style="font-size:15px;"> A fine white line appeared around her softly compressed lips at the movement, and he felt a jab of conscience. She’d just had a baby. Sitting here arguing ethics was undoubtedly the last thing she’d expected to be doing today. “Miss Valentine. Emma. Give my offer some thought.” He kept his voice calm even though his impulse was to push the issue. “I’ll make it worth your while.”
Far from calming her, however, her face blanched. “I’m sorry, Mr. Montgomery.” Her tone said she was anything but. “I can’t help you.” Her hands curled over the sides of the chair and she pushed herself gingerly to her feet.
He rose, automatically reaching out to assist her, but the frosty look she gave him had him keeping his hands to himself. He felt awkward and inept, something he hadn’t experienced for at least twenty years. Yet watching her slowly maneuver herself to the hospital bed without offering assistance went against his grain.
“One of my sisters had a baby last year,” he said.
“How nice,” she murmured.
It would have been so simple just to lift her off her feet and deposit her on the bed—much easier than watching her efforts to climb into it. He looked away, shoving his hands in his pockets. When his sister had been in the hospital after giving birth, her room had been filled to overflowing with flowers, plants, balloons and assorted baby gifts. The only thing personal in this room was one small green plant with a cheerful smiley-face balloon sticking out of it.
At the rustle of sheets he let his gaze travel back to her. Emma was still bundled in the thick robe and looked as if she’d just as soon be buried in it as remove it with him present.
This wasn’t going at all the way he wanted. Needed.
He started to reach up to loosen his tie, then realized he’d left it in his car, so it wasn’t a tie that made him feel choked. “Is someone picking you up this afternoon to take you home?”
She folded her arms across the top of the sheet and sighed faintly. “You’re not going to go away, are you.”
It hadn’t been a question. He answered, anyway. “Emma, this is too important for me to go away.” How many times had he removed an obstacle from his path simply because of his ability to outlast, outthink, outmaneuver?
Only this time, the obstacle in Kyle’s path had smudgy shadows beneath her eyes and slender shoulders he was certain were being held straight through sheer grit. “But I can see you’re exhausted. So I’ll come back later when you’re released and get you settled at home. We can discuss this more then.”
“There is nothing to discuss. Besides, I have my car here and I’ll be getting myself and my son home just fine.”
“Your car is here? Did someone drop it off for you?” He pulled his hands from his pockets and wrapped them around the metal rail at the foot of her bed. Kyle had specifically asked Dennis Reid if there was a man in the picture with Emma Valentine. Reid had assured him that Emma was totally on her own. The last thing Kyle needed was some love-struck fool bumbling onto the scene.
“I drove it here,” she said, surprising him into forgetting the issue of her single status.
“While you were in labor?”
“Yes,” she said with exaggerated patience. “And I’ll drive it home again this afternoon. I assure you I have the proper baby seat and everything, so stop frowning.”
“You have no one you could have called on?” If not the man responsible for her pregnancy, then a friend. A sibling. Someone.
Her lips firmed. “Whether I do or not is hardly your business, now is it?”
Kyle would have liked to debate that point, considering he was determined this woman would be his make-believe wife. But there was a loud rattle out in the corridor and the door swished open to reveal a young man in pristine white bearing a breakfast tray.
The orderly smiled genially at them, set the tray on a rolling cart and slid it neatly against the side of Emma’s bed, turning it so the tray hung over her lap. Then he lifted the cover from the food and left.
As Kyle peered at the bowl of cooked cereal, the puny foil-covered plastic cup of orange juice and a half-burned piece of toast, he thought of the fluffy omelet, crisp bacon and fragrant coffee Baxter had served him that morning. He’d barely taken time to appreciate the food or the way it had been served—on china at the wrought-iron glass-topped table on his patio.
“Are you hungry, Mr. Montgomery?”
“No, why?”
“You’re staring at my breakfast like you haven’t seen food in a month.” She didn’t look at him as she peeled back the foil cover of the juice.
“I haven’t seen a breakfast that looks like that in more than a month,” he muttered. “I’ll bring you back something more…appealing.”
She took a healthy swallow of the juice, then picked up a spoon which she plunged into the cereal. “I like hot cereal, Mr. Montgomery. Some people do, you know.” Her tone slowed like rich rolling drops of syrup. “Even rich folks, I’m told.”
He smiled, genuinely amused. “You think I’m a snob.”
Her hesitation was barely noticeable. “I can’t imagine what you mean.”
His amusement grew. “Neatly avoided and you didn’t have to lie.” Seeing the corners of her mouth twitch as if she was holding back a reluctant smile of her own, he decided it was a good time to retreat. On a high note, so to speak. “I’ll leave you to enjoy your oats and whey,” he said. “We’ll be talking again.”
“I don’t think so. Our paths are in different neighborhoods. I doubt they’ll cross again.”
He shrugged easily and headed toward the door. She didn’t know him yet, so she could have no idea how wrong she was. He stopped and turned. “Get some sleep after you eat,” he suggested. “It’ll be a busy afternoon taking your son home. What did you say his name was?”
She tilted her head. “I didn’t. Which you know very well.”
“He is a good-looking boy.”
Her eyes softened like rich melting chocolate. “Thank you. He is beautiful.”
“And his name? You’ve already given him one, I’m sure.” He smiled faintly. “I’ll bet you had his name picked out when you were only halfway through your pregnancy.” She seemed like the type of woman who’d have cherished every moment she carried her child. Very much the way his sister had.
“Four months along,” she admitted.
“And?”
She moistened her lips. Hesitated. “My son’s name is Chandler.”
Kyle absorbed that. “Well. Good name.”
“I named him after a very dear old friend from my hometown,” she said evenly. “A name I chose months ago, so wipe that smug look off your face.”
“Not smug at all, Emma. It’s just another indication
