Alias Mommy. Linda O. Johnston
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glanced at him in relieved surprise. Moments ago, he had acted as though he found her as despicable as a cockroach on a hospital lunch tray. Now he seemed to be protecting her.
“Thanks,” she said. “You’re probably right. I feel awfully tired now. But Mr. Clifford—” she lifted her chin toward the scowling little man “—I don’t welsh on debts.”
An idea suddenly struck her. Here she was, in a tiny town in the middle of nowhere. No one here knew she wasn’t Polly Black, and any people her family had out searching for her would believe she was still pregnant; Laurel actually hadn’t been due for a month.
Selborn Peak, Colorado, just might be the haven Polly—and Laurel—needed.
“I don’t have to be where I was going for some time,” she continued, excitement making her heart flutter. “Once I’m feeling better, if I could find a job here at your hospital, one where I would still be able to take care of Laurel, I could hang around till my bill is paid.”
The corners of Clifford’s pinched mouth curved up as though he attempted a return smile. “That might work. The center has a good child care facility for the doctors and staff, though your baby’s much too young—their minimum age’s six months, I think. I’ll keep my ears open to see what kind of job might be available. Though in your condition, and with a new baby…”
“I’ve always been healthy,” Polly said eagerly. “I’m sure I’ll bounce back just fine.” A child care facility, right where she worked! If she stayed here long enough to take advantage of it, she could drop in all the time, be near her baby, even while on the job.
But what would she do in the meantime?
A sudden wave of helplessness washed over her. She knew no one here. Whom could she ask for advice?
And hadn’t she determined she would never again depend on anyone else’s assistance?
She closed her eyes for just a moment, then opened them again as she fought to regain her resolve.
She would find a way.
“Thank you, Mr. Clifford,” she said, meaning it. Thanks to the sour little man, everything would work out fine. She was certain of it.
She looked toward the door, to find Reeve Snyder still just inside. He was staring at her. Once again, she could not read the cool expression on his face—but although it might be wishful thinking on her part, he did not look as though the idea of her staying for a while upset him.
And that somehow made her feel much better.
“Here you are!” A throaty feminine voice projected from the doorway, and in marched a woman Polly hadn’t seen before. She was nearly as tall as Reeve, with a flowing broomstick skirt and peasant blouse that dipped nearly to her ample cleavage. “I’ve been looking all over for you.” She took Reeve’s chin in one hand and gave him a kiss on the cheek.
“Hi, Alicia,” he said. Stepping back, he looked a little embarrassed as he glanced toward Polly. Or maybe that was just her imagination. In any event, Polly felt strangely disappointed, as though a present she had dreamed about for years had suddenly been snatched out of her hands.
“Who’s this?” Alicia asked, her long strides swishing her skirt as she approached the bed. Her jaw was strong and her nose just a little too long, but combined with her broad cheekbones and large, probing brown eyes, made a striking effect. Her wavy hair, held back by a pair of narrow reading glasses, was deep russet. The shade didn’t look natural, but then, neither was Polly’s. “Is this our little accident victim?” the woman pressed.
Polly tensed. How did this woman know about her?
As though reading her mind, Alicia said, “I know everything that goes on around here, but I’m always eager to learn more.”
“Alicia’s a reporter,” Clifford said.
That explained it. It also made Polly’s blood begin to freeze in her veins.
“That’s right. I’m with the Selborn Peak Standard.” Alicia lifted one of the papers from Polly’s bed and pointed to an article on the first page. “I do features, news, anything. So tell me about your accident.” With a flourish, she pulled a small tape recorder from a pocket in her skirt.
Oh, Lord, Polly thought. The last thing she needed was publicity. She had knowledge that could put her family—those she had thought of as her family—away for years. If they didn’t stop her first.
Then there was what she had done to Carl.
No, she had vowed to stay silent. It was safer. “I…I’m sorry,” she said. “There’s nothing much to tell, and I’m so tired….” She let her voice trail off, sending a pleading glance toward Reeve.
His return look seemed a combination of puzzlement, amusement and compassion. “My patient needs rest,” he said. Polly glanced at him in surprise. She wasn’t his patient; Laurel was. But she wasn’t going to argue with him.
“All right,” Alicia said, popping the recorder back in her pocket. “I’ll let you take me to dinner then.”
Reeve’s dark ginger brows knit as he opened his mouth. Polly had a sense he was about to refuse the invitation. She was incongruously hoping he would refuse the invitation. But with a sympathetic glance toward her that seemed to tell her his refusal might mean Alicia’s continued probing, he said, “Good idea. Let’s go.”
Clifford left the room first, followed by Alicia. Polly sighed and leaned back into her pillow as she watched Reeve trail behind. He turned back to her at the door. She thought he was going to say something. But with a shrug of those broad shoulders, he left.
After all the visitors, all the nervousness of Alicia’s visit, Polly felt unbearably sore and exhausted.
That had to explain why she felt so bad about knowing Reeve Snyder was having dinner with that dazzling reporter.
IT WAS LATE EVENING. The door was ajar.
The first time Reeve had entered Polly Black’s hospital room unannounced, he had come upon her nursing the baby. The sight had been utterly tender, yet even now he throbbed in recollection, as he recalled its erotic effect on him.
But even more unnerving had been the connection he’d felt between them later that day, when he’d arrived with Ernie. Reeve had felt tied to her even more strongly than when he had held her hand in the emergency room. It was as though he were linked in some indescribable, immutable way with the lovely young woman who seemed to represent all he despised.
Not that she was Annette. His deceased wife hadn’t even had the decency to act embarrassed when she lied.
After dinner with Alicia, Reeve had taken her home, then had come back to the hospital. He had some paperwork to do, he’d told himself.
But he knew that wasn’t the only reason he was there.
Taking a deep breath to steel himself, he tapped gently on the door.
He thought he heard a reply, but when he walked into the dimly lit room he found her asleep. Her bed had been lowered, and the baby wasn’t in the room. Quietly, he began to slip out again.
“Reeve?” Her voice was soft and husky, strangely seductive in this stark, sterile setting. It reminded him of waking up beside a woman after a night of passionate lovemaking. It had been a long time since he had experienced that. He knew Polly’s tone was the result of her sleepiness and nothing else, yet he felt his stirring libido awaken even more.
“Sorry,” he whispered. “Go back to sleep.”
“I was awake.” She pulled the sheet about her neck and maneuvered herself awkwardly into a sitting position. The IV was no longer in her hand, but she clearly still felt sore. Her mussed, dark hair formed a soft, wavy cap that framed her face, and her eyes were only half-open, reminding Reeve of sweet seduction.
What