Her youthful missteps had cost her. A reputation was a hard thing to shake. But he knew she had a good heart.
“Just hear me out. You should know, Simone, that a multiple pregnancy immediately puts you in the high-risk category. The hospital hired me for my expertise. I’ll be overseeing your case indirectly. Dr. Fetter will alert me if any problems arise. Will that be a problem?”
Simone blinked. “Do you have any crackers?”
“Excuse me?” Had his hearing taken a hit in Sudan?
“I need saltines. I’m about to puke.”
Oh, lord. “Hold on,” he said. Opening the door to the hallway, he bellowed for a nurse. The poor woman must have sprinted, because she was back in two minutes with the crackers and a cup of ice chips.
He took them with muttered thanks, closed the door firmly and turned to Simone. She wasn’t white anymore. More like a transparent shade of green. Grabbing a plastic basin from the cabinet, he put it in her lap and unwrapped the crackers. “Slowly,” he said.
“Don’t worry,” she muttered. “I’m afraid to move.”
“Poor baby.” He’d seen pregnant women almost every day of his professional life, but none had ever touched him as deeply as this one. Without overthinking it, he put an arm behind her back to support her. “I’ll hold the cracker,” he said. “You nibble.”
It was a measure of how miserable she was that she didn’t fight him. No snappy comeback. No insistence she could feed herself. When she leaned into him, his heart actually skipped a beat. A huge neon sign flashed in his brain. Warning! Warning!
Even though he knew he couldn’t get close to her again, his body betrayed him. She was so familiar, so delightfully feminine. Every caveman instinct he possessed told him to fight for her, to protect her. Women were tough, far tougher than men at times. Still, this Simone who had come to him today was at a low spot. He wanted to make it all right for her.
Yet he was the last person she needed. He’d suffered too much heartache, witnessed too much heartbreak to offer Simone anything resembling the love they had once shared.
She managed the first cracker and started on the second. In between bites, he offered the ice chips. Four crackers in each pack, eight in all. Eventually, she finished them.
“Thank you,” she said. “I’m okay now.”
It was patently untrue, but he took her words at face value. He handed her what was left of the cup of ice. “I have other patients to see,” he said, wondering why the thought of leaving this room was so unappealing.
“I know,” she said. “Go. I’m fine. I’m glad you didn’t die in Africa.”
He chuckled. “Is that all you have to say?”
“I don’t want to add to your ego. I won’t be surprised if the town makes you the patron saint of Royal. Saint Hutch. It has a ring to it, don’t you think?”
“You’re such a brat.”
“Some things never change.” Her teeth dug into her bottom lip.
Gradually, her color was returning to normal. The doctor in him approved. “That’s not true, Simone. Neither of us is who we were five years ago. I know I’m not.”
She tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. “Is that a polite warning? You’re telling me not to get any ideas?” Her sidelong glance held a touch of wry mischief.
Even now, she had the power to shock him. While he’d been willing to dance around their painful past, Simone plunged right into the murky depths. Maybe she knew him better than he realized.
“I wasn’t, but I probably should have.”
“You’re not my doctor.”
“No. Not technically.” He paused, weighing his words. “Perhaps this is presumptuous on my part, but you opened this can of worms. I knew we would see each other again, Simone. It was inevitable if I came home. But...”
“But you’ve moved on.”
“Yes. I have.” He didn’t tell her the rest. He couldn’t.
Simone nodded. “I understand, Hutch. I think it’s obvious I have my hands full, too. Maybe we can be friends, though.”
“Maybe.” He let the lie roll off his lips. As much as he wanted to help her, he couldn’t get close. Not again. “Are you okay now? The nausea’s better?”
She handed him the basin. “False alarm. You’re good at this. Maybe you should be a doctor.”
His smile was genuine. Simone had always been able to make him laugh, even when he took himself too seriously. He reached in his pocket for a business card and scrawled his cell number on the back. “I need you to promise,” he said, handing it to her.
“Promise what?” She handled the little rectangle as if it were a poisonous snake.
“I want you to promise that you’ll call me immediately if you have any problems.”
“What about Dr. Fetter?”
He shoved his hands in the pockets of his lab coat. “She’s a busy doctor with a lot of patients.”
“And you’re not?”
They stared at each other in silence. “Hell, Simone. You’re not making this easy.”
“I don’t understand you.”
“We share a past. I want to make sure you and these babies are okay.”
“Saint Hutch.”
If that’s what she wanted to think, he might as well let her. It was far better than the truth. “I care about you,” he said quietly. “I mean it. Any hour. Night or day. This isn’t a typical pregnancy. I want to hear you say it.”
She lifted one shoulder in an elegant gesture he remembered well. “Fine. I promise. Are you happy now?”
He hadn’t been happy for a very long time. “It will do. I’ll be in touch, Simone. Take care of yourself.”
After the run-in with Hutch, the actual appointment with Dr. Fetter a week later was anticlimactic. The rules for a multiple pregnancy were pretty much the same as any pregnancy. Take vitamins. Sleep and rest the appropriate amount. Exercise every day. Report any spotting or bleeding.
That last bit was scary. Simone stared at the obstetrician as the woman entered notes on a laptop. “How often does that happen? Bleeding, I mean.”
Dr. Fetter looked up over the top of her glasses. “Ten to twenty percent of all pregnancies end in miscarriage, Simone. With multiples, the risk is higher. Nevertheless, you shouldn’t waste time worrying about it. Your ultrasound looks good, and we’ll
