Chapter 13
"Mr. Lancashire!" Jessica gushed. Waving away the receptionist, she beamed at the man who was standing inside the lobby, an impatient look on his face. "They should have brought you right to my office."
"I'm in a hurry," he told her rudely. "I understand Ms. Foster is no longer employed here?"
She took a quick study of his face and wondered if she should play the aggrieved employer or a sympathetic woman who had tried to give the woman a chance, but his face revealed nothing.
"I had to--"
"I need her home address," Rodney cut her off abruptly.
"Is there something I can do? Something I can help you with perhaps?"
"No. The address," he said curtly, instantly disliking the woman. "And if I find out she was wrongfully terminated, there will be hell to pay."
Fear came swiftly. "I had no choice--"
"You'd better hope I don't hear differently from her." His golden eyes swept the dingy foyer. "Or I might just feel the need to buy this place for her. Address?"
Snapping her fingers, she sent the receptionist running towards the back to get the information.
"I don't want us to be enemies--"
"You overestimate your importance, ma'am." He reached out a hand to take the piece of paper, then pinned her with a look. "And I don't want you calling and warning her that I'm on my way to her. Is that clear?"
"Of course not. I hope she's okay. I really had no choice--" His icy gaze stopped the rest. Without another word, he strode towards the door.
Jessica's hand crept to her throat as she stared after him. Swallowing the lump that had lodged itself in her throat, she wondered if she had made a huge mistake in letting Melanie go.
*****
Rodney almost turned around several times. He had spent two days agonizing over his decision. He had blown it with Karen and that was after he had forced himself to go to her place.
He could not touch her. He had finally left, mumbling an apology and gone straight home to get well and truly plastered.
She was lodged inside his head. The words that damn woman had said to him haunted him. The guilt was horrible and was eating away at him.
No amount of pep talk or reminders that she was the one who had wronged him had worked. He couldn't sleep.
Eating had become a chore, and he was living like a bloody recluse. He had not even visited his own mother.
The neighborhood was quiet, the houses too close together for comfort. He had passed a park a few blocks away that was now deserted. The cottage was shabby, but someone, and he had a feeling it was her, had tried to brighten it up with a bold blue trimming on the windows.
There was the undeniable evidence that a kid was in residence by the football left in the tiny driveway and a blue bike turned over on its side.
He had no idea what he was going to say to her, but he knew he had to do something. Yell at her, shake her or haul her in his arms, just to get a taste.
Shoving the door open, he alighted. The gate was hanging slightly off the hinges and took only a nudge to push it open.
Wind whipped through his jacket as he climbed the porch steps. He was saved from knocking when the door swung open.
He felt the jolt straight to his heart as he stared at the boy. He was the spitting image of his mother. Wide and curious mahogany stared at him frankly.
"Who are you?"
"I need to speak to your mother. I'm--"
"Mom!" Without taking his eyes off Rodney, the boy called out. "There's someone here--"
"What do I tell you about opening the door--" Her voice shuddered to a stop when she saw who was standing there.
She had no idea how she made the few steps that had her standing next to her son. He noticed two things at once. The protective hand she placed on her son's shoulder and the naked longing that was quickly and ruthlessly shielded almost immediately.
He also noticed in alarm that she was thin to the point of emaciation.
"How--" Firming her lips, she lifted her chin. "What are you doing here?"
"May I come in? It's freezing."
Stepping back, she scrupulously avoided touching him as he moved past her. The interior was even more dismal, he thought with a pang.
"Who are you?" David stood there like a soldier guarding the front, his stance almost militant.
Rodney felt his admiration for the boy growing.
"My name is Rodney Lancashire." He held out a hand which was ignored and was startled at the look of disgust and anger on the boy's face.
"You're the one. You made my mom cry."
"David!"
Rodney's eyes flew to her face before switching to look at her son.
"She made me cry too."
At her strangled cry, David swung his gaze towards her and then back to stare at Rodney in disbelief. "Men are not supposed to cry," he scoffed.
"They do when someone they care for very much hurts them," he responded solemnly.
"I--I need to sit." Turning away, Melanie made her shaky way into the tiny living room.
"David, you should--" That was as far as she got. Rodney was about to take the chair across from her when she bolted out of the room.
