His Pregnant Sleeping Beauty
Lynne Marshall
Rescuing the runawayWhen paramedic Joseph Matthews rescues a vulnerable pregnant woman left in a coma, he vows to be there for his sleeping beauty. Even though, after his ex-wife’s betrayal, everything about innocent Carey Spencer evokes bittersweet memories…mixed with unexpected desire.As Joseph helps gorgeous Carey recover and build a safe new future for her unborn baby, can he gather his courage to give them the happy-ever-after they deserve?The Hollywood Hills ClinicWhere doctors to the stars work miracles by day—and explore their hearts' desires by night…
Dear Reader (#ulink_f9b8fc62-ff2f-5bb5-af76-ffb4537dab70),
It’s always fun to be part of a continuity with seven other authors—especially such a talented group! When I met my characters Joseph and Carey I immediately fell in love. Joe is the kind of hero you want to throw your arms around and never let go. The problem is he doesn’t want to let anyone close enough to do that. He has his reasons, believe me, and they’re doozies. Carey is a glass-half-full kind of girl, even though life has thrown her some tough issues with which to deal. From the moment Joe sees Carey he assigns himself as her guardian—and what a lucky girl she becomes! I rooted for their happily-ever-after right from the start!
His Pregnant Sleeping Beauty is the first time I’ve ever written about a paramedic hero. Fortunately I had some wonderful personal resources, and therefore I feel my scenes are authentic. In fact you could say I’m proud of them. What a tough job first responders have! And writing about Carey took me back to my RN roots. I just love nurse heroines! So I guess you could call me a happy camper all round, being the lucky lady to write their story in Book 6 of The Hollywood Hills Clinic series. Why not check them all out?
Dear readers, if you read a book and enjoy it please consider writing a short review to help spread the word. Or give a shout-out about it on social media. We authors really appreciate that. Oh, and if you’re on Facebook ‘friend’ me, I’d love to keep in touch.
Until next time,
Lynne
PS Visit my website to keep up with all the news: lynnemarshall.com (http://lynnemarshall.com). You can also sign up for my author newsletter there.
LYNNE MARSHALL used to worry that she had a serious problem with daydreaming—then she discovered she was supposed to write those stories! A Registered Nurse for twenty-six years, she came to fiction-writing later than most. Now she writes romance which usually includes medicine, but always comes straight from her heart. She is happily married, a Southern California native, a woman of faith, a dog-lover, an avid reader, a curious traveller and a proud grandma.
His Pregnant
Sleeping Beauty
Lynne Marshall
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
This book is dedicated to the two paramedics who helped me make my character, Joe, a true hero. Thank you, John-Philip Maarschalk and Rick Ochocki, for your expert input and help. What would the world be without our first responders?
Praise for Lynne Marshall (#ulink_bd653529-df7c-5836-9f35-beae2ae7b3c2)
‘Heartfelt emotion that will bring you to the point of tears, for those who love a second-chance romance written with exquisite detail.’
—Contemporary Romance Reviews on NYC Angels: Making the Surgeon Smile
‘Lynne Marshall contributes a rewarding story to the NYC Angels series, and her gifted talent repeatedly shines. Making the Surgeon Smile is an outstanding romance with genuine emotions and passionate desires.’
—CataRomance
Contents
Cover (#u9c8c1b20-5950-5ba7-b275-bc73bc3d44e0)
Dear Reader (#uc1ffcf06-0e91-57a7-a332-6e37bb4021a6)
About the Author (#u6158a7be-acbc-5ad5-b013-de80e6ec2bf7)
Title Page (#uea1f0c74-aa20-510c-b4a6-9c3461084162)
Dedication (#ua7817d08-7348-52ce-9302-e483fb34d28b)
Praise for Lynne Marshall (#u8fece3ed-3f44-5dcb-b0ac-633185c104bb)
CHAPTER ONE (#u5f40ab85-4051-5b68-a7e6-7809c8af5920)
CHAPTER TWO (#u4b9f3025-b83b-5725-bfb9-ed452af2f857)
CHAPTER THREE (#u46854ba9-4df2-5590-8319-532d00f8c3ee)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u27503c6a-6b8f-510d-80cf-3e6d77e34f72)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_c80ae5b5-6ebb-5058-b9a1-dc006e20ad37)
CAREY SPENCER HAD never felt more alone in her life than when she got off the bus in Hollywood.
Joseph Matthews, on that night’s shift for the prestigious Hollywood Hills Clinic, had just delivered one of the industry’s favorite character actresses to the exclusive twenty-bed extended recovery hotel. It was tucked between Children’s Hospital and a smaller private hospital on Sunset Boulevard, and the common eye would never guess its function. Joe had agreed to make the Wednesday night run because James Rothsberg himself had asked. After all, the lady had won an award for Best Supporting Actress the year before last.
As the lead paramedic for the ambulance line he owned, Joe had attended the not-to-be-named-aloud patient during the uneventful ride to the recovery hotel. She’d been heavily sedated, her IV was in place, her vitals, including oxygen saturation, were fine, but she’d had so much work done on her face, breasts and hands she looked like a mummy. When they’d arrived, you’d have thought he’d delivered the President to Walter Reed National Military Medical Center the way the abundant staff rushed to the ambulance and took over the transfer.
Now, at nine p.m., back sitting in the front of the private ambulance, Joe switched on some music. Jazz, his favorite station. Yeah, he owned this bus—hell, he owned all six of them—so he could play whatever music he wanted. But that also kept him thinking about work a lot. It was the first of the month and he’d have to make copies of the June shift schedule for the EMTs and paramedics on his team before they showed up for work tomorrow morning.
“I’m hungry,” Benny, his EMT, said from behind the wheel.
Why was Joe not surprised? The kid had barely turned twenty and seemed to have hollow legs.
Restless and out of sorts, a state that was nothing new these days, Joe nodded. “How about that Mexican grill?” They’d just made their last run on Friday night, without plans for later, so why not?
“You read my mind.” Benny tossed him a cockeyed grin, his oversized Afro flopping with the quick movement.
He turned off Hollywood Boulevard and up N. Cahuenga to the fast-food place by the cross-country bus depot, where a bus had just arrived from Who Knew Where, USA. Benny had to wait to pull into a larger-than-average parking space. Joe mindlessly watched a handful of people trickle off the bus.
A damn fine-looking young woman wearing oversized sunglasses got off. Sunglasses at night. What was up with that? She was slender and her high-heeled boots made her look on the tall side. She wore jeans and a dark blue top, or was it a sweater? Her thick hair was layered and long with waves and under the bus depot lights looked brown. Reddish? He wondered what her story was. Probably because of the shades at night. But he didn’t bother to think about ladies these days. Yet, still, dang, she was hot. And stood out like a rose in a thorn patch.
Benny backed the private ambulance into the space at the farthest end of the restaurant lot, and Joe got out the passenger side, immediately getting hit by the mouthwatering aroma of spicy beans and chipotle chicken. He stretched, eager to chow down. A sudden movement in his peripheral vision drew his attention. Someone sprang from behind a pillar and snagged a lady’s purse strap and wrist, pulling her out of the crowd and toward the nearby alley. It was the woman he’d just been gawking at! The other travelers had mostly dispersed. She put up a fight, too, and squealed, yet the few people left lingering didn’t seem to notice...but he did.
Joe ran to the mouth of the alley. “Hey!” Then sprinted toward the young woman, who was still fighting to hold on to her purse.
The tall but skinny, straggly-haired dude dragged her by the shoulder strap and wrist deeper down the alley. Why doesn’t she just let go? Ah, wait, it’s one of those over-the-torso jobs.
“Hey!”
This time the guy turned and whacked her with his fist, knocking the young woman to the ground. Her head hit with a thud. He ripped off the purse, hitting her head on the pavement again, then stepped over her to get to Joe with a wild swing.
Joe blocked the first punch with little effort—the dumb punk didn’t know what he was dealing with as he boxed for his workouts—but the guy pulled a knife and lashed out. Joe threw another punch and landed it, even while feeling a hot lightning-quick slice across his ribs. Now he was really ticked. The guy ran deeper into the alley with Joe in pursuit, soon disappearing over a large trash bin and tall crumbling brick wall. Joe skidded to a brief stop and watched in disbelief. For a scumbag the man was agile. Probably from a lot of practice in assaulting innocent people.
