)

by Anderson, Caroline; Berlin, Amalie; Taylor, Jennifer

  It was weird having him there with her. He was so gentle, so quiet and unobtrusive, and yet even when he was sitting silently beside her, she was aware of him with every battered cell in her body. She’d been so desperate to get away from him that she’d nearly died, and now that seemed ridiculous because she actually wanted him there, crazy though it was.

  Because she still loved him, despite the lie? Maybe even because of it—because of the fact that he hadn’t, after all, slept with Suzanne.

  Why not? She wouldn’t have blamed him—or Suze, come to that. She was a beautiful woman, and he was a beautiful man. Why wouldn’t they want each other? It wasn’t as if it would have been the first time—and it wasn’t as if things had been exactly peachy in the months leading up to it, and that was her own fault as much as his.

  She’d spent the last year blaming herself for shutting him out and driving him to it, but he’d shut her out, too, and their relationship had been crumbling for months before it had reached crisis point.

  He was right, they did need to talk, but not now, and not here, in probably the busiest department of the hospital. Now, with her head hurting and every part of her starting to ache, all she wanted was to go home.

  Sam, though, had other ideas. Before he’d discuss it he wanted a urine sample to check for blood, presumably to see if she’d sustained kidney damage.

  ‘I’ll get a bedpan,’ Nick said, but she was ready for that and dismissed it instantly.

  ‘No way. Or a commode. The loo—as in proper plumbing, running water, and a door that shuts.’

  ‘I don’t think—’

  ‘Good. Don’t bother,’ she said, trying to sound firm and failing miserably. ‘Seriously, Nick, if you won’t let me walk, then get me a wheelchair, and if you won’t do that then I’ll crawl on my hands and knees. Please don’t make me, because I will do it.’ Her voice cracked, and she bit her lips and waited.

  She watched his internal battle, and then to her relief he sighed quietly and got to his feet. ‘Still as stubborn as ever, then,’ he said mildly, and went, presumably to find a wheelchair.

  ‘Going somewhere?’ Sam asked as Nick wheeled it in.

  ‘Yeah. It has to be the loo, apparently.’

  ‘Well, stay with her.’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘Over my dead body,’ she said, and Sam just laughed, but Nick frowned, his face a mask.

  ‘Can we not talk about your dead body, please?’ he said tightly, and she felt a chill run over her. If that car had been going a little quicker, she might not be here now. There’d been a fraction of a second when everything had gone into slow motion, and she’d been sure she was going to die. What must it have been like for him to watch it all happen and be unable to prevent it? To feel that he’d caused it, even?

  Horrendous, and it was only by the grace of God that she wasn’t dead or far more critically injured. No wonder he was fussing over her. After all, he’d loved her once, and maybe, in a way, still did. And despite their problems, he was a good man. Way too good to have deserved the way she’d treated him.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said soberly, cutting him some slack. ‘If you could just wheel me there, please, I can do the rest.’

  He had an opinion, of course, but in the end she won and he hovered outside the door until she’d finished and then took the urine sample off her and wheeled her back to bed.

  ‘OK?’ he asked as she sank back against the pillows with relief.

  ‘Mmm. Thanks. Could you give that to Sam and ask him when I can go home?’

  ‘You can ask me yourself,’ Sam said, appearing at the foot of the bed and giving her a wry smile. ‘You won’t like the answer.’

  ‘Oh, no, Sam, really? I’m fine—’

  ‘No, you’re not, Liv,’ Sam told her gently. ‘You’re doing OK, but you’re not fine, and if you’ve got a silent head injury—’

  ‘Then I’ll call someone.’

  ‘Not if you can’t,’ Nick growled from beside her. ‘You need monitoring all night.’

  ‘No, I don’t! I’m fine, Nick, and if you won’t discharge me, Sam, I’m going to discharge myself.’

  ‘Liv, I really—’

  ‘No, Nick! This is none of your business. I appreciate your concern, both of you, but I don’t want to stay in. I’ve got a few bruises—’

  ‘You were out cold!’

