The Rancher Wore Suits. Rita Herron
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Paula had.
He definitely did not.
JESSICA COULD NOT stand to go home. The little house she’d rented near the hospital seemed too quiet and lonely since her divorce. The reminder of all she’d lost was painfully vivid every time she looked at the vacant room she’d painted as a nursery. Although she’d covered the bright yellow with a taupe color, when she looked at the walls, she still saw the room the way she’d imagined it during the first weeks of her pregnancy.
At the hospital she stared through the glass at the babies in the maternity unit, her heart aching. If she’d carried her baby to term, it would be a year old now. She would be planning a birthday party. She and Jack might still be together, a happy little family.
It was something she had never had, but something she’d always wanted.
Her hopes had been dashed when she’d lost their child, yet she’d tried desperately to recover. Then the doctor had delivered the final blow. She had severe endometriosis and although she wasn’t yet thirty, she’d had to have a hysterectomy. Traumatic as that had been, she’d tried to move on with her life, telling herself there were lots of needy kids in the world they could adopt.
At first Jack had agreed. He’d even been understanding and promised her it hadn’t mattered.
But it had.
And eventually Jack had admitted it.
He wanted his own child, a son who would have the Thompson genes and carry on his name. Oh, he hadn’t been ugly or mean; he’d simply been honest. Just the way he’d been when he’d told her to get rid of Nellie.
He didn’t understand her sentimental attachment to the car. Maybe she didn’t, either. But Nellie was the first thing Jessica had owned that had been all her own. And no one would take it away from her. She had worked damn hard to get that car and everything else in her life. She would get the money for these kids. Of that she was certain.
She wiped a tear from her eyes, smiled at the chubby little Rivers baby boy, and squared her shoulders. She would not feel sorry for herself. There were children in the world, right here in Bethesda General, who were ill, who had to endure much worse suffering than she did. Children whose lives depended on expensive medical treatment; children who couldn’t afford it—the very reason she was so disappointed in Dex Montgomery, the reason she would approach him again tomorrow at the board meeting when he wasn’t tired and she was prepared, her data and business plan in hand.
More determined than ever, she headed down the hall toward the pediatric unit. Late at night, she usually found some sick child lying in a hospital bed who felt frightened and alone. She would see who needed her tonight. Then maybe she could sleep when she finally went home. Maybe she wouldn’t have nightmares of losing her baby.
And maybe she’d dream of a way to convince Dex Montgomery to help her.
TY STARED at the massive mahogany table in the dining room in amazement. The entire Cooper clan could fit around it. Yet none of them would feel comfortable with the formal furnishings.
The dark-maroon wallpaper reminded him of heavy drapes he’d seen at a funeral home. A crystal water glass that probably cost more than his grandmother’s entire set of good dishes sat in front of him, and a short glass full of dark liquor—Scotch he presumed, since Dex had been drinking it at the airport—had been placed beside it. He reached for the glass and took a sip. A brush fire started in his throat, scalding his windpipe. Coughing, he grabbed the linen napkin, trying to hide his reaction when George slipped up behind him.
“Are you all right, sir?”
“Yea…yes. Thanks.”
“Your salad.” George handed him a plate of lettuce sprigs that looked like grass roots, followed by a saucer of something slimy.
Ty had no idea what the item was, but he didn’t intend to eat it.
“Your escargot with risotto,” George said, his shoulders thrown back with pride.
Escargot, Ty thought. Hadn’t Leanne told him once that escargot was snails?
He didn’t even eat cow tongue at home! Good grief, with the Montgomery wealth, they could certainly afford better grub. He’d starve to death if he had to eat like this. Irritated, he made a mental note to send Dex a freezer-full of prime hamburger and steak when he returned to Montana.
George stood stiffly by a long buffet, his body poised to jump to Ty’s every need. “Aren’t you going to eat, sir?”
“Um, I…was looking for the bisc…bread.” And the real food.
“Certainly.”
George returned with a basket of rolls, store-bought most likely, but at least Ty recognized them. Where was the butter?
He searched the table and saw a small china dish with pats of butter, so he slathered two pats on the bread. He inhaled it, only to catch George’s eyebrows furrowed.
“Is something wrong with the escargot, Mr. Dex?”
Yeah, it looks like it crawled out from under a rock.
“Sir?”
Ty could have sworn the man’s voice echoed in the huge empty room. How was he supposed to digest food, especially slimy creatures, with all this silence? Mealtime meant families talking and joking and arguing, rehashing the day on the ranch, kids throwing peas and clanging spoons, his dog Lady begging for scraps at their feet. After dinner Angelica would ride piggyback on his back, the twins would bounce on his knee. And sometimes he’d strum the guitar for a family sing-along on the porch under the stars.
Afterward, he and Pa Cooper would sit and talk—what did his Grandfather Montgomery do after dinner? Sip brandy in his study and read his stock reports?
He pushed the plate of snails away and stood. “Sorry, buddy, but I guess my stomach’s not up to speed tonight. I appreciate the supper, though.”
George made a tssking sound as if he assumed Ty had drunk too much, then took the plate away. “Very well, sir. Shall I draw you a bath?”
Ty nearly choked on the roll. There was no way in hell he’d let another man draw anything in the bathroom with him. “No, thanks.”
George nodded curtly, looking slightly offended as he rushed away with the plate. Ty grabbed two more rolls and stuffed them in the pockets of his suit so he wouldn’t wake up with his belly so empty it was hitting his backbone, then left to find his bedroom. Poor Dex; how did the man survive on these piddly rations?
Still, he tried to look on the bright side as he climbed the steps in search of his brother’s bedroom. Maybe tomorrow night he would be eating with the entire family and he’d learn more about them and his father. He’d be able to fool them better after a good night’s sleep.
Dr. Stovall’s face materialized in his mind—that is, if he slept at all instead of dreaming about that redheaded vixen all night.
Or if he didn’t give himself away first.
Chapter Four
Jessica woke slowly, a tingling sensation rippling up her arm all the way to her fingers. Slowly, she lifted the child snuggled next to her, slid her arm from beneath him, then flexed her fingers to rejuvenate the blood flow. Her watch read 5:30 a.m. They would be coming to prep Donny for surgery soon.
The three-year-old whimpered and opened his eyes. “Dr. Jesse?”
She gently pushed a lock of his blond hair away from his forehead. “What, sweetheart?”
“Stay till my mama gets here.”
Jessica smiled. “Don’t worry, I will.” Donny’s mother would come running in just as soon as she dropped her other two children at day care.
Then Jessica would have to run out in order to have time to shower and change before her eight o’clock appointments