by Janice Lynn
“I can’t heal at home?”
Home.
Longing pierced her heart. Home is where the heart is. So where was home? Knoxville? Armadillo Lake?
“No, I’m sorry, you can’t.”
She spent a few more minutes talking to him, then left his hospital room. She’d barely taken two steps into the hallway when Blake came out of a patient’s room.
Shock at seeing her registered in his eyes. “I wasn’t expecting you to be here this early.”
Obviously. Did that mean he’d purposely arrived early, in hopes of not bumping into her? Or was she being paranoid?
“After leaving the office on Friday I figured there’s a lot to catch up.” Why did her explanation feel stilted?
“Me, too.” He glanced away, ran his fingers through his dark hair. “How’s your mother?”
“Stronger this morning, according to her doctor. Apparently she’s in as big a rush to go home as Mr. Hill.”
“Glad to hear she’s improving.” Not meeting her eyes, he nodded. “Guess I’ll see you at the office.”
He turned and walked away.
Darby bit the inside of her cheek. After his pretending to love her all weekend, his can’t-get-away-fast-enough attitude contrasted starkly.
It hurt.
Hurt that she suspected she’d forever lost the easy camaraderie she and Blake had always shared.
What did he expect? That if he acted normal she’d think the weekend had meant something? She knew it didn’t. She knew he was a highly sexed man. After all, she’d benefited from all that experience. Repeatedly.
Then another thought hit her. Had she been so bad that he couldn’t even meet her eyes? Surely not, or he wouldn’t have made love to her again on Sunday morning? He had been right there with her, every kiss, every touch, and he had wanted her. He couldn’t have faked the desperation with which he’d taken her. He’d been driven, wild, as if he were branding her as his own.
Or was that how all men were when a naked woman squirmed on top of them? Maybe it wouldn’t have mattered who she was, or how good or bad she’d been, just that he got sexual relief?
She just didn’t know, and Blake hadn’t wanted to talk to her on the drive home or after they’d gotten to her apartment and he’d helped carry her things inside. He hadn’t even come into her apartment—just set her suitcase inside the front door and skedaddled as if he was worried she’d knock him over the head and drag him to her bed if he lingered.
Why had that hurt so much? Why had she cried herself to sleep for a second night in a row?
When she got to the office, she found exactly what she’d expected to find. A desk piled with things for her to do.
Instead of starting the process of clearing the mountain of work she went to Blake’s office, and found him diligently making his way through his own mountain.
“Are you upset with me because of what happened between us?”
“No.” Clearly surprised by her candid question, he leaned back in his chair. “I’m upset with myself.”
“Why?”
“Because we crossed lines we shouldn’t have crossed.”
Which said it all. Blake regretted what they’d done. Everything he’d done since Sunday morning had said that he did. Which left her with two options: pretend she regretted what had happened or tell him the truth—that she loved him.
“Fine.” She shrugged. “We’ll forget this weekend ever happened.”
Blake’s eyes narrowed. “Can we?”
“I already have.” She lifted her chin, stared at him defiantly, her breaking heart well hidden beneath the professional veneer she’d perfected years ago. “Haven’t you?”
It had been a hell of a morning and this afternoon was promising to be just as trying. Blake’s schedule was packed, and he’d had one call after another from the hospital.
But the worst of it was that he couldn’t keep his mind on his work. No, any lull and his mind went to wondering about Darby.
She’d forgotten what they’d done?
If only he believed her.
If only he could get the memories of her body arched into his out of his head.
He couldn’t.
Last night he hadn’t slept, thanks to missing her warm body snuggled next to his. The night before, lying in a strange hotel room, hadn’t been any better. He’d never missed a woman before. Not in bed. He’d always preferred sleeping alone. Apparently that no longer held true.
He preferred Darby.
He’d missed the way she smelled—missed it so much he’d gone out to his car to retrieve the pillow she’d accidentally left in his SUV.
When he finally had gone to sleep it had been while holding her damn pillow, surrounded by her scent, dreaming of her eager kisses.
“Dr. Di Angelo?” His nurse caught him as he followed the patient he’d just finished seeing out of the exam room. “I put McKenzie Bartholomew into room four just then. She’s having an allergic reaction.”
Blake immediately stepped into the room, took one look at his patient’s enormous lower lip, and agreed with his nurse’s assessment. “What happened?”
“I’ve no idea. I was outside in our pool and my lips started tingling. A few minutes later my lip started swelling and we headed straight here.”
Blake looked over her medication allergies, stuck his head out the door and ordered an injection to be administered.
Taking his stethoscope, he listened to the girl’s heart and lungs. Although her heart-rate was slightly increased, at a hundred and four beats a minute, her breathing was normal, with no wheeze.
“My nurse will be in to give you some epinephrine, and I’ll be back in to check on you in a few minutes.”
He stepped out of the exam room, his gaze colliding with Darby’s the second he did so.
“Everything okay?”
“Fine.”
“Good.”
“Thanks.”