  ‘For seconds—’

  ‘It still counts, Liv,’ Sam interjected, but she just glared at him.

  ‘I. Want. To. Go. Home,’ she said, stressing every word as if she was talking to a pair of idiots, which frankly she felt she was. Her head was killing her, everything hurt and she just wanted out. Now. Before she broke down and let out all the emotions that were building inside her.

  Sam looked at her, looked at Nick and looked back at her again—and gave in.

  ‘OK,’ he said, to her astonishment. ‘On one condition.’

  ‘Anything,’ she said rashly.

  ‘Nick stays with you.’

  * * *

  ‘No!’

  They spoke together, but Sam just arched a brow and shrugged. ‘Your choice. It’s that or nothing.’

  ‘I’ll discharge myself.’

  Nick felt sick again. She would, he knew that. The woman was stubborn enough for anything, even if it worked against her. He’d learned that years ago, and he’d given up fighting it.

  But this was different. This was her life they were talking about, and her safety was more important to him than anything else and he’d done enough to compromise it today already.

  ‘I’ll do it,’ he said. ‘If you insist on going home, I’ll do it.’

  ‘No. It’s not necessary.’

  ‘Take it or leave it, Liv,’ he said flatly. ‘Either I’m there with you, or you’re here, which is definitely my preferred option.’

  ‘It’s not your option to have, and you can’t make me—’

  ‘Watch me. I’ve already seen you nearly get killed once today because of me. I won’t stand back and watch you have another go. As I said, take it or leave it, but that’s the way it is.’

  She frowned, lifting her hand to her head and pressing it against her forehead as if she was trying to push away the pain. Finally her arm dropped in a gesture of defeat.

  ‘OK. You win. Come home with me if you think you have to, but it’s totally unnecessary and I’m not happy about it.’

  ‘Tough. At least I’ll be able to live with myself,’ he told her.

  Sam rolled his eyes and grinned. ‘Right. Now that’s sorted, I’ll go check this urine for blood, and if it’s OK I’ll authorise your discharge so that we can all go home tonight,’ he said, and Nick watched her close her eyes with a sigh.

  ‘I’m still not happy,’ she grumbled, but he wasn’t going to argue. He’d won this round. For now, that was enough.

  * * *

  It was almost ten that night before he pulled up on the drive of the home they’d shared for three years.

  When they’d bought it just over four years ago, a bright future lay ahead of them. Little had they known how it was all going to pan out, but those happy days—and nights—now seemed a lifetime ago and he’d almost forgotten what home meant.

  ‘Keys?’ he said to her, and she rummaged in her bag and held them out to him.

  ‘The burglar alarm’s set. My code’s 0901—and there’s a mortice lock on the door now, too.’

  The security lights triggered as he got out of the car, which was just as well, as he had to find the new keyhole.

  Why the new lock? To stop him getting back in? And changing the code? She hadn’t needed to do that. She should have known he wouldn’t have invaded her privacy. Maybe he should have done, should have stuck it out and had the rest of the conversation she’d cu
t off at the ankles when she’d thrown him out, and maybe then he’d still have been with her, instead of drifting around in limbo and living alone in a box no bigger than their double garage.

  He let out a tired sigh and swung the door open, stepping into the hall with a curious sense of déjà vu. He didn’t know what he’d expected—that she would have changed the decor, or moved the furniture—anything, really, apart from nothing, which was what confronted him.

  The same colour walls—not quite white, a soft touch of earthy grey taking the edge off it—the same striped stair carpet in muted greys and neutrals, the chair that sat randomly in the corner for no apparent reason—even the basket of carefully pressed and folded washing on the third step waiting for her to make a journey upstairs and take it with her.

  It could have sat there untouched since the day she’d thrown him out—on the ninth of January. Hence the code for the burglar alarm, he realised belatedly.

  Swallowing the lump in his throat, he turned it off ran upstairs with the washing basket and put it on the floor in their—correction, her—bedroom, and ran back down to help her out of the car.

  Too slow.

  ‘Liv, what are you doing?’