The girl! Holding his side, he sprinted back to where she lay. Out cold.
Benny met up with him. “I called the police. You okay?”
“Just a superficial wound.” Still, he checked it briefly since an adrenaline rush could mask pain. The last thing he wanted to find out was that the cut was deep enough to cause evisceration and he hadn’t noticed. Fortunately the only thing he saw was oozing blood, nothing gushing. He’d throw a thick absorbent pad over his middle as soon as Benny got back with the trauma kit, oxygen bag and backboard. He didn’t want to bleed all over the poor lady. “Bring our equipment, okay?” He grabbed a pair of gloves from Benny’s belt, and knelt in front of the young woman as Benny took off for the ambulance. “I’m a paramedic, miss. Are you okay?” he said loudly and clearly. She didn’t respond.
She’d hit her head hard when she’d fallen—correct that, had been punched to the ground. He tried to rouse her with a firm hand on her shoulder. “Hello? You okay, you awake, miss?”
He watched the rise and fall of her chest. At least she was breathing normally. He felt her neck for the carotid pulse and found it. Rate and strength normal. Good. He scanned her body for bleeding or other signs of obvious injury. Maybe the scumbag had stabbed her too. Then he used the palms of his gloved hands to sweep the underside of her arms and legs to check for bleeding, and did the same beneath both sides of her back. So far so good.
There was a fifty-cent-sized pool of blood behind her head, but he didn’t move her neck, not before he and Benny had placed a cervical collar on her. Her assailant had run off with her purse and she didn’t appear to have any other form of ID. He checked her wrist and then her neck to see if she wore any emergency alert jewelry. No such luck. They’d have to wait until she regained consciousness to find out who she was.
Even under the dim lights in the alley she had an obvious black eye, and because the dirtbag had yanked off her torso-anchored purse strap the sweater she’d been wearing had been pulled halfway down her left arm...which was covered in bruises. She’d just been mugged, but these marks weren’t fresh. Anger surged through him. She’d been beaten up long before today.
What kind of guy treated a woman like that?
He shook his head. Of all the lousy luck. She hadn’t stepped off the bus five minutes ago and had already gotten mugged and knocked unconscious. The only thing she had going for her on this nightmare of a Friday night was him. He shuddered for the young stranger over what might have played out if he hadn’t been here.
Maybe it was those thick eyelashes that seemed to glue her eyes shut, or her complete vulnerability, being unconscious in an alley, or maybe it was the obvious signs of abuse, but for whatever reason Joe was suddenly struck with an uncompromising need to protect her.
From this moment on tonight he vowed to take responsibility for the out-of-luck Jane Doe. Hell, if anyone had ever needed a guardian angel, she did.
Benny had moved the ambulance closer, and brought the backboard and equipment. Joe let Benny apply a large sloppy dressing around his middle as he checked her airway again, noting she had good air exchange. He worried, with the head injury, that she might vomit and wanted to be near if she did to prevent aspiration.
“We’re going to give you some oxygen and put a collar round your neck,” Joe said calmly, hoping she might already be regaining consciousness and hear him explain everything they did to her. They worked together and soon had Jane on the backboard for stability. Joe secured her with the straps, never taking his eyes off her. She had definitely been knocked out cold, yet still breathed evenly. A good thing. But he knew when unconscious people woke up they could often be combative and try to take off the oxygen and cervical collar. Hell, after what she’d just been through, could he blame her if she woke up fighting?
With her long dark auburn hair spread over her shoulders and her hands strapped to the transport board, she made the strangest image.
An urban Sleeping Beauty.
“Ready for transfer?” Joe said, breaking his own thoughts.
“Don’t you want to wait for the police?”
“If they’re not here by the time we get her in the back of the van, you call them again and tell them to meet us at the clinic. She might have a skull fracture or subdural bleed for all we know, and needs medical attention ASAP.” He knew the next forty-five minutes were all she had remaining in the golden hour for traumatic head injury. “I’m going to call Dr. Rothsberg and let him know what we’ve got.”
He jumped into the back of the van first to guide the head of the gurney on which they’d placed the long spine board and patient as Benny pushed from the back, then he rolled the gurney forward and locked it in place with sprung locks on the ambulance floor.
He’d ride in the back with her. If she woke up, confused and possibly combative, he wanted to be there. Plus it would be his chance to do a more thorough examination.
Joe did another assessment of Sleeping Beauty’s condition. Unchanged. Then he made the call. Unexpectedly, Dr. Rothsberg said to bring her to the clinic instead of county. Which was a good thing, because Joe would have taken her home before he’d consider delivering a Jane Doe to county hospital to potentially slip through every conceivable crack due to their overstretched system.
He stripped off the makeshift dressing and his shirt to assess his own wound, which was long and jagged, still wept blood and would definitely need stitches. Now that he was looking at it, it burned like hell. Benny had a short conversation with the police, who’d just arrived. Great timing! He showed them where they’d found her and where the attacker had fled over the wall then left them to look for witnesses as Joe cleaned and dressed his own wound. Damn, the disinfectant smarted! One of the policemen took a quick look inside the ambulance, saw the victim and Joe with his injury, nodded and took off toward the alley.
Benny closed the back doors of the van, got into the driver’s seat then started the ambulance. “They’ll take our statements at the clinic later.”
“Good,” Joe said, taping his dressing, constantly checking his patient as he did so.
As Benny drove, with their lights flashing, Joe checked her vital signs again, this time using a blood-pressure cuff then a stethoscope to listen to her lungs. He opened her eyes, opening the blackened eye more gingerly, and used his penlight to make sure she hadn’t blown a pupil. Fortunately she hadn’t, but unfortunately he’d had to move a clump of her hair away from her face in order to do so. It was thick and wavy, and, well, somehow it felt too intimate, touching it. It’d been a while since he’d run his fingers through a woman’s hair, which he definitely wasn’t doing right now, but the thought of wanting to bothered him.
By the status of her black eye, it’d been there a few days and definitely looked ugly and intentional. Someone had punched her. That was a fact. There was that anger again, flaming out of nowhere for a woman he knew zero about.
He decided to insert a hep-lock into her antecubital fossa so the clinic would have a line ready to go on arrival. A head injury could increase cranial pressure and so could IV fluid. He didn’t want to add to that, and so far her blood pressure was within normal limits. While he performed the tasks he thought about everything that had happened to his patient prior to winding up in that alley.
She’d gotten off the bus and hadn’t waited to collect a suitcase, which meant all she’d carried with her was in that large shoulder bag. And that was long gone with the punk who’d knocked her cold and jumped the wall. He tightened his fists. What he’d give to deck that guy and leave him in some alley.
If Joe added up the clues he’d guess that the lovely Sleeping Jane was running from whoever had bruised her arms and blackened her eye. She’d probably grabbed whatever she could and snuck away from...
“Who are you?” Joe asked quietly, wondering if she could hear him, knowing that unconscious people sometimes still heard what went on around them. “Where did you come from?”
He lifted one of her hands, that fierce sense of protectiveness returning, and held it in his, noticing the long thin fingers with carefully manicured but unpainted nails, and made another silent vow. Don’t worry, I’ll look out for you. You don’t have to be afraid where I’m taking you.
* * *
They arrived at The Hollywood Hills Clinic, nestled far beneath the Hollywood sign at the end of narrow winding roads with occasional hairpin turns. The swanky private clinic that hugged the hillside always reminded him of something Frank Lloyd Wright might have designed for the twenty-first century, if he were still alive. The stacked boxy levels of the modern stone architecture, nearly half of it made of special earthquake-resistant glass, looked like a diamond in the night on the hillside. Warm golden light glowed from every oversized window, assuring the private clinic was open twenty-four hours. For security and privacy purposes, there were tall fences out front, and a gate every vehicle had to clear, except for ambulances. They breezed through as soon as the gate opened completely.
Benny headed toward the private patient loading area at the back of the building. Joe put his shirt back on and gingerly buttoned it over his bandaged and stinging rib cage.
