“No wife. No girlfriend. It’s just me,” he assured her. “And it wouldn’t be an imposition.”
“Immy cries and needs to be fed in the middle of the night. And tonight she just cried for a long time for no reason I could figure out,” she warned.
“I’ve been through worse,” he said with a hint of the smile she’d never forgotten, a smile that had haunted her. “So what do you say?”
It was galling not to be able to tell him off the way she had in her head many, many times over the years.
But she had to think of Immy. To put her first. And she knew that Immy would be better off if there were two of them to care for her—even two people who didn’t know what they were doing seemed better than one, one who was struggling with injuries to boot. And Beau had the use of both hands and a car, so he could go out and find the formula Immy was accustomed to. Plus if they went to his home Immy wouldn’t be breathing air polluted with exhaust fumes.
So the bottom line was that Beau’s offer was one she just couldn’t refuse, Kyla decided. For Immy’s sake, if not for her own.
But even as she came to that decision she vowed that the minute—the exact second—she could pack up Immy and handle everything on her own, she’d leave Beau Camden in her dust. Not unlike the way he’d left her.
“Okay,” she conceded ungraciously. “But as soon as I get some things in order, we’ll be out of your hair.”
All he said to that was, “There’s a Camden Superstore down the street—I can go there now and get a car seat and whatever else we need and come back—”
The thought of disturbing Immy sent renewed panic through Kyla. “No, not tonight!” she said in a hurry. “You don’t know what it took to get Immy to sleep. Tomorrow—we can move tomorrow.”
“How about I stay here tonight, then?”
In her room? With her? What was this guy thinking?
Then he said, “The rooms on either side of yours look empty. I can check into one of those, probably hear the baby if she wakes up...”
There would be someone else to see to the baby if the crying started again and wouldn’t stop.
It was tempting.
But Kyla shook her head, her independent streak somehow demanding that she draw at least that line. “We’ll be all right for tonight,” she said with more confidence than she felt. “But Immy does have to have a car seat—Eddie’s secretary borrowed one to pick us up from the hospital.”
“I’ll have one by the time I get here—and I’ll get here any time you say tomorrow morning. But you’re sure you’ll be all right tonight?”
She wasn’t.
But she also wasn’t willing to let him see that. “I’ll be fine,” she said, hoping she was wrong about Immy not liking the formula she had for her—or at least that the baby would put up with it for now.
“Have you eaten?” he asked.
“I ordered something from the diner. Most of it is still left, if I get hungry.”
He nodded and as she watched him do that she thought, Geez, he’s good-looking...
Then she realized what had gone through her mind and she pushed it out of her head.
“I suppose I should let you go in and get some rest,” Beau said then.
Kyla stood, trying not to flinch as she did, and faced him as he took a business card out of his pocket and handed it to her. “My cell phone number is on this. If you need anything—anything—just call.”
Again, words that were fourteen years too late.
Kyla accepted the card without comment.
“So I guess I’ll just see you tomorrow,” he said, as if he wasn’t sure that was the right course. “What time?”
“Nine maybe...” she suggested aloofly and with no real knowledge of how that would work for Immy. Then she moved to the motel room door again.
“I really—really—am sorry, Kyla,” Beau said quietly to her back.
Too little, too late, she thought. But all she said was, “Tomorrow,” before she went into her room, closing the door on him.
And wondering what incredible twist of fate had put her in the position she was in.
To be rescued by Beau Camden of all people.
Beau spent the remainder of Tuesday evening on the phone from home causing trouble for several Camden Superstore departments and employees. When he was done, he’d arranged to have his currently unfurnished guest room and a nursery fully outfitted by the time he transported his new charges to his house.
He’d decided it all needed to get underway at zero-five-hundred and to be finished by zero-eight-hundred tomorrow morning.
“Yes, that means the first truck is to be here at five a.m. and the whole job has to be done by eight a.m.,” he’d had to explain to more than one person who had acted as if he was out of his mind to believe what he wanted was possible.
But he hadn’t brought his men and himself through three deployments to the Middle East by leaving room for error and he wasn’t going to start now. This time, unlike the way it had been since he’d been discharged, the civilian world was going to have to adjust to him rather than the other way around.
Since going to the den with GiGi that afternoon and learning what he’d learned, he’d been on Marine autopilot. Show no emotion. Stoic composure at all costs. Do whatever it took to get the job done and make sure everyone under his command knew the same thing applied to them.
As one of the ten owners and board members of Camden Incorporated, everyone who worked for Camden Superstores was basically under his command. It was something he’d verified with Cade before taking action.
By then word had already circulated within the family about what was going on with him, so he hadn’t had to explain anything. Instead Cade had reminded him that everything the family owned and everyone they employed were at his disposal. Cade had told him to do whatever was required, and had given him the names and numbers of the people to contact.
“Anything you need, however many people you need to get it done,” he’d been told. “We’re all still spinning over this one involving you...I’m sorry, man...”
“Yeah, me, too,” Beau had said emotionlessly before going on to take charge.
He doubted his inflexibility had made him any friends among Camden Superstores employees tonight. Because tonight he’d pulled rank and his orders weren’t going to be easy to follow.
Not that he cared. This was top priority, even if decorators didn’t ordinarily arrive at their offices until nine or work so fast, even if items weren’t usually delivered and set up before ten. Tomorrow it all would be. At least here it would.
But as Tuesday ticked into Wednesday there was no more he could do. He was finally off duty. At home. Alone.
He’d poured himself a short Scotch when he’d returned from that truck stop tonight and come into the den to get busy. Most of the drink was still left in the glass on the desk he was sitting behind. He reached for it and finished it in one gulp.
The next thing he knew he’d thrown that glass against the wall, shattering it into a million pieces.
Then he took the first deep