Not Quite Married by Christine Rimmer Read Free Book Online Page A

with her when she went and reminded herself to count her blessings: at least Dalton hadn’t insisted on going in there with her.
    Back in the little room with him, she waited some more. She slept a little and felt generally mind-numbingly bored. Through all that, he remained, sitting there so calmly, now and then taking out his phone and checking things on it. She would have thought a high-powered control freak like what he’d turned out to be would be climbing the walls with all the endless waiting. But he took it in stride.
    At half past eleven, Dr. Kapur showed up. Clara told her what had happened. Dr. Kapur left the room so that Clara could put on a paper gown. Dalton went out with her. The doctor came back in alone for the examination and Clara wondered if maybe Dalton had gone.
    It was for the best, she decided. He didn’t need to hang around for this. She was fine on her own.
    But then he came right back in to hear the doctor’s conclusions.
    “Your baby seems to be doing well, no signs of fetal distress,” Dr. Kapur said with a reassuring smile, gazing steadily at Clara—and then turning to share that smile with Dalton.
    He’s told my doctor that he’s the father , Clara realized. And somehow, knowing he’d done that both pissed her off—and made her feel like crying. With a little bit of warm fuzziness thrown in for good measure.
    Dr. Kapur continued. “But you’ve been pushing too hard, I think. You’re dehydrated and you need rest. To start, I’m going to keep you overnight for observation and then tomorrow we’ll decide where to go from here.”
    Clara longed to argue that she was fine and where she wanted to go was home. But if her doctor thought she needed to stay, so be it.
    Then they put her in another wheelchair and rolled her to a regular room.
    Once they’d had her change into a very ugly pink floral hospital gown—Dalton left the room for that, which she truly appreciated—and made her comfortable in the bed, they offered her lunch. They fed Dalton, too.
    After the meal, she tried to get up and get her purse, which Dalton had stuck in the locker across the room.
    “Stay in bed,” he commanded, rising to loom over her. And then his dark eyebrows drew together. “Or do you need to use the bathroom?”
    “I want my phone.”
    “Why?”
    “I need to make a few calls.”
    “You should rest.”
    She only glared at him until he gave in and went and got it for her. She called Renée and said she was fine, but they were keeping her overnight, which meant she most likely wouldn’t be in tomorrow—or if so, not until after the breakfast rush. Renée reassured her that things were under control and told her to take all the time she needed. They said goodbye and Clara started to autodial Rory.
    “You’re supposed to be resting,” he said in a low and gentle tone that still, to her, managed to sound overbearing and superior.
    “I am resting. And also making a few necessary calls.”
    “You just told your manager that you would be in tomorrow,” he accused.
    “No, I said I probably wouldn’t be in. If you’re going to eavesdrop on my conversations, you should listen more closely.”
    “There’s no ‘probably’ involved here. You’re not going in tomorrow.”
    “We’ll find out about that tomorrow. The decision will be made between me and my doctor.”
    “You passed out, Clara. You’ve let yourself get dehydrated.” He cast a baleful look at the bag of clear fluid hanging next to the bed and still connected to the back of her hand. “You need rest. And I’m going to see that you get what you need.”
    “Tell me, Dalton. Just when did you become the boss of me?”
    He didn’t even have the grace to take a little time to think about it, but shot right back with “This morning. You remember this morning, when you fainted in my arms? That was when I realized that someone has to take care of you or you’re just going to keep on pushing yourself until you do real damage to