Читать книгу Reunited With His Runaway Bride - Robin Gianna - Страница 11

CHAPTER THREE

BREE TAPED SHUT the last box of books on her floor, then sat back on her haunches, unable to struggle to her feet at that exact moment. Compared to the day of the accident, she felt reasonably rested as far as sleep was concerned. Getting there hadn’t been too difficult, since any emergency department doc was used to dealing with erratic hours, and days getting mixed up with nights. But the aches and bruises that seemed to have multiplied over every inch of her body, not to mention the relentless headache that stabbed her temples with any abrupt movement, were making it a little tough to get around.

“Okay, Granny, move.” As she pushed to her feet, the doorbell pealed through her apartment. She was expecting the landlord coming with end-of-lease paperwork, and her heart slammed hard into her ribs when she opened the door. No landlord standing there. It was Sean.

Sean, wearing blue jeans and a T-shirt and, astonishingly, holding little Will awkwardly cradled in one arm against his broad chest. An infant car seat rested by his feet.

At least, she assumed the baby was Will, though the little guy was unrecognizable. The tiny knit hat he’d worn at the hospital covered his head down to his eyebrows, and he was swaddled with a blanket up to his lower lip. Then again, there was no denying he was a Latham. The alert brown eyes staring at her from under that hat were already remarkably similar to Sean’s, and she knew at that moment the boy was going to be a heartbreaker just like his uncle.

Her hand tightened on the doorknob as she watched Sean slowly slip his sunglasses from his eyes to tuck them inside the collar of his T. Eyes that were looking at her with an expression she couldn’t quite figure out.

What was he doing here? Showing off his nephew before she left? Maybe his real goal was to show her how cute babies were, as if she didn’t already know. But cuteness didn’t have anything to do with not wanting any of her own. Not wanting a child to consume her life, whether Sean believed that wasn’t the way it had to be or not.

“Sorry,” she said. “This is a no-stork zone.”

“I don’t see any signs posted.”

“Maybe they got blown down in yesterday’s windstorm.” She folded her arms across her chest to show him he wasn’t making himself and the baby comfy. The uncomfortable comfiness—could there be such a thing?—that she and Sean had shared two days ago in the hospital had been more than she could handle already. “What can I do for you?”

Impassive brown eyes met hers for several heartbeats until he finally answered. “Help me take care of His Willieness until Mom gets here.”

“I can’t.” Hadn’t she already emphatically told him that at the hospital, and the three times he’d called her after? “I’ve got work. And, again, I don’t know anything about taking care of babies.”