ops normal these days. “I passed out?”
Nodding, Vic rebuttoned his shirt. “I carried you up here afterward. Are you okay?”
No! She wanted to shout. I’m not okay at all. This baby left her excited and scared at once. No matter how many times she told herself she wasn’t a single seventeen-year-old like her mother, she still couldn’t stem fears of letting down her child.
And in the middle of all those fears rumbled a confused mishmash of emotions for the baby’s father tipping her world until she couldn’t see straight. Or maybe that was because all she could see was a broad set of shoulders and a gorgeous head of thick, sun-kissed hair that begged her fingers to smooth it.
Staring into eyes so blue they turned almost as purple as the lilacs on her windowsill, she wanted to tell him about their child now. She wanted him to be happy about the baby. She needed him to reassure her they would sort out reasonable plans for sharing custody.
And if by some fluke the once-bitten-twice-shy bachelor actually offered to marry her?
Not a chance. She’d been an obligation to so many people over the years. She wouldn’t put that grief on her baby.
But Aunt Libby’s old voice whispered in her mind that a mama would do anything for her child. Or was that her own mother’s voice she could barely remember anymore? A woman who’d even been willing to climb into a trucker’s cab on occasion to earn extra dollars for rent.
Claire swallowed down sympathetic tears that pooled closer to the surface these days. She’d stumbled on that tidbit of info about her mom when searching through Aunt Libby’s paperwork, which included a copy of Claire’s case file. All of which flooded her eyes with more tears for both mother figures in her life who had sacrificed so much for her.
Vic’s arm slid around her shoulders. “Claire, baby, are you all right?”
Omigod, she couldn’t think now, and she definitely couldn’t talk rationally. She blinked fast. Better to speak with Vic when her emotions were steadier…and when her sister wasn’t one room away.
Claire swung her legs over the side of the bed and willed the wisteria-vine pattern climbing her faded wallpaper to quit wiggling. “I’m fine. Thank you for carrying me up here so I wasn’t sprawled out there for all the customers to gawk at.”
“No problem. I just want to make sure you’re okay.” He pressed a hand to her forehead. “My specialty may be four-legged patients, but you don’t feel feverish.”
Uh-oh. He wanted a reason. She gripped his wrist and tried not to notice the steady pulse under her touch, the masculine bristle of hair sprinkled along his skin. His eyes met hers, held, the pulse throbbing under her fingers sped. Hers answered with a resounding ka-thump.
She dropped his hand. “Thanks for the medical assistance, Doctor Jansen, but this two-legged patient is only hungry. I skipped breakfast this morning.” And lunch. “With the extra catering jobs, I’m putting in additional hours. It must have caught up with me.”
He jammed his clenched fists in his faded jean pockets. “You should take better care of yourself.”
She knew that. Already she felt like a rotten mother, but she had such a tough time asking for help. She would—in another week. “I’ll be fine once I eat something.”
And kept it down.
“Even a farm vet like me can see you need a nap.”
“Tomorrow.” She slid off the edge of the bed to her feet. “I have too much to—”
The room tipped. Her stomach roiled. Before she could blink, Vic braced her shoulders and sat her on the bed. He gripped the back of her neck and eased her forward. She dropped her head between her knees. Her notepad thudded to the floor. She would retrieve it after she found air.
“Deep breaths. Slowly. It’s okay,” Vic’s voice soothed in time with his steady strokes along the back of her head and neck. Then along her shoulders. One hand on each side, he patted and braced her in case she fell forward again. “Keep breathing.”
She drew in air tinged with the scent of his soap and her magnolia trees outside. Long after her stomach settled, she stared at Vic’s work boots and feared what she would find if she looked up. Would he suspect? Hopefully he didn’t know anything about pregnant women.
What a stupid thought. Of course he did. His ex-wife had been pregnant once.
Slowly, Claire straightened, but she found nothing more than concern on his face. The wisteria plants on her wallpaper stayed blessedly still, although her face in the armoire mirror matched the leaves on the vines.
Vic kept both hands on her shoulders. She couldn’t seem to scavenge the words to tell him she no longer needed his support.
For just one weak moment, she let herself forget her fears about being a good mother, about holding strong against all the people clamoring to take her house away. Forget that even if she could stay in his arms, Vic had been burned in the past, too. Forget everything but the wonderful deep blue of his eyes as he searched her face.
Staccato footsteps sounded from the hall.
Vic dropped his hands in a flash and stepped back. He scooped her notepad off the floor and plopped it on her bedside table by a colored-glass bowl of rocks.
Inching off the bed, Claire grabbed the bedpost for support. She knew full well her shaky knees had more to do with Vic than his baby.
Starr blasted through the door, water glass, cloth, and thermometer in hand. “Oh good, you’re awake.” Her spiky heels clicked across the waxed wood floors. “Sorry it took me so long, but I couldn’t find the thermometer. And oh, uh, your medicine cabinet’s not quite as organized anymore.” She gasped for breath, setting everything on the bedside table. “You scared the spit out of me.”
“Sorry about that.” She reached for the glass and dutifully swallowed down two sips before setting it by her notepad and decorative rocks.
“And well you should be.” Her foster sister shoved her down onto the bed with a strength that would have surprised most people.
But not Claire. She knew her fireball sister better than that. Nobody tangled with Starr. Well, not anyone with sense. A cold cloth slapped across her forehead.
Vic leaned against the wall next to her armoire. “She hasn’t eaten today. Something about being too busy.”
Claire shot him a you traitor look, before smiling at her sister. “No need to take my temperature. I just need to grab a quick bite and I’ll be fine.”
Her nausea usually didn’t last past the afternoon. She’d tried to arrange her schedule for later shifts so she had mornings to lie in, but preparations for the baby shower tonight had skewed her schedule.
“Yeah, right.” Leaning, Starr creaked open the trunk at the foot of the bed and whipped out an extra pillow. She thunked it at the end of the mattress. “You’re going to put your feet up and sleep. I’ll bring you a sandwich in a minute.”
“But the—”
“Baby shower. I own a third of this place, you know. I can hostess an
