Not Quite Married Page 4

  Astrid lived in an exclusive gated community. And she was every bit as beautiful as the pictures Clara had seen online. She congratulated Clara on her upcoming motherhood and Clara wondered if she knew that the baby was Dalton’s.

  Astrid led Clara into her beautiful home and served her a delicious late lunch of penne pasta with fennel sausage, broccoli, garlic cream and grana padano cheese.

  As they enjoyed the wonderful food, Clara went ahead and admitted, “This is Dalton’s baby.”

  Astrid nodded. “I had a feeling that might be the case. I...wish you both the very best.”

  What to say to that? “Thank you.”

  Astrid confirmed what Dalton had already told Clara, that Dalton had occasionally helped her with her causes and served as her escort at a couple of events. “But that was months ago. I’m actually seeing someone now. Someone very special.” A slight, tender sort of smile curved her perfect lips. “Dalton and I are not getting back together. The marriage is over. It’s been over for a long time.”

  “What went wrong?” Clara dared to ask.

  Astrid only shook her head. “It’s never a good idea to ask the ex what went wrong. You should take it up with Dalton.”

  Clara could hardly picture herself taking anything up with Dalton. But she only nodded and agreed that yes, he was the one she ought to ask about that.

  She left Astrid’s house at a little after four and fought rush-hour traffic until she finally got north of the metro area. All the way home, she stewed over how she needed to get straight with Dalton. She needed to start working with him instead of avoiding him; they needed to begin to adjust to their roles as parents of the same child.

  At home, she dug her phone out of her purse, dropped the purse on the hall table and carried the phone through to the great room, where she sank to the sofa and kicked off her shoes. With a tired sigh, she let her head drop to the sofa back.

  Dalton. She needed to make peace with him for the sake of the baby. But she hated that she was still attracted to him, even though he’d turned out to be nothing like the man she’d fallen for on the island.

  Plus, hello. Extremely pregnant, big as a cow. And tired. Tired to the bone. She just couldn’t talk to him right then.

  And she wouldn’t.

  Tomorrow. Yeah. She’d get a good night’s rest and call him in the morning.

  The phone rang in her hand.

  Dalton Ames, read the display. She put the damn thing to her ear. “What?”

  “Astrid tells me you went to see her.”

  She stifled another groan. “Yes, Dalton. Astrid has set me straight.”

  “Good. Let me take you to dinner tonight.”

  She cradled her enormous belly with her free hand and sighed. “I’m eight months pregnant, Dalton. I just drove five hours round-trip to and from Castle Pines Village.”

  “You should have called me. I would have sent a car.”

  “The point is, I’m not going anywhere this evening but to bed.”

  Dead silence. Then, “My God, Clara. Are you all right?”

  She wasn’t, not really. She felt torn in two. But she was much too tired to do anything about that at the moment. “Dalton, we’ll talk, I promise.”

  “When?”

  “Soon. I really have to go.”

  “I’ll be there by nine at the latest.”

  “What? Here? No. Why?”

  “I want to see for myself that you’re all right.”

  Clara gathered every last ounce of will and determination she had left and she told him, “Don’t you dare, Dalton. You had better not knock on my door tonight.”

  More silence. Finally, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  She wasn’t, as a matter of fact. But no way was she telling him that. “Yes. I’m fine.”

  “Get some rest, Clara.”

  “That is exactly what I plan to do.”

  He said good-night then. She breathed a careful sigh of relief as she hung up the phone. Then she dragged her poor, tired body up off the sofa and into her bedroom, where she fell into bed.

  In spite of her exhaustion, she didn’t sleep well.

  In the morning, she considered taking the day off. But that seemed wrong, after cutting out on her crew the day before.

  So she pulled herself together, threw on a comfy blue dress with a handkerchief hem and a sturdy pair of flat-heeled sandals. She gathered her hair up into a scraggly ponytail and went in—and found Dalton there, sitting at a window table, sipping coffee and eating a Tuscan omelet. At the sight of him, in yet another of those beautiful tailor-made suits of his, looking fresh and rested and ready to get right to work bossing her around, her heart actually seemed to skip a beat.

  Seriously?

  What was the problem with her heart, anyway? It had no business skipping beats over him. She was as big as a barn and her ankles were swollen. The last thing she needed now was to get all excited over the guy who’d gotten her into this condition in the first place.

  Some people’s hearts just never learned.

  Through a monumental effort of sheer will, she put on her calmest expression and toddled over to deal with him.

  The first words out of his mouth were “You look terrible.”

  As if that was news to her. Of course she looked terrible. She was beat. Just completely exhausted from the constant, months-long strain of this whole situation.

  And her restaurant was packed, as usual. Which was a good thing—except that all of her customers seemed to be staring at her and the big, handsome man in the great suit who gazed up at her critically, as though he, and only he, knew what was good for her.

  Wonderful. Just what she needed. The whole town up in her business all over again, the way they were when she almost married Ryan.

  And then he did something even more annoying than telling her she looked like crap: he actually put on a smile. And damned if that smile didn’t tug at her silly heartstrings.

