Not Quite Married Read online

  Clara longed to argue that she was fine and where she wanted to go was home. But if her doctor thought she needed to stay, so be it.

  Then they put her in another wheelchair and rolled her to a regular room.

  Once they’d had her change into a very ugly pink floral hospital gown—Dalton left the room for that, which she truly appreciated—and made her comfortable in the bed, they offered her lunch. They fed Dalton, too.

  After the meal, she tried to get up and get her purse, which Dalton had stuck in the locker across the room.

  “Stay in bed,” he commanded, rising to loom over her. And then his dark eyebrows drew together. “Or do you need to use the bathroom?”

  “I want my phone.”

  “Why?”

  “I need to make a few calls.”

  “You should rest.”

  She only glared at him until he gave in and went and got it for her. She called Renée and said she was fine, but they were keeping her overnight, which meant she most likely wouldn’t be in tomorrow—or if so, not until after the breakfast rush. Renée reassured her that things were under control and told her to take all the time she needed. They said goodbye and Clara started to autodial Rory.

  “You’re supposed to be resting,” he said in a low and gentle tone that still, to her, managed to sound overbearing and superior.

  “I am resting. And also making a few necessary calls.”

  “You just told your manager that you would be in tomorrow,” he accused.

  “No, I said I probably wouldn’t be in. If you’re going to eavesdrop on my conversations, you should listen more closely.”

  “There’s no ‘probably’ involved here. You’re not going in tomorrow.”

  “We’ll find out about that tomorrow. The decision will be made between me and my doctor.”

  “You passed out, Clara. You’ve let yourself get dehydrated.” He cast a baleful look at the bag of clear fluid hanging next to the bed and still connected to the back of her hand. “You need rest. And I’m going to see that you get what you need.”

  “Tell me, Dalton. Just when did you become the boss of me?”

  He didn’t even have the grace to take a little time to think about it, but shot right back with “This morning. You remember this morning, when you fainted in my arms? That was when I realized that someone has to take care of you or you’re just going to keep on pushing yourself until you do real damage to yourself or the baby.”

  Was there even a smidge of truth in any of that? Well, okay. Maybe a little. A very, very little.

  And what did he mean, take care of her? He made it sound as if she had become some ongoing project. Surely he wouldn’t be hanging around for that long. He would have to go home to Denver and his banking empire at some point—like in the next hour or two.

  Wouldn’t he?

  He was glaring at her. She glared right back at him and said with admirable composure, “Here’s a hint. Your attitude needs some serious adjusting, because as of now, I’m not finding being around you the least bit restful.”

  He actually blinked. And then he allowed gruffly, “You’re right. I’m upsetting you. I apologize. Will you please put the phone away and settle down?”

  The thing was, he looked so sincere in his pompous sort of way. And even if she didn’t want to let herself start to depend on him, she couldn’t help appreciating that he was doing everything he could to look after her.

  It was way too little too late. But that was almost as much her fault as his. She’d jumped to conclusions and thought he was married. He’d hired a detective and found out she was getting married. And neither of them had bothered to clear up the misunderstandings until months and months had passed.

  Now he’d started to look worried. “I do apologize,” he said again. “I mean that.”

  She gave in and muttered, “Apology accepted.” And then put up her forefinger. “One more call. And then I’ll lie back and relax. Promise.”

  He shook his head, looking all stuffy and put-upon—but then he shrugged.

  She went with the shrug and autodialed Rory, told her about fainting at the café and being stuck in the hospital for observation overnight. After Rory finished saying all the right things about how she was there if Clara needed her and please to take it easy, Clara told her about the really hideously ugly hospital gown she was wearing.

  Rory knew right away what she wanted. “I’ll go by the house, get whatever you need and bring it right over there.” Rory had a key to the house, just as Clara had a key to Rory and Walker’s place at the ranch. “You’re at General, right?”

