Come Fly With Me...: English Girl in New York / Moonlight in Paris. Fiona Brand

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      He took a deep breath. ‘We’re not sure. Abraham looks kinda yellow. Carrie thinks he might be jaundiced.’

      ‘Who is Abraham?’

      ‘The baby. Who did you think I was asking about?’

      ‘Oh, so you’ve given him a name. Abraham—I like it.’

      ‘I’m glad I’ve got your approval. What about his colour?’

      ‘More common in breastfed babies—but not unusual. It could be jaundice.’ It was clear she was thinking out loud. ‘Could be serious if it’s appeared within twenty-four hours of birth—but then we don’t know that, do we?’

      ‘So what do we do now?’

      ‘Ideally, I’d like to check him over and draw some blood.’

      ‘Well, that’s not gonna happen any time soon. What should we do in the meantime?’

      ‘Monitor him—I mean, watch him. Make sure he feeds regularly and he’s not too sleepy. Don’t be afraid to wake him up to feed him. Let him get some natural light onto his skin. Put his crib next to the window and keep a close eye on his colour. If you think it’s getting worse—or he has any other symptoms—phone me, straight away. Check the whites of his eyes. If they start to turn yellow you need to call me.’

      Dan couldn’t help it. He lifted a sleepy eyelid immediately, much to the disgust of Abraham, who squealed loudly at being disturbed.

      Shana let out a laugh at the other end of the phone. ‘If he’s that annoyed, he’s doing okay. But let me know if you’re concerned.’ She ended the call abruptly—probably a thousand other things to do.

      Dan stared at the receiver in his hand. ‘She never even told me if she contacted social services,’ he murmured.

      ‘Probably too busy.’ He jumped at the quiet voice in his ear. He should have realised she’d stepped closer to him. The wave of wild flowers seemed like her trademark scent.

      He held his breath. Did she realise she was standing so close? Was there something, somewhere that kept pulling them closer together? Because it sure felt like it.

      Her gaze dropped to the floor and he was sorry, because he liked when she was so close he could see the other little flecks of colour in her cornflower-blue eyes. Tiny little fragments of green that you could only see up close. She tugged at the bottom of her sweater, obviously feeling a little self-conscious.

      ‘I heard a little of that,’ she said. ‘Shall I move his crib over to the window?’

      He nodded and she moved swiftly, pulling all the blinds up completely and drowning the room in the reflected brilliant white light from outside. He flinched, his hand on Abraham’s back. ‘Wow. Well, if that can’t beat a bit of jaundice I don’t know what will.’

      She turned around and shot him a killer smile.

      His reactions were automatic. Abraham was put down in the brightly lit crib and Dan found himself standing right at her side.

      He was obviously going stir-crazy. Being trapped in his apartment with a beautiful lady was playing havoc with his senses. He was going to have to try and find some other way to distract himself.

      All his usual self-control was flying out the window around Carrie McKenzie and he had no idea why.

      She was hiding something from him. And who could blame her? They hardly knew each other. He couldn’t expect her to tell him her every dark secret.

      But Dan’s instincts were good. Probably due to his experiences as a child. Experiences that had affected his ability to form real, trusting relationships with women.

      So why was it that the first time he ever really wanted to get to know someone, he picked the one woman who was clearly hiding something? Was he crazy?

      He had to do something—anything—to distract himself from all this. ‘Any plans today, Carrie?’

      She folded her arms across her chest. ‘Apart from strapping on my jet pack to fly across New York, get to work, put in a ten-hour day, find some groceries and clothes for a stranded baby, no, nothing at all.’ She was shaking her head, staring out at the five-foot-deep snow. She was obviously as stir-crazy as he was.

      He waved his pink cast at her. ‘Well, I’m going to go swimming. Then I’m going to strap on my skis—can’t waste good snow like this—and finally I’m going to ship Shana over here to check out Abraham and make sure he’s okay.’ He gave her a little smile. ‘And if she could bring some beers, sodas and a fresh pizza, that would be great.’

      Carrie leaned against the window and sighed. ‘What are we going to do all day?’

      ‘If we can’t play our imaginary games?’

      Carrie counted off on her fingers. ‘We could have a soapathon. You know, watch all the soaps that you haven’t for years. Watch them all day.’ Her brow wrinkled. ‘I don’t really know the names of any of the soaps in America. Are they any good?’

      He shook his head. ‘Next idea.’

      She looked around. ‘We could reorganise. Everyone needs a spring clean. It could be the perfect time.’

      ‘Get your hands off my stuff, McKenzie,’ he growled at her. ‘Anyway, haven’t you already realised there’s nothing in my cupboards to reorganise?’

      She laughed. ‘Okay. I didn’t think you’d go for that one.

      ‘Do you have games? Board games? I could challenge you.’ She could obviously see him racking his brain. ‘Chess?’ She was getting desperate.

      ‘I might have some board games. But they will be years old. Some are probably originals.’

      He walked over to a cupboard and went down on his hands and knees, crawling right inside. She heard some groans as some sports-kit bags, rackets and balls shot past her ankles. ‘Need some help in there?’

      There was a little cloud of dust followed by a coughing fit and Dan crawled out with a pile of games in his hands. He held them out towards her. ‘How about these?’

      She carried them over to the table. ‘Wow. You were right—some of these are originals.’ And even better than being originals, they all showed visible signs of wear and tear. It was obvious that these games had been used and loved at some point in their history. ‘I think these would be perfect.’

      He appeared at her side, a big smudge across his cheek. ‘What does the winner get?’

      She couldn’t help it. Her fingers reached up to wipe the smudge from his cheek. He froze, then caught her hand in his before she could pull it away. ‘What does the winner of this games tournament get?’

      His words were quiet this time, the jokey aspect removed, and she could sense the feeling hanging in the air between them.

      A whole variety of answers sprang to mind; some of СКАЧАТЬ