"What the hell--"
"You said a bad word." The boy frowned at him, moving aside when Rodney rushed out. "She's just puking."
He found her on her knees in front of the toilet, dry heaves wracking her painfully thin body.
"Is she ill? Are you ill?"
"She's pregnant and it's whipping her butt," David, who had followed, supplied helpfully.
"David." Lacking the strength to reprimand him, she sat on the floor and leaned on the wall.
"Is this true?" Hunkering down, he forced her to meet his eyes.
"Just go away," she whispered.
"Not a chance in hell," he told her grimly. Scooping her off the floor, he fired instructions at David. "Grab a jacket for her and get dressed."
"Where are you going?" David called out.
"I'm taking her to the clinic. Go put something on and grab her a jacket. Meet me outside."
"I don't--"
"Shut up." He could cheerfully strangle her. He bounded the steps and hurried towards the vehicle. Alarm and fear threatened to cripple him as he laid her carefully into the passenger side.
She was so thin, he could feel every rib.
"I'm going to deal with you when you are well enough," he promised grimly. Turning, he opened the back door for David. "Get in." Making sure he was secure, he rounded the hood and jumped in.
"Call Sylvia." He glanced over at her to ascertain she was comfortable enough. "Hi, I hope you're at the clinic. Good." He nodded.
Pressing down on the horn, he sent the vehicle in front of him sprinting forward. "I have my, er, I have someone who's--How far along are you?" He snapped the question at her.
"Eight weeks."
"Eight--" He bit off a curse and somehow managed to swing around a slow-moving SUV.
"She's eight weeks pregnant and as thin as a rake.
Have a wheelchair out front. ETA--" He glanced at the car clock.
"Two minutes." He stopped at the light and turned to look at her.
"Were you ever going to tell me?" he asked in an agonized tone.
Closing her eyes, she turned her head away and did not answer.
Dr. Sylvia Cooke was waiting with the wheelchair, her stocky body donned in winter white, hair carefully combed back from her face.
She wheeled the chair over as Rodney lifted Melanie gently from the seat.
"We have a room set up." Sylvia's light green eyes took in the boy who hopped out.
"Who do we have here?"
"Her son. David."
"Is my mom going to die?" he asked fearfully.
"Of course not. I'm going to fix her right up."
*****
"Mother, I know you're hosting that dinner and I'm sorry to disturb you."
"Nonsense, darling. You told the ma?tre d' it was urgent. What is it?"
"Melanie." He passed a hand at the back of his neck wearily. "It's a long story; the short version is, she's pregnant with my child and is not doing well. I'm at the Wellness Clinic and Sylvia is personally taking care of her."
"The bottom line is, she is suffering from acute nausea and cannot keep anything down. She is also hypertensive and dehydrated. They've inserted a feeding tube." He fought the bitter fury and fear that was gripping him.
"I have her son; David is here with me. I contacted her grandmother and she wants him brought to her. I could call one of the drivers--"
"That won't be necessary. I will leave now and come and pick up the child."
"Thank you," he said softly. "I'm not leaving. I have to know that she's going to be all right. I want to strangle her for keeping this from me, but that's another matter." He bit off a sigh. "I did say some pretty awful things to her."
"You're there now," his mother said soothingly. "I'm on my way."
"I want to stay," David said mutinously. "She's my mom." He shot Rodney an accusing stare. "You did this to her. Made her cry and got her pregnant."
"And I intend to take care of her. Of both of you." One of the nurses had taken him to a waiting room and given him snacks. "Your grandmother is worried and wants you to come and stay with her. My mother is going to take you to her." Rodney sat next to him, his gaze direct.
"I promise to take the best care of her and will let you know when she wakes up."
"My father left us."
Rodney felt a jolt at the belligerent look on the boy's face when he said it.
"I'm not him. I'm staying."
"You made her cry," he pointed out, not ready to start trusting. "I heard her in her room when she thought I was asleep and I overheard her and grams talking about you."
"I'm sorry for that, but I swear to you right now, one man to another, that I'm here to stay."
"Are you going to marry her?" he demanded.
The boy was a tough sell, Rodney thought whimsically. "If she'll have me."
They both looked up as footsteps sounded in the doorway. "I just spoke with Sylvia. Melanie is improving." Her eyes went to David, her smile warm. "Hi. My name is Gloria Lancashire."