The Nurse's Baby Secret

“Which statistically decreases the risk of you being in another accident.”

She stared straight ahead, took a deep breath. “I feel as if I’m sitting in Driver’s Education class and about to drive for the first time—only without the excited anticipation and a whole bunch of fear thrown in.”

“Was that the first time you drove? In Driver’s Education class?”

She nodded and took a deep breath. “Here goes.”

She turned the key, started the car, and put it into reverse.

“You’re pretty good for a beginner,” he teased when she pulled the car out of the lot. “But if you think you’re going to get an ‘A’ in this class, you might have to become the teacher’s pet.”

“Ha ha. You wish,” she countered, wondering at how sweaty her palms were as she gripped the steering wheel for dear life. “So, when was the first time you drove?”

“I was fourteen and snuck out of the house to drive to a girl’s house.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

He grinned. “She was sixteen to my fourteen. I had to do something to convince her I wasn’t a kid.”

“At fourteen, you were a kid.”

“I didn’t feel like a kid.”

“Why’s that?” She flicked her gaze his way, saw a flurry of emotions cross his face.

“I grew up a lot faster than some kids do.”

As before, she found herself wondering at his childhood, wanting to know more.

“Tell me about your childhood.”

He didn’t say anything.

“Charlie, work with me here. I need distraction.” She kept her tone light, teasing. “Tell me about your childhood so the fact I’m driving a car for the first time in four weeks will quit being foremost in my mind. I don’t want to think about my wreck.”

“I don’t want you to think about your wreck.”

“Then distract me.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Where did you grow up?”

“Kentucky.”

Kentucky. She hadn’t known that.

“Your parents have both passed on?”

He didn’t say anything, so she glanced his way to see the tail end of a nod. She had known that already, so she wasn’t sure why she’d asked, maybe in hopes of getting him to talk about his parents.

“No siblings?”

“Nope.”

“Sounds lonely.”

* * *