Jake raked a hand through his hair. He should have his son immediately transported back to a hospital in Texas and return home. This wasn't his mess to clean up. But he knew he wouldn't. He had looked into Emma Reynolds's blue-green eyes and something had opened up in him, something nameless he didn't understand. But regardless, he couldn't walk away.
A man approached and Jake was instantly aware of Chelsey straightening, immediately changing her demeanor to a very professional face. So this was a hospital administrator. Someone had recognized Jake and they were sending the big guns to make certain he was comfortable with his son's treatment.
"You're burned, Mr. Bannaconni, on your hands and arms. You need to have that taken care of."
"I didn't even notice," Jake said truthfully.
He sized the man up as his burns were treated. Dignified. Sincere. This was a man who had too much work, too little time off, and who believed in what he did. And he was fiercely proud of his hospital--Jake could tell that the moment the doctor began showing him around--yet apparently had little money to bring in modern equipment.
Jake seized the moment, striking where he knew it would do the most good, murmuring about a sizable donation for the care his son had received, asking questions about his child, how long he'd have to stay, what the repercussions of an early birth were, and what he could do to better help the hospital care for him. Finally he managed to turn the conversation to Emma Reynolds and how terrible he felt for her situation. What were her injuries? Did she need special doctors? He would be more than happy to fly in who or what they needed to help.
Dr. John Grogan, head of the hospital, tried to convince Jake that Emma Reynolds wasn't his responsibility.
Jake looked very grave. "I'm well aware the rest of the world might think that, but it was my girlfriend and her lover who are responsible for the death of Emma's husband and for her injuries. She has no one else. Taking care of bills or making certain she has anything she needs is the least that I can do for her." He glanced around and lowered his voice another octave. "I'd prefer if no reporters know I'm here or that my son is still here."
Grogan nodded. "We're a small hospital, Mr. Bannaconni, but we're very discreet with our patients."
Jake let out a relieved sigh and slumped a little to show how tired and upset he was. "Please let Emma's doctors know I'm willing to help out. I need to see my son now, if that's possible."
The first step toward becoming involved in Emma's life was accomplished. He let himself be led to the nursery where he was forced to wear a gown, mask, and gloves to stare down at the wrinkled little boy who lay naked in small incubator with lights everywhere.
"How is she today, Chelsey?" Jake asked as the young nurse came down the hallway toward him. "I've just come back from seeing my son and thought I'd peek in on her."
Emma's room was the first room closest to the nursery. She was pregnant and the OB doctor wanted easy access to her if she began to miscarry after her traumatic ordeal. It was easy enough for Jake to use the excuse that she was so close to his son to look in on her. Emma had been unresponsive to the doctors and nurses, but when he walked in, her blue-green gaze would jump to his face and stay there.
Chelsey sighed. "She doesn't talk to anyone, Mr. Bannaconni. We're all a little afraid for her. But I heard the baby was doing better. He's breathing on his own now and it's been only three days."
"Yes, he seems much better, although they tell me he should be gaining more weight." Jake paused with his hand on Emma's door. So far no one had ever stopped him from going in. Today he wanted Emma to give the staff her permission to allow him to help her. "I'm going to try to give Emma a reason to live today. You gave me the idea the other day when we talked."
Chelsey patted his shoulder and this time her smile was flirtatious. "I hope you can find a way to get through to her."
Jake smiled back, letting his gaze slide over her with a man's interest. Chelsey's breath caught in her throat and she gave him a little wave as she sauntered off, her hips swaying more than usual. Jake pushed open the door to Emma's room and slipped inside.
As he closed it he heard Chelsey giggle. "He's so hot, Anna. My god, when he smiles I think I'm going to orgasm on the spot."
He glanced at Emma and knew she heard. He closed the doors on the laughing nurses and crossed to her side.
Emma held her breath. He was back. She could go far away from the others and not have to face the reality of being completely alone again, not have to think of her beloved Andrew as dead, not have to deal with losing his baby, but then this man would come in and sit down, filling the room, filling her head with the scent and sight of him, compelling her to live again. He forced her back to the surface every time where there was no escape from the terrible grief that overwhelmed her.
Silently she pleaded for him to go, to just let her be in the half-alive, half-dead state that protected her from feeling. But once his gaze focused on her, it didn't leave.
"How are you today, Emma?" He always sounded intimate, talking to her as if they were best friends--more than friends, closer. He used the pads of his fingers to stroke back her hair. "Are you feeling any better?"
Each time he touched her, no matter how light, she felt as if electricity arced between them, zapping her alive again, so that the fears and the sorrow were closer than ever. And he held her there, gently but firmly, forcing her to look at her empty life while unimaginable grief poured over her, holding her prisoner.
She didn't answer him. She rarely did, just looked mutely up at him begging him to let her drift back into her safe little cocoon.
Jake dragged a chair to the side of the bed, spun it around, and straddled it. "I named the baby this morning. I didn't ever think much about the naming process, but I wanted to give him a good name, something that he'd be happy with even as an adult. I found a baby name book in the waiting room."
She couldn't look away from his face. His tone was soft and low and very intense, but there was something that was a little off. She couldn't tell what it was. His gaze never left her face. He reminded her of a leopard with his golden-green eyes and his unblinking piercing stare, so focused on her there was nowhere to hide.
He leaned forward. "He's so little, Emma, I swear I could fit him in the palm of my hand. It scares me to think of taking him home when I don't know the first thing about taking care of a baby. Does it scare you? You're going to have a baby. Did they tell you that? That the baby is still al
ive with only you to protect it?"
Her breath caught in her throat and her hands moved to cover her stomach. Was it true? She could feel her heart pound, hear it thundering in her ears. She'd willed herself to die, she wanted to die, and she would have taken her baby--Andy's baby--with her. She closed her eyes briefly, afraid she'd heard wrong.
Jake sighed softly and ran his fingers through his hair as if in agitation. "That's what scares me. There's only me to be the parent, to give the baby a good home, and I'm so far from the real deal." That admission slipped out and his voice rang with truth.
She swallowed--hard. Her throat convulsed. It took effort to part her dried lips and she had to reach for her voice. When it came it was thin and shaky and nearly unrecognizable. "Are you certain? About my baby? Are you certain I didn't lose it?"
He leaned closer to her. Jake Bannaconni. She'd heard his name spoken in hushed, awed whispers, but she still couldn't figure out why she knew him. What was it that was so familiar about him, and why did she feel as if his will held her own?
"Your baby is fine, Emma. The doctor said even with the blood loss, the baby appears to be healthy. There are no signs that the pregnancy will terminate. You're going to be a mother."
Tears burned behind her eyes again. Her baby. Her precious baby was safe. She wasn't entirely alone and there was a small piece of Andy growing inside of her. "Thank you for telling me about the baby. I was afraid to ask and no one thought to tell me. Just my head, my leg, a million other injuries and . . ." She trailed off and stared, blinking up at the ceiling, tears welling in her eyes.
"Andrew," he supplied gently. "I'm sorry, Emma, we both have to live with what happened. And we both have babies to raise by ourselves." He flashed a small smile. "I have the feeling you'll be much better at the parenting part of it than I will."
"You'll be a good father," she reassured. "Don't worry so much." How in the world was she going to take care of a baby?
Jake picked up Emma's hand, his thumb moving along the back of her hand. His touch was achingly familiar. "Have they said when you can get out of here?"