Sandra Field – Expecting His Baby (страница 2)

Judd walked to the foot of the bed, frowning slightly as he started reading the neatly typed words on the chart. Then the woman’s name leaped out at him. Lise Charbonneau. Age twenty-eight.

His frown deepened, his eyes intent in a way some of his business associates would have recognized. Angeline still went by her own name, which was also Charbonneau. And Angeline’s young cousin had been called Lise. He’d met her at the wedding, all those years ago.

It couldn’t be the same person. That would be stretching coincidence too far.

But Lise at the age of thirteen or so had had flaming, unruly red hair, and cheekbones that even then gave promise of an elegance to come. She’d also had braces on her teeth and the gawkiness of a foal new to the field, and no social graces whatsoever. Her eyes, though, had been as green as spring grass, almond-shaped eyes that were already beautiful.

He searched his memory. Hadn’t she been living with Angeline and Marthe, Angeline’s mother, because her own parents had died tragically? And hadn’t they died in a house fire?

Was that why Lise Charbonneau had become a firefighter?

Angeline’s cousin responsible for saving Angeline’s daughter…what a strange and unbelievable irony. Speaking of which, he’d better try to reach Angeline. He himself was always fodder for journalists; he didn’t want Angeline hearing about Emmy’s escape on the late-night television news.

But then the woman in the bed shifted again, moaning slightly under her breath. He stiffened to attention, going over to stand by the bed, watching her struggle toward consciousness. And to pain by the look of it, he thought grimly, reaching for the buzzer that was pinned to the pillow by her head, and with an effort restraining himself from taking a strand of her vivid hair between his fingers. Hair that could warm a man’s heart. He said gently, “It’s okay, I’m calling the nurse.”

Her eyes flickered open, closed again, then opened more widely, focusing on him with difficulty. They were a clear, brilliant green, exquisitely shaped. Tension rippling along his nerves, Judd waited for her to speak.

The man’s outline was blurred, throbbing in tandem with the throbbing in her shoulder. Lise blinked, trying to clear her vision of a haze of pain and sedatives, and this time he was more distinct. More distinct and instantly recognizable.

Judd. Judd Harwood. Standing beside her bed, gazing at her with an intensity that made her heart lurch in her breast. He’d come for her, she thought dizzily. Finally. Her knight in shining armor, her gallant prince… How many times, as a teenager, had she fantasized just such an awakening? His big body, so broad-shouldered and narrow-hipped, his square jaw and fierce vitality: she’d known them—so she’d thought—as well as she’d known her own body. Known them and longed for them. Hopelessly. Because all those years ago Judd had been in love with Angeline.

But now it was as though all her adolescent dreams had coalesced, and she’d woken to find the first man she’d ever fallen for watching her in a way that curled heat through every limb. She’d been madly and inarticulately in love with him back then, no matter that he was married to her cousin. How could she not have loved him? To a lonely and impressionable teenager, his looks and personality had had the impact of an ax blade, splintering her innocence. Since then, of course, she’d been hugely disillusioned, all her trite little daydreams shattered on the hard rocks of adult reality.

Judd Harwood. Unfaithful husband of her beloved cousin Angeline. The man who had refused Angeline custody of her own daughter, who’d been too busy amassing his fortune to be anything other than an absentee husband and father. The jet-setter with a woman in every major city in the world.

But what, she wondered frantically, fighting to overcome the fuzziness of her thoughts, was he doing standing by her bed? And where was she anyway? Because this was no dream. The dull, thudding pain in her shoulder and the sharp needles of agony behind her eyes were all too real. So was he, of course. His thick black hair now had threads of gray over the ears, she noticed in confusion. But his eyes were still that chameleon shade between blue and gray, and his jawline was as arrogant as ever.

“Where—” she croaked.

“I’ve called the nurse,” he said in the deep baritone that she now realized she’d never forgotten. “Just lie still, she’ll be here in a minute.”

“But what are you—”

The door swung open and on soft rubber heels a nurse came in the room. She went straight to the bed, smiling at Lise. “So you’re awake—good. And not feeling so great by the look of you. I’ll give you another shot, that’ll help the pain in your shoulder.” With calm efficiency, she checked Lise’s pulse and temperature, asked a few questions and gave her the requisite painkiller. “It’ll take a few moments to take effect,” she said briskly, and glanced up at Judd. “Perhaps you could stay until she’s asleep again?”

