Murphy's Law (27 page)

She shrugged, knowing there wasn't anything she could do about it. No amount of makeup would cover the discolorations, and with her cast, her hair was about as good as she could get it. With no help for it, it wasn't worth worrying over.

Then she glanced at the rest of her body. Almost in slow motion, she lowered the blankets and searched for signs of pregnancy. She was as slender as ever, her boobs still nonexistent, her belly concave. She felt different inside, but outside, nothing showed.

How long did she have before noticeable changes occurred?

She put her hand over her abdomen. Would the baby look like Quinton? He was so beautiful to her that she hoped so. She didn't care if she had a boy or a girl. It was odd, but she already loved the baby more than she knew was possible.

When the tears dribbled down her cheeks, she realized she was crying. Stupid, stupid. The doc had said she'd have emotional highs and lows, but she hadn't said anything about her becoming a damned crybaby.

Ashley dashed a hand over her face, washed, brushed her teeth, and stepped back into the flannel pants. When Quinton returned, she was sitting on the end of the bed, unable to get the sweatshirt on.

Two steps into the room, he paused. His gaze went over her belly, exposed by the low-hanging pants, and then to her breasts. One brow lifted. “Damn, that's a good look for you.”

Ashley gave him a sour frown. “Quit leering and help. I'm freezing here.”

Smiling, he said, “All right.” He set the coffee aside and eased the left sleeve over her cast. It hurt to move her fingers at all, not that she could much, anyway. But it seemed aches and pains had settled in overnight, and it made her cranky.

As he assisted her, Quinton said, “It occurred to me that you wouldn't have anything to wear to school this morning.”

Ashley groaned. “I hadn't even thought of that.” She snatched up the coffee and gulped it so fast, she burned her tongue. But damn it, she had to get it together. She had too many responsibilities to just fall apart. “I better get on the ball so I can run by my place first.”

“Actually, I put your clothes from last night into the wash. If the stains come out, they'll be good to go in half an hour. At the very least, the jeans should be okay, and you do look fetching in my sweatshirt. In fact, feel free to look through all my shirts and make use of anything that appeals to you.”

“You really are my hero.” She went on tiptoe to kiss him—and nausea hit her with the force of a tsunami. “Oh, hell.”

She caught only a glimpse of Quinton's startled concern before she plopped the coffee cup back onto the dresser, lurched into the bathroom, and fell to the floor in front of the commode. Her knees stung from the impact of connecting with the tile floor, and she clunked her cast on the seat, sending pain screeching through her. She'd barely gotten the seat up before the awful heaving racked her body.

She felt Quinton behind her, standing there in appalled silence, and she violently gagged again.

Her hair in her face, her stomach churning, Ashley snarled,
“Get out,”
in a tone of horror-movie magnitude.

She didn't think he would leave her, but then he stepped out of the room and pulled the door shut, giving her the privacy she needed. The morning sickness seemed to go on and on. Each time she started to stand, her stomach roiled.

“Oh God,” she whispered, and she wondered how she'd ever survive this. She had homework to do. She had two jobs. Never mind her grand plans for her future; she had a baby to think of. “Oh God, oh God.”

“Are you praying,” Quinton asked gently, from just outside the door, “or merely expressing yourself?”

Ashley struggled to her feet. Thank the heavens, her belly didn't protest. She flushed the toilet, took a couple of deep breaths, and tried to stop shaking. Bracing her hands on the sink, she said, “I'm okay.”

“No. You're not.”

She turned on the water and rinsed out her mouth. “I am if I say I am.” But she sounded raspy and Quinton came in uninvited.

“You're ill.”

“It's nothing,” she lied, hating herself even as she fabricated the fib. “Just leftover upset from last night. Those cheese sandwiches…” She almost gagged again and had to swallow convulsively. “They're coming back to haunt me.”

Quinton got a fresh washcloth out of a drawer and rinsed it in cool water. She took it from him and wiped her face. Her hands shook and her mouth felt gritty. “I guess you'll be buying a new toothbrush, huh?”

Ignoring her jest, he put a hand to her forehead. “You don't feel feverish.”

“Because I'm not.”

“Let me take you to the doctor.”

Oh, no. Hell, no. She shook her head. “I'm okay now.” And she really did feel better. With any luck, the morning sickness would stay away for the rest of the day. She pushed past Quinton and left the bathroom. The coffee cup remained where she'd left it, but rather than gulp this time, she sipped—and her stomach agreed to that method.

“See.” She summoned a smile, knowing she looked ghastly but unable to do anything about it. “I'm okay.”

Quinton eyed her. “I don't like it, Ash. You're pale under all the bruising. And you didn't sleep well last night.”

He'd noticed that? She thought he'd slept through her bouts of discomfort and fear.

“You should take it easy today.”

“I will,” she promised. “I have some time between my classes, and I'm not working at the restaurant.”

He rubbed his head. “You need a day off, some time to recoup.”

“Are you taking the day off?”

“I will if it'll keep you home.”

“Oh.” She hadn't expected that. She couldn't afford to start slacking off now, but neither did she want him to worry. “Tell you what. If I feel sick again, I'll call in. But honest, I think it was just the way I gobbled the food last night, on top of breathing all that smoke and getting stitches and everything. Right now I want to stay busy to keep my mind off Elton and his sick attacks.”

Quinton didn't appear convinced, but one of the workers called his name, forcing him to concede. “You're sure you're okay now?”

“Yes. Right as rain.”

He held her face and brushed his thumb over her bruised cheek. “All right. If you feel up to eating anything, maybe some toast, I'll be in the kitchen.”

