Finding Her Prince. Robyn Donald

doctor, brilliant and wealthy. Yet she felt sorry for him. And that was stupid. It could potentially weaken the hard crust around her feelings. And that would be a disaster.

      If she made it through this pregnancy and delivered a healthy baby, it would be in no small part because of Nathan’s support at this traumatic time. She would be forever grateful to him, but they were having a baby, not a relationship. That’s the only reason she was living in his house.

      The emotional health of her heart depended on remembering that.

       Chapter Nine

      Cindy had always thought that leather belonged on animals, not furniture, but that was before she’d experienced Nathan’s decor. All afternoon she’d been relaxing on his family room corner group. The cushy feel of the soft leather had changed her opinion. And the TV wasn’t bad either. It had to be at least a seventy-five-inch screen. In her tiny house it would be too big, but this room accommodated it perfectly.

      “So size does matter,” she said to herself.

      She was watching an old chick flick starring Steve McQueen and Natalie Wood. The TV was so big and clear she could see practically every pore in the actress’s flawless face.

      Glancing at her watch, she realized it was after seven. Shirley was out and Nathan hadn’t returned from the hospital. She was getting hungry and wondered whether to go digging into his provisions. Mi casa, su casa, he had said. Before she could decide, the front door opened and closed, then he walked in lugging plastic bags of groceries in both hands.

      “Hi,” she said. “Need some help?”

      “This is everything.” His eyes narrowed on her. “And you’re here because of questions like that. Your job right now is to carry nothing heavier than the TV remote.”

      “Then you should be proud because today I totally rocked this remote control. It got an excellent workout.”

      He carried the bags into the kitchen and set them on the granite-covered island in the center. While he unloaded them, he asked, “How do you feel?”

      She muted the TV sound before answering. “Good. Normal. No more pains. Not even a hint of a cramp.”

      “Excellent.”

      “I’m thinking it’s okay to go back to work.”

      He was putting a box into the pantry and turned to stare at her. “Your doctor advised you to rest for several weeks.”

      “But I feel fine.”

      “That’s great. And we want to keep it that way. So just relax and go with it.” He closed the cupboard door. “Where’s Shirley?”

      “Astrology class. She was going to skip it and stay with me, but I talked her into going.” He didn’t respond and she added, “You don’t seem surprised.”

      “I’m not. Shirley keeps busy.”

      “She showed me some sketches for a mural in the baby’s room.”

      “Oh?” He put bananas in a cobalt blue pottery bowl on the island.

      “They’re really good ideas—for either a boy or girl. She’s quite an artist.”

      “Shirley’s had a lot of practice.”

      “That’s exactly what she said,” Cindy informed him.

      She was looking for some kind of clue as to how he felt about that, but he gave her no reaction, as if he’d perfected not reacting. And really that information was need-to-know. She didn’t need to. Nathan’s relationship with his mother was none of her business. But the fact that he called her Shirley spoke volumes.

      When the silence stretched between them, she asked, “So what’s in the bags?”

      He wadded up the empty ones and threw them in the trash. “Nothing now. But I got you peanut butter and jelly.”

      She wanted to go all mushy inside from the gesture but held back. “What kind?”

      “Crunchy. I wasn’t sure what kind you liked, but how can anyone not like crunchy?”

      “Sound logic,” she approved. “And jelly?”

      “That was a tougher decision. I fell back on personality.”

      “How so?” She sat up straighter and tucked her legs to the side.

      “Strawberry seemed way too cheerful, so I went with grape.”

      “You think I’m more sour grapes?”

      He rested his hands on the counter separating the two rooms. “Am I wrong?”

      “I think I’m a peach of a person,” she said.

      “If you don’t like grape, I’ll go back to the store and get peach.”

      “No. Grape’s my favorite.”

      But how gallant of him to make another trip. Her heart gave an odd little skip that she hoped was about her “delicate condition.” The warm, fluttery feeling in the pit of her stomach could be nothing more than normal for a pregnant woman. One could hope, anyway.

      “What else did you get at the store?” she asked.

      “Lots of healthy stuff. Fruit. Vegetables.”

      “I don’t like broccoli.” She rested an elbow on the arm of the sofa.

      “Then you don’t have to eat any. And in case you weren’t kidding about the cravings, I got pickles and ice cream.”

      She’d never been much of an ice cream addict, but suddenly the idea of it made her mouth water. “What kind of ice cream? And please don’t say Rocky Road to complement my difficult personality.”

      He grinned. “Cookies and cream.”

      “Sounds yummy.”

      “I’m sensing symptoms of hunger. What else tempts your appetite?” he asked.

      “Peanut butter and banana.”

      “Coming right up,” he said without hesitation or editorializing.

      She watched him work, pulling out plates, bread, the jar of crunchy peanut butter and the bananas. A warmth trickled through her that had nothing to do with the baby growing inside her. If she had to describe the feeling, the first word that popped into her head was pampered.

      And perturbed.

      He looked so cute moving around the kitchen making sandwiches. A feast for the eyes as she watched the muscles in his biceps bunch and his broad shoulders square off on the task. She was uneasy because when she’d agreed to temporarily move in with him, her concern had been mostly for the baby but partly about him being exhausted. She’d never considered him hanging around with her and unleashing a siege on her senses.

      “How was work?” she asked. Anything to get her mind off this personal turn her thoughts had taken.

      “The gladiator is holding his own against the lions and tigers. But his prognosis is still guarded.”

      “Why?”

      He walked over to her with a plate in each hand before handing her one and setting the other on the coffee table. “Because he’s fragile and anything can happen. Do you want milk with dinner?”

      “What are you having?”

      “A beer since I’m officially off call.” He rested his hands on lean hips. “But I don’t think you’d better have one.”

      “It doesn’t even sound good and probably wouldn’t be the best choice for the baby.”