Jamie was becoming embarrassed by Susan’s praise. “I’m just glad I was here to help,” she said dismissively, matching her steps to her friend’s as they walked together toward the exit.
“Not half as glad as Trevor McBride’s going to be,” Susan commented.
Jamie stumbled. Trevor McBride? She steadied herself quickly. “What does Trevor McBride have to do with anything?”
Susan’s eyebrows rose. “Didn’t you know? Sam is Trevor’s son.”
“No,” Jamie murmured, turning her face to hide her expression. “I didn’t know.”
Trevor’s son. The incident had just taken on a whole new significance for her.
Had things turned out the way she had once fantasized, she would have been the mother of Trevor McBride’s children.
“YOU’RE SURE he’s going to be okay? There’s nothing else I should watch for?” Trevor couldn’t seem to let go of his son, who had been clinging tightly to his neck for the past twenty minutes.
The doctor who had examined the boy smiled reassuringly. “Sam’s going to be fine, Mr. McBride. He took in very little water and he was apparently conscious throughout the entire episode. According to your nanny, he was only underwater for a very short time. He was more terrified than anything. You should probably watch for emotional repercussions. Perhaps you should get him into swimming lessons soon to keep him from developing a permanent fear of water as a result of this.”
“Thanks. I’ll keep your advice in mind.”
Just the mention of swimming lessons had made Sam hide his face again. He’d never liked water, and didn’t trust strangers enough to take instructions easily from them—something Trevor was hoping they could change by the time he started kindergarten.
Becky Rhodes, the nanny Trevor had hired only a month earlier, was sitting in the waiting room with Abbie, who’d fallen asleep on her lap. She looked up anxiously when Trevor carried Sam out of the examining room. “Is he okay?”
“He’s fine,” Trevor answered shortly, resisting an impulse to add, No thanks to you.
Becky sagged in relief. “I’m so glad. I’m really sorry about this, Mr. McBride. I was busy with Abbie and he just fell in. I never saw him.”
Trevor’s arms tightened instinctively around his son. “Thank God the lifeguard saw him.”
Becky snorted. “The lifeguard had nothing to do with it. He was too busy flirting with a bunch of girls. If that woman hadn’t noticed Sam in the pool…”
Trevor had rushed straight into the examining room upon his arrival at the hospital. He hadn’t yet heard the details of his son’s rescue. “What woman?”
“The new drama teacher at the high school. You know, the one with the really red hair and lots of earrings and cool clothes? Ms. Flaherty. I think her first name is Jamie.”
“Jamie Flaherty,” Trevor murmured, his mind filling with almost fifteen-year-old memories of a young woman who had tempted him to be wild and reckless for the first time in his life. “Jamie Flaherty saved my son?”
Eyeing him a bit warily, Becky nodded. “Yes.”
Masking his feelings, Trevor motioned toward the exit. “I’ll drive you home. Can you carry Abbie?”
“Of course.” Becky shifted the sleeping baby to her shoulder.
Trevor scooped up the diaper bag and followed her out of the hospital, grimly aware that there were several things he had to take care of that evening—and none of them were going to be easy. Finding Jamie Flaherty to thank her for rescuing his son was one of the most awkward, but necessary, chores he faced.
The last time he had talked to Jamie, he’d rather bluntly told her that his future plans did not include her. Holding his son tightly in his arms, he was aware of a mixed sense of gratitude and dismay that she had reappeared in his life at this particular time.
2
IT WAS NEARLY EIGHT that evening when Trevor rang Jamie’s doorbell. She lived only a few blocks away, though her little bungalow was considerably smaller than the two-story, four-bedroom house he’d purchased after moving back to Honoria ten months ago.
He had never expected to find himself on her doorstep.
He rang the bell again. He could hear music playing inside. Loud, pulsing rock music. No wonder she couldn’t hear the bell. Maybe he should just forget about this, he thought, glancing toward his car. But she had saved his son’s life. The very least he owed her was a thank-you. He pressed the bell again. The music abruptly stopped.
“All right,” a woman’s voice called. “I’m coming. Keep your pants on, okay?”
She opened the door. After only a moment’s pause, she cocked her head and planted a hand on her slender hip. “Why, Trevor McBride. Fancy finding you here.”