Merry Christmas, Babies. Tara Quinn Taylor

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СКАЧАТЬ as he straightened her legs against the cushions and grabbed a throw pillow for beneath her head. “I got dizzy there for a second.”

      She licked lips that looked chapped. He debated calling an ambulance.

      And he settled for her doctor.

      “Where’s your doctor’s number?” he asked, striding over to the phone.

      “I don’t need her.” Her voice sounded stronger.

      Hands on his hips, Joe stared at her. “Well, you clearly need something. What can I do?”

      “A bottle of water from the fridge might help,” she said. And then, when he was halfway to the kitchen, added, “And, Joe? There’s a box of crackers on the second shelf in the pantry by the stove. Would you mind bringing it, too?”

      He’d have felt better calling a doctor.

      TWENTY MINUTES LATER JOE conceded that she’d been right. While Elise still needed a shower and fresh clothes, her color—and her wits—were back to normal as she sat curled on one end of the couch, still munching away. She’d finished half of one of the four packs in the box he’d brought in since they’d been sitting there.

      “How long has it been since you’ve eaten?” he finally asked, half-amused as he sat across from her. Another minute and he’d go.

      “Last night.” She pulled one last cracker out of the tube and put the rest in the box. “But apparently the kids don’t like spinach and salmon. I don’t think they let me keep any of it.”

      That couldn’t be healthy.

      Nor could walking around ready to pass out at any moment.

      “Does your doctor know you live alone?”

      “No.”

      He’d expected an affirmative. Expected to find that there was some practical explanation for why she should be safe, alone, in her condition. He’d expected to be told that he was overreacting again.

      “She thinks you have a roommate?” She’d know the history of Elise’s pregnancy, surely, that she was a single woman who’d chosen artificial insemination as a means of procreating.

      “Or a live-in caregiver.”

      The hesitant way she spoke gave him pause. And with years of practice of communicating with Elise, if not reading her expressions, he filled in the blanks.

      “She told you it wasn’t safe for you to be here alone.”

      “She said it wasn’t wise.”

      Damn. Joe lost all appetite for a picnic lunch on the water.

      “Not so much because of the morning sickness,” Elise continued as he barely bit back the reprimand he needed to utter. “With four babies there’s the possibility of some complications—I told you this before.”

      “Yeah,” he muttered. What could possibly have driven her to do this to herself? Remembering that night more than a month ago when he’d met his longtime friend for the first time, he answered his own silent question.

      “That’s not to say there’ll be any,” she added quickly. “I could have a perfectly normal pregnancy.”

      “What are the odds?”

      She hesitated.

      “Of a perfectly normal pregnancy?”

      He nodded.

      “Three percent.”

      “Three percent?” Joe jumped to his feet and glared down at her—until he realized what he was doing. He sat down again, this time beside her on the sofa, and studied the class ring he’d worn since college.

      “Did she tell you this yesterday?” he asked more calmly, though inside he was still bouncing off the walls.

      He wasn’t going to lose her over this. Couldn’t she see that their lives were irreversibly linked?

      Elise peered at him as though assessing his emotional weather. “Two weeks ago,” she finally said quietly.

      This wasn’t like her. Not at all. Elise faced challenges head on. She always had a plan. She never procrastinated.

      “Were you planning to wait until you had a ‘complication’ before you did something about having a live-in caregiver?” he asked. He instantly regretted his sarcasm. She was an adult with a right to whatever life she wanted.

      His role was to support that just as she’d supported him all these years. Somehow.

      “I’ve been reviewing potential applicants for ten days.”

      Joe felt relieved. “And?”

      “I can’t afford anyone without a police record.” She chuckled as she spoke. Joe failed to see the humor.

      “The down payment on the office suite put you in a tight spot, didn’t it?”

      “That and the mortgage on this place,” she admitted. “A couple of years ago I tied up most of my funds in an IRA. I’d lose half of it to penalties if I cash in early.”

      A couple of years ago they’d seen their first sizable profits in the company. He’d invested a chunk, as well. “If you’d told me that buying the suite would be a hardship we would have held off.”

      “Look, I’m perfectly comfortable as long as I don’t see a huge increase in monthly expenses. Besides, we needed to move if we were going to continue to grow. Not only was there not enough space in the old offices for more staff, but with the kind of clients you’re bringing us, these millionaire business owners, we needed an office that would instill confidence.”

      They’d had several conversations to that effect, he knew, mostly at her instigation. They’d both taken a risk, expecting a payoff within the next eighteen months.

      “I could sell this place.” She glanced around, her eyes wide and unexpectedly childlike, but when she looked at him again she was her usual practical, calm self. “But not in time to hire someone immediately. I’d have to list, sell, close and move. And in another five months or so, I’m going to need the room. Anyway,” she added, her chin lifting, “I can afford this house. I make enough to provide everything I’m going to need for the babies. I just can’t afford a full-time nanny. Or a full-time companion for myself while I’m pregnant.”

      She’d been expecting one child, not four. A normal pregnancy, not one that was going to tax her body to the limit—and possibly beyond.

      “What about someone from the office? They all love you. Have you asked if anyone wants to move in here—just until the babies are born and you’ve got a routine established?”

      “Would you want one of your employees living with you? Hearing you puke by night and taking orders from you by day?”

      The sarcasm wasn’t like her.

      “No.”

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