Having had enough of the monosyllabic dialogue, Blake took a deep breath and went into his next patient’s room.
A month later, Darby was examining the right arm of an older man with a bad combover. “You’re sure you didn’t hit your arm?”
The man’s hearing wasn’t the best, and he stared at her, clearly not comprehending.
“Your arm—did you hit it?” she repeated louder.
He shook his head. “My fingers started hurting first, then the pain moved up my arm. When I took my shirt off last night, this is what I saw.”
“This” being the dark purplish discoloration that ran from his shoulder to fade into his palm. The entire underside of his arm looked as if someone had beaten him.
“Have you accidentally taken extra of your blood thinner?”
Again he couldn’t understand her, and she repeated her question.
His blood had to be overly thin. There could be little other explanation for his unusual symptoms. Still, under normal circumstances she’d have sought out Blake for a second opinion.
This was ridiculous. No matter what had happened last month, they were still partners. Partners who barely spoke, but partners. When they did speak, it was usually Blake asking about her mother, about her trips to Armadillo Lake over the weekends to stay with her family. Occasionally they spoke about patients, but never did they mention what had happened.
Darby kept hoping, kept praying that he’d relax, would realize that what they’d shared had been special. Instead they only seemed to be growing further apart. Each day felt more tense than the one before.
She was tired of it. Tired of walking on eggshells. Tired of his ignoring her. Tired of feeling like she’d lost her best friend.
She wanted his opinion on a patient, and by golly she was going to get it.
She excused herself and poked her head into the room where Blake had just finished with a patient. “Can I see you for a few minutes?”
She saw his hesitation, saw his eyes narrow before he answered. “What’s up?”
“I�
�d like you to take a look at Clinton Rogers’ arm. I suspect his blood is too thin but the results aren’t back yet.”
“What’s going on?”
“No history of injury, but pain in his right arm eight on a scale of ten, that started at the base of his middle finger and moved up his arm. Started yesterday. When he undressed last night his arm was deep purple and felt cold to him.”
“Why didn’t he go to the emergency room?”
“You tell me.” Mr. Rogers should have gone to the ER, but he hadn’t. Now it was her job to decide if he needed to be admitted or if he could be treated at home, probably with vitamin K injections, pending his laboratory results.
Blake followed her into the room, examined Mr.
Rogers’ arm, then spoke loudly to the older man. “I’m going to drain this pocket of blood.”
Darby nodded. She’d planned to do the same, but had opted to wait until the laboratory results were back prior to doing so.
Gathering the supplies he’d need out of the exam room drawer, Darby handed Blake a ten milliliter syringe with a large-gauge needle attached. Their fingers brushed, their eyes met. Her breath caught and held.
“Blake?” She couldn’t hold back the emotion bubbling inside her. They hadn’t touched since that weekend, and instantly Darby was filled with longing, filled with memories of their making love.
His gaze narrowed, grew cold. He turned his back to her, explaining quite loudly to Mr. Rogers what he planned to do.
He’d snubbed her, rejected her all over again.
Darby’s hope that things would get better between them died a painful death.
She’d taken a chance the weekend of the reunion, and she’d lost. Lost not only the hope that Blake might someday love her, but lost him from her life completely—because she couldn’t stand this hostile environment.
Couldn’t stand to breathe the same air. Not when seeing him, smelling his spicy scent, hearing his voice, only served to remind her of what could have been had he only loved her.
She left the room, intending to check on Mr. Rogers’ lab results. Instead she found herself dialing Mandy’s number.
“Coulson Realty.” Mandy had gone to work at her father’s real estate company. “Mandy Coulson speaking.”
“Mandy, this is Darby Phillips. Is Mack Donahue’s place still for sale? I want to make an offer.”
The following week, Darby stared at the blue lines on the test.
Pregnant.
How could she be pregnant? She and Blake had used protection. Maybe the test was wrong. Although most accurate with an early-morning sample, she hadn’t waited. From the moment she’d realized her period hadn’t arrived last week, not knowing had driven her crazy.
No doubt about it. Even with the time of day, and only being a week late, the positive had been strong and almost immediate. Hcg hormone was present in her urine.
The implications caused her head to spin.
Pregnant.
She was having a baby.
There was a baby growing inside her body this very minute.
Her, a mother.
She’d have to schedule an appointment with her gynecologist.
She’d have to tell Blake.
Blake.
They’d made a baby together.
How would he react?
Not well. With each day that passed they grew further apart, making her long for the days of his teasing, making her long for his touch.
She missed him, hadn’t realized just how much time she’d spent with Blake until he’d blaringly exited her life.
Oh, he was still physically around. They worked in the same office, did rounds at the same hospital, but he went out of his way to avoid her and, unable to stand the regret in his dark eyes, the wince that often followed his seeing her, she’d taken to avoiding him, too.
Not only that, but she’d signed a contract on the house and five acres of the Mack Donahue estate in Armadillo Lake, and had been trying to decide just what that meant. She missed her family, was desperately needed in Armadillo Lake, but was she really planning to move home? Was she giving up on Blake?
