Читать книгу Emergency Engagement - Michele Dunaway - Страница 9

“Come on, Quinton. Don’t be such a fuddy-duddy. At least stay for the stripper.”

Quinton lowered the half-empty bottle of beer. He really wanted to go home. Bachelor parties weren’t exactly his thing, and worse, they reminded him, that, unlike most of the men in the room, he wasn’t married. Not that Quinton was in a hurry to settle down and get married. That was what his family wanted him to do. But Quinton wanted the whole fantasy of love ever after, and was prepared to spend his life alone if he didn’t find it. A man didn’t marry because he was afraid of being alone. A man married because he’d found his perfect mate for life.

Unlike Bill, age forty-five. His bachelor party was for his second marriage. The first Mrs. Webber now enjoyed a house and a new BMW courtesy of her wealthy ex. The bride-to-be was twenty years younger than Bill. No, that type of relationship wasn’t for Quinton.

He wanted a woman who loved him for him. He wanted the whole heart and soul, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, death-do-us-part thing. He wanted the fairy tale. Hell, he wanted what, in reality, probably didn’t exist.

Quinton twisted the bottle in his hand. Maybe he shouldn’t have been a doctor, especially one with ER duty. Doctors experienced too much negative reality. Jaded, Quinton knew the fairy tale was fake.

Unlike Carly Johnson. At four years of age, she had confused him for a prince. He was no prince. Quinton shook his head. Eight days had passed since Carly left the ER, and her small face still haunted him. She’d been pale but undeniably brave after her body had begun to purge itself of the liquid charcoal.

She’d even hugged him as she left, her small arms finding and tugging at the heartstrings he kept safely hidden. At that moment he’d looked into Beth Johnson’s blue eyes and seen tears. Not tears of happiness, but of something else he hadn’t been able to catch before she’d lowered her lashes and hidden the emotions. Images of Beth had haunted him, too, and that had never happened before. They remained as fresh as on the day they met—

“She’s here,” Larry said, interrupting Quinton’s thoughts. “At least stay for this. Bill won’t understand if you walk out early.”

“Fine.” Quinton tossed the empty bottle into a trash can. He could use the time to sober up a bit. Although he’d only had two beers, he rarely imbibed any alcohol, and he could definitely feel its effects. Besides, even though he disliked strip shows, maybe the tawdriness of it would help dispel his memories of the Johnsons. Quinton followed Larry into the family room and both men took a seat on the sofa.

“Everyone here?” Mike, one of the senior doctors in the practice, glanced around the room. “Great. Well, Bill, this little show’s just for you, to give you a hint what you’re giving up by being dumb enough to tie the knot again!”

Hooting and hollering followed as a woman entered the room. The large-brimmed hat she wore shadowed her face, and a tan trench coat covered her body. She set a boom box down, pressed a button and the music began. Catcalls resounded as she rotated her hips sensually. At the same time, she began to peel off her gloves, then tossed one of them over the head of the guy nearest to her. He responded with a loud whistle.

Quinton reached forward and, from the dish on the coffee table, grabbed a handful of peanuts. He should have left. He just hated these displays, they always embarrassed him. His highly moralistic mother had ingrained in him a sense of gentlemanly dignity and appreciation of a lady. Thus, he’d never been able to understand how a woman could sell her body to make money.

Deciding to take a clinical approach to the stripper, Quinton leaned back against the sofa and studied her as he had those pornographic films years ago during a six-hour-straight pornographic films desensitization exercise in med school.

Her hat still hid part of her face, but the trench coat had been loosened to reveal her black lace outfit underneath. She did a maneuver in which she dropped to sit without a chair, and Bill grinned widely. The beer Quinton had had suddenly tasted old and pasty in his mouth. She stood up, flashed the crowd by opening and closing her trench coat, then simply opened the coat and let slip off her shoulders.

The words to the song were something about leaving the hat on but she tilted it up and away from her face. Once she turned around Quinton would be able to see her. But she arched her back and pivoted.