  “I’m at General, yes. And here we have yet another reason why you’re my favorite cousin in the whole world. You know what I want without my even having to tell you.”

  “Back at you. Let me get a pencil...”

  Clara told Rory what to get and Rory wrote it down.

  And then Rory said, “I’ll be there. An hour, max.”

  They said goodbye. Clara set the phone on the rolling hospital bed table thingy and felt better about everything.

  Dalton was watching her, wearing a softer expression than usual, an expression that reminded her of the Dalton she’d known on the island. Which made her feel somehow a little less good about things. Where had that Dalton gone?

  He asked, “Was that the cousin who’s a princess, the one who’d planned to live in Colorado someday?”

  Had she told him about Rory? “Yes, and now she does live here in Colorado—and how did you know that?”

  “You told me on the island.”

  “I did? But we didn’t talk about our real lives...” Sadness wrapped around her heart—a glowing kind of sadness. It had been a beautiful two weeks.

  A smile twitched at one corner of his way-too-sexy mouth. “We had an agreement not to talk about our real lives, but you didn’t keep it.”

  “No,” she admitted. “I guess I didn’t.”

  “You were careful about the basics. You never mentioned Justice Creek or that you own a café. But you talked about your family and your friends. All those random things you told me made it a lot easier for that private investigator I hired to find you.”

  “You were more careful than I was.” At his nod, she went on. “I had your name, that you lived in Denver and that you were divorced. Luckily, you’re a big shot, so it wasn’t that hard to find you myself once I put my mind to it.”

  “To find me and then decide I was remarried and not bother to get in touch with me until three weeks ago.”

  “The important thing is, I did get in touch with you.”

  “Finally.”

  She looked at him dead-on. “Do you really want to go there right now, while I’m resting?”

  Those blue eyes were on her, so focused, so determined. “No. You’re right. I don’t.”

  She shoved at her ponytail, which had sagged rather sadly and would be coming completely undone any minute now. “May I have my purse, please?” He got right up and brought it to her. “Thank you.” He sat down again. She foraged around in the central compartment until she found her brush. And then she redid the ponytail, brushing it up and into her fist, then twisting the elastic back into place. “There. Much better.”

  He got up again and put the purse back in the locker. He was just shutting the metal door when the baby kicked her a good one.

  “Ouch!”

  He turned, fast, looking freaked. “Clara! What?”

  She laughed and rubbed the spot. “It’s just the baby. She’s a kicker.”

  He came to her side. “She?”

  She started to grab his hand and put it where he’d feel the next one—and then hesitated, suddenly self-conscious, a little embarrassed.

  Which was silly. She’d let complete strangers touch her tummy. Yeah, okay, the guy had done a number on her heart. But he was the father. And he was trying. She nodded, pushed the covers out of the way, took his hand and put it on the side swell of her stomach. The baby promptly kicked
her again. She winced. “There. Feel it?”

  “I do.” He had that look, a look of wonder, of awe. It made her almost start to love him a little again, in spite of everything—scratch that. Like. It made her like him a little. Those blue eyes were shining. “By God, I feel it. I do.”

  She laughed again and held his hand as he pressed his big, warm palm to the side of her belly. Another kick. She chuckled. And Dalton made a low, marveling sound. His hand felt so strong, long fingers spread, against the side of her belly.

  And then her gaze went to his. They just stared at each other. With zero animosity. Only shared delight.

  He asked, “A girl, you said?”

  “Yes. I had an ultrasound.”

  “A girl,” he repeated, as if he’d never heard anything more miraculous in his life. “I never thought...”

  “What?”

  He looked faintly abashed. She found that way too charming. “I don’t know,” he said almost shyly. “A girl, that’s all. A little girl. What do you think of that?” It wasn’t really a question. More an exclamation along the lines of Isn’t that awesome? Or How completely cool.

  Clara watched his face and remembered the sweet, passionate, caring man she’d fallen in love with. Why was he hiding from her? Where had he gone?

