Wilder Hearts: Once Upon a Pregnancy

“If you’re hungry, I have something for you to eat. And if not, I’ll put it in the fridge.”

“Thanks,” she said. “That was sweet. A little snack sounds good. If I don’t keep something in my stomach, I get…”

“You get what?”

She gave a half shrug. “I get a little shaky. No big deal.”

“You need to have that blood test. Did you call your doctor like you said you would?”

“Yes. And I have an appointment next week.”

“Good.”

Mike went into the kitchen and brought out a tray bearing the cheese, crackers and fruit platter, as well as a bottle of merlot, a corkscrew and two goblets. “I also thought a little wine before bed might help you unwind and fall asleep easier.”

“I’d better pass on the wine, but there’s some apple juice in the refrigerator. That sounds a lot better to me.”

Was she afraid of the effect alcohol might have on her? That it might lower her inhibitions like last time they’d spent the evening together? That she might let down her guard and allow herself to feel again?

If so, he hoped she didn’t think he was trying to ply her with wine. He’d only meant to set a romantic ambience, not get her into bed. The next time they made love, he wanted her to be completely sober and still willing. And, more important, he didn’t want her to have any regrets in the morning.

“Look at this cheese plate.” A smile that reached her soulful brown eyes sent his pulse topsy-turvy. “Have the guys down at the department been reading magazines on entertaining? This is pretty, as well as appetizing.”

“Actually, a lady Leif has been dating invited a few of us over to watch the game and she set out a tray like this. It was pretty cool, and I thought you’d agree.” He shrugged, cheeks warming. He hoped she didn’t think he’d gone over the top.

“It’s a nice touch,” she said. “No one has ever prepared anything special for me.”

Someone ought to.

And often.

“Then you’re welcome.”

As Mike turned to get the juice for her, she stopped him. “I’ll get it. Why don’t you have a seat and unwind. I took care of the dogs yesterday, so I know how tiring that can be.”

“Actually,” Mike said, glancing to the hearth where the canines lay side by side, “they weren’t that bad tonight.”

He’d taken them out in the backyard and thrown a ball to them until they were both worn-out and ready to settle down.

While Simone was in the kitchen, Mike poured a glass of wine for himself.

She’d just returned and settled into a comfortable position on the couch when her phone rang.

“Uh-oh.” She furrowed her brow as she turned and reached for the telephone that rested on the lamp table. “I don’t know who it could be at this hour.”

“A woman called earlier,” he said, “but she wouldn’t leave her name. I told her you wouldn’t get home until after eleven.”

Mike watched as Simone snagged the receiver and answered on the second ring.

“Hello?” The furrow in her brow grew deeper. “Yes, it is.”

He wasn’t sure what was going on, but he listened to her side of the conversation. It obviously wasn’t a wrong number, but who the hell called people after eleven o’clock at night?

“That’s too bad. No, I didn’t know.” She raked a hand through her hair, as though forgetting she wore it held back in a clip. Then she stood. “Would you please give me your number. I’d like to have it in case I need to speak to you later.”

She made her way to the small rolltop desk against the wall and pulled out the top drawer. She fumbled inside until she withdrew a notepad and pen. Then she made a note.

“Thank you. I’ll…uh…call her first thing in the morning.”

Mike tensed, his senses on alert. Just from listening to Simone’s side of the conversation, the news sounded serious.

She cleared her throat. “Yes, well…I don’t know why she didn’t call me, either.”

When she hung up the phone, she remained standing, her back to him. She’d always carried herself with strength and pride, but her shoulders slumped and she blew out a heavy sigh.

Mike put down his glass and made his way toward her. “Is everything okay, honey?”

Damn, there went the endearment again. But this time, he wasn’t sorry he’d let it slip out. Not when he sensed she needed some tenderness.

“I…uh…yeah. I’m fine.” She turned to him, her eyes red and welling with tears. “It’s just…well, my mom found a lump in her breast last week. But for some reason, she didn’t want to bother me with the news. That was a friend of hers who took it upon herself to call and let me know. She figured, even if my mom and I weren’t close, that I was a nurse and could answer some of her questions and put her at ease.”

Mike slid his arms around her, and she leaned into his embrace, resting her head against his chest.

He held her for a while, providing her with all he had to offer. His sympathy, his heart.

Finally, as she drew away, her gaze caught his, and he saw the pain inside. The grief.

What did one say to a woman who’d just learned of her mother’s frightening discovery?

“That’s just like my mom,” Simone said, tears spilling from her eyes.

“What do you mean?”

She wiped the moisture from her cheeks and sniffed. “Needless to say, I’m concerned about her health and sorry she’s struggling with all that lump could mean, but this is the kind of thing a mother should share with her daughter, whether she’s a nurse or not. And it hurts to be reminded of just how lousy our relationship is. Especially if her condition proves to be life-threatening and I stand to lose her without ever having the kind of bond other mothers and daughters have.”

Mike didn’t know what to say, what to do. He couldn’t get a handle on how a woman might feel upon finding a lump in her breast. Nor did he have any idea what that woman’s daughter might be going through.

He figured they’d both be scared, anxious.

A simple, well-meant “I’m sorry” slid out. Yet it seemed so…inadequate.

“I’m sorry, too. And not just because of the news. I’m used to having my mom shut me out. She’s been doing that to me for years. But I got the feeling that her friend thought I was too busy to be bothered. And that’s simply not true.”

“I know it isn’t.” If anyone had a heart for a person who was ill or hurting, it was Simone. And Mike was sorry that she and her mom were not close.

Maybe, in its own way, a diagnosis like this might draw the two of them together again. He hoped so; he couldn’t imagine what his life would be like without the love and support of his family.

A shank of glossy hair had fallen from the clip Simone wore; now the strands hung along her cheek. Mike brushed them aside. “If you need anything, if your mom needs anything, you can count on me for help.”