Victoria Pade - Her Baby and Her Beau

Military and strikingly handsome.

He had a square brow, deep-set eyes that stared straight ahead at the door, a nose that was a little flat across the bridge and somehow ruggedly distinguished, full, sensuous lips and a jawline that a sculptor’s knife couldn’t have shaped any better.

Good looks—a serial killer’s best asset , Kyla thought.

But as he raised his massive fist to knock a second time she decided she was less afraid of a serial killer than of waking Immy, so she poked her entire head past the curtain, opened the window just a crack and said a hushed, “Can I help you?”

His head alone turned in her direction, giving her a fuller view of his face.

Oh yeah, he was fantastic looking...

Now that he was peering directly at her, she could see that those deep-set eyes were an incredible, intense cobalt blue. A remarkable, unusual blue.

And it was those blue eyes that suddenly sparked familiarity.

“Kyla?” he said.

It couldn’t be...

“Can I help you?” she repeated as she convinced herself that she was imagining things.

“You don’t recognize me?” the man outside said.

“Who are you?” she asked even as she began to think that she knew.

“Beau. Beau Camden,” he said.

Despite confirmation, Kyla stared at him in disbelief.

She couldn’t help wondering if she was hallucinating. She’d refused pain medication because she hadn’t wanted to be impaired in any way when she had to take care of Immy. But she still wondered if something they’d given her in the hospital had come back to haunt her.

That seemed more likely than that Beau Camden could have materialized from the past. At just that moment. And here, of all places.

Yet, as she studied the man outside, she began to see in him small images of the boy she’d once known.

Most definitely in the eyes. Although while the color was the same, the innocence she remembered was lost.

There were also hints of the boy in the features that time had fine-tuned and chiseled, accentuating cheekbones and giving a leaner line to the face that had had more roundness to it fourteen years ago.

At seventeen, Beau Camden had been tall. Maybe not quite as tall as this guy, but close. And his hair had been the same color—though there had been more of it as a teenager that summer.

More hair and far, far smaller muscles...

Still, the longer she looked at him, the easier it was to believe that this was, indeed, Beau Camden.

And with that belief, resentment came back to life.

“Beau...” she said. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m not sure where to start,” he said. “Could I come in?”

Had the hospital given her anything that could cause weird flashbacks and hallucinations? Because she just didn’t know how this could possibly be happening.

“Are you for real?” she heard herself ask.

He took a wallet from his back pocket, opened it and held his driver’s license close enough to the window for her to see it.

It looked new and the picture was exactly of the man standing there. Beaumont Anthony Camden.

Beaumont...

She’d teased him about that that summer...

A good memory all twisted up with bad ones, causing a pain that had nothing to do with the escape from the fire.

“Or it’s nice out here—you could come out,” he suggested as he put his wallet away.

Since she didn’t think hallucinations had driver’s licenses, and it began to sink in that he really was who he said he was, she didn’t have reason to fear him. He wouldn’t hurt her—not physically, anyway. And resentment or no resentment, she was curious about what he was doing there, not to mention how and why.

But she couldn’t let him into her room and take the chance that Immy would wake up.

So she said, “Give me a minute and I’ll come out.”

“Take all the time you need.”

Kyla ducked behind the curtains and held them tightly closed in front of her.

Then she opened them just a slit and peeked out again to see if Beau Camden really was out there.

He was. She hadn’t imagined this. She wasn’t hallucinating.

And he was waiting for her, now standing near a big black SUV parked outside her room. Still posture-perfect, with his long, thick, jeans-encased legs spread shoulder width apart and hands behind his back.

Military for sure.

But now that she knew who he was there was no surprise in that.

She closed the drapes tightly again, suddenly realizing that she didn’t know how presentable she was.

She went to the mirror over the small bureau near the bathroom.

Once she got there and took a look at herself she thought maybe she shouldn’t have.

She’d showered at the hospital that morning, but everything she’d brought with her from Northbridge had been lost in the fire. That meant no makeup, let alone anything to camouflage the dark bruise on her temple or any blush to put color into the pallor that the trauma had left her with.

Luckily there was only one bruise on her face—the rest of her injuries were under her clothes.

Her dark amber eyes weren’t blackened or swollen—she counted that as a good thing. Her thin, straight nose was unmarred. And while she wished she had lip gloss, her lips were a natural pink color that hadn’t paled along with the rest of her face.

Basically she looked like what she was—someone who had just finished a hospital stay. But there wasn’t much she could do about that, so she focused on her hair.

It was about an inch longer than chin length, cut to turn under at the ends, with long bangs that she wore swept to one side. She’d had highlights added to its reddish-brown hue just before leaving home, and neither her hair nor her eyebrows had been singed.

But without her own shampoo and styling products or a curling iron, her hair was lackluster and just hung there limply. The best she could do was brush it with the cheap hairbrush she’d been given and sweep it behind her ears.

Oh, she really was pale, she realized. So pale that it made the bruise on her otherwise-unmarred forehead look even worse.

She reached for her bangs automatically with her right hand, forgetting that her wrist was badly sprained until the jolt of pain reminded her.

Then she tried to fluff her bangs with her left hand to cover the bruise. Mostly she just managed to pull them into her face. She wasn’t sure that was an improvement, but she left them anyway.

Eddie’s secretary had been good enough to get her a few basic necessities that included pajama pants and a top to sleep in, and two pairs of loose-fitting sweatpants to go with two baggy T-shirts for daytime. But that was the extent of her wardrobe. So there was no sense changing out of one pair of sweatpants and T-shirt into the other.

She stepped farther back from the mirror and took a look at the whole picture.

If there was a worse way to look meeting Beau Camden again, she couldn’t think of it.

But there was nothing she could do, so she took some small comfort in the thought that if he’d recognized her when she’d poked her head through the curtains maybe she didn’t look too different than she had at sixteen.

It was very small comfort, though. Especially when she recalled how fantastic he looked...

But she refused to let herself care what he might think—or at least tried not to—as she slid her feet into the flip-flops that were her only shoes and reluctantly headed for the door.

She was careful not to make any noise as she slipped out of the motel room, leaving the door ajar by only an inch in order to be able to hear if Immy cried. And even though it wasn’t easy, she made sure she was standing straight and strong before she turned to face her first love and the person who had hurt her more than anyone in her life.