  She was actually considering asking him, when her half sisters Jody and Nell appeared in the open door to the hallway.

  He must have caught the shift in her gaze. Pulling his hand away, breaking that tenuous connection, he turned toward the door.

  * * *

  Rocked to the core by the feel of his daughter’s tiny foot poking against his palm, Dalton turned to the two women standing in the doorway. One was conventionally pretty, with light brown hair and a big vase full of flowers in her hands. The other? An auburn-haired stunner, in a short, tight dress, she wore boots straight out of a Sons of Anarchy episode and had brightly colored tattoos from shoulder to elbow down her shapely left arm.

  The family resemblance was clear—between the two women in the doorway and the woman in the bed behind him. Sisters, probably. On the island, Clara had told him she had two half sisters and one full sister. Plus, there was someone named Tracy, wasn’t there? Tracy had come to live with Clara’s mother’s family, been raised as one of them, after her parents died tragically in a fire.

  “Jody. Nell,” Clara greeted the two with real warmth in her voice. “Come in, come in. Did Rory call you?”

  The tattooed stunner came first. The one with the flowers, following close behind, said, “Roberta Carver came in the shop an hour ago. She said she and Sal Healey carried you out of the café on a stretcher this morning.”

  Clara groused, “Shouldn’t patient confidentiality apply to paramedics and ambulance drivers?”

  “Not in Justice Creek, it doesn’t,” said the stunner.

  Clara jumped right to denial. “This is not a big deal. I’m only here overnight. Just for observation. It’s nothing to worry about.”

  Dalton considered stepping in and arguing the point. But before he made up his mind whether to say anything, Clara started in with the introductions. Jody was the one with the flowers and Nell the one in the biker boots. Clara gave the two women Dalton’s full name, but no explanation as to what he was doing there.

  “I whipped this up so you’d know how much we love you,” Jody said, looking proud, holding up the giant vase of flowers.

  Clara gave her a beautiful misty-eyed smile. “It’s fabulous. Thanks, honey.” Jody went to put the flowers on the windowsill and Clara told Dalton, “Jody’s a genius florist. She owns Bloom, on Central Street.”

  “They’re beautiful,” he said in the general direction of the flowers.

  And then the stunner, Nell, popped in with “Hold it. Hold it right there!”

  Jody blinked. “What?”

  Nell turned on him and accused, “You’re him, right? You’re the father.”

  Her candor startled him. But he pulled it together and tried to reply. “Yes, I—”

  “Nice suit.” She cut him off with a sneer.

  He decided to call that a compliment. “Thank you.”

  “Oh, don’t thank me. Where the hell have you been?”

  Jody groaned. “Nell, please...”

  And Clara chuckled fondly. “Nellie. You never hold back.”

  “I asked the man a question.” Nell braced her hands on her hips and scowled at him furiously.

  He cleared his throat. “There was some confusion. It’s a long story.”

  Nell whirled on Clara. “You just now told the guy?”

  “Not just now.” At least Clara had the grace to look sheepish. “I told him a few weeks ago.”

  “And he hasn’t shown up until today?”

  “We’ve been...in touch. And, as Dalton said, it’s a long story.”

  Nell made a snorting sound. “He shoulda been here long before now.”

  “We’re, um, working it out, Nellie. I promise we are.”

  Working it out? Not to his satisfaction, they weren’t. But that was going to change. He would make sure of it.

  Nell whirled on him again. She was not only gorgeous, but she had a certain scary energy about her. She made a man feel that it would not be wise to get on her bad side. “But you’re here to do right now, aren’t you, Dalton Ames?”

  At last, a question he could answer without hesitation. “Absolutely. I’m going to look after Clara, and I’m going to take care of my child.”

  Clara started to speak—probably to insist as usual that she could look after herself.

