Right by Her Side. Christie Ridgway

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ of herself, she was…intrigued. Oh, fine. She was almost charmed. Who would have thought that this big bad businessman knew the details of his sisters’ pregnancies? “You’re, uh, well-educated.”

      He shrugged, then sat down and nudged the plate of food closer to her. “Well-informed is more like it. I’m the oldest in the family. I grew up wiping noses and doling out kiddie aspirin. I guess the younger ones still tell me when they don’t feel well.”

      “I’m the oldest, too.” But while her siblings had looked up to her as the big sister, they’d gone to Mom or Pop when they were sick.

      Instead of responding to that, he reached over to slap a piece of cheese on a cracker, then he lifted her hand and dropped the cracker on the flat of her palm. “Eat,” he commanded.

      “All right, all right.” Her first bite tasted heavenly, but then that fatigue turned into full-blown exhaustion. Each subsequent chew seemed to take more and more energy.

      “I spoke with Morgan Davis,” Trent said.

      Rebecca swallowed, a shot of adrenaline making her more alert. “And?”

      “And he explained there had indeed been a mix-up. They’re trying to track down the exact problem. He told me he’s concerned about the clinic’s reputation and potential legal problems. But Children’s Connection has done so much good that I’ve assured him I won’t sue. He said you told him the same.” Trent ran his hands through his hair. “So, I’m, uh, sorry about the way I reacted yesterday afternoon when you told me. I wasn’t expecting…”

      “That I was, and thanks to you?”

      He blinked, then laughed. “Yes. Exactly.”

      Rebecca smiled back at him; she couldn’t help herself. With the light of humor in his eyes, with that easy grin on his face, it was hard to think of him as the rich, powerful Trent Crosby who might threaten the happy future she’d planned for herself and Eisenhower.

      He was just a man, a caring man, who had brought her boxes and knew something about pregnancy. It was going to be all right, she thought, and then said it out loud. “It’s going to be all right.”

      Trent’s gaze swept over her, then around the kitchen. “Yes, I agree. I think it’s going to be fine.”

      Rebecca managed another sip of her tea, but her head felt so very, very heavy. Her pregnancy book said that tiredness in the first trimester was common, and she was tired. Very, very tired.

      “Rebecca?”

      At her name, her lashes lifted. Had she dozed off? Her face flushed. It wasn’t like her to fall asleep at the table, not to mention in the company of a man she didn’t know, a man she couldn’t afford to trust so soon—if ever. “Yes?”

      He was pulling her out of her chair. “Let me help you. You look beat.”

      Her feet must have been moving, because she was leaving the kitchen. Trent had his arm around her and she could smell the scent of him. It was spicy, good, and if she wasn’t so very sleepy, she might like to bury her nose against the tan column of his throat.

      “Let’s get you to your bedroom, Rebecca.”

      Her feet stopped moving. “What?”

      He chuckled. “Don’t rouse yourself. I just want to help you to bed before you start snoring on your kitchen table.”

      “I don’t snore,” she protested. But he wanted to help her. That sounded nice. And she thought maybe she could trust him to do it, because he was an older brother and knew about prenatal vitamins. “This way to my bed.” She managed to point with a limp finger, and then her hand fell.

      He laughed again, then directed her down the short hallway to her small room. Rebecca didn’t think about how shabby it must look in his eyes. She only thought about the bed and her pillow and how good she’d feel under the light weight of the last blanket her mother had ever crocheted.

      In moments it was just as she imagined. Trent must have taken off her shoes—she knew she didn’t have the energy for it—because her toes wiggled freely as he stood beside the bed, looking down at her.

      “Good night, Rebecca Holley, R.N.”

      “Good night, Trent Crosby.” Big bad businessman—not. “Sorry we didn’t get to talk more.”

      But they would, because he was a nice man. A trustworthy man who would stay out of her and her baby’s life when she asked him to. Which she would. A yawn nearly cracked her jaw in two.

      He lingered.

      “Is there something you wanted to say?” she asked, the words slurring as her eyes drifted closed. “Sorry, but I worked a long shift and I’m so, so tired.”

      “I can see that. And I have a solution to our problem that I’d like you to think about.”

      “Mmmmm.” She wasn’t even sure he was still nearby, or that she was still awake. Tomorrow she’d think about how she could relax with a stranger in her room. Oh, but that answer was easy, because he was trustworthy, after all. She knew that now.

      So she let herself slide into slumber. His last words drifted into her ears and then drifted out before they could trigger a nightmare.

      “Once you have the baby,” Trent’s voice said, “if you give custody to me, I’ll give you half a million dollars.”

      Sitting at his desk, Trent doodled on a pad, then caught himself and threw down his pen in disgust. He didn’t doodle!

      He refocused his attention on the report opened in front of him. It wasn’t any more interesting than it had been five minutes before, but he made himself read every damn word. Then he checked the time again.

      Two-thirty. Forty-two hours. He hadn’t seen or heard from Rebecca Holley in forty-two hours. Well-practiced in negotiation, he knew the next move was hers, but the waiting was driving him nuts. Admitting his concentration was shot, he pushed up from his chair and headed out of his office.

      Claudine looked up from her desk, situated a few steps from his door. “Have we finished going over the departmental reports?”

      He gave her his best malevolent glare, all the while blessing her for offering the distraction. “Again? How many times do I have to tell you not to refer to me as ‘we’?”

      “It’s the royal ‘we,’” she replied. “Because you’re a royal pain in the patoot.”

      He would have laughed, but he didn’t like giving her the satisfaction. Instead, he stalked past her.

      “Where are you going, your majesty?” she called out.

      “Human Resources. To get the necessary forms to have you fired.”

      “Without me, you couldn’t find Human Resources, let alone fill out one of their forms.”

      “Shrew.” He strode into the hall.

      “Despot.”

      Still СКАЧАТЬ