“When’s your next visit?” He was lying on his back, arms underneath the frame as he tried to loosen a bolt from a screw that was stripped. He was certain he had a replacement screw that size in the collection in his garage.
“Monday afternoon. When Dr. Mac released me from the hospital, she said she wanted to see me in two weeks.”
“I’ll drive you,” he said.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I’d like to be there.”
“Matt…” She’d been sitting on the bed that was still assembled—minus the bedding they’d folded together—but she stood and walked over to the window. “What’s going on here?” she asked. “What are we doing?”
Lifting his head enough to see her, Matt quickly returned his attention to the stripped screw. It was an easier battle to face.
“Getting ready to make a nursery.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
He knew that, dammit. “Look,” he said, sitting up for a minute, “nothing’s changed. We’re still working together to get you a healthy baby. The operative word being you. As far as I’m concerned, the situation’s no different from the first time we talked about this. Except that maybe we’ve become friends in the process.”
She was frowning, looking uncertain, which wasn’t usual for her. “You’re sure?”
“Absolutely.” He was able to stare her right in the eye.
Her shoulders relaxed a bit, but her arms were still wrapped around her middle. “So why go with me to the doctor? It’s kind of an intimate thing.”
“I’d think sitting with you in the hospital for twelve hours was a lot more intimate than a ride to the doctor’s office.”
“I guess.”
“I just want to be there in case anything comes up,” he told her honestly. “You had no idea you were dehydrated the last time you went in, and that landed you in the hospital.”
“I’ve only been sick once all week.”
He was very glad to hear that. “Maybe it was only for the first trimester.”
“Maybe.”
“So you’ll let me drive you?”
“I guess,” she said, moving back to sit on the bed. But she didn’t seem all that happy about the decision.
Matt wondered why she was having such a big problem with such a small thing.
SHE WAS IN TROUBLE. Wearing another pair of black leggings and a button-down white blouse that reached to midthigh, Phyllis sat beside Matt on the way to Phoenix, telling herself it didn’t matter that he was there. That he was no more than a chauffeur to her. Anyone would have done.
And looking over at him—appreciating the fullness of his black hair, the breadth of his shoulders in the black leather jacket, the firmness of his thighs in the black jeans—she knew it wasn’t so. That same insidious coiling in her lower belly that had gotten her into this mess was in control again. Leading her to believe she wanted something she didn’t want.
Or at least part of her didn’t want.
The part that had learned life’s lessons.
“Do you think there’s one special person out there for everyone?” Phyllis asked him.
He glanced over at her and then back at the road. “I think a relationship, any relationship, takes hard work.”
She agreed with that. “But given that a person’s willing to work hard, do you think there’s someone out there for him—or her—to love?”
He was silent for a while and Phyllis pondered her own question. Was it possible that she could fall in love with someone who wouldn’t feel threatened and defensive when she identified his unstated impulses, his hidden emotions?