“Certainly,” Judd said.

With a last smile at Lise, the nurse left the room. Judd said evenly, “You’re the Lise I met years ago, aren’t you? Angeline’s cousin? Do you remember me? Judd Harwood.”

Oh, yes, she remembered him. Lise said, “I don’t want to talk to you.”

She’d planned for this to come out crisply and decisively, edged with all the contempt she harbored for him. But her tongue felt like a sponge in her mouth, and her words were scarcely audible even to herself. In huge frustration, she tried again, struggling to marshal her thoughts in a brain stuffed with cotton wool. “I have nothing to say to you,” she whispered, then let exhaustion flatten her to the pillow.

“Lise…” Judd bent closer, so close she could see the cleanly sculpted curve of his mouth and the small dent in his chin. A wave of panic washed over her. She turned her head away, squeezing her eyes shut. “Go away,” she mumbled.

He said tightly, “I’ll come back tomorrow morning. But I want you to know how grateful—oh hell, what kind of a word is that? You saved my daughter’s life, Lise, at the risk of your own. I’ll never be able to thank you enough.”

Her eyes flew open. She gaped up at him, trying to take in what he was saying, remembering the nightmare search from room to room, the dash up the attic stairs and the child huddled at bay in the corner. “You mean the fire was at your house?” she gasped. He nodded. In growing agitation she said, “All I heard was that the owner was away and there was a baby-sitter and a little girl. No names.”

“My daughter. Emmy.”

“Angeline’s daughter—she’s Angeline’s just as much as yours!”

“Angeline left when Emmy was three,” Judd said in a hard voice.

“You refused her custody.”

“She didn’t want it.”

“That’s not what she told me.”

“Look,” Judd said flatly, “this is no time for an autopsy on my divorce. You saved Emmy’s life. You showed enormous courage.” Briefly he rested his hand over hers. “Thank you. That’s all I wanted to say.”

His fingers were warm, with a latent strength that seemed to race through Lise’s body as flame could race along an exposed wire. “Do you really think I need your gratitude?” she cried, hating his nearness, despising herself for being so achingly aware of it. She was damned if she was going to respond to him like the lovesick adolescent she’d been; she was twenty-eight years old, she’d been around. And he was nothing to her. Nothing. She tried to pull her hand away from his, felt agony lance from her elbow to her shoulder, and gave an inarticulate yelp of pain.

Judd said tautly, “For God’s sake, lie still. You’re acting as though you hate me.”

With faint surprise that he could be so obtuse, she said, “Why wouldn’t I hate you?”

To her infinite relief, he straightened, his hand falling to his side. An emotion she couldn’t possibly have defined flickered across his face. In a neutral voice he said, “You grew up with Angeline.”

“I adored her,” Lise announced defiantly. “She was everything I always wanted to be, and she was kind to me at a time when I badly needed it.” Kind in a rather distant, amused fashion, and kind only when it didn’t inconvenience Angeline; as an adult, Lise had come to see these distinctions. Nevertheless, during a period in her life when she’d been horribly lonely, her cousin had taken the trouble to teach her how to dance, and given her advice on her complexion and how to talk to boys. Had paid attention to her. Which was more than Marthe, Angeline’s mother, had done.

“Adoration isn’t the most clear-eyed of emotions,” Judd said.

“What would you know about emotions?”

“Just what do you mean by that?”

“Figure it out, Judd,” Lise said wearily. The drugs were starting to take effect, the throbbing in her shoulder lessening; her eyes felt heavy, her body full of lassitude, and all she wanted was for him to go away. Then the door swung smoothly on its hinges again, and with a flood of relief she saw Dave’s familiar face.

Dave McDowell was her co-worker, almost always on the same shifts as she. She liked him enormously for his calmness under pressure, and for his rock-solid dependability. He was still wearing the navy-blue coveralls that went under their outer gear; he looked worn-out. She said warmly, “Dave…good thing you were on that ladder.”