FEELING PHYSICALLY BETTER after emptying her stomach but mortified, Savannah splashed cold water over her face.
She’d just thrown up in her bathroom with Charlie right there.
To give him credit, he’d been a champ, keeping her hair back and putting the cold cloth against her forehead. But she wasn’t giving him credit. No way.
Wiping her hands on a towel, drying them, she then placed her palms over her lower abdomen.
Oh, God. What was she going to do?
How was she going to explain vomiting?
She’d known for a month now and hadn’t told him.
She studied her reflection—the pale skin, the tired eyes, the tension tugging at her features.
Why hadn’t she told him?
Because he didn’t deserve to know?
Maybe telling him would be punishment because he didn’t want children, didn’t want any ties to her.
Was it fear that really held her back?
The fear that, although she loved this baby no matter what, she might be on her own raising their child? She’d be fine. Just look at what a great job Chrissie was doing with Joss. Savannah could rock the single mom thing, too.
“You okay in there?”
She closed her eyes, unable to stand the reflection staring back at her a moment longer.
“Savannah?”
“I’m fine.”
That wasn’t true. Not really. And they both knew it, although he had no clue as to the real reason.
* * *
Charlie moved toward the bathroom door the moment it opened, staying close to Savannah’s side as she came out of the bathroom.
“Let me help you into bed.”
“I don’t want to go to bed,” she protested.
“You look awful. You need to be in bed.”
She glared at him. “Good to know. Thanks.”
“You know what I mean.” He fought the urge to roll his eyes.
“Fine, then—I don’t want to go to bed,” she reiterated, shaking off his hand as he reached for her arm.
“Do you have to argue with everything I say these days?”
“No, but there’s no reason for me to go to bed.”
“Other than the fact you worked a twelve-hour shift, look dead on your feet, and you just threw up?”
“Yeah, other than that.” She looked ready to drop. Possibly her illness was related to exhaustion, but it was just as possible his presence had led to her sickness.
“You make me sick.”
He winced at the words from his past, shook them off, and focused on the fragile-looking woman in front of him.
He let out an exasperated sigh. “At least lie down and rest a few minutes while I clean your bathroom.”
“Go home. It’s not going to hurt if a used washcloth sits on the countertop overnight.”
“I want to help you, Savannah. Let me.” He did want to help. He wanted her smiling and happy, not miserable and sick.
Maybe he was destined to have a negative impact on anyone close to him. To make anyone unfortunate enough to get close to him miserable.
She glanced toward the doorway leading out into the hallway, then sighed. Her remaining energy hissed out like a deflating balloon and she sat down on the edge of the bed. “I feel guilty letting you clean when I’m perfectly capable.”
He’d really like to hold her, to stroke her hair, whisper words of comfort and stay with her until she felt better. It wasn’t his place to do any of those things. Not anymore.
“If you looked perfectly capable I wouldn’t have offered. You don’t, so go to bed.”
Surprisingly, she nodded and laid down on top of the comforter.
“I’ll straighten your guest bathroom then be back to check on you.”
Asking her to get into her bed struck him as odd. How many times had he gotten into that bed with her?
Odd to think he never would again.
That he’d lost that right.
That privilege.
Once he was in Nashville, had started his new job, made new friends, his having made the right decision would be reinforced. It was only because he was still here, still confronted every day with the life he’d become used to sharing with Savannah, that he was struggling.
Savannah would be much better off once he was gone and she could move on with her life. He blamed himself for allowing their relationship to go on for so long. He should have stepped away long ago, for Savannah’s sake if not his own.
Then again, that was part of the problem, wasn’t it? He should have protected her from ever getting close enough to him to feel broken-hearted.
Not that his track record for protecting those close to him was anything to brag about. Quite the opposite.
Once he’d straightened her bathroom, he went back to her bedroom and wasn’t surprised to find her asleep.
She hadn’t planned on going to sleep as she was still lying on top of the comforter rather than beneath it. Savannah was one of those that even if it were a hundred degrees outside she had to at least have a sheet over her. The fact she had dozed off spoke volumes as to how ill she was.
He should have asked if she needed anything.
He should have checked her temperature or something.
He was a cardiologist, not an infectious disease guy, but she probably had a stomach virus. Hopefully, it would run its course within twenty-four hours and she’d feel better soon.
He went back into the living room, grabbed a throw blanket off the sofa, and put it over her. She snuggled into the comfort of the blanket, but her breathing pattern didn’t change to indicate that she’d awakened.
Charlie stood over the bed watching her for a few minutes. He’d told her she looked awful, but the truth was she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever known.
Fearing he might wake her but unable to resist, he ran his fingers over her forehead, brushing back a stray strand of long red hair and gauging her temperature at the same time. That was why he was touching her. To check her temperature. To see if she were physically ill. Not because he’d longed to touch the creamy perfection of her skin, to trace over the faint laugh lines at the corners of her eyes, the high angle of her cheekbones, the pert lines of her jaw.
To check her temperature.
No fever. That was good.
But she hadn’t thrown up because she felt great. Something was definitely wrong.
Which left him in a quandary. Did he go or did he stay?
Tomorrow was Saturday and he wasn’t on call this weekend. He’d planned to drive to Nashville in the morning to make a decision on living arrangements. Savannah wasn’t on duty either, as he’d checked her schedule earlier that day.
No, he hadn’t checked her schedule.
He’d just happened to glance at the nursing schedule and he’d just happened to note that she wasn’t working that weekend.
What he wanted was to crawl up into the bed beside her, to hold her close and be there in case she needed him.
But he wouldn’t. He couldn’t be soft where she was concerned. Not