He still couldn’t believe his good fortune over landing the bid as the private ambulance company for James Rothsberg’s clinic only two short years after starting his own business. He’d been an enterprising twenty-three-year-old paramedic with a plan back then, thanks to a good mind for business instilled in him by his hard-working father. James must have seen something about him he liked when he’d interviewed him and Joe had tendered his bid. Or maybe it had had more to do with the nasty info leak the previous ambulance company had been responsible for, exposing several of the A-list actors in the biz on a TV gossip show, making Joe’s timing impeccable. He used to think of it as fate.
James’s parents—Michael Rothsberg and Aubrey St. Claire—had had enough info leaks in their lives to fill volumes. Everyone, even Joe, remembered the scandal, and he’d only been in his early teens at the time. Their stories had made headlines on every supermarket rag and cable TV talk show. Everyone knew about their private affairs. After all, James’s parents had been Hollywood royalty, and had been two of the highest-paid actors in the business. Watching them fall from grace had become a national pastime after a nasty kiss-and-tell book by an ex-lover had outed them as phonies. Their marriage had been a sham, and their teenage children, James and Freya, had suffered most.
James had told Joe on the day he’d hired him that loyalty to the clinic and the patients was the number-one rule, he wouldn’t tolerate anything less, and Joe had lived up to that pledge every single day he’d shown up to work. He’d walked out of James’s office that day thinking fate was on his side and he was the luckiest man on earth, but he too would soon experience his own fall. Like James, it hadn’t been of his own making but that didn’t mean it had hurt any less.
These days Joe didn’t believe in fate or luck. No, he’d changed his thinking on that and now, for him, everything happened for a reason. Even his damned infertility, which he was still trying to figure out. He glanced at the hand where his wedding ring had once been but didn’t let himself go there, instead focusing on the positive. The here and now. The new contract. His job security.
The clinic had opened its doors six years ago, and two years later, right around the time James’s sister Freya had joined the endeavor, Joe’s private ambulance service had been the Rothsbergs’ choice for replacement. Having just signed a new five-year contract with the clinic, Joe almost thought of himself as another Hollywood success story. Hell, he was only twenty-eight, owned his own business, and worked for the most revered clinic in town.
But how could he call it true success when the rest of his life was such a mess?
James Rothsberg himself met the ambulance, along with another doctor and a couple of nurses, and Joe prepared to transfer his sleeping beauty.
A little bit taller than Joe, James’s strong and well-built frame matched Joe’s on the fitness scale. Where they parted ways was in the looks department. The son of A-list actors, James was what the gossip magazines called “an Adonis in scrubs”. Yeah, he was classy, smooth and slick. He was the man every woman dreamed of and every man wanted to be, and Joe wasn’t afraid to admit he had a man crush on the guy. Strictly platonic, of course, based on pure admiration. The doctor ran the lavish clinic for the mind-numbingly affluent, who flocked to him, eager to pay the price for his plastic surgery services. Well, someone had to support the outrageously luxurious clinic and the well-paid staff. In fact, someone on staff had recently commented after a big awards ceremony that half of the stars in attendance had been through the clinic’s doors. A statement that wasn’t far from the truth.
“James, what are you still doing here?”
“You piqued my interest,” James said. “I had to see Jane Doe for myself.”
Joe pushed the gurney out of the back of the ambulance, and Rick, one of the evening nurses, pulled from the other end.
James studied Jane Doe as she rolled by. “She didn’t get that shiner tonight.”
“Nope,” Joe said. “There’s a whole other story that went down before she got mugged.”
James nodded agreement. “That reminds me, I got a call from the police department. They’ll be here shortly to take your statement.” He tugged Joe by the arm. “Let’s take a look at your injury before they get here, okay?”
Joe was torn between looking after Sleeping Beauty or himself, but knew the clinic staff would give her the utmost medical attention. Besides, it wasn’t every day the head of the clinic offered to give one-to-one patient care to an employee.
“Thanks, Doc. I really appreciate it.”
“It’s totally selfish. I’ve got to look out for my lead paramedic, right?” James said in a typically self-deprecating manner. That was another thing he liked so much about the guy. He never flaunted his wealth or his status.
Joe glanced across the room at the star patient of the night, Ms. Jane Doe, still unconscious but breathing steadily, and felt a little tug in his chest, then followed James into an examination room.
After the nursing assistant removed Joe’s dressing, James studied it. “So what happened here?”
Joe explained what had transpired in the alley as the doctor applied pressure to one area that continued to bleed.
“Oh, you’re definitely getting a tetanus shot. Who knows what was on that guy’s blade.”
“Well, he was a scumbag.”
“Good thing you’ve got a trained plastic surgeon to stitch you up. I’d hate to ruin those perfect washboard abs.”
Joe laughed, knowing his rigorous workout sessions plus boxing kept him fit. Boxing had been the one thing he could do to keep sane and not beat the hell out of his best friend during his divorce. “Ouch,” he said, surprised by how sensitive his wound was as the nursing assistant cleaned the skin.
“Ouch!” he repeated, when the first topical anesthetic was injected by James.
The doctor chuckled. “Man up, dude. I’m just getting started.”
That got an ironic laugh out of Joe. Yeah, sterile dude, man up!
“You won’t be feeling much in a couple of minutes.”
Joe knew the drill, he’d sutured his share of patients in his field training days, but this was the first time in his entire life he’d been the patient in need of stitches. Hell, he’d never even needed a butterfly bandage before.
“So, about the girl with the black eye,” James said, donning sterile gloves while preparing the small sterile minor operations tray. “I wonder if she may have had any prior intracranial injuries that might have contributed to her immediately falling unconscious.”
“I was wondering the same thing, but she hit that pavement really hard. I hope she doesn’t have a subdural hematoma.”
“We’re doing a complete head trauma workup on her.”
“Thanks. I know this probably sounds weird, but I feel personally responsible for her, having seen the whole thing go down, not getting there fast enough, and being the first to treat her and all. Especially since she doesn’t have any ID.”
“You broke a rule, right? Got involved with your patient?”
“Didn’t mean to, but I guess you could say that. I know it’s foolish—”
James turned back toward him. “And this might be foolish too, but when the police come we’ll tell them we’ll be treating and letting our Jane Doe recover right here.”
Touched beyond words, as the cost for staying at this exclusive clinic would be astronomical, Joe wanted to shake the good doctor’s hand but he wore sterile gloves. “Thank you. I really—” He was about to say “appreciate that” but quickly went quiet, not used to being the patient as the first stitch was placed, using a nasty-looking hooked needle, and though he didn’t feel anything, he still didn’t want to move.
“If I stitch this up just so, there’ll hardly be a scar. On the other hand, I could make you look like you’ve got a seven pack.”
As the saying went, it only hurt when he laughed.
* * *
A couple of hours later, the police had taken a thorough report, and also told Joe they hadn’t found anyone matching the description a couple of witnesses had given for the suspect, they also said they hadn’t recovered Jane Doe’s purse.
Joe sighed and shook his head. She’d continue to be Madam X until she came to. Which hopefully would be soon.
“We do have one lead, though.”
He glanced up, hopeful whatever that lead was it might point to Jane’s identity.
“The clinic staff found a bus-ticket stub in her sweater pocket. If she used a credit card to purchase the ticket, we might be able to trace it back and identify her.”
“That’s great. But what if she paid cash?”
“That might imply she didn’t want to be traced.”
“Probably explain those bruises, too.”
The cop nodded. “The most we could possibly find out is the origin of the ticket. Which city she boarded in, but she’s bound to wake up soon, right?”
Joe glanced across the room. Jane was now in one of the clinic’s fancy hospital gowns and hooked up to an IV, still looking as peaceful as a sleeping child. “It’s hard to say with concussion and potential brain swelling. The doctors may determine she needs surgery for a subdural hematoma or something, for all I know.”
The young cop looked grim as he considered that possibility, and Joe was grateful for his concern. “Well, we’ll be in touch.” He gave Joe his card. “If she wakes up, or if there’s anything you remember or want to talk about, give me a call. Likewise, I’ll let you know if we find anything out.”
“Thanks.”
An orderly and RN rolled Jane by Joe. “Where’s she going?”
“To her room in the DOU. She’s in Seventeen A.”