The thought of food didn't thrill her, but she knew she had to try. “That sounds good. Thanks.”

“You've got it.” He kissed her forehead and walked out of the room, leaving Ashley alone with her thoughts and her guilt.

She put a hand to her flat belly, protective, scared, and more uncertain than she'd ever been in her life.

After class, she'd set an appointment with a doctor. Once she had the pregnancy confirmed and a delivery date for the baby, she'd tell Quinton.

No more cowardice.

No more evasion.

She would do the right thing—and deal with the consequences, whatever they might be.

 

Three days later, mind made up, new plans in the works, Ashley went to Quinton's office before her shift. Her heart pounded with dread, nervousness, and hope—all at the same time. She simply couldn't keep the secrets to herself any longer.

Since the mailbox bombing, she'd remained in Quinton's home. Not on an official basis, because she hadn't yet agreed to move in with him. Keeping to his agreement, he hadn't pressured her for an answer. But her hours were such that the only way to see him was to catch him at work, or climb into his bed after her late shift ended. She couldn't do that if they weren't in the same place.

Making love in the mornings seemed to be their best bet. Rather than going right to bed after her shift, as was her usual habit, Ashley stayed up to enjoy some time with Quinton.

He got up earlier than need be for his schedule, doing what he could to adjust to her off hours.

That worked out for her because it ruled out the possibility of waking with morning sickness, and it reduced her chances of rousing Quinton's suspicions. Unfortunately, the morning sickness didn't content itself with mornings only and had interrupted not only her class time, but both jobs.

With the current arrangement, neither of them got enough sleep. Ashley was used to that; she'd sustained a hectic schedule since moving away from home. Only now, she never felt fully rested. She longed to linger in bed after waking and had the awful urge to nap throughout the day. More often than not, she felt like a walking zombie, unable to do anything with competence due to growing weariness.

She had to make some adjustments, the sooner the better. So regardless of her continued reserve, she knew she couldn't continue the sham.

Just hours ago, she'd seen the ob-gyn recommended to her by her family physician. The doctor was kind, not judgmental, and Ashley liked him a lot. After an examination and a few tests, he'd presented her with a delivery date of July twenty-second.

Knowing when the baby would arrive made it all so real.

She'd left the doctor's office with a prescription for vitamins, pamphlets on what to expect, including the cursed morning sickness, and an appointment for another office visit in a few weeks—along with a good dose of new resolve.

Priorities ruled her life, and sometimes that meant adjusting. Right now her priorities were Quinton and the baby. The reality was that she couldn't keep up both jobs, her schoolwork, a romance, and the physical toll of pregnancy. So her job at the office building would have to go.

If she worked a few more hours at the restaurant, she'd make just enough in additional tips to keep up with her expenses, plus she'd have more time for Quinton and school.

Once the baby was born, she'd have to cut back on school, too. Unlike some new mothers, she had no relatives to assist her, and she couldn't afford sitters. She was realistic enough to know she couldn't do it all. So it'd take her a little longer to become a nurse. That wasn't the end of the world.

And if it turned out that Quinton was happy about the baby, that he wanted them to be a real family…but she wouldn't let herself start on that particular fantasy just yet.

On the one hand, she wanted to call May in Japan and share the news right now. Without a single doubt, she knew how May would react. Her friend would scream with excitement and joy. She'd take charge, assuring Ashley that everything would work out. May would start going over names, colors for a nursery, the whole nine yards.

Ashley needed May's enthusiasm and optimism.

But on the other hand, it would be grossly unfair to tell May before she told Quinton. The baby's father deserved to hear the news first. She needed things settled with him before she started celebrating.

And if the baby caused a rift between them, she'd need May more than ever before.

Hell, given the circumstances, she might even need Jude—to keep her safe until the police found and arrested Elton, removing him as a threat.

No, she couldn't see Quinton washing his hands of her, leaving her to fend for herself. He was the most honorable guy she knew, and the most responsible. But she had to consider every angle, and she had to accept that his interest in her had never extended toward children of their own.

Now that she had details from the ob-gyn, she needed to share them with Quinton before she lost her nerve. It'd only be a matter of time before he found out, anyway. With guards trailing her everywhere she went, they were bound to mention to him that she'd seen a doctor. Better that she tell him herself than to let him hear the news from outsiders.

However, a quick look around the office proved Quinton wasn't in.

Unfortunately, his uncle was.

With only Warren staring at her, Ashley's courage shriveled, and she tried to make a hasty retreat.

Warren stopped her with a gasp of exclamation. “Good God, girl. What happened to you?” He eyed her up and down while moving closer to the doorway where she hovered.

The weather had cooled considerably in the past week, so Ashley wore ankle boots with her jeans, and two layers of T-shirts since a long-sleeved shirt wouldn't fit over her cast. Unlike Quinton, she had no desire to take scissors to her wardrobe, especially when the cast would be removed in a few weeks.

Hoping to conceal her unease, she shoved her right hand into her pocket and lounged against the door frame to address Warren. “Didn't Quinton tell you?”

“About the bomb? Yes, yes he did. But I didn't realize…” New concern pinched his expression. “You look wretched.”

“Now, Warren, so much flattery will turn my head.”

Her sarcasm flustered him. “It's hardly a matter of jest.”

“Yeah, well, I wasn't laughing.” She raised the cast in front of her. “It's just a broken wrist, nothing too serious. And most of the bruises are superficial.”

“Meaning?”

“They'll fade soon.” She looked around again, specifically toward the inner office. “So. Quinton's not here?”