  She lifted her head and frowned at him. ‘What do you think I’m doing?’ she asked, levering herself to her feet. ‘It’s obvious.’

  Stubborn woman. ‘Here, let me help you—’

  Her level stare stopped him in his tracks, her pride obviously overriding common sense. ‘Nick, relax, I can manage. You’re only here because Sam insisted. I don’t need you to help me.’

  Which would have been fine, had she not then swayed against the car and let out a stifled groan.

  He didn’t wait to be asked. She’d be on the floor before she admitted she needed him for anything at all, so he just stepped in, laid her right arm carefully over his shoulders and put his other arm around her waist to steady her.

  ‘Headrush?’ he asked quietly, and she nodded.

  ‘Mmm. It’s OK now.’ But she didn’t try and shake him off, which she would have done if she’d truly been OK, so he walked her carefully to the front door, helped her over the doorstep, and then lowered her gently to the chair. He’d never seen the point of it until now, he thought wryly, watching as she sat silently on it with her eyes shut and a tiny frown creasing her brow.

  The bruise on her cheekbone was spreading, coming out nicely in a black and blue stain that extended up into her hair and round the edge of her eye, steadily creeping across her eyebrow and down onto the lid. The only reason her face wasn’t scraped was that her thick, dark hair had tumbled across her cheek and protected it as she’d hit the tarmac, and it had been further back on the side of her head that she’d taken the brunt of the fall. Hence the dried blood matted in her hair—

  Her eyes opened again and she lifted her head and looked at him, the frown deepening. ‘What?’

  ‘What do you mean, what?’

  ‘You were looking at me funny. You still are.’

  He clenched his teeth, swallowing the horror he’d been reliving, the sight of her crashing to the ground, the way her head had bounced off the kerb—

  ‘You’re imagining it,’ he said dismissively. ‘Where to? Up or down?’

  She looked at the stairs, her eyes running up the flight as if to assess the enormity of the task, then back to him as the fight went out of her. ‘It all looks like too much effort but I suppose I really ought to go to bed before I can’t get there.’

  ‘Is there anything I can do to help you?’

  She shook her head. ‘No. I’ll manage, Nick.’

  She shrugged off her coat, took a deep breath and tackled the stairs. They seemed endless but she made it, only because she didn’t really have a choice if she was going to be comfortable, but her head was pounding and she felt dizzy halfway up and had to lean on him.

  ‘Just a few more steps to go,’ Nick murmured, his warm, solid body reassuringly close behind her, and she gritted her teeth and made it up the last ones, pausing to lean on him for another moment before tackling the short distance across the landing to the bed.

  He flicked back the covers, and she sat down gingerly on the edge with a sigh of relief, cold sweat beading on her forehead.

  ‘OK?’

  ‘Yes, I’m OK. I’m up here anyway. Maybe I should have some painkillers. My head’s banging like a drum now.’

  ‘Maybe you should. Let’s get you comfy and I’ll sort you out a drink to take them with.’

  He shifted the pillows, stacking them up so she could lean back on them while she kicked off her shoes and then swung her legs up.

  ‘Oh, that’s better.’ She sighed, settling against the pillows. ‘I just feel a bit battered all over, and my head aches. I keep telling it I feel better, but it hasn’t got the memo yet.’

  He gave a wry huff of laughter, and he ran downstairs and brought her back a glass of water to take the paracetamol.

  ‘Have you had any other drugs today? Any other pain relief?’

  ‘No, I haven’t. You know I don’t take drugs. Only the IV paracetamol they gave me this afternoon, and that was hours ago. Just give it to me, for heaven’s sake, and don’t fuss.’

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ he said drily, handing her the water and holding out his hand with the pills in.

  She took them, washed them down with water and handed the glass back with an apologetic sigh. ‘Thank you. I’m sorry I’ve been so bitchy. I just…’

  ‘Forget it,’ he said softly. ‘Tea? Coffee? Something to eat?’

  ‘Tea would be lovely. And some toast, maybe? I’m starving. I don’t know what happened to lunch.’