The definitive observation unit was for the patients who needed extra care. Dr. Di Williams ran the unit like a well-oiled machine. Jane would be well looked after, but... He made a snap decision—he wasn’t going home tonight. If James and Di would let him, he’d wait things out right here.
Fifteen minutes later, Sleeping Beauty was tucked into a high-end single bed in a room that looked more like one in a luxury spa hotel than a hospital. The only thing giving it away were the bedside handrails and the stack of monitors camouflaged in the corner with huge vases and flower arrangements. The tasteful beige, white and cream decor was relaxing, but Joe couldn’t sleep. Instead, he sat in the super-comfy bedside chair resting his head in the palm of his right hand, watching her sleep. Wondering what her story was, and pondering why he felt so responsible for her. He decided it was because she was completely vulnerable. He knew the feeling. Someone besides a staff nurse had to look out for her until they found out who she was and could locate her family.
Sporting that black eye and those healing bruises on her arms, it was likely she had been in an abusive relationship. Most likely she’d been beaten up by the man she’d thought she loved.
His left thumb flicked the inside of his vacant ring finger, reminding him, on a much more personal level, how deeply love could hurt.
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_7f9c9cc1-fcab-57fa-846a-79379364afe1)
A FIRM HAND sent Joe out of a half dreaming, half awake state. He’d been smiling, floating around somewhere, smiling. The grip on his shoulder made a burst of adrenaline mainline straight to his heart, making his pulse ragged and shaky. He sat bolt upright, his eyes popping open. In less than a second he remembered where he was, turned his head toward the claw still grabbing him, and stared up at the elderly night nurse.
Cecelia, was it?
“What’s up?” he said, trying to sound awake, then glancing toward the hospital bed and the patient he’d let down by falling asleep. Some guardian he’d turned out to be. She’d been placed on her side, either sound asleep or still unconscious, with pillows behind her back and between her knees, and he hadn’t even woken up.
“Your services are needed,” Cecelia said with a grainy voice. “We have a helicopter transfer to Santa Barbara.”
“Got it. Take care of her.”
“What I’m paid for,” Cecelia mumbled, fiddling with the blanket covering her patient.
Joe stood, took one last look at Jane, who still looked peaceful, and walked to the nearest men’s room to freshen up, then reported for duty in the patient transitioning room.
Rick, the RN from last night, was at the end of his shift and gave Joe his report. “The fifty-four-year-old patient is status post breast reduction, liposuction and lower face lift. Surgery and overnight recovery were uneventful. She’s being transferred to Santa Barbara Cottage Hotel for the remainder of her recovery. IV in right forearm. Last medicated for pain an hour ago with seventy-five milligrams of Demerol. Dressings and drainage tubes in place, no excess bleeding noted. She’s been released by Dr. R. for transfer.” The male RN, fit and overly tanned, making his blue eyes blaze, gave Joe a deadpan stare. “All systems go. She’s all yours.” Then, when out of earshot of the patient, Rick whispered, “I didn’t vote for her husband.”
Joe accompanied the patient and gurney to the waiting helicopter on the roof and loaded the sleeping patient onto the air ambulance. He did a quick head-to-toe assessment before strapping her down and locking the special hydraulic gurney into place. He then made sure any and all emergency equipment was stocked and ready for use. After he hooked up the patient to the heart and BP monitor, he put headphones on his patient first and then himself and took his seat, buckling in, preparing for the noisy helicopter blades to whir to life then takeoff.
After delivering the patient to the Santa Barbara airport and transferring the politician’s wife, who would not be named, to the awaiting recovery hotel team, he hoped to grab some coffee and maybe a quick breakfast while they waited for the okay to take off for the return trip.
Two hours later, back at the clinic, Joe’s only goal was to check in on Jane Doe. He hoped she’d come to and by now maybe everyone knew her name, and he wondered what it might be. Alexis? Belle? Collette? Excitedly he dashed into her room and found her as he’d left her...unconscious. Disappointment buttoned around him like a too-tight jacket.
The day shift nurse was at her side, preparing to give her a bed bath. A basin of water sat on the bedside table with steam rising from the surface. Several towels and cloths and a new patient gown were neatly stacked beside it. A thick, luxurious patient bath blanket was draped across her chest, Sleeping Beauty obviously naked underneath it. He felt the need to look away until the nurse pulled the privacy curtain around the bed.
“No change?” he asked, already knowing and hating the answer.
“No. But her lab results were a bit of a surprise.”
“Everything okay with her skull?”
“Oh, yeah, the CT cranial scan and MRI were both normal except for the fact she’s got one hell of a concussion with brain swelling. Well, along with still being unconscious and a slow-wave EEG to prove it.”
Joe knew the hospital privacy policy, and this nurse wasn’t about to tell him Jane Doe’s lab results. Theoretically it wasn’t any of his business. Except he’d made a vow last night, and had made it his business to look after her. As he hadn’t signed off on his paramedic admission notes for Jane last night, he suddenly needed to access her computer chart to do so.
He headed to the intake department to find a vacant computer, but not before running into James, who looked rested and ready to take on the day. Joe, on the other hand, had gotten a glimpse of himself in the mirror when he’d made a quick pit stop on arriving back at the clinic a few minutes earlier. Dark circles beneath his eyes, a day’s growth of beard... Yeah, he was a mess.
“What are you still doing here?” James asked.
“Just got back from a helicopter run to Santa Barbara for one of your patients.”
“Cecelia told me you stayed here last night.”
Damn that night nurse. “Yeah, well, I wanted to be around if Jane Doe woke up.”
He didn’t look amused. “This is an order, Joe. Go home and get some sleep. Don’t come back until your usual evening shift. Got it?”
“Got it. Just have to sign off my charting first.”
Several staff members approached James with questions, giving Joe the chance to sneak off to the computer. He logged on and quickly accessed Jane Doe’s folder. First he read her CT scan results and the MRI, which were positive for concussion and brain swelling, but without fractures or bleeding, then he took a look at her labs. So far so good. Her drug panel was negative. Good. Her electrolytes, blood glucose, liver and kidney function tests were all within normal limits. Good. Then his gaze settled on a crazy little test result that nearly knocked him out of the chair.
A positive pregnancy test.
His suddenly dry-as-paper tongue made it difficult to swallow. His pulse thumped harder and his mind took a quick spin, gathering questions as it did. Did the mystery lady know she was pregnant? He wondered if the father had been worried out of his mind about her since she’d gone missing. Or was the guy who beat her up the father...because she was pregnant?
Had she been running away? Most likely.
Shifting thoughts made bittersweet memories roll through his mind over another most important pregnancy test. One that had changed his life. He wanted more than anything to make those thoughts stop, knowing they never led to a good place, but right now he was too tired to fight them off.
He’d once been on that pregnancy roller-coaster ride, one day ecstatic about the prospect of becoming a father. Another day further down the line getting a different lab test irrefutably stating there was no way in hell he could have gotten his wife pregnant. Any hope of becoming a father had been ripped away. The questions. The confrontations. The ugly answers that had finally torn his marriage apart.
Hell.
He needed to leave the clinic. James had been right. He should go home and get some sleep because if he didn’t he might do something he still wanted to do desperately. Give his best—strike that—ex-best friend the beating he deserved.
* * *
On the third day Joe sat in his now favorite chair at the mystery lady’s bedside, thumbing through a fitness magazine. Di Williams, the middle-aged, hard-working head of DOU, had shaken him up earlier when she’d explained Sleeping Beauty’s condition as brain trauma—or, in her case, swelling of the brain—that had disconnected the cerebral cortex circuits, kind of like a car idling but not firing up the engine. She’d also said that if she didn’t come around soon, they’d have to consider her in a coma and would need to move her to a hospital that could best meet her longer-term needs.
The thought of losing track of the woman he’d vowed to look after made his stomach knot. The doctor had also said she’d be getting transferred to a specialist coma unit later that afternoon for an enhanced CT scan that would test for blood flow and metabolic activity and they’d have to go from there, which kept Joe’s stomach feeling tangled and queasy.
Time was running out, and it seemed so unfair for the girl from the bus. What about her baby?