The trench coat fell to her feet and all the men except for Quinton hollered. Instead, he swallowed. Despite his clinical aloofness, the body underneath the black lace outfit appealed to him. The woman didn’t have a perfect body, but her warm full curves made his fingers itch to touch them. She unhooked a garter belt and Quinton felt himself strain against his jeans. She straightened, and with a flick of her wrist, she finally sent the hat flying. Dark blond hair tumbled from beneath the hat and spread over her shoulders. Then she turned.

And Quinton froze.

Those lips. That nose. Those blue eyes. They’d stayed with him for the past two weeks.

He was on his feet in a second, next to her in maybe one more. She began to loosen a strap. “Stop,” he said. He placed a hand on her arm.

For her to register that he wasn’t just some drunk frisking a feel took a moment. Beth swatted Quinton’s hand away. “What are you doing?” She kept her voice low, so only he could hear.

“I’m getting you out of here.” He couldn’t believe the force behind his words. To hell with the boos from his friends and acquaintances. They were married or about to be. They didn’t need a peep show, especially of her. Hell, most of them wouldn’t remember her face five minutes after she left.

What kind of a mother was she, anyway? He could still picture Carly’s innocent eyes.

“Cut it out, Quinton. Whatcha doing?” someone called.

He really didn’t know, nor did he answer, but like a possessed man, he circled Beth’s wrist with his fingers and dragged her toward the kitchen.

“Let go of me,” Beth said as she wrenched herself away. “I don’t appreciate what you think you’re doing. I have to finish my job—”

At that moment she recognized him. “Oh.”

“‘Oh’ is right. Your job’s finished.”

“Quinton?” Larry poked his head around the cabinets. “Is everything okay?”

“Move on to the porno flicks or something. She won’t be finishing. And bring me her stuff, will ya?”

“What do I tell Bill?”

“Make something up.”

“You can’t do this,” Beth said.

“I just did,” Quinton said, as Larry returned with Beth’s things. “You had me so fooled.” He shook his head savagely as he tossed her trench coat at her. “Let’s go.”

“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me…”

She must have seen the look in his eyes, for she headed toward the door. After telling Larry to make his excuses, that he’d explain later, he was right on her heels.

“Where’s your car?” he demanded as they exited the building, his gaze roving the street.

“I took the L,” she said.

“Then get in mine,” he said. One hand still on her arm, with his free hand he fumbled for the remote and unlocked his Mercedes. When he reached for the door handle, she pulled away.

“Stop this. I’m not going anywhere with you. You’ve screwed everything up! Don’t you get it? I had a job to do and—”

“Job’s over. I’m taking you home. You won’t go back inside.” He glared at her, and she glared right back.

She must have believed him, though, for she said, “I can get home by myself. I don’t even remember your name.”

“I’m Quinton Searle. You can call me Quinton.” His jaw set in a stubborn line. “And I’m taking you home.”

Her chin came up as she held her ground. “I can take care of myself. You are not my keeper. I got here, didn’t I?”

More possessiveness swept over him, even surprising him. “That’s irrelevant. I’ll drive you. In that getup at this time of the night you won’t even make it to the L station without being accosted.”

“Isn’t that what you’re doing?” Her ice-blue eyes blazed, and Quinton felt something inside him stir.

Damn, but she did things to him. Exactly what he wasn’t certain, but he’d never yanked a woman out of a party before, much less a stripper. “I’m not attacking you. I’m saving you.”

“Yeah, right,” she said, but to his relief she complied and got in the car.

His respite from her verbal attack lasted mere seconds.

“You do realize that you just cost me five hundred dollars.”

Quinton gripped the leather steering wheel tighter. Was that all her display was worth? His boat slip at Belmont Harbor cost more. Her chest heaved and the coat parted slightly. Quinton forced himself to keep his eyes on the road.

“You shouldn’t be stripping. You have a child. You have a moral example to set.”

