The Secretary's Secret / Rodeo Daddy: The Secretary's Secret / Rodeo Daddy. Soraya Lane
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two days when she’d found herself given the fancy title of Project Manager and moved to another department two floors down.
She’d welcomed that change, but … She uncrossed her right leg to cross her left leg instead. She bounced her left foot. She let out a breath and stared up at the ceiling. Was she becoming too hard to please? Was that it? It was just … The project she was heading up was one that had previously excited her. She should be raring to go, eager, engaged. But she traipsed into her office each day as if she had nothing more interesting to do than filing and data entry.
Why?
She was the one who’d urged Alex to pursue the book deal McBride’s Proprietary Press had offered him over four months ago. And she was the one who’d hoped she’d get the chance to head the project up.
Midway through last year, she’d written a profile on Alex for a book titled Australia’s Most Successful Entrepreneurs. That had led to a whole chapter in another book called Advice From Australia’s CEOs. Now McBride’s were launching a new series called From Go to Whoa, and they wanted a book with Alex’s name on the cover detailing a land development project from its earliest stages through to the final development. The title they’d floated was Commercial Land Development: from Scrubland to Shopping Mall. Kit had already substituted shopping mall with sports resort.
She should love what she was doing.
Her eyes narrowed. Had she lost her zest for life because a man had disappointed her? Pathetic!
She slapped her hands down onto her knees and glared at the wall opposite. From now on, whenever thoughts of Alex surfaced she was ousting them out of her head pronto. It was time she started having fun again.
She brightened marginally. At least for the next three weeks she didn’t have to worry about running into Alex, didn’t have to steel herself for accidental meetings in the corridors at work, there wouldn’t even be the risk of catching an unexpected glimpse of him in the distance. A week ago he’d left for a month-long odyssey to Africa. Rumour had it that he was doing some kind of aid work.
Not that he struck her as the aid worker type.
She uncrossed her legs. Re-crossed them. Well, okay, maybe he had three and a half months ago, but not since—
No. She wasn’t doing that any more. She was through thinking about Alex, through trying to work him out. ‘Enough,’ she muttered under her breath. She had more important things to think about.
Like the reason she was sitting in her doctor’s waiting room at ten to five on a Friday afternoon.
She gripped her hands together. If this was what she thought it was, then …
She squared her shoulders. She’d get through it. Adjustments would be necessary, but it wouldn’t be the end of the world. This could be taken care of.
‘Ms Mercer?’
Kit jerked around at the receptionist’s voice and tried to smile. Would she have to have a needle? She didn’t like needles.
Of course you’ll have to have a needle. The doctor will have to take blood.
The receptionist smiled kindly, as if she sensed Kit’s nervousness. ‘This way; the doctor is ready for you.’
Dr Maybury was middle-aged, kind and unfailingly practical. ‘Now, Kit, it’s been a while. What seems to be the problem?’
Kit pulled a face. No sense in beating about the bush. ‘I’m worried I might have diabetes.’ She pulled in a deep breath and quickly detailed her incredible thirst, her endless trips to the bathroom—especially at night. ‘The thing is, though, that sometimes there’s nothing, just a drop or two. And I’m so tired all the time. And hungry.’
‘Dizziness? Nausea?’
‘I’ve felt faint a couple of times.’
‘Blurriness of vision?’
Kit shook her head.
‘Well, let’s not waste any more time.’ Dr Maybury handed Kit a cup. ‘We’ll test your urine.’
Ten minutes later, Dr Maybury turned to her and folded her arms. ‘I’m pleased to say you are not diabetic.’
Kit slumped in relief. ‘Oh, that is good news! The thought of having to give myself daily insulin injections …’ She shuddered.
‘Kit, you’re not diabetic, but you are pregnant.’
Kit blinked. She shook her head. ‘What did you just say?’
The doctor repeated it.
She shook her head again. ‘But …’ Her chest tightened, her stomach cramped. ‘But I can’t be! I just had my period.’
‘Some women maintain their period throughout their entire pregnancy.’
Kit could only stare. ‘Heavens,’ she found herself murmuring, ‘how unfair is that?’
Dr Maybury smiled and Kit shook herself again. ‘No, you don’t understand. I can’t be pregnant. I haven’t had morning sickness and … and my breasts haven’t been sore … and … I mean you have to have sex to get pregnant and I haven’t had sex in, like, forever!’
She hadn’t had sex since that magical night with Alex. Her mouth went dry. ‘Except … One night … ‘
‘One night is all it takes.’
‘But … but that was three months ago.’ She couldn’t have been pregnant for three months and not known.
Could she?
She thrust out her arm. ‘Please, do a blood test or … or something!’
‘I will take blood and send it off to the lab to make a hundred per cent certain. But, Kit, the pregnancy test I just used is roughly ninety-seven per cent accurate. I can do an internal examination to eliminate that final three per cent of doubt if it will put your mind at rest.’
Kit nodded mutely.
After the internal exam and when Kit was dressed again, she forced herself to meet the doctor’s eyes. ‘Well?’
‘There is not a doubt in my mind that you are pregnant. And, like you say, I’d put you at about three months. The results of the blood test will give us a better indication of your due date.’
She could tell the doctor the exact date of conception, only she didn’t have the heart to.
‘Kit, what do you want to do?’
She couldn’t be pregnant. She just couldn’t be. Alex, he’d …
She closed her eyes.
‘If you’d prefer a termination, we can’t leave it too much longer.’
Her eyes flew open.
‘Do you want children, Kit?’
‘Yes.’ The word croaked out of her.
But she’d wanted to do it the right way—married, with a divine husband whom she adored and who adored her in return, and with a mortgage on a cute little house and … and planned. Not like this!
‘You’re twenty-eight. How much longer did you mean to leave it?’
She didn’t have an answer for that. Through the fog of her shock, though, one thing started to become increasingly clear. She swallowed, twisted her hands together. ‘I don’t want to terminate my pregnancy.’
Her doctor smiled.
The answering smile that rose up through her suddenly froze. ‘Oh, but I’ve been drinking tea first thing in the morning and again at lunchtime and—’
‘You don’t have to give up caffeine altogether. Are you exceeding more than three cups a day?’
‘No.’