  “I like your café.” The blue gaze scanned the two-story wall of bookshelves that gave the café its name. He took in the tan-and-coffee-colored walls hung with art by local artists. He glanced approvingly at the many windows, most with mountain views. He nodded at the cast-iron spiral staircase in the center of the room, which led up to a second dining room open to the floor below. “It’s beautiful, Clara. And the food is excellent.”

  “Thank you,” she said with careful control, keeping her voice just loud enough to be heard by him and him alone. “Tell you what, why don’t you join me in my office when you’re finished eating? We can speak privately. It’s through that arch on the right as you’re facing the counter.”

  He frowned up at her. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Why are you always asking me that?” She spoke through clenched teeth.

  “Because you look like you’re about to fall over.”

  She lifted a hand and smoothed her scraped-back hair. “I’m just fine, thank you. My office, then?”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  “No hurry. Take your time.” Take forever. Please.

  He nodded and picked up his fork again. She seized the moment and made her escape. Head high, giant belly leading the way, she turned for the back rooms.

  In her office, she shut the door, sagged against it and stared blindly at the tiny window high on the back wall that looked out on the alley. Really, she didn’t feel well.

  Her hands were chilly; her forehead was sweating. Her stomach churned and her overworked heart pounded away like a herd of wild mustangs trapped inside her chest.

  What did he want from her?

  To break her heart all over again?

  For the past eight months, her previously well-ordered life had veered right off the rails into Crazyland. Her life had been one giant, tangled ball of anxiety and upheaval for way, way too long.

  Logically, she knew that it wasn’t Dalton’s fault, that they’d had an agreement on the island and she was the one who’d wanted to make it
more than it was. But in her heart, she blamed him. For not being there. For not wanting her more, for not being the perfect man she’d let herself imagine he was.

  A tap on the door.

  Time to face him again.

  She pressed cold fingers to her hot, itchy eyelids and dragged herself up straight.

  “Clara?” His voice, from the other side of the door. Gentle, for once. Maybe even a little concerned.

  She didn’t need or want his concern. “Yes. Yes, all right.” She pulled the door wide.

  And there he was, looking so good she wanted to break down and cry. He couldn’t get away from her fast enough on the island. And now, since she’d told him about the baby, she couldn’t get rid of him.

  It was all so very confusing.

  She opened her mouth to tell him...what?

  She didn’t even know what to say to him.

  And then it turned out it didn’t matter that she couldn’t think of what to say. Because before she could get a word out, she fainted dead away.

  Chapter Three

  “Clara?” Dalton watched in horror as her eyes rolled back in her head and she swayed toward him.

  Her face had gone dead white; her forehead and upper lip bloomed with sweat. He caught her automatically as her knees buckled, her body folding in over her big belly, gravity dragging her to the floor.

  Stunned, he stared down at the top of her head. She was limp as a rag doll, out cold.

  He knew terror then. Stark, raw terror. “Clara, my God...”

  No response. She sagged in his arms.

  Bracing one arm at her back, he bent to get her behind the knees with the other before she could slither from his grip. Then, hoisting her high against his chest, he carried her over to the gray velvet love seat under the window and carefully lowered her down onto it.

  “Clara...” he whispered, and put his hand to her damp forehead. No fever. If anything, her soft skin was too cool. The scent of her drifted to him. Sweet as ever. He wanted to touch her stomach, to somehow reassure her and the baby within her that everything was going to be okay, that he would make it so.

  But before he could move his hand from her forehead to her belly, she stirred and moaned. Her eyelids fluttered open.

  “What am I...? Dalton?” She put her palm to her stomach—just as he’d wanted to do—and looked down the length of her own body, frowning. “How did I...?”

  “You fainted.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and punched in 911.

  She tried to sit up. “Listen, I—”

  “Don’t.” He clasped her shoulder. “Stay down.”

  “But I...”

  “Shh. Rest.”

  Wonder of wonders, she settled against the cushions with a long, weary sigh, lifting the back of her hand to cover her eyes.

  The 911 dispatcher answered, “What is your emergency?”

  “I need an ambulance at the Library Café.”

  The dispatcher started in with her series of questions.

  Simultaneously, Clara gasped and dropped her hand away from her eyes. She glared at him accusingly. “An ambulance? I don’t need—”

  He put a finger to his lips and shook his head. It worked. She actually fell silent, though she did continue to glare at him as he rattled off answers to the questions coming at him from the other end of the line.

  When the dispatcher let him go, he stuck his phone back in his pocket. “They’ll be here within five minutes.”

  She had her hand over her eyes again and she grumbled, “I agree I should see my doctor, but an ambulance is overkill.”

  “Have you ever fainted before?”

  “Never in my life.”

  “Think of the baby, then, and humor me. You’re going to the hospital.”

  She made a low, unhappy sound. “If I’d known you were this controlling, I never would have had sex with you.”

  He almost laughed. “Too late now—give me your doctor’s number. I’ll call his office and get him to meet us there.”

  “Us?” she groused. “I’m guessing that means you’re coming, too?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Fabulous. And it’s her office.”

  “The number, Clara.”

  Another tired sigh. “My cell. In my purse, second desk drawer.”

  “If I leave your side, will you promise to stay where you are?”