“Oh thank you for that lecture, Mr. Moral Majority. How dare you accuse me of being a bad parent!”

He hadn’t thought so in the ER. There, her love and tenderness for her child had impressed him. Seeing this side to her tarnished that earlier image and he lashed out.

“In two weeks I’ve observed two examples of your unfit parenting! Your little girl gets into your purse and eats medicine, and then I find you at a bachelor party shucking your clothes. That’s pretty cut-and-dried to me, lady.”

“You’re a jerk and I’d never be your lady! Hell, I wouldn’t even want to be your sister.”

“That’s good. My sister’s a lawyer and getting married to a banker in four weeks. I doubt Shelby’s ever taken off her clothes before multiple men in her life.”

“‘Ye who are sinless toss the first stone,’” Beth said.

“I will,” Quinton replied, then snapped, “Where do you live?”

She rattled off an address. His eyebrows rose and he glanced at her. “You must do well. Pretty high-end, isn’t it?”

Bitterness etched her features. “So high-end they’re converting to condos and tossing out all the trash like me. And thanks to your interference tonight, I won’t have the money to afford a security deposit for something else.”

“Maybe you should get a real job.”

“Maybe you should mind your own business.”

He should. He shouldn’t care, but the objectivity he had cultivated his whole life had fled. “I did once already. I could have hotlined your daughter’s drug ingestion. Gotten Social Services on your tail. Hell, if I’d known you stripped for a living I would have.”

“I don’t strip for a living. I have a job!”

“You have a real job?” Even he heard how sharp he sounded, but he couldn’t contain himself. “So tell me about your real job. Convince me why I shouldn’t call Social Services anyway.”

“You double-standard…uh! You think you’re so high and mighty being a doctor and all, and there you were at a bachelor party! How many drinks did you have? Maybe I should flag down a cop. Have you tested for DWI.”

“You do that.” The effects of alcohol had fled and Quinton knew he was well below the legal limit. He never even would have considered driving otherwise. To his satisfaction, she settled against the leather seat with a thump. “Didn’t think so.”

“I realized it would mean more time in your undesired presence.” Her voice, although lowered in volume, still had an edge to it.

Despite himself, he grinned. “Touché.”

He parked the car by the curb outside her apartment building, right next to a sign announcing that the building was ninety-percent sold. She hadn’t been lying about it being converted to condos, pricey ones at that.

“I’ll walk you up so that no one sees you. Your neighbors don’t know of your occupation, do they?”

Beth’s blue eyes flashed as she held her temper in check. “For the last time, I am not a stripper. This was a one-time job that a friend arranged. I would have received five hundred plus any tips or bonuses.” Defeat filled her voice. “You’ve messed everything up.”

She stormed ahead of him, and he noted that the outer door wasn’t locked. Not a very secure building. He followed her up to the second floor, and when she began to open her apartment door, the neighboring one opened. An elderly lady stuck her head out.

“Hi, Beth. You’re home early.”

“Yes,” Beth said. She kept her back to Quinton as she spoke to the woman.

“Well, Carly’s fast asleep. Why don’t you just leave her until morning? Oh. That annoying Mr. Anderson came by tonight and dropped an official-looking letter under your door.”

“Great.” Beth threw her hands up into the air. “I asked him for more time, at least until the end of the month. Obviously not.”

The neighbor looked sympathetic. “I told you that I’d store your stuff for you and that you can stay with me for a while. I told you I’d help you out any way I can.”

“No. That’s really sweet of you, but I can’t. Really.”

“Beth…”

“How about we talk about this tomorrow, when I get Carly?” Beth glanced at Quinton, and the elderly lady’s eyes radiated understanding.

“Okay, dear.” The woman closed her door.

As Beth opened her front door, Quinton glimpsed an envelope on the floor. As she stooped to grab it, impulse made him lean forward and snatch it first.

“Give me that!”

He held it up out of her reach. “I will when you tell me what’s in it. The papers your neighbor mentioned?”