  But Nell beat her to it. “You’d better look after her,” she warned. “Clara’s tenderhearted. She’s not as tough as some of us in the family. But we all have her back. Including her five brothers—three half, two full. Bravo men all. Big men. Strong. Protective of their sisters. Not men you want to mess with, men who will—”

  “Nell,” Clara cut in sweetly. “I think he knows where you’re going with this.”

  Nell made a low noise in her throat. “We’ll see about that.”

  Jody piped up with “Is there anything we can do, Clara, to help out?”

  “Thanks. Just knowing I have so many people to count on helps a lot.”

  “Anything,” said Nell as she pulled up the chair Dalton had been sitting in. There was one other chair, and Jody took that.

  Dalton considered telling the two women that Clara needed her rest. But she was lying down and she seemed relaxed, so he didn’t interfere.

  A few minutes later, another sister arrived, the full sister, Elise. She came with Tracy Winham, the one who’d been adopted into the Bravo family when her parents were killed. Dalton ducked out to get more chairs as Nell informed the newcomers that he was the father and had promised to do right by Clara and the baby.

  When he returned, two of Clara’s brothers had arrived. They were big men, as Nell had warned him. But neither took a punch at him when they found out he was the father of Clara’s baby.

  The women left after about half an hour, and the men went soon after. The princess arrived. She had brown hair and eyes, like Clara’s, and was almost as beautiful. She smiled and shook his hand and insisted that he must call her Rory.

  Then she helped Clara wheel her IV drip into the bathroom. When they came out, Clara had changed into turquoise pajamas. She got back in the bed and Rory tossed the hated hospital gown into a laundry bin in the corner.

  Two more men appeared, a full brother and a powerfully built half brother named Quinn, who had moved back to Justice Creek recently, having retired from a successful career as a mixed martial arts fighter. Quinn was a single father, Dalton learned, with a four-year-old daughter named Annabelle.

  Quinn and the full brother, Jamie, didn’t stay long. Rory left shortly after them. Dalton was just daring to hope that Clara might let him turn off the light and shut the blinds so she could sleep for a while.

  No such luck. In sailed a slim, sweet-looking, impeccably groomed white-haire
d lady who wore giant round-lensed glasses with yellow plastic frames, dangly earrings, a mink coat held together at the throat by a brooch the size of a tarantula, and pointy-toed red high-heeled shoes.

  Clara introduced her as her great-aunt, Agnes Oldfield.

  Nothing got by Agnes. “Ames?” she demanded. “Dalton Ames? As in the Ames banking family?”

  He said that yes, he was president and CEO of Ames Bank and Trust.

  It took her about two more seconds to deduce that he must be the missing father of Clara’s unborn child. “Where in the world have you been, young man? Your child will be arriving any minute now.”

  “Well, I—”

  “Aunt Agnes.” Clara came to his rescue. “Leave Dalton alone. He’s here to help out and he doesn’t need you picking on him.” He felt rather mollified at that. It was the first time she’d openly admitted that he was trying to take care of her.

  Agnes wasn’t finished with him. “Of course I’m not picking on him. I’m just trying to find out where he’s been all these months and what his plans are now that he’s finally here.”

  Clara said sternly, “That’s between Dalton and me.”

  “But does he realize you almost married someone else?” Agnes’s rather protuberant eyes seemed to bulge even more behind those yellow-framed glasses.

  “Yes,” Clara replied wearily. “He knows about Ryan. He knows all about the wedding.”

  Agnes clucked her tongue. “I don’t understand you young people today. It’s important for a child to have both a mother and a father who are married to each other. This is the all-important nuclear family and it is the bedrock of our society, the bulwark of civilization, ordained by God Himself.”

  “I completely agree, Agnes,” Dalton couldn’t resist putting in. “I’ve proposed. She turned me down.”

  Clara piped up with “Dalton!”

  “See?” And Agnes nodded approvingly in his direction. “This young man is not only from an excellent family. He knows what’s right. I simply can’t bear to ask why you’ve refused him.”

  “Then don’t,” advised Clara hopefully.