style="font-size:15px;"> “No, but I’m sure I can look one up.”
“I can change them for you. Let’s go back into town and stop by the hardware store.” Frankly, he should have thought of it before.
“You don’t have to do that. Besides, I’m not entirely sure I want to stay at the house right now.” She shook her head, rubbing a hand over her belly anxiously. “I keep thinking that maybe I should get a room somewhere, but for how long? I can’t hide forever, and without knowing why someone broke in or why they’re watching me, I have no idea how long I’d have to stay away before they give up. If they do.”
He had to agree with her assessment. Somebody who’d gone to all this trouble wasn’t going to give up until they had what they wanted. A hotel room in the city might be safer, but they could track her down there.
He stopped the truck in front of his house, but didn’t pull into the driveway. “And there’s nobody you can stay with? A friend?”
“No.”
“Family?”
Her lips thinned. “I don’t have any.”
“What about somebody who helps you with the baby? Aren’t you supposed to have a person to help you breathe or something when the time comes?”
She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Ideally, but I don’t. I bought an instructional video and watched a few others online to learn what I’m supposed to do. I figure it won’t be too hard to do by myself. I’ve been breathing on my own for twenty-nine years now.” She tried for a weak smile that fell short.
“How long have you lived around here anyway?”
The redness in her face deepened. “Five years,” she practically whispered.
“And you don’t know anybody?”
“I tend to keep to myself,” she mumbled.
It wasn’t as if he could argue with that. He knew that much from personal experience.
“Look,” she said quickly, as though figuring the statement demanded an explanation. “The thing is, I’ve never been very good at meeting people and making friends. I get nervous and I don’t know what to say, and it’s embarrassing for everyone involved. I’m just not good at talking to people and making conversation.”
“You can’t be that bad. Brock Marshall always has a clever line.”
“I’m not Brock Marshall,” she pointed out, a trace of embarrassment or maybe apology in her tone. “Besides, there’s a difference between making conversation and making up conversation. Dialogue’s a lot easier when you get to do both sides of the discussion.”
“You’re doing okay now.”
She frowned and appeared to consider the comment. “I guess so,” she said, sounding surprised to realize he was right.
He frowned, too, as it occurred to him that he could say the same for himself. She wasn’t the only one who considered herself not much of a talker. He’d said more to this woman in less than twenty-four hours than he had in months to anyone who wasn’t a medical professional. Then again, they’d had a lot to talk about. Coming up with conversation the past few hours hadn’t exactly been tough.
He stared at her house through the windshield. Leaving her there by herself seemed even more wrong that it had last night. At the same time, the idea of her alone, far from home, made his stomach clench.
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