Jane moved and Joe went on alert. It was the first time he’d witnessed what the nurses had said she often did. He’d admitted, when no one had been around, to flicking her cheek with his finger from time to time to get some kind of reaction out of her, but nothing had ever happened. The lady definitely wasn’t faking it. She moved again, this time quicker, as though restless. A dry sound emitted from her throat. He held his breath and felt his heart pump faster as he pushed the call light for the attending nurse.
Jane Doe was waking up.
Tiny sputtering electrical fuses seemed to turn on and off inside him as his anticipation grew. He stood, leaned over the hospital bed and watched the sleeping beauty’s lids flutter. Instinctively, he turned off the overhead lamp to help decrease the shock of harsh light to her vision as her eyes slowly opened.
They were dark green. And beautiful, like her.
But they’d barely opened before they snapped shut again as her features contorted with fear.
* * *
Carey fought for her life, flailing her arms, kicking her feet. Someone wanted to hurt her. It wasn’t Ross. Not this time. She ran, but her feet wouldn’t move. She tried to scream, but the sound didn’t leave her throat. Fear like she’d never felt before consumed her, but she couldn’t give up, she had to protect herself in order to protect her baby.
Someone shouted and ran toward her. She knew he wanted to help. Broad shoulders, and legs moving in a powerful sprint. “Hey!” His voice cut through the night. That face. Strong. Determined. Filled with anger over the man trying to take her purse. She fought more. She had to break away from the smelly man’s grip.
“Hey!”
Fight. Fight. Get away.
“Hold on, everything’s okay. You’re safe.” Did she recognize the man’s voice? “I’ve got you.” Hands gripped her shoulders, kept her still. She held her breath.
More hands smoothed back her hair. “It’s okay, hon.” A woman’s voice. “Calm down. You’re in the hospital.”
Hospital? Had she heard right?
Carey shook her head. It hurt. She was hit by a wave of vertigo that made her quit squirming. She lay still, waiting for the hands to release her. It felt like she was in an extremely comfortable bed. She relaxed her tight, squinting eyes and slowly opened first one then the other. She turned her head to a shadow looming above her. It had features. The face she remembered from her dreams. Strong. Brave. Was this still a dream?
She stared at him, her breathing rapid, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the light. He was the man who’d taken on her attacker. She scanned his face. Kind brown eyes. Short dark hair. A square jaw. Good looking.
“You’re in the hospital and you’re safe,” he said in a low, comforting voice.
She looked beyond him to a gorgeous room. A hospital? It looked more like an expensive hotel with muted colors and modern furniture, chic, classy, a room she’d never been able to afford in her life. Was she still dreaming? Since she’d stopped protesting, it was quiet. Oh, and there was an IV in her arm. Being an RN herself, she recognized that right off. A catheter between her legs? And she wore a hospital gown. But this one was silky and smooth, not one of those worn-out over-starched jobs at the hospital where she worked.
Everything was so strange. Surreal. As she gathered her senses she couldn’t remember where she was other than being in a hospital. She couldn’t figure out why she’d be here. Wait. Someone had attacked her. She’d been pushed down. Oh, no! Her hand flew to her stomach, and she gasped.
“My baby!” Her voice sounded muffled and strange, as if her ears were plugged.
“Your baby’s fine,” the woman said. “So you remember you’re pregnant.”
Her hearing improved. She nodded, and it hurt, but she smiled anyway because her baby was fine.
The attractive young man smiled back at her, and the concern in his eyes was surprising. Did she know him?
“My baby’s fine,” she whispered to him, and a rush of feelings overcame her until she cried.
Then the strangest thing happened. The man that she wasn’t sure if she knew or not, the man with the kind brown eyes...his welled up, too. “Your baby’s fine.” His voice sounded raspy.
She cried softly for a few moments, his eyes misty and glistening as he gave a caring smile, and it felt so good.
“Where am I?”
“You’re in the hospital, hon,” the nearby nurse said.
“But where am I?”
“Hollywood,” he said. “You’re in California.”
She thought hard, vaguely remembering getting on a bus. Getting off a bus. It was all too much to straighten out right now. She was exhausted.
“What’s your name, honey?” The nurse continued.
“Carey Spencer.” At least she remembered her name. But she needed to rest. To close her eyes and...
“She’s out again.” The kind man’s voice sounded far, far away.
“That’s what happens sometimes with head injuries,” the nurse replied.
* * *
Dr. Williams cancelled the plan to transfer her to a coma unit since it was clear Carey Spencer was waking up. Joe assigned another paramedic to cover his shift and stayed by her bedside, hoping to be there when she woke up again. The next time, hopefully, would be permanently. He had dozed off for a second.
“Where am I?” Her voice.
Had he slept a few minutes?
He forced open his eyes and faced Carey as she sat up in the bed, propped by several pillows. Her hair fell in a tangle of waves over her shoulders. Those dark green eyes flashed at him. She’d already figured out how to use the hand-held bed adjuster. “Where am I?” she asked more forcefully.
He’d told her earlier, but she’d suffered a head trauma, her brain was all jumbled up inside. Because of the concussion she might forget things for a long time to come. She deserved the facts.
“You’re in the hospital in Hollywood, California. You got off a cross-country bus the other night. Do you remember where you came from?”
“I don’t want anyone contacting my family.”
He rang for the nurse. “We won’t contact anyone unless you tell us to.”
“I’m from Montclare, Illinois. It’s on the outskirts of Chicago.”
“Okay. Are you married?”
She shook her head, then looked at him tentatively. “I’m pregnant.” Her eyes captured his and he could tell she remembered they’d gotten emotional together earlier when she’d woken up before. “And my baby’s okay.” She gave a gentle smile and odd protective sensations rippled over him. Those green eyes and the dark auburn hair. Wow. Her blackened eye may have been healing, but even with the shiner she was breathtaking. In his opinion anyway.
“Yes. Everything is okay in that department. How far along are you? Do you know?”
“Three months.”
“And you came here on the bus for...?”
She hesitated. “Not for. To get away.” She lifted her arms, covered in fading bruises. “I needed to get away.”
“I understand.” The uncompromising need to protect her welled up full force again. “Are you in trouble?”
She shook her head, then looked like it hurt to do so and immediately stopped.
The nurse came in, and asked Joe to leave so she could assess her patient and attend to her personal needs. He headed toward the door.
“Wait!” she said.
He turned.
“What’s your name?”
“I’m Joseph Matthews. I’m the paramedic who brought you here.”
“Thank you, Joseph. I owe you my life. And my baby’s,” she said from behind the privacy curtain.
He stared at his work boots, an uncertain smile creasing his lips. She certainly didn’t owe him her life, but he was awfully glad to have been on scene the night she’d needed him.
The police were notified, and Joe didn’t want to stick around where he had no business, though in his heart he felt he deserved to know the whole story, so he went back to work. Around ten p.m., nearing the end of his shift, James approached. “Did you know she’s a nurse?”
“I didn’t. Interesting.”
“She won’t tell us how she got all banged up, but the fact she doesn’t want us to contact the father of the baby explains that, doesn’t it.”
“Sadly, true.”
“So, since she’s recovering, if all goes well after tonight, I’m going to have to discharge her.”
Startled by the news, Joe wondered why it hadn’t occurred to him before. Of course she couldn’t live here at the clinic. Her identity had been stolen along with her purse and any money she may have had in it. She was pregnant and alone in a strange city, and he couldn’t very well let her become homeless, too. Hell, tomorrow was Sunday! “I’ve got an extra room. I could put her up until she gets back on her feet.”
Joe almost did a second take, hearing himself make the offer, but when he thought more about it, he’d meant it. Every word. Even hoped she’d take him up on it.
“That’s great,” James said. “Though she may feel more comfortable staying with one of our nurses.”
“True. Dumb idea, I guess.”
“Not dumb. Pretty damn noble if you ask me. I’ll vouch for you being a gentleman.” James cast him a knowing smile and walked away.
Joe fought the urge to rush to Carey’s room. She’d been through a lot today, waking up after a three-day sleep and all, and probably had a lot of thinking and sorting out to do. The social worker would be pestering her about her lost identification and credit cards and helping straighten out that mess. The poor woman’s already bruised brain was probably spinning.
