She’d enjoyed every moment of that night, but the next morning she’d freaked out. She’d worried about putting her much-needed job and on-site housing in jeopardy—and about how intensely being with Easton had moved her. She didn’t have time for messy emotions, much less a relationship. She’d been living day to day, working to keep her head above water financially, especially since her brother had started college four years ago.
Now she had no choice but to think about the future for her child. Her need to establish her independence had to be placed on the fast track for her child’s sake. She refused to let her baby have the unsure life she herself had lived through because of her parents’ lack of any care or planning for their children’s welfare.
The thought of the future nudged Portia into movement. A small movement, of course. It wasn’t as if she could just run out of here and leave her boss without the spotlight she was holding. Her hand fell to her still smooth stomach covered by a loose T-shirt layered over trim cargo shorts—her fieldwork basics. Neatly pressed, of course.
A leaf plummeted to the ground with surprising speed. Ten more fell down from the limb above her head, reminding Portia to pay attention to the man above her.
“Can you adjust the spotlight to the left?”
“Sure, how far?”
“To the left.”
Ah, nice and vague. Her favorite sort of directions. “Four inches? Twelve inches?”
“Move and I’ll tell you when to stop.”
“That works—” Portia checked her response. She’d been second-guessing herself more than ever since that night. Things that hadn’t bothered her before now suddenly worried her.
“Stop.”
Four inches. She’d moved four flipping inches. How much easier would it have been for him to say that?
She sighed. She was irritable, nauseated and her swollen breasts hurt like crazy. She needed a new bra ASAP. Under cover of the dark, she repositioned one poking end away from her tender flesh. “Can you see now?”
“Almost got it. Just have to stretch farther.”
The syllables also stretched, just as she imagined his fingers were doing. Always dramatic. Which was part of his allure...
A cracking sound popped through the night. Portia looked up into the twisted web of branches, her eyes desperately trying to process the image before her. She watched Easton fall out of the black mangrove in what felt like slow motion. He was a silhouetted rush of leaves and flailing limbs, culminating in an echoing thud as he hit the ground. The chorus of nighttime birds stopped as if they too were interested in the doctor’s fate.
Panic filled her veins. Her feet and hands grew numb but she pushed them into motion. Fast.
He didn’t move, and from her distance, she couldn’t see if his chest rose and fell. “Easton!”
His name was a plea and a command to answer all at once. His limbs were splayed out inches from the tree trunk. He’d barely missed landing on the protruding roots. From the muted light, it looked like he had barely avoided impaling himself on a decaying tree limb.
She closed in on him, crouched down to examine him. Thank the Lord, he was breathing. She felt his pulse. It was strong, but he didn’t respond to her touch.
Laying a hand on his shoulder, she gently shook him. Wanting him to be okay. Needing him to be okay. The thought of him hurt sent her mind tumbling into the land of what-if? She’d become adequate at shoving the big what-ifs aside, but with the father of her future child lying unconscious, worst-case scenarios flooded her mind.
What if she didn’t get to tell him about the baby? What if he was in a coma? What if...
What if his eyes—sharp blue as lapis lazuli—opened and he continued to look at her like that? Her wild thoughts halted as she saw his mischievous gaze trace her outline in the dark.
“I’m alright but don’t let that make you move,” he muttered, the right corner of his lips pulling up with sexy confidence.
His dark hair curled around his neck—twigs and branches adorning his head like the crown of some mythical forest prince. A sexy prince at that. Her hand lingered on his wrist, making her recall the night they’d spent together. The way he’d held her. She had carefully avoided his touch since they’d woken up to safety and a return to their normal working relationship—since finding out she carried his baby. Everything felt complicated.
She wanted to bolt away. Pushing her back into the neighboring Florida buttonwood tree, she swallowed hard. She didn’t know how much longer she could keep her job, living in her cabana on the refuge, and hide the truth. There just wasn’t time to save all the money she would need to be independent before the truth became obvious. The panic nearly made her lose her breath, but she pushed it aside as she’d been doing for weeks.
Yes, she would tell him. He deserved to know. But she wanted to get through that initial doctor’s appointment first, and each day gave her more time to organize her thoughts into the best way to balance this scary turn her life had taken.
A turn of events made all the more difficult by the way her body remembered too well the explosive passion they’d shared. Even thinking about that night, with the feel and scent of him so close now, turned her inside out with want.
He rested on his back, watching her with those clear blue eyes as he stroked a loose strand of her hair. “Damn, you’re a pretty woman.”
“Stop. You don’t mean it.” Why had she said that? It was as good as asking for another compliment and she’d sworn to herself she wouldn’t spend her life wrapped up in appearances as her beauty queen mother had.
His gaze held hers and refused to let go. “Don’t I?”
“Maybe you do in your own way. But you’re a flirt. Get your mind on business. How’s the bird?”
Though the movement made him wince, he straightened, sitting up. He had managed to protect the fragile bird during his fall. Easton held it proudly as it nestled into his hand. “Not a mark on him—not from the fall, anyway. We should get back to the clinic and figure out why he’s unable to fly.”
“I’ll drive. Unless you object, but you really shouldn’t,” she couldn’t stop herself from babbling, “since you did just fall from a tree.”
He shrugged, rising slowly to his feet. “Of course you can drive. Why would I have a problem with your driving?”
“Most men prefer to drive.” Her father always had, declaring her mother too airheaded to be trusted behind the wheel. Scrunching her nose at the memory, Portia stood, dusting off the leaves that clung to her pants.
“I’m not most men. And you’re right. I did just fall out of a tree.” He shed more small twigs as they made their way to the sanctuary’s four-door truck.
“Then it’s settled. I’ll take the wheel.” Driving the massive vehicle would allow her some element of control. And damn, did she need that in spades right now.
“You’re a better driver than I am anyway, even when I haven’t backflipped down a few limbs to land on my ass.”
“Okay, seriously, I can’t think of another man on the planet who would admit that.” As her head moved, a strand of her normally perfectly pulled-back hair caught on her eyelash. On instinct, her hand flew upward, folding it back into her ponytail. Back to order.
He grinned roguishly. “Then they must not have my confidence.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “Or arrogance.”
“True.” He slid into the passenger side. “You asked for an appointment with me earlier and then the emergency call came in about the ivory-billed woodpecker. We’ll have some time to talk on