Jessica Matthews - His Baby Bombshell

Beth shook her head, her eyes apologetic. “Sorry. John wants to keep you overnight. As a precaution.”

“You don’t need someone as healthy as I am taking up bed space,” he coaxed in the charming manner that allowed him to get his own way more often than not.

Beth smiled. “I have my orders. There’s a bed upstairs with your name on it.”

His smile turned into a frown. “This is so unnecessary,” he groused.

“Take it up with the boss,” the doctor advised. “I’m just the hired help. After I stitch up your head, Sabrina will see you’re settled in your room. If you need anything, call me. I’m on duty until seven.”

She quickly closed the gash with neat sutures. After pronouncing her work finished, she breezed out of the room and left Sabrina to deal with an unhappy Adrian.

“Wheelchair or gurney for the next leg of your trip?” she asked, relieved to know her golf ball hadn’t done lasting damage. She wouldn’t admit it either, but she was privately glad he’d be under close observation for awhile. Problems weren’t always detected immediately and could develop over time. It would be far better for him, and for her peace of mind, to spend his first night in Pinehaven under a nurse’s watchful eye.

“I’ll walk.”

She shook her head. “Not on my watch, buster. Physician or not, you’re a patient, which means I’m in charge for the moment. Nor will I let it be said that I don’t abide by the rules. So what’ll it be? A wheelchair or a gurney?”

He glared. “Wheelchair.”

“Then sit tight and I’ll be right back.”

Transferring him to the medical floor went smoothly and silently, which came as a relief. She wasn’t in the mood for small talk and clearly he wasn’t either. However, once she’d braked his wheelchair and pointed to the hospital gown on the edge of the bed, he shook his head and crossed his arms.

“I may have to stay here unnecessarily, but I’ll do it in my own clothes,” he stated regally.

“And how do you propose they get here?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Need you ask?”

She held up her hands to object, but he didn’t give her the opportunity.

“You landed me in these spacious accommodations with your wicked slice,” he reminded her. “In my books, that’s a debt you have to pay.”

“If every other patient can wear the stylish apparel we so thoughtfully provide, so can you. And if you’re worried about your hiney showing, stay in bed.”

“Hiney? My, my,” he said dryly, “your professional vocabulary is amazing.”

“That’s what continuing education is for.”

“Whatever you call my hiney, buns, or posterior, there’s the matter of you being responsible for my VIP care. As a VIP, I want my own shorts and T-shirt, not a flimsy, see-through, doesn’t-close-in-the-back hospital gown.”

No question about it—the “I” definitely meant irritating.

“But you don’t sleep in anything except your boxers,” she blurted out.

“At home, I don’t. Does this…” he waved his arms in an all-encompassing motion“…even remotely look like home?”

Sensing the futility in arguing—apparently he’d decided that if cajolery wouldn’t get what he wanted, arrogance and his rank would—she heaved a sigh. “OK, fine. I presume you also want a change of clothes for tomorrow and your toothbrush?”

“Yeah. Don’t forget my electric razor either.” He dug in his trouser pocket and tossed a keyring at her before he sank gingerly into the bed. “Thanks. I’d be grateful if you’d bring them within the hour.”

She caught it in mid-air, irritated by his demand. She couldn’t possibly meet his hour deadline even if she’d wanted to because she was due to pick up Jeremy from the hospital’s day care. Chafing under his order, she chose not to warn him she’d be late. Better to ask forgiveness after the fact than to beg permission beforehand.

“I’d also like a pizza,” he informed her.

“Our cafeteria has good food. The patients all agree.”

He eyed her loftily. “If I can’t sleep in a real bed, then I want to eat real food. Sausage, Canadian bacon and mushrooms.”

She ground her teeth. “Pizza it is. Anything else for our most illustrious personage?”

With that detail apparently settled to his satisfaction and apparently not put off by her disrespect, he closed his eyes. “No, but if I think of something, I’ll call you. You do still have a cellphone?”

“Yes, I do. Who doesn’t these days?”

“I’d like the number, please.”

She didn’t want to give it to him, but she really didn’t have a choice. A notepad wasn’t in sight and she didn’t have a pen, so she recited the seven digits from memory.

He listened intently before satisfaction showed on his face. “Same as before.”

His comment caught her off-guard. “I’m surprised you remember.”

“I remember a lot of things.”

“I’m happy for you,” she said tartly, but a new set of questions suddenly popped into her head. If he’d wanted her out of his life so badly, why had he remembered her number? Knowing that he’d never acted on the information at his fingertips only made the intervening months of silence more painful to think about.

The sudden pressure in her chest demanded she escape before he saw this new hurt he’d caused without even trying. Immediately, she pivoted on one foot and headed for the door.

“Sabrina?” he called.

Reluctantly, she paused. “Yeah?” Sounding hoarse, she hoped he’d attribute it to grumpiness.

“For what it’s worth, it’s good to see you again.”

