Prim, Proper... Pregnant

He opened his eyes slowly. His lips felt dry. One shaky hand touched the left side of his face. Rough gauze—a bandage?

Where am I?

The room was white, spare, clean…a hospital room. An IV dripped into his arm. The drapes were open and gray skies showed through the glass. Pain throbbed in his temples.

He’d been awake, briefly, once before. Half awake, half a man.

Questions filled his head like loud music, reverberating off the empty spaces in his skull. He felt cold beads of sweat pop out on his forehead and he groaned.

Cool hands touched his arm, and he turned to find a woman staring down at him with eyes as gray as the sky outside.

“It’s okay, Ryder,” she said softly. “You’re going to be fine.”

He licked his lips.

“Do you want a drink?”

He managed to nod. She gently held the back of his head as he took a sip of water from the glass she offered. He had seen her once before, when he woke the first time. She’d been asleep in the chair beside his bed then, her chin tilted toward her chest. With a jolt, he realized she must know him which meant he should know her.

But he didn’t. He’d never seen her before. Never.

She was quite lovely. Her skin was fine-textured and smooth, her eyes huge, her nose and mouth delicate. Honey-blond hair that looked as though she’d raked it with her hand a dozen times capped her head. She was wearing a roomy, dark blue shirt, the neck open, the sleeves rolled up…a man’s shirt that did nothing to detract from her bounding femininity. He was positive she wasn’t a nurse. He was just as positive that she wasn’t the kind of woman he would forget.

“I’m going to go find your folks,” she said.

His folks. Panic began to creep into his brain. He had no memory of parents. He swallowed his heart.

She frowned at him, biting her lip. Then she said, “Don’t worry, Ryder, I won’t come back now that you’re okay.”

He caught her hand as she turned away, managing to force out a single word. “Stay.”

Her eyes shifted uneasily, but at last she nodded. As his eyelids closed, he concentrated on the feel of her hand in his, the warmth of human flesh in a sea of bleached cotton, a link to the world that was quickly slipping away from him again.

Who was Ryder?

Amelia stood with her hand clasped in Ryder’s hand. As far as she knew, this was the first time he’d opened his eyes in three long weeks, and she was dying to call the doctor, to run out into the hall and find Jack and Nina and share the good news.

She didn’t move. There was an implied trust in her agreeing to stay and she wouldn’t break it. Nor could she force herself to release his hand. Hooking the leg of the chair with a toe, she dragged it closer and perched on the edge.

This was crazy. She needed to alert people. And she needed to prepare herself for Ryder’s true awakening when he was clear-headed enough to realize he didn’t want to rely on her of all people.

And yet she stayed. For weeks she’d been sitting by this bed, spelling Jack and Nina and Philip after he returned from his honeymoon. She’d been here when they attended Rob’s funeral and when they dragged themselves home to try to sleep. She’d been here on days when the sun shined in the window and days when the rain outside echoed the sadness inside. And all the while, she’d told herself she would vanish the second Ryder opened his eyes, that she was anxious to get on the road and set up house in Nevada, to get ready for her baby, that she was here only to help his family.

Now she realized that was only a partial truth. She was here for herself as well, for herself and for their baby. Just the night before, hoping to give Nina and Jack a ray of hope to cling to and knowing it was a miracle her condition had gone unnoticed this long, she had confided that she was carrying Ryder’s child. Her news had been met with unqualified joy.

Had she done the right thing in telling them? Should she have kept it to herself? Had she told them because she was afraid Ryder would never wake up and claim his child? And now that the worst was seemingly over and it was time for her to leave, would it break their hearts?

Well, soon Ryder would discover what she’d done and he would feel that she’d backed him into a corner, just as he’d predicted she would.

And yet, she stayed, his hand loosely wrapped around her own. His summer tan had faded at an accelerated rate in the hospital, but she could still discern the faint whitish line across his ring finger. She leaned over and kissed his hand, not realizing until her lips touched his skin what a foolish act it was.

But she had loved him once and he needed her now and he’d asked her to stay. Why?

The door creaked and she turned her head as a stranger entered the room. He was a tall man in his late forties with a graying flattop and piercing black eyes. He wore a charcoal suit over his lanky frame and black shoes that needed polishing. The smile he gave Amelia looked forced and anything but friendly. There was an unmistakable air of officialdom about him.

“May I help you?” she asked, thinking he must have entered the wrong room.

“I’m looking for Ryder T. Hogan,” he said, his voice raspy. Gesturing at Ryder like he was a slab of meat, he added, “That him?”

Unexpectedly, Amelia felt a surge of protective ardor. She positioned herself between the man and Ryder. “May I ask who you are?”

He flipped aside his jacket. Fastened to the pocket on his pants was a metal badge. “Detective Hill,” he said. “Seaport Police.”

“Ryder has been in a coma for two weeks,” she said, deciding on the spot to omit mentioning the fact that he’d been awake less than five minutes before. “Obviously, he can’t talk to you or anyone else.”

“I’m investigating the death of Robert Hogan,” he said sternly. “I have questions that need answering.”

She felt a piercing stab of fear burn its way through the lining of her stomach. She’d been waiting for this, she realized with a start. Ever since the accident, she’d been anticipating police involvement. Surely blood tests had been taken at the clinic where the brothers were taken after the accident. Surely the results of those blood tests would show that Ryder had been intoxicated.

“When he wakes up, we’ll call you,” she said. Her voice sounded shaky and her knees felt wobbly. Why didn’t he leave? She added, “If you don’t believe me, ask his doctors. They’ll tell you he’s in no shape to talk to anyone.”

“I spoke with his doctors,” he said. “I wanted to see for myself.”

“And now you’ve seen,” she said, praying that Ryder wouldn’t choose that minute to open his eyes again.

The detective looked at her closely. She had the feeling there were few secrets kept from his prying gaze and she could feel the heat suffuse her cheeks as she fought to keep hers. He finally said, “Who are you?”

“Amelia Enderling. I’m…I’m Ryder’s fiancée.”

He nodded as though he’d heard her name before. “Aren’t you more of an ex-fiancée?”

“Where did you hear that?”

Glancing at Ryder’s still face, he said, “I’ve talked to some of his friends.”

“We made up. I guess his friends don’t know about it.”

“I guess not. Well, Miss Enderling, are you aware that your boyfriend had been drinking when he took off with his brother on the night of the…accident?”

There was a telling pause before the word “accident” that sent a chill through Amelia. She bit her lip and kept silent.

“It’s common knowledge,” he added.

She squared her shoulders. Her initial mistrust of him was becoming more and more pronounced. She finally said, “If you insist on holding a conversation despite what I’ve told you, maybe we should go out in the hall.”

“Why?” he said, a smug smile lifting one corner of his mouth. “He’s in a coma, right? He can’t hear us.”

“How do you know what he can or can’t hear?” she snapped. “Just because he’s in a coma doesn’t mean he’s not aware of his environment. Numerous studies have proved—”