Читать книгу Daddy By Accident - Paula Riggs Detmer - Страница 11

Four

“Please, please answer,” Stacy pleaded silently, but the phone on the other end continued to ring and nng. When the receiver began to feel welded to her ear, she reluctantly gave up and let the receiver drop into the cradle on the table by the bed.

“Nobody home?”

The voice was sand over steel and familiar. Her heart was speeding even before she turned her gaze toward the man who’d uttered the words.

Boyd was standing in the open doorway, looking ill at ease, as though unsure of his welcome. Was it the kiss? she thought suddenly. Had he regretted the impulse to show his support in such an intimate way? Or was he expecting her to be angry and bracing himself to apologize?

She felt her face warming at the thought of that very con trolled mouth relaxing over hers again. His breath had been flavored with strong coffee and restraint, yet for the briefest instant his lips had clung hungrily to hers as though he’d been the one in need.

Her breath caught, then whooshed out in an embarrassing rush. It was silly to feel all warm and cozy inside at the memory of a single kiss. A kiss she hadn’t been able to resent—or forget.

“Nobody home,” she echoed, curving her lips into what she hoped was a composed smile.

“Someone special?” He raised one thick golden eyebrow. It was the one bisected by a scar and added a hint of wry humor to the rough-hewn face. It was a deadly combination of brooding intensity and hidden sensitivity that tempted a woman to take chances and ignore risks.

“My downstairs neighbor. I was hoping he could bring me my purse and a change of clothes from my apartment.” She waved her hand to show him it wasn’t important “I’ll try him again later.”

He nodded and strode closer, bringing the scent of the outdoors into the small room. The rumpled look to his dark blue T-shirt and ragged jeans suggested he’d just come from the job site, as did the lines of weariness around his eyes. He needed a shave, she realized, and the dark blond stubble added rugged texture to an already unyielding jaw.

“How are you feeling?” he asked as he set a small brown paper bag in front of her on the bed tray.

“Psychedelic,” she said, indicating the multicolored bruises surrounding both of her eyes. “Too bad it’s not Halloween. I wouldn’t have to rent a costume.”

His mouth softened as though contemplating a smile that never came. “Give it a week and you’ll be back to normal.”

“I’ll settle for presentable,” she countered with a rueful smile that sent a sliver of pain into her right temple. “Ouch,” she muttered, pressing two fingers gingerly against the now-throbbing spot, and held her breath until the ache eased.

Mindful of keeping her head perfectly still, she lifted her lashes and found him watching her. “Everyone keeps telling me I’ve got to be careful, but who’d think the simple act of smiling would be dangerous?”

“Depends on who’s doing the smiling.” His gaze flickered to her mouth and lingered until she felt her lips tingle and then part. He frowned then, and jerked his gaze to the door, as though looking for an escape.

Surely this intensely masculine man who’d been so utterly cool in an emergency couldn’t be shy, she thought. Or could he? The thought both gave her pause and aroused her protective instinct.

“Would you...um, like to sit down?”

“Sure, I guess I can stay for a few minutes,” he said, after taking what seemed like forever to think it over. He glanced around, then pulled the chair closer before settling into the seat.

“Is this for me?” she asked, touching the bag touting Mac and Joe’s Famous Double-deckers. The thought of real food was making her mouth water.

“Yep. I figured you’d be pretty tired of hospital cuisine by now.”

“You figured right,” she admitted with a little laugh. “Four days of bland and boring is about my limit, even if it is good for Tory and me.” Without bothering to hide her eagerness, she opened the bag and inhaled the wonderfully sinful aroma of hamburger grease.

“I hope you ordered it with everything,” she said as she reverently lifted the foil-wrapped burger from the bag.

His eyes crinkled, lending an irresistible charm to his starkly male features. “Is there any other way?”

“Not in this lifetime,” she said with a hearty sigh before taking a bite. “Ambrosia,” she murmured when she’d chewed and swallowed.

The cheeseburger did indeed taste marvelous, but she couldn’t help wishing she had a serving of sauerkraut to go with it. Followed by a double scoop of peppermint ice cream slathered in fudge sauce.

Conscious that Boyd was watching her more closely than she at first realized, she made herself finish the entire sandwich, even though her stomach was threatening to rebel. The last thing she wanted to do was appear ungrateful for his kindness. And it was a kindness, she realized as she blotted her lips with the napkin she’d found tucked neatly beneath the hamburger.

She wanted to tell him she understood how difficult this must be for him, given the loss of his wife and child, but she was hesitant to bring up a painful subject, especially since she’d heard the story from a third person.