“Of course you would be the type to listen to other people’s conversations. Yes, as a matter of fact, they’re my eviction papers. Now, you’ve done more than enough tonight. Hand me that and go away. Please.”

She held out her hand and Quinton reluctantly placed the envelope in her outstretched fingers. She pressed it to her chest as if afraid he might change his mind.

“How long do you have?” he asked.

“None of your business,” she snapped.

“How long?”

She shifted her weight to the other foot. “By noon Tuesday.”

Could a landlord do that? “That’s only three more days.”

“Impressive. You can do math and yes, this is my final notice. He’s been extending when I have to leave. I guess he just got tired of helping me this time.” Beth tapped her foot impatiently. “Now that your curiosity is satisfied, just go.”

As she stepped inside the apartment, Quinton had a raw need to make everything better somehow. He shook his head vigorously. She was not his charity case. She’d been stripping at a bachelor party, for goodness’ sake!

“Good night,” she said.

And with that, she shut the door firmly in his face.

Quinton stared at the closed door. Was she peering through the peephole to see if he was still there? He turned and walked away. Once, as his foot hit the step before the lower landing, he paused and thought about going back up. But what he would say or do when he banged on her door? Apologize? For what? Interfering? No, the best thing for him to do was to walk out of Beth’s life and regain his detached professionalism and leave her an aberration of his past.

“ARE YOU SURE you don’t have anything?” Beth demanded.

The woman behind the desk smiled sympathetically. “Not for a mother and a small child. Try the Adams Center down the street. Being the start of winter, we’re full, but I’ve placed you on the waiting list. You’re number three.”

Beth stood and began the five-block walk back toward Luie’s Deli. Number three on the waiting list wasn’t good enough; she needed to be number one. And she’d already tried other shelters, but because Chicago had just had its first real cold snap, everything was full. Some new year she was having. Tomorrow Mr. Anderson would change the locks and anything left in the apartment would be tossed out with the garbage.

One month’s rent was enough to avoid going to the shelter, and she had that saved. But without the security deposit, she’d had to pass on the apartment she’d found. Damn that interfering Dr. Quinton Searle!

“Hey, Beth.” Nancy, Beth’s boss, glanced up as Beth returned to the deli. “Laney just called. She’s caught in construction traffic around Midway and can’t make it back in time. I need you to deliver this for me.”

“Sure.” Beth didn’t even shed her trench coat. She simply picked up the box of food. The aroma of the garlic bread drifted up to her nostrils. Although she’d just been on her lunch break, she hadn’t eaten. “Where to?”

“The doctors’ medical building. Right by the hospital. Lunch for the office staff or something. The address and suite number are on the order. Take the car. When you get back you can start on the pies.”

“Okay.” Beth accepted the keys Nancy handed her. The pies that Beth was to bake for tomorrow’s event could wait an hour. Serving hot food was much more important.

She found the medical building easily; it was across from the hospital where she’d had the misfortune of meeting the seemingly illustrious Dr. Quinton Searle. Any pediatrician could have prescribed liquid charcoal, why had fate insisted she meet him?

Beth double-parked the car, left the flashers on and entered the building. Chicago Pediatrics had its offices on the seventh floor, and the box seemed to grow in weight as the elevator kept stopping to load and unload passengers at every floor. Finally, she stepped out of the elevator to find a solid mahogany door surrounded by beveled glass windows on each side marking the entrance to suite 712. She pushed open the door and walked up to the reception window. When she tapped, the glass slid back.

“Delivery from Luie’s Deli.”

The immaculate young brunette behind the desk brightened. “Great. Bring it in, will you?”

The large box containing many bags of food was now a lead weight.

The brunette pointed. “At the end of the hall and to the right you’ll find the staff kitchen. The food is paid for, isn’t it?”

Beth juggled the box so that she could check the ticket. “Yes.”

“Great. Then just set it on the counter. There’s an exit door to the left of the kitchen. You can go out that way.”

