Beginning with Their Baby. Tracy Wolff
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into fists, and he stared at her long artist’s fingers, fascinated. They still bore traces of blue and green paint, as if she’d finished a painting and caught a plane to America all in the same hour.
Of course, she might have done just that—it was her way. Attacking her on it was going to get them nowhere.
“Look, Camille, it’s my turn to apologize. This whole baby thing came out of nowhere and it’s made me a little punchy.” He pushed out of the chair, strode over to where she was. “I can’t imagine what it’s done to you.”
“It’s freaked me out,” she admitted candidly. “Turned my whole life upside down—and the kid isn’t even here yet.”
“That’s kind of what I figured—and I’m not making this any easier for you.” He settled himself next to her on the bed, rested a soft hand on her knee. A jolt of electricity ripped between them, but he worked to ignore it. Chemistry—or a lack thereof—had never been their problem.
Too bad he couldn’t say the same thing about communication.
“Look, nothing has to be decided now. Right? So we can just take things slowly, see how they work out.”
“How do you think they’re going to work out?”
“I don’t know, but I’m sure we’ll think of something.”
She didn’t answer, just stared at him for so long that he began to feel like a bug under a microscope—and a dead one, at that.
Just when his nerves were at the breaking point, she whispered, “Okay.”
Relief swept through him, though he didn’t know why. This baby was a complication he didn’t need. Yet the idea of her taking off again, of never seeing the baby he’d helped create, left him cold.
Clearing away the sudden lump in his throat, he asked, “Have you seen a doctor yet?”
“I figured I’d do that here.”
“Do you have anyone in mind?”
She shook her head and he started to relax. This is what he was good at. Planning. Thinking things out. Getting things done. If she’d let him, he’d take care of everything. “I’ll figure something out. My friend Reece’s wife had a baby just a few weeks ago—maybe she knows someone.”
“Same old Matt, taking care of anyone who will let him.”
He forced himself not to take offense. “You’re not anyone. You’re the mother of my child.”
“Matt, I didn’t tell you about the baby because I wanted to guilt you into anything. I don’t work that way.”
“I realize that.” He studied her, with her wild black curls and bottomless gypsy eyes. He did know it—that was the kicker. But that didn’t mean he didn’t feel responsible. Hell, he was responsible.
“I just thought—” She blew out a breath, let her hand with its multicolored fingers rest on his. “I figured you should know.”
“Well.” He forced a smile. “Now I know.”
“Now you know.”
He reached into his pocket, pulled out his cell phone.
“What are you doing?”
“Texting Reece for the name and number of Sarah’s doctor. I want to get you in to see someone as soon as possible.”
“Why do tomorrow what you can do today, huh, Matt?”
He looked up from the message he was composing. “Why do today what you can put off until tomorrow, huh, Camille?”
She smiled at him, the first real smile he’d seen from her since she’d walked out his door all those weeks before. And just that easily, the knot in his stomach dissolved.
Everything was going to be fine. He’d get Camille to a doctor, get her set up in an apartment that had enough room—and light—for her to paint. After he’d checked with the doctor, of course, and made sure the fumes weren’t bad for the baby.
He’d take care of everything—like he always did. After all, how hard could caring for one pregnant woman be?
CHAPTER THREE
CAMILLE JERKED INTO a sitting position, her foggy brain struggling to figure out what had woken her when it felt like she had just drifted to sleep. After rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, she glanced down at the clock on her bedside table and realized that she had only gotten two hours of sleep.
With a groan, she sank back under the covers and pulled her pillow over her ears—anything to get the incessant ringing to stop. A few moments later it did stop and she eased the pillow onto the bed beside her—only to scramble for it once the noise started up again.
What on earth was making—the motel phone. She squinted at the offending object, taking in the red message light blinking maniacally at the same time she reached the conclusion that her caller wasn’t going to just hang up and try again later. Besides, she’d been in town less than a day—only one person knew to call her here and he wasn’t known for his willingness to give up.
Fumbling for the phone, she dropped the receiver—twice—before managing to get it to her ear. “Hello.”
“It’s about time.” Matt’s voice came through the line, smooth and sexy and oh-so-efficient. It was more than enough to put her teeth on edge. “I was beginning to think you’d drowned in the shower.”
“I was asleep.”
“Well, get up. It’s nearly ten and we have an eleven o’clock appointment with an obstetrician.”
“What?” She struggled into a sitting position. “I told you I was pregnant twelve hours ago and you already have a doctor’s appointment?”
“You’re three months along—you need to be seen.”
“Yes, but—”
“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. We can talk in the car. The doctor’s office is across town and we need to get there early to fill out paperwork.”
He hung up before she could say another word. Camille slid the receiver back into its cradle and then flopped back onto the bed. Since when had Matt turned into a general marshalling his troops for battle—and how had she been enlisted as one of those troops anyway?
As she stared at the ceiling, she couldn’t figure out if she should be angry at his presumptuousness—and at the orders he’d barked at her—or just grateful that he’d handled the details of finding a doctor for her. At three months along, she knew she needed to be checked over—and soon—and she hadn’t been relishing the thought of combing the yellow pages for a doctor. Still, it rankled that Matt hadn’t even asked for her input….
Deciding to go along with his plans for now—she’d never been one to cut her nose off to spite her face—Camille threw back the covers and climbed out of bed. She stumbled to the bathroom, where a quick glance in the mirror showed she looked as bad as she felt. Maybe even worse.
The day was off to a fantastic start.
One quick shower, manic tooth brushing and hit-and-miss application of lip gloss and mascara later, she was feeling almost human. At least, until the knock on her door had her jumping in surprise and knocking her shin against the motel room’s sharp-cornered dresser.
Her eyes darted to the clock. Had it really been fifteen minutes—yes, it had. Fourteen, to be exact. Not that she was surprised. In the time they’d been together, Matt had never once been late. As she was always running fifteen minutes behind, she’d admired that about him…then.
Slipping into her robe, she yanked open the door with a snarl. “How’d you get an OB appointment on such short notice?”
“He’s a friend of