He needed to give her space, not make her worry he was some kind of weird stalker or something. But he wanted to tell her good night so he hiked over to the DOU and room Seventeen A, knocked on the wall outside the door, and when she told him to come in, he poked his head around the corner.
“Just wanted to say good night.”
She seemed much less tense now and her smile came easily. She was so pretty, the smile nearly stopped him in his tracks. “Good night. Thanks for everything you’ve done for me.”
“Glad to be of service, Carey.”
“They’re going to let me go tomorrow.”
“Do you have a place to stay?”
“Not yet. Social Services is looking into something.”
He walked closer to her bed and sat on the edge of his favorite chair. “I...uh...I have a two-bedroom house in West Hollywood. It’s on a cul-de-sac, and it’s really safe. Uh, the thing is, if you don’t have any place to go, you can use my spare room. It’s even got a private bathroom.”
“You’ve done so much for me already. I couldn’t—”
“Just until you get back on your feet. Uh, you know. If you want. That is.” Why did he sound like a stammering, yammering teenager asking a girl on a date? That wasn’t what he’d had in mind. He just wanted to help her. That was all.
She was the vision of a woman trying to make up her mind. Judging him on whether she could trust him or not, and from her recent experience Joe could understand why she might doubt herself. “Um, Dr. Rothsberg will vouch for me.”
“I’ll vouch for who?” James walked in on their awkward moment.
“I was just inviting Carey to stay in my spare room, if she needs a place to stay for a while.”
James nailed Carey with his stare. “He’s a good man. You can trust him.” Then he turned and faced Joe and looked questioning. “I think.”
That got a laugh out of Carey, and Joe shook his head. Guys loved to mess with each other.
“Okay, then,” she said, surprising the heck out of Joe.
“Okay?”
“Yes. Thank you.” The woman truly knew how to be gracious, and for that he was grateful.
He smiled. “You’re welcome. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” It was his day off, but he’d be back here in a heartbeat when she was ready for discharge.
He turned to leave, unusually happy and suddenly finding the need to rush home and clean the house.
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_99f51859-6c3f-5db2-9b21-b1a2c5f6f3e5)
JOE HAD WORKED like a fiend to clean his house that morning before he went to the clinic to bring Carey back. He’d gotten her room prepared and put his best towels into the guest bathroom, wanting her to feel at home. He’d stocked the bathroom with everything he thought she might need from shampoo to gentle facial soap, scented body wash, and of course a toothbrush and toothpaste. Oh, and a brush for that beautiful auburn hair.
Aware that Carey only had the clothes on her back, he’d pegged her to be around his middle sister Lori’s size and had borrowed a couple pairs of jeans and tops. Boy, he’d had a lot of explaining to do when he’d asked, too, since Lori was a typical nosy sister, especially since his divorce.
Once, while Carey had been sleeping in the clinic, he’d checked the size of her shoes and now he hoped she wouldn’t mind that he’d bought her a pair of practical ladies’ slip-on rubber-soled shoes and some flip-flops, because she couldn’t exactly walk around in those sexy boots all the time. Plus, flip-flops were acceptable just about everywhere in Southern California. He was grateful some of the nurses had bought her a package of underwear and another bra—he’d heard that through the grapevine, thanks to Stephanie, the gossipy receptionist at The Hollywood Hills Clinic, who’d said she’d gone in on the collection of money for said items.
Now he waited in the foyer for the nurse or orderly to bring Carey around for discharge, having parked his car in the circular driveway. Careful not to say anything to Stephanie about the living arrangements, knowing that if he did so the whole clinic would soon find out, he smiled, assured her that Social Services had arranged for something, and with crossed arms tapped his fingers on his elbows, waiting.
She rounded the corner, being pushed in a wheelchair—clinic policy for discharges, regardless of how well the patient felt, but most especially for someone status post-head injury like her. She was dressed the way he’d first seen her last Wednesday night, and she trained her apprehensive glance straight at him. Even from this distance he noticed those dark green eyes, and right now they were filled with questions. Yeah, it would be weird to bring a strange lady into his home, especially one who continuously made his nerve endings and synapses react as if she waved some invisible magnetic wand.
He wanted to make her feel comfortable, so he smiled and walked to pick up the few things she had stuffed into a clinic tote bag, a classier version of the usual plastic discharge bags from other hospitals he’d worked at. It was one of the perks of choosing The Hollywood Hills Clinic for medical care, though in her case she hadn’t had a choice.
* * *
It was nothing short of a pure leap of faith, going home with a complete stranger like this, Carey knew, but her options were nil and, well, the guy had cried with her that first day in the hospital when she’d woken up. The only thing that had mattered to her after the mugging was her baby, and when she’d been reassured it was all right, she’d been unable to hold back the tears. Joseph Matthews was either the easiest guy crier she’d ever met or the most empathetic man on the planet. Either way, it made him special. She had to remember that. Plus he’d saved her life. She’d never forget that.
When Dr. Rothsberg had vouched for him, and she’d already noticed how everyone around the clinic seemed to like the guy, she’d made a snap decision to take the paramedic up on his offer. But, really, where else did she have to go, a homeless shelter? She’d been out of touch with her parents for years and Ross was the reason she’d run away. She had zero intention of contacting any of them.
Recent history proved she couldn’t necessarily trust her instincts, but she still had a good feeling about the paramedic.
When they first left the clinic parking lot Joseph slowed down so she could look back and up toward the hillside to the huge Hollywood sign. Somehow it didn’t seem nearly as exciting as she’d thought it would be. Maybe because it hurt to turn her head. Or maybe because, being that close, it was just some big old white letters, with some parts in need of a paint touch-up. Now she sat in his car, her head aching, nerves jangled, driving down a street called Highland. Having passed the Hollywood Bowl and going into the thick of Hollywood, she admitted to feeling disappointed. Where was the magic? To her it was just another place with crowded streets in need of a thorough cleaning.
It was probably her lousy mood. She’d never planned on visiting California. She’d been perfectly happy in Montclare. She’d loved her RN job, loved owning her car, being independent for the first time in her life. She still remembered the monumental day she’d gotten the key to her first apartment and had moved out once and for all from her parents’ house. Life had been all she’d dreamed it would be, why would she ever need to go to Hollywood?
Then she’d met Ross Wilson and had thought she’d fallen in love, until she’d realized too late what kind of man he really was.
Nope. She’d come to Hollywood only because it had been the first bus destination she’d found out of Chicago. For her it hadn’t been a matter of choice, but a matter of life and death.
* * *
Back at his house, Joe gave Carey space to do whatever she needed to do to make herself at home in her room. She’d been so quiet on the ride over, he was worried she was scared of him. He’d probably need to tread lightly until she got more comfortable around him. He thought about taking off for the afternoon, giving her time to herself, but, honestly, he worried she might bolt. Truth was, he didn’t know what she might do, and his list of questions was getting longer and longer. All he really knew for sure was that he wanted to keep her safe.
The first thing he heard after she’d gone to her room had been the shower being turned on, and the image that planted in his head needed to be erased. Fast. So he decided to work out with his hanging punchbag in his screened-in patio, which he used as a makeshift gym. He changed clothes and headed to the back of the house, turned on a John Coltrane set, his favorite music to hit the bag with, and got down to working out.
With his hands up, chin tucked in, he first moved in and out around the bag, utilizing his footwork, warming up, moving the bag, pushing it and dancing around, getting his balance. With bare hands he threw his first warm-up punches, slap, slap, slap, working the bag, punching more. The stitches across his rib cage pulled and stung a little, but probably wouldn’t tear through his skin. Though after the first few punches he checked to make sure. They were healing and held the skin taut that was all.
As his session heated up, so did the wild saxophone music. He pulled off his T-shirt and got more intense, beating the hell out of the innocent bag where he mentally pasted every wrong the world had ever laid at his feet. His wife sleeping with his best friend, the lies about her baby being his. The divorce. He worked through the usual warm-up, heating up quickly. Then he pounded that bag for women abused by boyfriends and innocent victims who got mugged after getting off buses. Wham. He hit that bag over and over, pummeling it, his breath huffing, sweat flying. Thump, bam, whump!
“Excuse me, Joseph?”
