Brenda Jackson - Sleeping with the Sheikh

“Let me drive you, Andi,” Tess said at the door while Andi crossed the yard to the pickup.

“I’ll call you.”

“Andi, are you sure?”

She dismissed Tess with a wave. “I’m fine.”

But was Chance?

Andi managed the thirty-mile drive in record time. She rushed into the emergency room barking inquiries to anyone who would listen. Finally one nurse directed her to a curtained cubicle down a narrow corridor.

Stepping inside, Andi stopped short at the scene playing out before her. Among the all-too-familiar sterile scents and scenery, Sam was stretched out in the small hospital bed, Chance curled against his side with his face turned in profile as his head rested against his father’s solid chest.

Andi covered her mouth to stifle a sob when she caught sight of the IV tubing trailing from Chance’s slender arm. But she couldn’t hold back the emotions when she noted how natural they looked—one beautiful man with his large hand enfolding the equally beautiful child’s smaller one, an overt display of protection. The identical dark hair, the dark lashes fanned against their cheeks as they slept, presented a picture of peace that starkly contrasted with the colorless surroundings.

As Andi took another step forward, Sam’s eyes snapped opened and he attempted a smile. Quietly he slipped his arm from beneath Chance and slid out of the bed without disturbing their son. He gestured for Andi to step outside. Reluctantly she complied, torn between wanting to hold her precious child and needing to hear what Sam had to say.

“What happened?” she said, her voice hoarse with fear, clouded with emotions that she tried to keep at bay.

Sam rubbed a hand over his jaw. “On the ride home he became very pale. I offered him some juice, as you’d instructed, but he refused. Then he began to perspire and became agitated. We were nearing Lexington so I instructed Rashid to come here. I knew not what else to do.”

“You did the right thing, Sam.”

He glanced away but not before Andi glimpsed the worry in his near-black eyes. “I have never feared much in my lifetime, Andrea. But this terrified me.” He finally turned his gaze back to her. “I only now realize how much you have been through with this disease.”

“What Chance has been through,” Andi corrected. “It’s something you learn to deal with as a parent of an ill child. My love for him has seen me through.”

“I suppose I am only beginning to understand that concept.”

Andi bit the inside of her cheek to stop another onslaught of tears over Sam’s obvious pain. She had to stay composed. “Has the doctor seen him?”

“Yes, a few minutes ago. He said that his levels seem to be stable, but he would like him to stay for a few hours to be certain.”

Andi drew in a slow breath of relief and released it on a shaky sigh. “That’s routine.”

“Then he has suffered this before?”

“Yes. Several times at first, but not in a while.”

“The doctor believes that Chance’s exhaustion perhaps brought on this attack.”

Andi silently cursed her stupidity. “I should never have let him go to camp.”

Sam took her by the arm and guided her against the wall opposite the cubicle. “Do not blame yourself, Andrea. Chance told me how much he enjoyed his time at the camp. You had no reason to believe this would happen.”

She shot a glance at the parted curtain to see that Chance still slept. “I should’ve known.”

Sam brushed a lock of hair away from her face, damp with the tears she had shed on the ride to Lexington. “The doctor also said you should consider putting Chance on a medicine pump to replace the shots.”

“I’ve wanted to do that,” Andi said. “But it’s very expensive. I’ve been trying to save enough money to cover what the insurance won’t pay.”

“I will take care of it,” Sam insisted. “You need not worry about funds.”

She was worried about many things at the moment. “Did you tell anyone you’re Chance’s father?”

“I told the physician, but Chance did not hear me, if that is your concern.”

Andi felt incredibly selfish to question him at such a time. “I wasn’t worried exactly. I’d just hate to think that Chance learned something so important while he’s sick.”

“I’ve told him nothing, even when he asked many questions on the ride back.”

Andi’s concern came calling again. “What questions?”

“He wanted to know if I knew his father. I told him that I did, but not very well. And that is the truth, Andrea.” He streaked a hand over his face. “I realize I don’t know myself at all.”

Andi laid a hand on his arm. “I know you, Sam. You’re a good man. A good father.”

He studied her with weary eyes. “Am I, Andrea? I am a father who must leave his son. There is nothing good in that.”

“You can enjoy the time you have with him now so he can get to know you as his father.”

“Perhaps it would be best if he never knows.”

Best for whom? Andi wanted to shout. Best for him, no doubt. No ties except for providing money. No commitment to their son, or to her. “Let’s not talk about this here. I need to be with Chance.”

“I only wanted you to know that I am considering our son’s well-being. If that entails giving him up, I will not hesitate to consider it.”

Andi’s heart plummeted, causing a painful ache in her chest brought about by an overwhelming sadness. “If that’s what you want.”

“I promise you, Andrea, it is not what I wish at all. But it could be the best decision for Chance.”

Too tired to fight, too heartsick to talk, Andrea walked away to see her son, the only constant in her life.

Sam spent the better part of the week getting to know his son. While looking on with the eye of a concerned parent, he’d taught Chance how to hammer a nail. Yet he felt it necessary to treat the boy as if he had no deficit. On the surface Chance appeared to behave as any normal boy would, active and enthusiastic, embracing life to its fullest. But now that Sam had witnessed the effects of his disease, he worried all the more.

At least Andrea seemed to be very optimistic, now that Chance had begun using a pump that kept the medication flowing into his body. She had told Sam that his levels were much better, and that Chance was much more energetic than before. A very good thing, Sam decided. And he certainly could confirm his son’s zeal for activity.

Presently Chance was helping him sweep the aisle between the stalls. With his small hand—a miniature version of Sam’s own—poised on the push broom that was almost as tall as the child, he asked, “Do I look like my dad?”

Sam carefully weighed the question. “Yes, to some degree.”

“Like how?”

“The color of your skin and your hair. I believe your eyes are lighter in color.”

Leaning the broom against one stall, Chance studied his arms then wrinkled his nose. “I’ve got Mama’s freckles.”

Sam laughed as he had many times in previous days over his child’s antics. “Yes, you do.”

Chance toed a pile of hay with one booted foot. “My friend Bobby says that where you live it’s nothing but sand.”

As Chance had done, Sam propped his broom against the opposite stall. “That is true to a point, we do have quite a bit of sand. But we also have trees and mountains. And a very good university we’ve built in the last few years as well as an excellent hospital.”

Chance frowned. “I hate hospitals.”

Sam’s first fatherly faux pas. “I’m certain you do, and with good reason. But they are necessary.”

“I still hate ’em.” Chance turned his eyes to Sam, eyes so very much like his own. “Do all the people look alike in your country?”