  “Overbearing,” she muttered. “Impossible...”

  “Answer the question.”

  “Yes. All right. I’ll stay right here.”

  So he went and got her shoulder bag from the drawer.

  “Phone in the side pocket,” she said. “Dr. Kapur.”

  He made the call. “All set. She’ll meet you there,” he said as he tucked the phone back where he’d found it.

  The sound of a siren swelled in the distance, coming their way.

  Clara was gently stroking her stomach. “You told them to pull around into the parking lot, didn’t you?”

  “That’s right. Closest exit from here.”

  “I will try to be grateful that at least I don’t have to be carried flat on my back through my own busy restaurant.”

  * * *

  Clara knew she probably shouldn’t have given in and let Dalton take over. She should be strong and sure and independent.

  She was strong and sure and independent. Just not right at that particular moment.

  The paramedics—both of whom she’d known since elementary school—arrived. By then, Renée and half the kitchen staff had realized something was wrong. They crowded in behind the med techs, making worried noises, wanting to know if she was all right.

  Dalton herded them back out again, explaining as he went that she had fainted, that they were taking her to Justice Creek General, that there was nothing to worry about, her doctor would take good care of her and she would be fine.

  He sounded so wonderfully confident and certain that Clara found herself feeling reassured. Of course she would be all right—and the baby, as well. There was nothing wrong with her that a good night’s sleep wouldn’t cure.

  Roberta and Sal, the two med techs, finished taking her vital signs. They transferred her to a stretcher and carried her out to the parking lot in back.

  Dalton came out with her. “I’ll meet you at the hospital,” he promised.

  “Not necessary,” she said. “I’ll be fine.” And then she waited for his answer, a thoroughly annoying little ball of dread in the pit of her stomach, that he would say, All right, then. Good luck with that, and be on his way.

  But what he did say was “You won’t get rid of me that easily,” in a voice that seemed somehow both tender and gruff.

  She barely kept herself from flashing him a trembling, grateful smile. “Oh, all right.” She played it grumpy and ill-tempered for all she was worth. “Suit yourself.”

  “I will, don’t worry.”

  “My purse...”

  “I’ll bring it,” he promised.

  The techs, Sal and Roberta, loaded her into the ambulance. Sal got in with her, while Roberta went around to get in behind the wheel. Dalton was still standing there, outside the doors, when Sal pulled them shut.

  * * *

  At Justice Creek General, they transferred her to a wheelchair, rolled her into one of the little triage cubicles, lifted her up onto the bed in there and hooked her to an IV. Fluids, they said, to make sure she was hydrated.

  They’d just left her alone when Dalton walked in. “How are you doing?”

  She was ridiculously glad to see his stern, handsome face. You’d think it had been years since she’d seen him—rather than twenty minutes, tops. “I’m getting hydrated.”

  “Excellent.” He settled into one of the two molded plastic chairs.

  “I think this is overkill,” she grumbled, heavy on the attitude, which helped to remind her that she wasn’t going to count on him.

  “You’ve said that before.”

  “What about the bank? Aren’t they expec
ting you eventually today?”

  He flashed her a cool, oh-so-confident glance. “I’ve called my assistant and rearranged my schedule.”

  “Are you sure you should do that?”

  He gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Perks of being the boss. No one’s going to give me a hard time about taking a personal day.”

  “Ah.” So, okay. He was staying. What else was there to say?

  Nothing, apparently. He got out his smartphone and started poking at it. She stared up at the ceiling for a while, until her eyes drifted shut.

  She realized she’d been snoozing when a giant, muscular guy with coffee-dark skin and dreadlocks came in to draw blood. Then a nurse came in and went over her medical history with her. After that, she dozed some more.

  Eventually, she had to ask for the ladies’ room. A blonde in purple scrubs pointed the way. She wheeled an IV pole with her when she went and reminded herself to count her blessings: at least Dalton hadn’t insisted on going in there with her.

  Back in the little room with him, she waited some more. She slept a little and felt generally mind-numbingly bored. Through all that, he remained, sitting there so calmly, now and then taking out his phone and checking things on it. She would have thought a high-powered control freak like what he’d turned out to be would be climbing the walls with all the endless waiting. But he took it in stride.

  At half past eleven, Dr. Kapur showed up. Clara told her what had happened. Dr. Kapur left the room so that Clara could put on a paper gown. Dalton went out with her. The doctor came back in alone for the examination and Clara wondered if maybe Dalton had gone.

  It was for the best, she decided. He didn’t need to hang around for this. She was fine on her own.

  But then he came right back in to hear the doctor’s conclusions.

  “Your baby seems to be doing well, no signs of fetal distress,” Dr. Kapur said with a reassuring smile, gazing steadily at Clara—and then turning to share that smile with Dalton.

  He’s told my doctor that he’s the father, Clara realized. And somehow, knowing he’d done that both pissed her off—and made her feel like crying. With a little bit of warm fuzziness thrown in for good measure.

  Dr. Kapur continued. “But you’ve been pushing too hard, I think. You’re dehydrated and you need rest. To start, I’m going to keep you overnight for observation and then tomorrow we’ll decide where to go from here.”