Jolted, he halted in mid-punch, first stabilizing the punchbag so it wouldn’t swing back and hit him, then shifted his gaze toward Carey. She had on different jeans, and one of his sister’s bright pink cotton tops, and her wet hair was pulled up into a ponytail, giving her a wholesome look. Which he thought was sexy.
“Oh. Hey. Call me Joe. Everything okay?” he asked, out of breath.
“That music sounds like fighting.” She had to raise her voice to be heard over the jazz.
“Oh, sorry, let me turn it off.” That’s why he liked to work out with Coltrane, it got wild and crazy, often the way he felt.
Her gaze darted between his naked torso and his sweaty face. “I was just wondering if I could make a sandwich.”
“Of course. Help yourself to anything. I’ve got cold cuts in the fridge. There’s some fruit, too.”
“Thanks.” Her eyes stayed on his abdomen and he felt the need to suck it in, even though he didn’t have a gut. “You know you’re bleeding?”
He glanced down. Sure enough, he’d tugged a stitch too hard and torn a little portion of his skin. “Oh. Didn’t realize.” He grabbed his towel and blotted it quickly.
“Did you get hurt when you helped me?”
“Yeah, the jerk sliced me with his knife.” Still blotting, he looked up.
Her eyes had gone wide. “You risked your life for me? I’m so sorry.”
“Hey, I didn’t risk my life.” Had he? “I was just doing my job.”
“Do paramedics usually fight guys with blades in their hands?”
“Well, maybe not every day, but it could happen.” He flashed a sheepish grin over the bravado. “At least, it has now.”
Her expression looked so sad he wanted to hug her, but they hardly knew each other.
“Thank you.” He sensed she also meant she was sorry.
“Not a problem. Glad to do it.” He waited to capture her eyes then nodded, wanting to make sure she understood she deserved nothing less than someone saving her from an alley attacker. They stood staring at each other for a moment or two too long, and since he was the one who always got caught up in the magic of her eyes, she looked away first. Standing in his boxing shorts, shirtless, he felt like he’d been caught naked winning that staring match.
“So...I’m going to make that sandwich.” She pointed toward the door then led into the small kitchen, just around the corner from the dining area and his patio, while he assessed his stitches again. Yeah, he’d taken a knife for her, but the alternative, her getting stabbed by a sleazebag and maybe left to die, had been unacceptable.
The woman had a way of drumming up forgotten protective feelings and a whole lot more. Suddenly the house felt way too small for both of them. How was he going to deal with that while she stayed here?
Maybe one last punch to the bag then he promised to stop. Thump! The stitches tugged more and smarted. He hated feeling uncomfortable in his own house and blamed it on the size. He’d thought about selling it after Angela had agreed to leave, but the truth was he liked the neighborhood, it was close enough to work, and most of his family lived within a ten-mile radius. And why should he have to change his life completely because his wife had been unfaithful? Okay, one last one-two punch. Whump, thump. Ouch, my side. He grabbed his towel again and rubbed it over his wringing-wet hair.
One odd thought occurred to him as he dried himself off. When was the last time a woman had seen him shirtless? His ex-wife Angela had left a year ago, and was a new mother now. Good luck with that. He hadn’t brought anyone home since she’d left, choosing to throw himself into his expanding business and demanding job rather than get involved with any poor unsuspecting women. He was angry at the world for being sterile, and angrier at the two people he’d trusted most, his wife and his best friend. Where was a guy supposed to go from there? Ah, what the hell. He punched the bag again. Wham thud wham.
“Would you like a sandwich?”
Not used to hearing a female voice in his house, it startled him from his down spiraling thoughts. A woman, a complete stranger no less, was going to be staying here for an indeterminate amount of time. Had he been crazy to offer? Two strangers in an eleven-hundred-square-foot house. That was too damn close, with hardly a way to avoid each other. Hell, their bedrooms were only separated by a narrow hallway and the bathrooms. What had he been thinking? His stomach growled. On the upside, she’d just offered to make him a sandwich.
Besides everything he was feeling—the awkwardness, the getting used to a stranger—he could only imagine she felt the same. Except for the unwanted attraction on his part, he was quite sure that wasn’t an issue for her—considering her situation, she must feel a hell of a lot more vulnerable. He needed to be on his best behavior for Carey. She deserved no less.
“Yes, thanks, a sandwich sounds great.” Since the bleeding had stopped, he tossed on his T-shirt after wiping his chest and underarms, then joined her in the kitchen.
“Do you like lettuce and tomato?”
“Whatever you’re having is fine. I’m easy.” His hands hung on to both sides of the towel around his neck.
“I never got morning sickness, like most women do. I’ve been ravenous from the beginning, so you’re getting the works.”
She was tallish and slender, without any sign of being pregnant, and somehow he found it hard to believe she ate too much. “Sounds good. Hey, I thought I’d barbecue some chicken tonight. You up for that?”
She turned and shared a shy smile. “Like I said, I’m always hungry, so it sounds good to me.”
He got stuck on the smile that delivered a mini sucker punch and didn’t answer right away. “Okay. It looks like it’ll be nice out, so I thought we could eat outdoors on the deck.” He needed to put some space between them, and it wouldn’t feel as close or intimate out there. Just keep telling yourself she’s wearing your sister’s clothes. Your sister’s clothes.
He’d done a lot with his backyard, putting in a garden and lots of shrubbery for privacy’s sake from his neighbors, plus he’d built his own cedar-plank deck and was proud of how it’d turned out. It had been one of the therapeutic projects he’d worked on during the divorce.
The houses had been built close together in this neighborhood back in the nineteen-forties. He liked to refer to it as his start-up house, had once planned to start his family in it, too. Too bad it had been someone else’s family that had gotten started here.
Fortunately, Carey interrupted his negative thoughts again jabbing a plate with a sandwich into his side. He took the supremely well-stacked sandwich and grabbed some cold water from the refrigerator, raised the bottle to see if she’d like one. Without a word she nodded, and put her equally well-stacked sandwich on a second plate. As he walked to the dining table with the bottles in one hand and his sandwich in the other, he called out, “Chips are on the counter.”
“Already found them,” she said, appearing at the table, hands full with food and potato-chips bag, knocking him over the head with her smile—how much could a lonely man take? Obviously she was ready to eat.
It occurred to him they had some natural communication skills going on, and the thought made him uneasy. Beyond uneasy to downright uncomfortable. He clenched his jaw. He didn’t want to communicate with a woman ever again. At least not yet, anyway, but since he’d just had a good workout and he was hungry, starved, in fact, he’d let his concerns slide. For now. Carey proved to be a woman of her word, too, matching him bite for bite. Yeah, she could put it away.
After they’d eaten, Carey asked to use his phone to make some calls.
“What’d I say earlier? Mi casa es su casa. It’s a California rule. Make yourself at home, okay?” Though he said it, he wasn’t anywhere near ready to meaning it.
“But it’s long distance.”
“I know you’ve got a lot of things to work out. All your important documents were stolen.” This, helping her get her life back in order, he could do. The part of living with a woman again? Damn, it was hard. Sometimes, just catching the scent of her shampoo when she walked past seemed more than he could take.
“The clinic social worker has been helping me, and my credit cards have been cancelled now. But I couldn’t even order new ones because I didn’t have an address to send them to.”
“You’ve got one now.” He looked her in the eyes, didn’t let her glance away. He’d made a promise to himself on her behalf that he’d watch over her, take care of her. It had to do with finding her completely helpless in that alley and the fierce sense of protectiveness he’d felt. “You can stay here as long as you need to. I’m serious.”
She sent him a disbelieving look. In it Joe glimpsed how deeply some creep back in Illinois had messed her up and it made him want to deck the faceless dude. But he also sensed something else behind her disbelief. “Thank you.”
“Sure. You’re welcome.” Though she only whispered the reply, he knew without a doubt she was really grateful to be here, and that made the nearly constant awkward feelings about living with a complete stranger, a woman more appealing than he cared to admit, worth it.
* * *
Later, over dinner on the deck in the backyard, Joe sipped a beer and Carey lemonade. Her hair was down now, and she’d put on the sweater she’d worn that first night over his sister’s top. In early June, the evenings were still cool, and many mornings were overcast with what they called “June gloom” in Southern California. She’d spent the entire dinner asking about his backyard and job, which were safe topics, so it was fine with him. Since she’d been asking so many questions, he got up the nerve to ask her one of the several questions he had for her. Also within the safe realm of topics—work.
