The Price of Mason (Forbidden Men 10)

Reese sniffed, lifting her face to scowl. “It is his baby, and, no. He broke up with her after finding out about it. I’m not calling that dick unless E asks me to.”

“Okay, okay.” I grinned slightly over her passionately defensive reaction. “I’m sorry. I just—”

“It’s fine.” She sank against me. “I just hope they’re both okay.”

“They will be. The cop said she was shot in the shoulder. That’s nowhere near the fetus.”

“But—”

“Shh.” I stroked a hand down her spine.

She fell quiet, petting my arm in return.

The squeak of rubber heels on the floor had both Reese and me lifting our faces.

“Shit,” I muttered just as Reese breathed, “Oh, thank God.”

“Wait.” Reese swiveled her face toward me, frowning in confusion over my obvious distress. “What’s wrong?”

I opened my mouth, not sure how to answer, so I just shook my head as Gidget-the-dog’s owner, wearing blue scrubs, paused in the entrance of the waiting room and looked around as she said, “Mercer family?”

“Here,” Reese called eagerly, forgetting about me as she hopped off my lap and hurried to the doctor, taking my hand and dragging me along with her.

The doctor turned our way, only to see me first and go sheet-white as she jerked to an immediate stop. “M-Mason?”

My fingers contracted around Reese’s, who whirled to me and slugged me full on the arm. “You have got to be kidding me,” she growled, scowling. “A doctor? A frigging medical doctor?”

Shit. “I…I’m sorry.”

My old client turned to leave.

But Reese snapped her attention to the fleeing woman, glaring fiercely. “Hey! Aren’t you going to tell us how Eva is?”

“Uh.” The doctor visibly pulled herself together and cleared her throat. “Of course. Sorry. I’m Dr. Masterson. I was the one who operated on Miss Mercer, and I’m happy to report she’s stable. Her vitals are strong, and she’s awake and lucid.”

“And the baby?” Reese asked.

“Still has a heartbeat.”

Reese leaned against me. I wrapped my arms around her, kissing her forehead.

Dr. Masterson watched me oddly, as if the idea of me actually having a girlfriend was impossible. “You can see her in a couple minutes,” she said a moment later, shaking her head and returning to business. “Once they get her to a private room, I’ll have a nurse come take you to her.”

“Thank you,” I answered, hoping she received that as a dismissal.

She did, nodding and backing away. “At least now I know why my call was never returned.” Then she glanced curiously Reese’s way. “Nice nose ring.”

Reese’s answer was to turn and scowl at me. “Why do all your ex-clients remark on my nose ring?”

/> I touched the tip of her nose. “Because it reminds them how young they no longer are.”

She blinked, seemingly baffled by my answer. “Younger people do not have a monopoly on nose rings, you know. I’ve seen plenty of them on women—and men—of all ages.”

“Ah, but it looks hot on you,” I argued before tipping my head in Dr. Masterson’s wake. “It makes them look grasping and old.”

She nodded right before hitting me in the arm again. “And I thought you said all your clients were bored, rich housewives. Successful doctors, college professors, and landladies don’t exactly fit into that category.”

With a blush, I muttered, “I said most of them were, not all.”