And then she opened the door and ran. More than ran. She flat-out bolted before he could even form a syllable.
* * *
This man had a way of flipping her stomach upside down on a regular day, and now that she was pregnant, her stomach didn’t seem to know which way was up.
Her ballet flats slammed, skidded against the ground. Her stomach rumbled a protesting gurgle, bile rising in the back of her throat.
She ran inside the clinic, through the side entrance and toward her office off the main reception space. She sagged back against the wall, sliding down to the floor while trying to decide if she needed to race the rest of the way to the restroom or simply stay put, calm, unmoving.
Yes, staying still was best. She drew in one deep breath after another. With each breath, she tried to focus on her immediate surroundings. At least the normally bustling clinic lacked people at this hour. All the staff and volunteers had gone home after settling the animals in for the night. Good, she’d hate to have an audience for this. Her eyes adjusted to the dim light, and she heard the creak of the door that lead to the supply closet.
Portia swallowed again, feeling unease and nausea reclaim her stomach.
A light flicked on in an adjoining office with the door open. Maureen. Easton’s research assistant and sister-in-law. Like Easton, Maureen put in long hours, sacrificing sleep for the animals’ sake.
She had a clipboard in her hand, and a pen tucked in her hair. Maureen must’ve been doing inventory. While keeping a meticulous inventory made life at the clinic run smoothly during all seasons, hurricane season made this task rise to a new level of importance. If the intensity of the tropical storm a few weeks ago was any indication of the hurricanes to come, Portia knew how vital it would be to the survival of the refuge for them to maintain plans and supplies.
But what of her own plans?
Portia took a steadying breath as Maureen noticed her and came over. Her bright red hair bouncing in curls, Maureen crouched next to Portia, green eyes searching.
“Are you okay?” Maureen’s slight Irish brogue lilted.
“I’m fine. I just forgot to eat dinner and I’m lightheaded. Low blood sugar. I’ll be fine.”
Standing, Maureen opened a drawer in the supply room, the one where she’d stashed other sorts of emergency supplies—saltines, PowerBars and gum. “You work too hard.”
Maureen tossed her a packet of crackers. To Portia’s surprise, she actually caught the wrapped package, shaking hands and all. Tearing open the wrapper, Portia stood and took her time nibbling while she searched for the right words to deflect Maureen’s comment.
“I enjoy my work.” Not completely true.
She was grateful for her well-paying job and the adorable one-bedroom cabana that came with it. She had a dream of becoming a teacher one day, but she needed to pay for her brother’s education and save enough to finance her own—
Except that wasn’t going to happen. She was out of time to fulfill her own dreams. She had to think of her brother and this baby. And even if her pay doubled, there wasn’t even enough time to figure all of that out before she had to confess everything to Easton.
She hated thinking about money at all. It made her feel too much like her gold digger mother. But there were practical realities to consider.
Like getting some crackers into her stomach before she hurled.
She nibbled on the edge of a saltine. Each bite settling her stomach. For the moment, anyway.
Maureen glanced around the clinic, leaning around the corner that lead to the examination room. “Where’s the doctor?”
“He’s examining an injured bird we rescued.” Or so she assumed. She’d left him in a bit of a hurry.
What on earth had he been thinking to kiss her like that?
More to the point, what had she been thinking to allow it to happen? To respond? Normally, she prided herself on her control. Her good sense. With Easton, it seemed, she had neither.
Maureen passed over a container of wet wipes, her bright diamond ring glittering. Recently, she’d married Easton’s brother, Xander. “Here.”
“What?” Portia took them, confused.
“You’ve got dust on your knees and on your elbows.”
She looked down to check, heat flaming her cheeks as she remembered being close to Easton. Of their bodies pressed against each other on the hard ground. Not that she intended to share those details with anyone. “It’s messy work out there.”
As if on cue to make her cheeks flame hotter, the side door opened and she heard the long stride that was distinctly Easton’s. From a distance, he glanced at her, the bird cradled against his chest in a careful but firm hold.
Maureen stepped forward. “Do you need help?”
He shook his head. “I’ve got this. You two carry on.”
Easton headed toward the back where they did X-rays, away from other animals. His footsteps grew softer until the sound faded altogether.
Maureen turned back to her. “You seem more of the office job type. I’ve often wondered what made you take on this position.” Blunt and honest conversation with Maureen. While normally Portia appreciated Maureen’s directness, Portia didn’t know if she had the stamina for this sort of exchange right now.
“The pay is more than generous and the locale is enticing.”
Did that sound as lame out loud as she thought? Didn’t matter. It was true. She’d needed the better-than-average pay, with housing included, to save the money she needed to pay for her brother. Her stomach did another flip and she reached for a cracker. The scents of the clinic were bothering her in a way they normally didn’t—the stringent smell of antiseptic cleaner used religiously on every surface, the wood shavings lining crates, the air of live plants.
“And the pay is such because the other secretaries before you couldn’t handle an eccentric boss and his unconventional hours, helping him with X-rays, the animals and fieldwork, cleaning his messy office...or they tried to put the moves on him. And yet you’ve put up with him even though he’s clearly not your type.”
Portia stiffened, biting down hard on the edge of the cracker. She chewed and swallowed before speaking. “What would my type be?”
“Did I sound presumptuous? I’m sorry if that came out wrong.”
“Not at all. I’m truly curious because... Oh, never mind.” The question had sounded innocent, but in a strange way, Portia began to wonder if Maureen knew, or at the very least suspected something had happened between Portia and Easton.
“I just meant I can see you with a suave, well-traveled businessman or a brilliant professor. But of course you’re clearly more than capable of taking care of your own love life. Tell me about your type? Or maybe there’s already a gentleman in your life?”
A gentleman in her life? Time for a stellar deflection.
Portia arched her brow and rolled her eyes. She did everything she could to visually signify that she had no connection to anyone at all. One of Portia’s greatest strengths had always been hiding behind conversation.
“Tell me about your honeymoon plans.” That topic ought to do it. Maureen and Xander had delayed their honeymoon trip because, after they were married, they’d realized just how deeply they cared for each other. Originally their marriage had been for convenience—he’d needed a wife to keep custody of his daughter and she’d needed citizenship—but it had since deepened into true love.
“I cannot wait, Portia. It will be hard to be away from Rose for two weeks, but she’ll be staying