She kept hoping they’d slip back into the easy relationship they’d always shared. After all, time healed all wounds.
Now she knew that was an impossibility.
They’d never go back.
When she told Blake she was pregnant, her news would forever destroy any hope of that.
She missed everything about him—his smile, his teasing, his wit, his friendship, his kisses. Everything.
Still, she had to think about the baby—a baby! His baby. She and Blake would have to talk, would have to figure out how they wanted to handle the future.
For her, abortion wasn’t an option. If Blake wanted her to go that route he’d have to think again. He wouldn’t suggest terminating her pregnancy, though.
Or maybe he would.
She just didn’t know anymore.
Knowing she’d been in the private bathroom she and Blake shared too long already, she picked up the plastic pregnancy kit, clenched the test tightly in her sweaty palm. She couldn’t leave the kit. Nor could she leave the wrapper.
Gathering up the test she’d taken from their small lab, she stuffed it into her purse and zipped the oversized bag to hide all evidence.
Planning to lock her purse in her desk drawer, she stepped into the hallway separating her and Blake’s offices.
They rarely shut their office doors, so as usual his was open. His voice carried out into the hallway.
“I’ll swing by and do rounds before I go home tonight.”
Darby’s gaze was drawn to where he sat at his desk. His dark head was bent, studying a paper on his desk while he spoke on the phone. Would their baby have his dark eyes and hair? His superb bone structure? His quick wit and smile?
The depth of emotion swamping her stunned her. Never had she considered getting pregnant, but she wanted Blake’s baby.
Unaware that she watched him, he initialed the paper, then flipped to the next. “Go ahead and draw another CBC. I’ll check the results when I’m there later.” He glanced up, saw her. His mouth tightened into a thin line of displeasure.
An intense longing for the days when he would wink or grin or motion for her to come into his office hit Darby.
She was pregnant.
With his baby.
Oh, Blake.
Of their own accord, her hands went to her belly.
His narrowed gaze lowered, widened, then rose to hers, full of wonder and question.
Darby’s stomach lurched. He knew.
She had never been good at hiding her emotions. Why would an unexpected pregnancy be the exception? She should have known Blake would take one look at her and know.
Whether or not she was ready to share her news, Blake knew.
They were going to be parents.
CHAPTER TEN
“I’VE got to go,” Blake told the nurse he spoke with, his gaze never moving from Darby’s guilty face. “I’ll take care of anything else when I’m at the hospital.”
An invisible hand kneading his insides, he hung up the phone and stared at the pale woman standing outside his office, watching him with mounting horror.
Was she?
Her mouth opened, almost as if she’d heard his silent question, but no words came out.
No denial. Only her hand lying protectively over her lower abdomen. Which was really the only answer needed.
Oh, hell.
Darby was pregnant.
His legs trembled at the implications of those three little words. Darby was pregnant.
His hands shook.
His stomach twisted.
His brain throbbed.
His heart squeezed.
Darby was pregnant.
Unsure if his legs would work, he pushed out from his desk, held on to the corner for support as he stood.
He was going to be a father.
Him.
He’d always
thought that someday he’d marry, have children, pass on his grandfather’s name—but now? Never had he had those thoughts in correlation with anytime soon.
“Darby?”
She shook her head, held up her hand to ward him off, almost as if she couldn’t catch her breath. Her eyes had widened to tumultuous deep blue seas.
Did she think he’d be angry at her?
Never.
If anything, he was angry at himself. Clearly he’d been the one with the experience. He had no one to blame except himself for their mistake. His eyes dropped to her belly and he winced.
Mistake.
The idea that he’d thought of his child, his baby, as a mistake sucker-punched him.
His grandfather would roll with shame. Nothing was more precious than family.
If Darby was pregnant, he’d accept that fate and embrace the future, embrace the baby they’d made together, and somehow they’d make it work.
“We need to talk.”
Her vocal cords apparently not working, she silently nodded, stepped into his office.
Blake shut the door behind her, not wanting their conversation to be overheard by any of their staff.
“You’re pregnant.” He didn’t ask it as a question. Not when he could so clearly read the truth on her face.
Her eyes searching his, she nodded again.
He didn’t ask if the baby was his. Didn’t ask how far along. He didn’t need to.
His thoughts reeling, he sank onto the corner of his desk. “How do you feel about that?”
Her face pinched and she found her voice. “What do you mean, how do I feel about that? I’m floored.”
Blake stared at her, wondering if he’d said the wrong thing. Hell, what was the right thing in this situation? Was he supposed to say he’d be there every step of the way with her? That he’d go to Lamaze classes and be in the delivery room? That he’d be an active father in their child’s life? Was he supposed to tell her that he was as floored as she was, but that this was their baby they were talking about and, floored or not, he’d be the kind of father he’d never had?
A million thoughts, a million questions, ran through his mind all at once. Questions he didn’t have the answers to. The woman who did have those answers stood before him with pink tingeing her cheeks.