“Thanks.” On her trek down the long corridor she passed a few open rooms and noted others remained closed, the charts in plastic boxes and the colored metal flaps above the doors indicating patient status. The door to the last office she was about to pass was partially open.

“Libby will be right in to administer the shot. Be sure to call if there’s any reaction. I’ll see you for the six-month checkup.”

Beth froze. No. It couldn’t be. But walking out of the patient room was none other than Dr. Quinton Searle.

For a moment Beth looked furtively around, wishing that she could just dart into a patient room and hide for a few minutes. A nurse appeared and Quinton turned away from Beth before he saw her. Beth shifted her heavy box, mumbled an “Excuse me” and passed behind Quinton’s backside.

Within seconds she’d located the kitchen and deposited the box. She took a moment to stretch her tired arms.

With a deep breath she made for the hallway, but suddenly a large white object filled the doorway.

“I THOUGHT THAT was your voice.” Quinton stared at Beth. He felt his brow furrow. Had she become thinner since he’d last seen her? “What are you doing here?” Mentally he kicked himself. That had sounded dumb, which her answer “—Delivering food—” confirmed. She drew her chin up defiantly. He ignored it. “Your real job is delivering food?”

“Gee, I come in here with a box of food. What would you think? No strip show opportunities here. Now, if you don’t mind, I have to get back. The car’s double-parked.”

“Is the food paid for?” He was reaching under his coat for his wallet.

She tried to inch by him and stopped. “It’s paid for. I have to go.”

“Don’t we need to tip you?”

“Not unless you’re giving me the five hundred dollars you cost me Saturday night.” Beth marched forward, this time more determined to get through. “Now, I must leave. As I’ll already be homeless tomorrow because of your meddling, the last thing I need to do is lose my job on top of everything else. Besides delivering food I bake pies and cakes, and I’m way behind schedule. So please…” She gestured toward the door.

Quinton stepped aside and let her pass. A moment later she was gone, once again having walked out of his life.

The office manager approached. “Who was that?”

“Your food’s here.”

His office manager cocked her head. “Oh. She’s not the usual delivery girl.”

So Beth didn’t deliver food? Maybe she did bake. And had she said she’d be homeless tomorrow? A gnawing began in Quinton’s stomach as he remembered the eviction papers.

“Tell me, where did you order from?”

“Luie’s Deli. Canal Street.”

“Great,” Quinton said. He started for the exit. He had a break between patients and if he hurried he could catch her and—

“Dr. Searle.”

“Yes?” He turned back around. A receptionist stood there.

“Your mother’s on line three. Says it’s urgent.”

“Thank you,” Quinton said. His errand would have to be delayed. Mrs. Quinton Frederick Searle III—or Babs, to her friends—always indicated urgency whenever she called. Being a doctor’s wife herself, she was a pro at working the system.

Quinton knew that the only urgency his mother had was to see him wed.

In his office he picked up the phone. “Mom,” he said by way of greeting.

“Quinton! I was worried you were too busy.”

“I’m on my lunch break.”

“I’m not keeping you from eating, am I?”

Not unless she got long-winded. “No, I have a few minutes.”

The requisite sigh. “Oh, good. You do remember Shelby and I will be there this weekend, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Super. We have some shopping to do. Unfortunately, Susannah won’t be able to make it. You have asked her to wedding, haven’t you?”

Susannah Joelle Phelps was his family’s handpicked wife candidate for him. Twelve years younger than he was, Susie was twenty-three and in the throes of seeing all her best friends marrying. “No, I haven’t.”

“Quinton, please tell me you’re not being rude to Susie. She’s been waiting for you forever, and you’re getting old son, old.”

“I’m thirty-five, Mother, not dead. And don’t worry, I’ve sent my tux measurements already.”

“You better have. The wedding is Valentine’s Day weekend. Don’t even tell me that you didn’t schedule off the week between your father’s and my anniversary and your sister’s wedding.”

Quinton kept silent.

