Right by Her Side. Christie Ridgway

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СКАЧАТЬ then doodling, then drawing the concern of his domineering assistant and her henchmen, it was time to take a new tack in the negotiations.

      He sighed. “Cover for me, will you, Claudine? I might be out a couple of hours.”

      It was time to confront Rebecca Holley and demand—in concise, clear terms—what he wanted from her.

      Problem was, Trent thought a short car ride later, it was going to be hard to make any kind of demand to a woman sitting on the floor with a baby in her lap and a bigger kid hanging around her neck. Peering around a large poster announcing a children’s health fair in the hospital parking lot the following weekend, he watched her through the glass door leading into the crowded playroom on the Pediatrics floor. After another minute, though, he pushed open the door and walked in, because she was laughing and…and the happy expression on her face made him feel as if he hadn’t laughed since he was nine years old and Robbie Logan had gone missing while Trent was playing basketball in the rear yard.

      She glanced up as he strode into the room, the smile on her face dying. “Oh!”

      The last time he’d seen her, her face had been pale with fatigue and her eyes heavy with sleep, but now she looked flushed and alert. “Rebecca.” He nodded a greeting.

      She rose to her feet, cradling the baby in her arms. Trent noticed the little guy had two full leg casts and three teeth.

      “Gawaa!” Three-Teeth said, waving a fat arm.

      Rebecca’s cheek touched the top of the baby’s head, a caress so natural he wondered if she was even aware of it. “This is Vince, one of my pediatric OR patients,” she said, then looked down at the other child she’d been playing with. “And Merry.”

      “Nice to meet you,” Trent said, nodding again.

      Merry wiggled the fingers of her thin hand.

      Baby Vince made another wild gesture, a right hook that almost connected with Rebecca’s nose. “Gawaa! Gawaa!”

      “Right back at ya,” Trent murmured, coming close enough to capture the contender’s little fist. The baby grinned at him, then took Trent’s hand to his mouth to gnaw on it like a bone.

      “Oh, sorry.” Rebecca tried to step back, but Trent halted her movement by capturing one of her shoulders in his other hand. Beneath his palm, the small curve felt feminine, delicate, reminding him of how fragile she’d seemed when he’d helped her to her bedroom.

      “Have you been eating?” His voice sounded abrupt, he knew it, but thinking about her body beneath those dumpy scrubs was doing something to him…. Arousing him. Making him worried, because getting hot over a woman covered in pale pink with raspberry flamingos had to be the first symptom of some weird sexual perversion.

      “I’ve been eating fine,” Rebecca assured him. “And getting more rest, too.” Her face flushed as bright as those long-legged birds she was wearing and she glanced around at the kids and their parents who were involved with toys or puzzles or who were watching some kids’ show on the TV in the corner of the room. “I want you to know I’m sorry about dozing off on you the other night. I’ve never done that before.”

      “It’s all right.”

      “Well, thank you.” Her forehead wrinkled. “Is there…something you wanted?”

      He frowned. He wanted her response to his proposition, of course. Then he jumped, startled by the sharp nip Vince gave his knuckle. “Yowch!”

      The little guy grinned without an ounce of repentance. “Ga—”

      “—waa. I know, kid. And a gawaa to you, too.”

      Rebecca tried shifting the baby away, but Vince wasn’t having it. With another “gawaa,” he held his arms out to Trent, smiling so widely that a big dollop of drool oozed over his bottom lip.

      In one smooth move, Trent pulled his handkerchief from his pocket, dabbed off the kid’s chin, and then took him in his own arms.

      Rebecca blinked, then looked down at Merry, who looked back with the same surprise mirrored on her face. “So much for the big, bad businessman, eh, Merry?”

      The little girl hid her answering smile behind her hand.

      “Huh?” Trent lifted a brow. “Big bad businessman?”

      “Inside joke,” Rebecca said, not meeting his eyes. Then she glanced down at Merry again. “This is the man I told you about. The one who brought me those boxes for your playhouse.”

      “Oh.” The little girl darted a less-shy look in his direction. “Thank you.”

      “You’re welcome.” Then Trent frowned, irritated that they’d strayed so far from his purpose.

      Determined to get to it, he pinned Rebecca with an implacable stare. “Can we talk?”

      She blinked a couple of times. “Oh, um, sure. But I have to stay in the playroom. I told my friend Janet I’d cover for her—we have a nurse in here at all times.” She looked down and suggested to Merry that she serve herself a glass of juice and then watch TV. The little girl moved off and Rebecca reached for Vince.

      He huddled back against Trent’s chest. “Gawaa gawaa gawaa.”

      “Don’t worry about it. He just needs a little guy time.” Trent reassured the baby by hitching him closer.

      “Are you sure?” Rebecca frowned.

      “I’m used to babies.”

      “I can see that.” She shook her head as if it surprised her.

      But if she’d known his mother the way Trent did, it wouldn’t. Not that he’d been the perfect parental figure, either, but he’d done his best with the younger ones when he was growing up, when his father had spent all his time at work and his mother had spent all of hers doing as little as possible for her children. Trent would do his best with the child Rebecca was carrying, too.

      He followed her to a deserted corner of the playroom and waited until they’d both settled into facing, cushioned chairs. Then he broached the subject that had been weighing on him for the last forty-two, almost forty-three, hours. “What are your thoughts on my offer?”

      She froze. “Your offer?”

      “From the other night?”

      “From the other night?”

      There was either an echo in the room or she was stalling. “Rebecca—”

      “Why was your sperm at Children’s Connection?”

      The question caught him by surprise. “Morgan Davis didn’t tell you?” He’d figured the clinic’s director had spilled the whole story.

      She shook her head. “Only that it wasn’t donated for artificial insemination purposes.”

      Which led him to another question of his own. “Why did you go that route, by the way? You’re what—twenty-five?”

      “Twenty-seven.”

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