“I heard at the clinic that you’re a nurse?”
She looked surprised. “Yes. That was the call I made earlier, to the hospital where I worked. I guess you could say I’m now officially on a leave of absence.”
“So you’ll probably go back there when you feel better?” Why did this question, and her possible answer, make him feel both relief and dread? He clenched his jaw, something he’d started doing again since Carey had moved in.
She grimaced. “I can’t. I’ll have to quit at some point, but for now I’m using the sick leave and vacation time I’ve saved up and, I hope you don’t mind, I gave them your address so they could mail my next check to me here.”
“Remember. Mi casa es tuya.” He took another drag on his longneck, meaning every word in the entire extent of his Spanish speaking, but covering for the load of mixed-up feelings that kept dropping into his lap. What was it about this girl that made him feel so damn uncomfortable?
His practiced reply got a relieved smile out of her, and he allowed himself to enjoy how her eyes slanted upward whenever she did. It was dangerous to notice things like that and, really, what was the point? But having the beer had loosened him up and he snuck more looks than usual at her during dinner. “The clinic is always looking for good nurses. What’s your specialty?”
“I work, or I should say worked, in a medical-surgical unit. I loved it, too.”
“See...” he pointed her way “...that would fit right in. When you feel better, maybe you should look into it. I can talk to James about it if you’d like.” Yeah, keep these interactions all about helping her, and maybe she’ll skip the part about asking you about yourself.
“James?”
“Dr. Rothsberg.”
“First I have to get my RN license reissued from Illinois since it was stolen along with everything else.”
So maybe she did have plans to stay here and seek employment. Now he could get confused again and try to ignore that flicker of hope he’d kept feeling since she’d walked into his life. He ground his molars. “Would your license be accepted in California?”
“I did some research on the bus ride out and I’ll have to apply here in California. That’ll take some time, I suspect.”
“Well, I’m working days tomorrow, so you can spend the whole day using my computer and phone and maybe start straightening out everything you need to.”
She nodded. “I do have some people I owe a call.” Deep in thought, she probably went straight to the gazillion things she’d have to do to re-create herself and begin a new life for her and her baby in a new state. He wouldn’t want to be in her shoes, and wished he could somehow help even more. Would that go beyond his promise to watch over her?
At least the social worker and the police department had started the ball rolling on a few things. But, man, what a mess she had to clean up, especially since she hadn’t wanted her family notified of her whereabouts. Why was that?
Joe wanted to ask her about her living situation back home, but suspected she’d shut down on him like a trapdoor if he did this soon, so he tucked those questions into his “bring up later” file. With an ironic inward laugh, he supposed they had a lot in common, not wanting to bring up the past and all. “You feel like watching a little TV?” He figured she could use something to distract her from all the things she’d have to tackle tomorrow.
“I’d like that but only after you let me clean up from dinner.”
“Only if you’ll let me help.” Hell, could they get any more polite?
She smiled. “So after we do the dishes, what would you like to watch?”
“You choose.” Yeah, he’d let his guest make all the decisions tonight. It was the right thing to do.
“I like that show about zombies.”
“Seriously?” He never would have pegged her as a horror fan. “It’s my favorite, too, but I didn’t think it would be good for your bambino.”
“Ha,” she said, picking up the dishes from the bench table on the outdoor deck. “After what this little one has been through already, a pretend TV show should be a walk in the park.” She glanced down at her stomach while heading inside and toward the kitchen. “Isn’t that right, sweetie pie.”
There he went grinding his molars again. He followed her in and watched her put the dishes on the counter and unconsciously pat her abdomen then smile. That simple act sent a flurry of quick memories about Angela and how excited they’d once been when she’d first found out she’d gotten pregnant. They’d been about to give up trying since it had been over a year, had even had fertility tests done. They’d rationalized that because they were both paramedics and under a lot of stress, and he worked extended hours trying to make a good impression with Dr. Rothsberg, that was the reason she’d been unable to get pregnant.
So they’d taken a quickie vacation. Then one day, wham, she magically announced she was expecting. Joe had practically jumped over the moon that night, he’d been so happy. They’d finally start their own version of a big happy family. Since Angela’s body had gotten the hang of getting pregnant, he’d planned to talk her into having a few more kids after this one. He’d walked on air for a couple of months...until his fertility report had dropped into the mailbox. Late. Very, very late.
What a fool he’d been.
Trying to give his overworked jaw a break, Joe went to town scrubbing the grill from the barbecue as if it was a matter of life and death. By the time they’d finished with the cleanup, he didn’t know about Carey any more, but he definitely needed the distraction of some mindless TV viewing.
She sat on the small couch, passing him along the way, and he caught the scent of her shampoo again. It was a fresh, fruity summer kind of smell with a touch of coconut, which when he’d bought it for her had never planned for it to be a minor form of torture.
Mixed up about his feelings for the smart and easygoing nurse from Illinois, he intentionally sat on the chair opposite the couch, not ready to get too close to her again tonight. It brought up too many bad memories, and he so did not want to go there. There was only so much boxing a guy could do in a day. Torture sounded better than reliving his failed marriage. He clicked on the TV right on time for the show they both liked to escape to. If zombies couldn’t make him forget how attracted he was to the lovely stranger living in his house, nothing could.
* * *
Carey put her head on the pillow of the surprisingly comfortable guest bed, thinking it was the first time she could remember feeling safe in ages. Things had gotten super-tense living with Ross those last few weeks, and, talk about the worst timing in the world, she’d gotten pregnant right around the time she’d known she had to leave him.
She didn’t want to think about that now, because it would keep her awake, and she was really tired. It’d felt so normal and relaxing to sit and watch TV with Joe. He’d made the best barbecue chicken she’d ever eaten and she’d made a pig out of herself over the baked potato with all the toppings, but she chalked it up to his making her feel so welcome. The only problem was she couldn’t get the vision of him in his boxing shorts, working out with the punchbag, out of her mind. Wow, his lean body had showcased every muscle in his arms and across his back as he’d punched. His movements had been fluid and nothing short of perfection. Not to mention his washboard stomach and powerful legs. The guy didn’t have an ounce of fat on him.
What on earth was she thinking? Her life was in a shambles. She had an unborn baby to take care of. The last thing she should be thinking about was a man.
A naturally sexy man with kind brown eyes and a voice soothing enough to give her chills. She squeezed her eyes tight and shook her head on the pillow.
When she finally settled down and began to drift off to sleep she realized this was the first day she’d ever felt positive about her and the baby’s future in three months. Things would work out for her, she just knew it. Because she, with the help of Joe, would make sure they did.
A slight smile crossed her lips as a curtain of sleep inched its way down until all was dark and she peacefully crossed into sweet dreams. Thanks to Joe.
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_bdca68b0-585c-54e7-b294-66f82fa557e7)
ON MONDAY, AFTER working all day, Joe insisted Carey come out with him for dinner, which was fine with her because she’d felt kind of cooped up. They ate at a little diner, then he showed her around Santa Monica, like the perfect host. She got the distinct impression it was to get them, and keep them, out of the house, because sometimes things felt too close there.
At least, that’s how it felt for her, and sometimes she sensed it was the same for him. The guy seemed to bite down on his jaw a lot! But she soon ignored her worries about him not wanting her around and went straight to loving seeing the beach and the Pacific Ocean, and especially the Santa Monica pier.
On Tuesday Joe had the day off, and he dutifully took her shopping for more clothes at a place called the Beverly Center. They checked the directory and he guided her to the few stores she’d shown interest in, then he stood outside in the mall area, giving her space to shop. Clearly he wanted nothing to do with helping her choose clothes, rather he just did what he thought he should do out of courtesy to her situation. She protested all the way when he insisted on paying for everything. She sensed his generosity was based on some sense of charitable obligation, and she only accepted his offer when he’d agreed to let her repay him once she was back on her feet. She’d be sure to keep a tally because things were quickly adding up!
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/lynne-marshall/his-pregnant-sleeping-beauty/) на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.