But what she had felt was not so easily defined.
She pressed her hands to her hot cheeks, but winced at even that mild contact against her abraded palms. She lowered them to her lap only to snatch at the money he’d slid beneath her waistband.
How easily he’d dropped the cash on her, even when she’d tried to avoid it.
Too bad he didn’t take his other, far more important responsibilities so seriously.
She rolled the bills into a tight cylinder. If she’d ever hoped to make an impression on the great Grayson Hunt that she was a serious adversary, she’d definitely shot that right down into the dust.
Typical, typical Amelia.
She never had been any good at confrontations. Why should she be, when it was ever so much easier to be the world’s doormat?
“Miss?” the driver prompted.
She jerked, feeling foolish for letting Grayson Hunt distract her so deeply, and gave the driver the address of Daphne’s apartment. She’d moved into it to be with the children when it had become apparent that Daphne would not be returning to her home anytime soon.
“There a pharmacy close by?”
“I’m sorry,” she admitted. “I just don’t know.” The only pharmacy she’d been in was the one at the hospital where Timmy had been born. “There’s a corner grocery, though. That ought to do.” She didn’t often shop at Heller’s, because she’d realized right off that the prices were higher than the larger shopping center that took two buses to get to.
The cabbie grunted, whether in agreement or not she didn’t know, nor did she particularly care. He was taking her home, and her aching knees were glad of it.
Of course, she ought to know more about the businesses surrounding the apartment, considering she’d been living in Seattle for three months now. But her time had been spent dealing with the disaster of Daphne’s life. Disaster caused by none other than Grayson Hunt.
Medical bills. Doctors. Hospitals. Lawyers. The red tape of being named the children’s guardian and more red tape. And of course, there were the children to care for.
Jack was twelve and alarmingly self-sufficient given the situation with his mother. Two years younger was Molly, who only spoke in whispers these days. Finally, there was Timmy. Three months old and as sweet and warm as a ray of sunshine, and never once held in the arms of his mother, Daphne.
Amelia stared out the window, weeks beyond tears now. She’d shed plenty in the past few months. First, when she’d stood in the hospital emergency room to hear that her sister had suffered a stroke during labor. Next during the three weeks it had taken before Daphne regained consciousness. It soon became clear that she didn’t recognize her own children, much less her only sister. Amelia had cried at night when she knew the children were asleep because for as long as she could remember it had just been her and Daphne against the world.
She ought to have been able to protect Daphne against what had happened.
She should have come to Seattle earlier when Daphne had admitted she’d gotten pregnant during her ill-fated and not-brief-enough affair with Grayson Hunt. Particularly once he’d made it clear to Daphne that he was not going to acknowledge their child.
Amelia had wanted Daphne to take the matter to court, but Daphne wouldn’t do so then—and couldn’t now.
She could hardly blame her, though, considering the way they’d grown up. Their father had only grudgingly acknowledged them because the courts had forced him to pay child support to their mother, not because he’d loved them.
Daphne had grown up always searching for love and the kind of family she’d wished they’d been.
Amelia, on the other hand, had resisted those very same things. Oh, she’d had a marriage planned, certainly. To a man who’d seemed to be on the same career-oriented, nonbaby track that she’d chosen.
“This the grocery store you meant?”
She realized the cab had stopped at the curb alongside the small neighborhood store. “Yes, it is. Thanks. You really will wait?”
“Told your fella I would.”
“He’s not—” She shook her head, dropping that battle just as she dropped most battles. “I appreciate it.”
She reached for the door and laboriously climbed out. Much as she’d have preferred to head straight to the apartment, she knew there wasn’t much there in the way of first aid supplies, except plastic bandage strips decorated with Molly’s favorite cartoon character and the baby Tylenol that had come home from the hospital with Timmy. And whether or not she wanted to admit it, the only cash she had to her name was tucked in her purse back at the apartment and it had Food for the Children written all over it.
Grayson Hunt had given her more than enough to cover her needs for now and her pride would just have to suffer using it.
Her pride had taken quite a few lumps since she’d moved to Seattle. Priorities in her life had been dramatically reordered to focus on the children. On Daphne’s care.
Inside the shop, there was one miserly shelf filled with bandages and ointments. Mindful of the prices that were as ridiculously high as she’d remembered, she selected the bare minimum, and added a loaf of fortified bread and an enormous jar of peanut butter—Jack never seemed to get enough of the stuff. She left the store with her bag and change that would be better used at her usual shopping center.
The cabbie was still waiting, and she must have made a pretty pathetic sight, for he actually met her on the sidewalk to take her purchases from her.
He helped her into the backseat of the cab again, tsking under his breath. “Girls these days,” he said. “Taking all kinds of treatment.”
Amelia flushed. “I fell while I was running.”
He looked skeptical as he closed the door on her and got back behind the wheel. “Your fella rich?”
“He’s not my…yes. I guess he’s rich.” She held the bulging sack on her lap.
The cabbie shrugged. “Lotta rich guys here. You can do better. Find yourself a nice young man that does an honest day’s work.”
Despite herself, Amelia felt a sharp pang. She’d had a nice young man who did an honest day’s work.
He just hadn’t wanted to keep her. Not when her coworker Pamela had offered more tempting treats.
Passion.
Kids.
She pushed aside the thoughts. John had fallen way down the list of things she needed to be worrying about.
She left the cab a short time later when the driver stopped in front of her building, and she figured there was one bright side to the events of the morning. She obviously didn’t have to worry about the cabbie having recognized Grayson Hunt’s face. The man would probably have said something if he had.
She pushed through the squeaking door of the building, only to come face-to-face with the Out of Order placard affixed to the center of the dented elevator doors. She’d gotten so used to seeing it that she’d stopped noticing it.
But now, with her entire body feeling like one big, scraped-up bruise, she looked from the inoperable elevator to the narrow staircase on the opposite side of the small vestibule. Sighing, she put her foot on the first step.
Only six more flights to go.
By the time she made it to her floor, her stomach was pitching with nausea and the thin plastic loops of the grocery bag were cutting into her wrist. Three doors down, she stopped and