Lynne Marshall - His Pregnant Sleeping Beauty

“Yes. Everything is okay in that department. How far along are you? Do you know?”

“Three months.”

“And you came here on the bus for...?”

She hesitated. “Not for. To get away.” She lifted her arms, covered in fading bruises. “I needed to get away.”

“I understand.” The uncompromising need to protect her welled up full force again. “Are you in trouble?”

She shook her head, then looked like it hurt to do so and immediately stopped.

The nurse came in, and asked Joe to leave so she could assess her patient and attend to her personal needs. He headed toward the door.

“Wait!” she said.

He turned.

“What’s your name?”

“I’m Joseph Matthews. I’m the paramedic who brought you here.”

“Thank you, Joseph. I owe you my life. And my baby’s,” she said from behind the privacy curtain.

He stared at his work boots, an uncertain smile creasing his lips. She certainly didn’t owe him her life, but he was awfully glad to have been on scene the night she’d needed him.

The police were notified, and Joe didn’t want to stick around where he had no business, though in his heart he felt he deserved to know the whole story, so he went back to work. Around ten p.m., nearing the end of his shift, James approached. “Did you know she’s a nurse?”

“I didn’t. Interesting.”

“She won’t tell us how she got all banged up, but the fact she doesn’t want us to contact the father of the baby explains that, doesn’t it.”

“Sadly, true.”

“So, since she’s recovering, if all goes well after tonight, I’m going to have to discharge her.”

Startled by the news, Joe wondered why it hadn’t occurred to him before. Of course she couldn’t live here at the clinic. Her identity had been stolen along with her purse and any money she may have had in it. She was pregnant and alone in a strange city, and he couldn’t very well let her become homeless, too. Hell, tomorrow was Sunday! “I’ve got an extra room. I could put her up until she gets back on her feet.”

Joe almost did a second take, hearing himself make the offer, but when he thought more about it, he’d meant it. Every word. Even hoped she’d take him up on it.

“That’s great,” James said. “Though she may feel more comfortable staying with one of our nurses.”

“True. Dumb idea, I guess.”

“Not dumb. Pretty damn noble if you ask me. I’ll vouch for you being a gentleman.” James cast him a knowing smile and walked away.

Joe fought the urge to rush to Carey’s room. She’d been through a lot today, waking up after a three-day sleep and all, and probably had a lot of thinking and sorting out to do. The social worker would be pestering her about her lost identification and credit cards and helping straighten out that mess. The poor woman’s already bruised brain was probably spinning.

He needed to give her space, not make her worry he was some kind of weird stalker or something. But he wanted to tell her good night so he hiked over to the DOU and room Seventeen A, knocked on the wall outside the door, and when she told him to come in, he poked his head around the corner.

“Just wanted to say good night.”

She seemed much less tense now and her smile came easily. She was so pretty, the smile nearly stopped him in his tracks. “Good night. Thanks for everything you’ve done for me.”

“Glad to be of service, Carey.”

“They’re going to let me go tomorrow.”

“Do you have a place to stay?”

“Not yet. Social Services is looking into something.”

He walked closer to her bed and sat on the edge of his favorite chair. “I...uh...I have a two-bedroom house in West Hollywood. It’s on a cul-de-sac, and it’s really safe. Uh, the thing is, if you don’t have any place to go, you can use my spare room. It’s even got a private bathroom.”

“You’ve done so much for me already. I couldn’t—”

“Just until you get back on your feet. Uh, you know. If you want. That is.” Why did he sound like a stammering, yammering teenager asking a girl on a date? That wasn’t what he’d had in mind. He just wanted to help her. That was all.

She was the vision of a woman trying to make up her mind. Judging him on whether she could trust him or not, and from her recent experience Joe could understand why she might doubt herself. “Um, Dr. Rothsberg will vouch for me.”

“I’ll vouch for who?” James walked in on their awkward moment.

“I was just inviting Carey to stay in my spare room, if she needs a place to stay for a while.”

James nailed Carey with his stare. “He’s a good man. You can trust him.” Then he turned and faced Joe and looked questioning. “I think.”

That got a laugh out of Carey, and Joe shook his head. Guys loved to mess with each other.

“Okay, then,” she said, surprising the heck out of Joe.

“Okay?”

“Yes. Thank you.” The woman truly knew how to be gracious, and for that he was grateful.

He smiled. “You’re welcome. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” It was his day off, but he’d be back here in a heartbeat when she was ready for discharge.

He turned to leave, unusually happy and suddenly finding the need to rush home and clean the house.

CHAPTER THREE

JOE HAD WORKED like a fiend to clean his house that morning before he went to the clinic to bring Carey back. He’d gotten her room prepared and put his best towels into the guest bathroom, wanting her to feel at home. He’d stocked the bathroom with everything he thought she might need from shampoo to gentle facial soap, scented body wash, and of course a toothbrush and toothpaste. Oh, and a brush for that beautiful auburn hair.

Aware that Carey only had the clothes on her back, he’d pegged her to be around his middle sister Lori’s size and had borrowed a couple pairs of jeans and tops. Boy, he’d had a lot of explaining to do when he’d asked, too, since Lori was a typical nosy sister, especially since his divorce.

Once, while Carey had been sleeping in the clinic, he’d checked the size of her shoes and now he hoped she wouldn’t mind that he’d bought her a pair of practical ladies’ slip-on rubber-soled shoes and some flip-flops, because she couldn’t exactly walk around in those sexy boots all the time. Plus, flip-flops were acceptable just about everywhere in Southern California. He was grateful some of the nurses had bought her a package of underwear and another bra—he’d heard that through the grapevine, thanks to Stephanie, the gossipy receptionist at The Hollywood Hills Clinic, who’d said she’d gone in on the collection of money for said items.

Now he waited in the foyer for the nurse or orderly to bring Carey around for discharge, having parked his car in the circular driveway. Careful not to say anything to Stephanie about the living arrangements, knowing that if he did so the whole clinic would soon find out, he smiled, assured her that Social Services had arranged for something, and with crossed arms tapped his fingers on his elbows, waiting.

She rounded the corner, being pushed in a wheelchair—clinic policy for discharges, regardless of how well the patient felt, but most especially for someone status post-head injury like her. She was dressed the way he’d first seen her last Wednesday night, and she trained her apprehensive glance straight at him. Even from this distance he noticed those dark green eyes, and right now they were filled with questions. Yeah, it would be weird to bring a strange lady into his home, especially one who continuously made his nerve endings and synapses react as if she waved some invisible magnetic wand.

He wanted to make her feel comfortable, so he smiled and walked to pick up the few things she had stuffed into a clinic tote bag, a classier version of the usual plastic discharge bags from other hospitals he’d worked at. It was one of the perks of choosing The Hollywood Hills Clinic for medical care, though in her case she hadn’t had a choice.