“You must be here, Quinton. There are family activities all week and you know your father really wants to talk to you. It’s past time to return home. He’s waited long enough, and, well, I’ve waited long enough. Once your sister is married the next thing on my agenda is organizing your wedding. I just want you happy. Susie and St. Louis would make a good combination.”

“I’m happy here, Mother. And no, with Bill on his honeymoon I can’t get away that week. I’ve already got people covering for me two weekends in a row.”

“Stop hiding away from your family responsibilities. You have obligations. You are a Searle. Have I not raised you right?”

Uh-oh. Here came the lecture. “Mom, my nurse just told me I have ten calls to return. We’ll talk soon.”

“You need to be in the week before the wedding.”

“I doubt that will happen.”

“We’ll talk this weekend. With my heart condition you know I can’t take this kind of stress.” Babs Searle definitely knew how to work the system. She’d always been over the top, a one-woman steamroller. But his father had asked Quinton to go easy on Babs because of her heart condition. And Quinton, although he had no desire to take over his father’s practice, did love and respect his father.

Thus, the words were out of his mouth before he could even think to stop them. “By the way, I’m bringing a date to the wedding.”

“What?” Silence fell as both Quinton and his mother contemplated what he’d just said. “Did I hear you correctly?” his mother finally asked.

Well, in for a penny…” Yes,” Quinton said. “A date. But don’t get your hopes up.”

“So you aren’t serious?”

“Mom, I’m never going to be serious about Susie, either. Stop stringing the poor girl along. Just because all her friends are getting married doesn’t mean she’ll be an old maid. You and her mother can matchmake somewhere else.”

“Humph.” His mother exhaled. “I’m not sure I—”

“Got to go, Mom,” and with that Quinton hung up before she could get in another word.

He looked up to see Larry standing in the doorway.

“You have a date for your sister’s wedding?”

“No,” Quinton admitted. “But I have to do something or she’ll book the chapel and have the bride waiting the minute Shelby’s on her honeymoon.”

Larry grinned. “I still think I have my old black book somewhere if you want.”

“No, thanks,” Quinton said. An idea started forming in his head. He’d cost Beth Johnson five hundred dollars. Well, he had a way for her to earn it back and not have to shuck her clothes in the process. As she was the most inappropriate woman for his parents’ social circle he’d ever met, she’d be perfect for the job. He gave Larry a grin. “Believe me, I’ve got someone in mind who will get my mother off my back and not hassle me for a commitment afterward.”

“Those are the best kind,” Larry said.

WHEN QUINTON REACHED Luie’s that evening at six, the woman behind the counter told him that Beth had gone for the day. Quinton purchased a slice of chocolate cream pie anyway, and ate it before returning to his car. The pie had been sinful, and Quinton resolved to do sixty push-ups, ten more than usual, when he got home that night.

The drive from Luie’s to Beth’s building took approximately twenty minutes in traffic—walking the short distance would have been quicker. Again, someone had left the door unlocked, saving him from having to be buzzed in. He took the steps two at a time to her floor.

Nervousness suddenly filled him as he inhaled a deep breath and knocked.

“It’s open, Ida,” he heard Beth call.

Quinton turned the knob and entered.

The sparseness of the place instantly appalled him. She really was moving; she hadn’t been lying or exaggerating when she’d said she was being evicted. Boxes of stuff lined the walls, and faded rectangles of paint showed where pictures had once hung.

The apartment was tiny, probably one of the smaller units in the building. However the main room faced east, giving him a view of the Loop off in the distance.

“Ida, I’ve got most of everything—” Beth wiped her hands on her jeans as she came into the room. Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open when she saw him. She froze. “What are you doing here?”

“Auntie Ida?” Running at full speed, Carly almost knocked Beth over.

Carly managed to dodge her mother, and before Quinton could move forward to steady Beth, Carly had tossed her arms around his legs and had given him a huge hug. “Dr. Searle!”

“Are you all right?” Quinton asked Beth as she steadied herself.