She’d spent the last year shoring up her defenses against his anger and rejection, but had built nothing to protect herself against unexpected kindness. Not trusting herself to speak over the sudden lump in her throat, she simply fled.

“YOUR father isn’t playing fair,” Sabrina railed aloud as she drove to Adrian’s home-away-from-home while Jeremy fussed in his car seat. “After being such a jerk, he has no right to suddenly act like a decent human being.”

Jeremy chewed on his little fist and grunted as he kicked his legs and squirmed.

“I don’t know what he’s up to, but I’m not falling for it,” she mumbled as she parked in front of the apartment complex next to Adrian’s recognizable black Toyota Avalon. Apparently John Mosby had served as Adrian’s taxi service and given him a ride to the golf course. “I don’t care if he had a change of heart. It’s too late. Too late, I tell you.

“And frankly,” she continued her rant, “I’m glad my ball hit him on the head. He deserves some pain and suffering for everything he’s put me through!”

Buoyed by her thoughts, she lifted Jeremy out of his car seat, hoisted him on one hip, and headed up the sidewalk. “Come on, little man. Let’s get this nasty old errand done so we can go home and play.”

Carefully, she inserted the key and stepped inside.

The place reminded her of a hotel room, but Adrian had only arrived that weekend. He hadn’t had time to stamp his presence on the hospital’s apartment. Certain she’d find personal articles in the bathroom, she headed there first.

His toiletries lay on the counter, but she hardly noticed because the familiar scent of his favorite brand of soap hung in the air.

“What do you want for your birthday?” she asked as she cuddled against him on her sofa. “It’s coming up, you know.”

“I have everything I need right here.” Adrian nuzzled her neck.

She giggled as he focused on a particularly ticklish spot. “I’m serious. There has to be something you’d like or need.”

“Soap. Bath soap, in particular.”

Sabrina pulled away to study his face. “You’re kidding, aren’t you?”

He shook his head. “Nope. My sisters usually shop for me and they’re always buying the girly, flowery-smelling stuff.”

“Ask them to choose a different scent.”

“And hurt their feelings when they’re trying so hard to be helpful?” He sounded horrified. “No can do. But if someone should happen to give me a case or two and I rave about how good it smells, they’ll get the hint.”

“You’re quite a mastermind, aren’t you?” she teased.

“I raised a younger brother and two sisters,” he said matter-of-factly. “It was the only way I could stay one step ahead of them.”

And so Sabrina had bought a dozen bars of sandal-wood-scented soap which, surprisingly enough, he still used. After he’d dismissed her from his life, she would have expected him to toss out all reminders of her, including the soap, but perhaps he’d forgotten she’d gotten him hooked on it in the first place.

Idly, she grabbed his razor and his toothbrush and headed toward the bedroom. As Jeremy reached for the things in her hand and grunted his give-me noise, she allowed him to clutch the fluorescent blue toothbrush in his fierce, baby grip.

Adrian’s suitcase lay open on the queen-sized bed, still containing the clothing he hadn’t taken time to unpack. As she rummaged through the contents one-handed in search of underwear, socks, and the athletic apparel he’d requested, it was as if his fragrance had followed her, evoking more bitter-sweet memories—memories of soaping his back in the tub because he’d won their round of golf, celebrating her pay raise with champagne and strawberries, watching TV in his bed while feeding each other popcorn.

“You can’t go back,” she scolded herself. “You’ve moved forward, remember?”

Pushing those memories aside along with the pile of clothes she planned to deliver, she grabbed a pair of dress slacks and a short-sleeved pale green shirt from the closet, as well as his highly polished dress shoes.

He’d always polished them while he watched the evening news, she recalled, just as his father had taught him and just as he’d taught his brother Clay.

The question was, who would teach his son?

She glanced down at the bouncing twenty-pound joy of her life. “Sorry, kid, but spit-shining shoes wasn’t part of my education. It’ll be sneakers for us.”

He waved the toothbrush and chortled, scraping her face with the brush end before accidentally running it through his hair like a comb.

“Be careful with that, young man,” she said, smoothing down the light brown wisps on his scalp as he stuck the smooth end into his mouth.

She placed him on the floor with his temporary toy and her set of keys while she went in search of a bag to hold Adrian’s clothes. Coming up empty, she returned to the bedroom, dumped the rest of his clothes on the bed and refilled the suitcase with the things she’d selected. But when she took Adrian’s toothbrush away from Jeremy, he screamed. She closed her ears to his vocal protests until she noticed several distinct tooth marks on the handle.

Great. As observant as Adrian was, he’d see the ridges and wonder how they’d gotten there. Unable to dream up a plausible explanation—it was too bad he didn’t own a dog she could blame for the marks—she simply had to purchase a new one, even if it meant fighting the crowds at a store with a baby who didn’t handle shopping trips very well.

By the time she had loaded Adrian’s suitcase and her son into the car, Jeremy was yelling for his dinner. Adrian’s specified hour was nearly over, but he’d have to wait a bit longer, she decided grimly. Jeremy’s needs were more important than Adrian’s comforts.