  He did. He’d messed it up, like he’d messed so many things up. He put the glass on the bedside table and went back down to the kitchen. It hadn’t changed any more than the rest, and he glanced across to the family room, his eyes settling on the sofa where it had all unravelled.

  It could have been yesterday, he thought, if it wasn’t for the wrenching heartache that had filled every day since she’d told him she wanted a divorce—a divorce that had never happened, for some reason.

  He rested his hands on the edge of the worktop, hung his head and let out a shaky sigh. He so hadn’t wanted to do this, to be here with her in this way, forced together by circumstances and Sam’s well-meant interference, but he was the best candidate for the job.

  He knew every inch of the house, could find his way round the kitchen in the dark, and, more importantly, knew Liv well enough to override her when necessary. That didn’t mean he was going to enjoy it, and he knew it wouldn’t be easy, not if she had anything to say about it—and he was sure she would, in spades.

  Oh, well. One thing at a time.

  He straightened up, hauled in a bracing lungful of air and put the kettle on.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ‘DOES BEN KNOW you’re not staying there tonight?’

  He glanced up at her, taking his eyes off the midwifery journal he’d been pretending to read. As if she hadn’t realised that. He hadn’t turned a page in the last few minutes and his face had been like a frozen mask.

  ‘Yes. I rang him just before we left the hospital. He’s been fretting about you. He took me for coffee and force-fed me a disgustingly sweet chocolate muffin when Sam kicked me out of Resus, but then he had to go back to work. He’s been bombarding me with texts ever since, asking how you are.’

  She laughed softly and then winced, and he frowned.

  ‘You OK?’

  She nodded. ‘My stomach muscles hurt a bit. I guess being flung around like that’d cause all sorts of odd aches and pains.’

  He frowned again at that, no doubt reliving the accident, and she regretted mentioning it.

  ‘You probably tensed up to protect yourself. Are the p
ainkillers working yet?’

  She would have laughed under normal circumstances, but she’d tried that once. ‘Not so you’d notice,’ she told him. ‘I need to get out of this lot,’ she said, plucking at the horrible hospital gown and the borrowed scrub bottoms they’d lent her in the ED.

  ‘Really? I thought it was rather fetching. The little NHS logo all over the gown goes really well with your eyes, but it’s your choice.’

  ‘Good of you to remember that,’ she said drily. ‘There’s a long pink T-shirt with short sleeves in the second drawer, on the left.’

  ‘Do you really need it?’

  He sounded puzzled, and she forced herself to look up and meet his eyes. ‘Yes, I do, because you’re going to be here and we’re not together any more,’ she told him bluntly.

  He rolled his eyes. ‘Jeez, Liv, give me credit. I just thought you’ll be more comfortable with nothing on. I’m hardly going to take advantage of it.’

  ‘It’s nothing to do with that,’ she said, remembering when he’d taken every opportunity to do exactly that, but that was a long time ago, well before she’d thrown him out. Their problems had started long before then. She sighed. So much water under so many bridges…

  ‘Nick, I can’t be bothered to argue,’ she told him. ‘Just find it, please, could you, and then leave me alone? The bathroom’s just here, not ten feet from the bed. I’ll be fine.’

  That sounded churlish, and she didn’t mean it to. She let out a shaky sigh and shook her head. ‘Sorry. That came out all wrong but I’m too tired to play games and I just want to go to sleep.’

  She looked up at him, and saw sorrow etched on his face.

  ‘It’s OK, Liv. I understand,’ he said softly. ‘I know you don’t want me here, but it’s not for long. You’ll be fine in a day or two.’

  He was wrong. She did want him there, but not like this. Not shackled by duty and guilt, but there because he loved her.

  He found the T-shirt, put it on the bed beside her and went out of the room. Not far, she knew that from the creaks on the landing, but far enough. He was probably sitting on the top step. She swung her legs over the side of the bed as she sat up, then unfastened the hideous hospital gown and tried to peel it off her shoulders, but they protested and she stifled a whimper.