“What are you doing here?” she repeated.

“Checking up on me!” Carly blurted. She hadn’t released her hold on his legs and her baby blue eyes gazed lovingly at Quinton. “I haven’t taken any more medicine, and we’re moving.”

“I can see that. Your mommy told me about it.”

“And I was serious,” she said.

“I know that now,” Quinton said. “Will an apology help?” Her expression told him no. “Where are you going?”

“A special place,” Carly interrupted. “It’s a surprise.”

Quinton reached down and gently detached Carly’s arms from his legs. “I bet it is a surprise. Are you all packed?”

“Almost. Everything is going into boxes except for some of my clothes. And my blankie. Those go in a suitcase.”

Quinton straightened and looked at Beth. She was staring at her child, and the pain in her eyes seared his heart. He’d caused this. She hadn’t been lying. He understood, what Carly didn’t—that her mother had no place to stay.

“What number are you?”

“Three at one place, six at another. But…” Beth pointed at Carly.

“I understand.” Little ears did not need to hear. “Is there someplace we can talk?”

“Here I am.” At that moment Ida appeared, and Beth was never so grateful to see her. “You’ve made some good progress. The movers will arrive at seven and I’ll supervise while you’re at work. You’ll be all gone by Mr. Anderson’s deadline.” Ida paused as she saw Quinton.

Beth wanted to groan at the speculation she saw in her elderly neighbor’s eyes.

“This is Dr. Searle,” Beth offered.

“He saved me from dying at the hospital,” Carly added.

“Well, I…” Quinton began.

“We met the other night but weren’t formally introduced. I’m Ida Caruthers.” She extended her hand and Quinton shook it. “It’s nice to meet you. Are you here to help Beth pack?”

“He’s here—he’s…” Beth found herself oddly relieved when Quinton simply took charge and said, “Ida, would you mind giving us a few moments alone?”

“Certainly. Come on, Carly. I have some ice cream in my freezer and I can’t eat it all.”

“Do you have sprinkles?” Carly asked.

“Oh, I’ll have to see what I can muster up. I may not have sprinkles, but I bet I have chocolate sauce.”

“Yum,” Carly said.

Moments later Beth found herself alone with Quinton.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Don’t be.” She was too tired for anger, too tired for anything but bittersweet regret. “I fought the good fight, but no one wins against fate.”

“Maybe you can.”

“No, I can’t. As of noon tomorrow I have to be out of here. I broke down and used the last of my money for movers and a storage facility. How I’ll ever scrape up enough for a security deposit and first month’s rent on a new apartment I don’t know.”

He’d caused this, and his conscience demanded he fix it. “Let me help.”

“You can’t.”

Sure he could. He could solve any problem he set his mind to, except perhaps with his family. “Let me pay your security deposit for a new apartment. I’ll even pay the first month’s rent. You can pay me back whenever.”

“I don’t take charity.”

“It’s not charity. Consider it a loan. A favor. In fact, you can repay me with one.”

Beth shook her head. “I won’t take loans. Not from individuals. They end up being charity. And I dislike favors. They have to be repaid at too high a cost.”

“Yet you’d strip to earn the money.”

“Stripping was work. Not politically correct, but honest. I’m not a hooker and I don’t strip bare. I’ve only done it a few times—a long time ago. It’s quick money. I needed that money. But I waited too long—I didn’t think Mr. Anderson would really evict me, not after the past few years I’ve had.” She swallowed.

She was so tired, so sick of fighting to eke out an existence. Still, she pressed on. “You wouldn’t know what it’s like to be poor, would you? You wouldn’t know how hard it is to put food on the table, to make sure your child doesn’t suffer. You wouldn’t know…” She suddenly saw two of Quinton.

Both Quinton’s spoke. “Beth, you don’t look good. You’re pale and…”

“I’m fine,” Beth said. “I’m just fine.” She was always fine. She couldn’t afford not to be.

And then, as if fate mocked her, the world went black.