The From Paris With Love And Regency Season Of Secrets Ultimate Collection. Кэрол Мортимер

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       CHAPTER ELEVEN

      TWO NIGHTS LATER, Tyler wasn’t settling in his cot as he usually did after a bath and a story; he was just grizzling and looking unhappy. It didn’t look like teething, because although his cheeks were red he wasn’t dribbling. Emmy laid her fingertips against his forehead and bit her lip. He felt a bit too hot for her liking.

      Where was the thermometer?

      She looked through the top drawer of Tyler’s dressing table. Ally had shown it to her when she’d bought it. All she had to do now was put a thin plastic cone over the tip of the digital thermometer, place it in the baby’s ear, and press a button.

      Except she couldn’t get the thermometer to switch on.

      Oh, no. And she had a nasty feeling that they didn’t have any spare batteries that would fit.

      Although it was her night on duty, she wanted a second opinion—especially as the thermometer was out of action.

      ‘Shh, sweetie, we’ll do something to make you feel better,’ she said, scooping the baby up and holding him close. She carried him down to the living room, where Dylan was working on his laptop.

      ‘Sorry to interrupt you,’ she said, ‘but I need a second opinion.’

      ‘What’s up?’ he asked.

      ‘The thermometer battery’s run out and we don’t have a spare. Does Tyler feel hot to you, or am I just being paranoid?’

      He felt the baby’s forehead. ‘No, he feels hot to me, too. What do we do now? Where’s the book?’ He grabbed The Baby Bible and looked something up in the index. He frowned as he swiftly read the relevant page. ‘Do we have any baby paracetamol?’

      ‘It’s in the kitchen with the medicine cabinet.’

      ‘Good. We need to give him that to help bring his temperature down, and while that’s working we have to strip him down to his vest and sponge him down with tepid water.’ He held out his arms for the baby. ‘I’ll give him a cuddle and sing to him while you go and get the stuff. I’ll meet you in the bathroom.’

      The baby was still crying softly when Emmy came upstairs with the baby paracetamol and the syringe. Dylan had taken the babygro off and was rocking Tyler and singing to him.

      Dylan glanced at the syringe and his eyes widened. ‘What, we have to give him an injection?’

      ‘No. The instructions say it’s easier to give medicine to babies with an oral syringe than a spoon,’ she explained.

      ‘Right.’

      Between them, they managed to administer the medicine, then sponged the baby with tepid water.

      ‘Sorry, I interrupted you from your work.’ She blew out a breath. ‘It’s my shift, and I should be able to cope. It’s just... This is what keeps me awake at night. I worry about him. I worry that every cough and sneeze will turn into meningitis. That he’ll die and it’ll be all my fault for not looking after him properly.’

      ‘Emmy, he doesn’t have meningitis. He doesn’t have a rash.’

      ‘There isn’t one at first. We could blink and he’ll be covered in purple stuff that won’t go away when you press a glass against it.’ She’d read all the books. She knew the signs. And she had nightmares about it. Terror that made her breathing go shallow.

      ‘We’re both keeping an eye on him, so we won’t miss anything between us.’ He rested his fingertips against her cheek, his touch calming her. ‘Deep breaths, Emmy. He’s not going to die and you’re doing a great job of looking after him. And don’t apologise for interrupting me.’ He cradled the baby tenderly. ‘He’s not well, and he needs to come first. I would’ve done the same if it was my shift.’

      ‘I’ll get him a drink of cooled boiled water. It might help him feel better.’

      ‘Good idea. It must be some sort of bug. There are quite a few people at work with rotten colds.’ He looked stricken. ‘Oh, no. I probably brought the germs home with me.’

      She shook her head. ‘It’s not your fault, Dylan. He could have caught a virus absolutely anywhere.’

      Three hours later, the baby was fast asleep, but Emmy was still worried about him. ‘I think I’ll sleep in his room tonight.’

      ‘You’re not going to get a lot of rest on the floor,’ Dylan pointed out.

      ‘I know.’ She sighed. ‘Or maybe I’ll bring him in with me. Except I’m a bit scared of rolling over in the night and squishing him.’

      He looked at her. ‘If it was my shift tonight, you still wouldn’t be able to sleep because you’d be worrying about him, right?’

      ‘I guess so.’

      ‘Don’t take this the wrong way,’ he warned, ‘but maybe we could both look after him, tonight. I do trust you—of course I do—but this is the first time he’s been ill since we’ve been looking after him, and it worries me.’

      ‘Me, too,’ she admitted.

      ‘We could take two-hour shifts, so one of us stays awake and keeps an eye on him while the other of us has a nap,’ he suggested

      She nodded. ‘But it isn’t fair to keep moving him between our rooms—and, as you said, the nursery floor isn’t that comfortable.’ The sensible course was obvious. But actually saying it... She took a deep breath. ‘OK. Your bed or mine?’

      Dylan gave her a rueful smile. ‘I never thought I’d hear those words from you, Em.’

      ‘Believe you me, I never thought I’d say them to you,’ she said dryly. ‘And this is only because we both need to look after him. I’m not coming on to you.’ Though even as she said it, she felt her face flood with colour. She was horribly aware that, in another life, she would be coming on to Dylan—because she liked the man he’d become. And she definitely found him attractive.

      Which was why she found her most frumpy pair of pyjamas before she showered, just to make the point that there was nothing sexual about this. She felt amazingly shy СКАЧАТЬ