“If I were a cat, I’d be purring big-time,” she said instead, and hoped the smile she gave him expressed the depth of her appreciation.

“How’s the little one?”

His question was casual, even offhand, but Stacy caught the flash of strong emotion in his gaze when it had rested briefly on her tummy.

“Actually she’s been very quiet today.” She tried for a light tone as she added, “Dr. Jarrod was telling me this morning about the good luck they’ve had here with preemies.” Her hands trembled slightly as she returned the foil to the bag and crumpled both into a tight ball. “Of course, the odds would be more favorable if I could just make it into my ninth month.”

Boyd heard the quaver in her voice, saw the sudden shimmer of tears in her eyes and wanted to bolt. Try as he might, he’d never quite managed to numb himself to the sights and sounds of another’s suffering, which was just another reason why he made a better carpenter than doctor.

Uncomfortable and antsy, he shifted until he was resting one ankle on his knee. A few hours in that bard plastic chair could effectively wring a confession from a saint, he thought. And he was about as far from sainthood as any man could get.

“Jarrod is the best,” he said, and meant it. “If anyone can keep that little one where she belongs for another month he can.”

“Yes, so everyone here keeps telling me.”

“But you don’t believe it?”

She took a breath and straightened slender shoulders more suited to tailored silk than faded hospital cotton. “Yes, I believe it I have to believe it. Otherwise...”

She took a breath, then another, clearly struggling for control. She did her best to blink back tears but there seemed to be too many.

He felt his mouth go dry. The quick, determined smile had him shoring up walls he’d thought invulnerable. Worse, he was strongly tempted to bundle her poor bruised body into his arms and hug her until she felt safe and reassured again. Only the memory of the last time he’d held a woman had him backing down hard.

“There should be a box of tissues around here someplace,” she murmured, wiping her wet cheeks with her fingertips. Leaning forward, Boyd plucked one from the box on the small metal storage cabinet and handed it to her.

“Here, blow.”

“I went to a psychic once, right after I graduated from college,” she said between unladylike honks. “She told me I was an old soul, and therefore likely to be rather intense about things.” Finished with the tissue, she tossed it into the nearby trash basket.

Boyd heard the clatter of dinner trays and realized he’d stayed far longer than he’d planned. Determined to say goodbye and mean it this time, he glanced at his watch and was about to make his polite farewells when the RN on duty walked in.

Built like a bean pole topped with straw, Maureen Schultz was as professional as they came—and as irreverent. Nothing was sacred to her—except human life. As a nurse, she had no equal. The same could be said about her tendency to be a pain in the butt.

Spying him sitting next to the bed, she broke into a teasing grin. “My stars, the reclusive Dr. MacAuley has actually graced the halls of PortGen with his presence again.”

Even though her tone was light, he heard the unspoken questions. Was he still grieving? Still having nightmares? Still not returning phone calls from well-meaning friends?

“Still terrorizing the interns?” he inquired mildly as he got to his feet.

“Just the lazy ones.” Grinning, she reached for the blood pressure cuff in the wall holder. Widening her grin, she turned toward Stacy, who obediently held up her arm. “Would you believe this hulking brute was once the most promising resident we had on the surgical service?” she asked as she wound the cuff securely.

“I know he’s cool in an emergency.”

Boyd saw the quick took Schultz shot his way and gritted his teeth. Restless again, he ambled to the window and looked out on the parking lot. The mercury vapor lights cast an eerie blue aura over the cars lined up in their neat rows. How many of the visitors who had come in those cars had come to see near-strangers? he wondered. A half dozen, a couple? One?

So he had a soft spot in his cynical heart for a small, sleek woman with grit. No problem. Hell, he also had a soft spot for lonely little kids like Heidi. Who wouldn’t? But, hey, he was a guy who pounded nails for a living, not a social worker.

When the job on Astoria was done, he’d move on to another job, and Heidi would find another “best friend” to jabber at when she was lonely. When Stacy’s bruises were healed and her condition stable, she would go back to her world and out of his thoughts. When that happened, they would both be better off.

“Any contractions since the last time I was in?” he heard Schultz ask, and turned his gaze toward the bed in time to see Stacy’s eyes cloud.

“A tiny one. More like a twinge.”

“How long ago?” he asked, earning him another appraising glance from Schultz’s laser-keen eyes.

“Two hours, more or less—” Stacy admitted, before adding too quickly, “—nothing to worry about, right?”

Boyd lifted a hand to the back of his neck, where a sudden knot had formed. “Like someone told me once, worry is the world’s most useless emotion.”