“Me, neither. I’ll keep consoling myself with reading forensic investigation books.”
“Sherlock Holmes mysteries don’t count,” she deadpanned.
She remembered that he’d read all the Sherlock Holmes books over and over in high school? Wow. That was a pretty obscure detail to recall. Surely she hadn’t actually noticed him in that way back then—
Nah. No way. She’d barely known he existed. She wouldn’t know he existed now if she hadn’t physically run into him earlier.
He sighed. Better to keep things friendly and professional. Speaking of which... As tempted as he was to ask her if she had a security system installed in her house, he refrained. She was a lawyer, and she would sense a motive behind his question. And as sure as she was standing there, she would dig at him until she found out why he’d asked. Better to avoid the subject completely for the moment. Besides. He had a starting place. The rotten ex-husband.
“I have a favor to ask of you, Liam. I hate to ask because you’ve already done so much for me—”
“Anything,” he interrupted. “Ask it.”
“Would you mind terribly bringing me some more clothes? The nurses are telling me it could be a few days before Chloe is released.”
Perfect. It would give him an excuse to go into Sloane’s house again and investigate further. “Of course, I’ll swing by and pick up whatever you need.”
“Thank you.”
The shy note that entered her voice was nearly his undoing. Who’d have guessed that a strong, smart, together woman would have such a hard time asking for a small thing?
They turned into the hallway where Chloe’s hospital room was, and he felt her attention rivet on her daughter’s well-being once more. He walked silently beside her to Chloe’s door.
“Get some sleep, Sloane. Chloe’s going to wake up in the morning bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, and you’ll need to be on your mommy A-game.”
“Lord, I hope so.”
On impulse, he drew Sloane into a hug. She was warm and soft, and that bergamot and orange scent clung to her. She was all at once familiar and foreign to him. A woman had taken over the teenager he’d once known so well.
She hugged him back, her cheek warm against his chest, clinging tightly to his waist for an instant, as if he was her only lifeline, before letting go.
He took the cue and released her, stepping back to a safe distance. “I’ll say a prayer for Chloe tonight.”
Dawn broke through the windows of the hospital room, and Sloane gave up trying to sleep. In the past hour, Chloe’s fever had inched down slightly, but Little Bug was starting to vomit. Sloane sat by the crib with the side lowered, and Chloe curled around Sloane’s hand pitifully, clinging to it tightly.
Sloane’s heart broke to see her daughter suffering like this. Thankfully, the doctor came in a little before 8:00 a.m. to check on Chloe.
“She’s doing worse,” Sloane murmured to him.
“Actually, vomiting is the next stage of the infection, so she’s progressing through the illness,” the doctor replied.
“Does that mean she’s getting better?” Sloane asked hopefully.
“If this progresses like it has in the other children, the last stage will involve chest congestion, and that will actually be the most...delicate...time.”
Sloane frowned. Delicate wasn’t the word he’d been on the verge of saying. Ten to one he’d been about to say critical. “There has to be something more we can do for her, doctor.”
“We’re monitoring her closely. We’re pumping fluids, nutrition and massive antibiotics into her to take the load off her immune system. All we can do in the case of a virus like this is provide palliative support, meaning we can only treat the symptoms.”
“Aren’t there any specific antiviral drugs you can give her?”
“Not that have had any efficacy on this particular strain of virus,” he answered.
“Is this some sort of flu?”
“Although it looks like a flu, Chloe tested negative for influenza. It’s something else with similar symptoms. Just be patient and let this run its course, Mrs. Durant.”
“Colton. I’m not keeping my ex-husband’s name.”
“Sorry. A Colton, huh?”
She winced as the doctor looked at her speculatively and then beat a quick exit. An orderly brought her a tray of breakfast, and she nibbled on a piece of toast without any appetite. She downed the glass of orange juice but ignored the oatmeal. A nurse had no sooner pushed out the breakfast tray than Mara Colton swept into Chloe’s room.
Rats. The doctor had betrayed her and called the matriarch of the Colton clan.
“Sloane, dear, why didn’t you call me last night? We could have had a specialist down from Denver by now to look at our sweet girl. How is she?”
Chloe, who’d recently drifted off to sleep after throwing up, stirred and whimpered. Sloane waved her mother out of the room and leaned over Chloe quickly, kissing her hot forehead, and murmuring against her daughter’s skin how much she loved her and to dream about angels.
Chloe settled, and her eyes drifted closed once more. Gently, Sloane disengaged her hand from the child’s grasp, placing Snuffles, Chloe’s beloved plush elephant, into her daughter’s arms. God. She looked so tiny and vulnerable curled up in the middle of all those wires and tubes.
Sloane hurried from the room, fighting back the tears. She had to be strong for her baby. She was a tough, independent woman. She could do this.
“How are you holding up, dear?”
Mara might not be the most maternal person in the world, but even this brief show of concern was enough to strain Sloane’s steely self-control. She would not break down, darn it!
She took a deep breath. Lawyers never cried in court. This was just like that. She took note of the nurses and orderlies nearby, a doctor walking down the hall, a visitor looking for a room number. She was in public. She was a professional.
Her years of courtroom experience kicked in, and her emotions steadied. Receded.
Better.
She heard her own voice answer, “I’m fine, thanks, Mother. Worried, of course. But Chloe’s getting excellent care. They’re monitoring her closely and have seen this virus before. They know what to expect.”
Liar, liar. Pants on fire. She was a wreck and to say otherwise was blatantly untrue.
“Have you eaten, dear?”
“I
