Now, holding the tiny being that belonged to her, opening the blanket to count fingers and toes, Jesse experienced a new level of awe, even if baby Allie did sleep through the whole examination. “She’s beautiful.”

“Prettiest baby in the hospital,” Brock agreed. “She takes after her mama.”

He tucked a burnished red curl behind her ear. “How are you doing?”

“My baby’s here.” She flashed him a half-shy glance. “You’re here. I’ve never been better.”

Dear Reader,

I read my first romance when I was twelve. I was shopping with my mother and I begged and pleaded for her to spend fifteen cents to buy me this pretty pink book in a special display at the front of the store. An attractive couple faced off on the cover and the back teased me with the prospect of a marriage of convenience. My mother gave in, and I’ve never looked back. In fact, my latest story, Her Baby, His Proposal, is a marriage-of-convenience story. What an honor if it catches the imagination of a young reader.

Harlequin Romance® celebrates life, family and the power of love. I admire and respect this genre of fiction because no matter the hardship or loss the characters suffer, they choose to fight, to survive and to triumph.

Teresa Carpenter

Her Baby, His Proposal
Teresa Carpenter

TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON

AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG

STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID

PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

MILLS & BOON

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From bump to baby and beyond….

Whether she’s expecting or they’re adopting, a special arrival is on its way!

Follow the tears and triumphs as these couples find their lives blessed with the magic of parenthood….

Look out for more bumps and babies coming soon to Harlequin Romance®.

Next month:

Adopted: Outback Baby

by Barbara Hannay

With her baby grandson in need of her care and her former sweetheart back in town, Nell finds, at the age of thirty-nine, she may finally become a wife and mother….

Teresa Carpenter believes in the power of unconditional love and that there’s no better place to find it than between the pages of a romance novel. Reading is a passion for Teresa, a passion that led to a calling. She began writing more than twenty years ago and marks the sale of her first book as one of her happiest memories. Teresa gives back to her craft by volunteering her time to Romance Writers of America on a local and national level. A fifth generation Californian, she lives in San Diego within miles of her extensive family and knows with their help she can accomplish anything. She takes particular joy and pride in her nieces and nephews who are all bright, fit, shining stars of the future. If she’s not at a family event, you’ll usually find her at home reading, writing, or playing with her adopted Chihuahua, Jefe.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER ONE

Hey Babe,

It’s been fun but it’s over. I can’t be a father. Like you keep telling me, I haven’t grown up yet myself. Have a happy future. Good luck with the kid.

Tad

P.S. I used Tracy’s computer to set up online banking for you and took the money you owed me. Your password is goodbye.

JESSE Manning pulled the sticky note off the unopened early pregnancy test and crushed it in her fist.

Message received.

With a sick feeling of dread she rushed to Tracy’s computer, booted up and logged on to her bank account. He’d cleaned her out.

He’d left her. Taken her money and left her alone and possibly, probably, oh-God-she-prayed-she-wasn’t pregnant.

Dragging in a deep breath, she swept her red hair behind her ears and tried to regroup.

She hadn’t owed Tad any money. As always he’d owed her. A half-hysterical laugh escaped her tear-clogged throat. How ironic that he was the one who had always chided her for keeping her money in a shoebox rather than the bank. And when she finally followed his advice, he wiped her out in one swipe.

On top of that Tracy had hit her up this morning for $150 because she was short on the rent. Tad’s fond farewell along with Tracy’s shortage left Jesse reeling, emotions and finances both strained to the breaking point.

She called the bank to see if she could reverse the transaction. They advised her to put the complaint in writing and contact the police regarding the theft.

She would, too.

No more protecting Tad, no more making excuses for him. He’d gone too far this time.

His desertion didn’t surprise her. His timing could have been better, but in reality, they’d been over for a long time. But this time he hadn’t just taken from her, he could potentially have stolen from his child.

She’d made a break a year ago when she’d left him and the Midwest behind for a new beginning in San Diego. Her mistake was in believing he’d changed when he’d shown up on her doorstep three months ago.

Her spirits sank further as she realized he’d stolen her dream along with her money. Again. She wanted to teach, and had been saving for tuition and books while she gained California residency status.

Now she’d have to start saving all over again.

Ignoring the pregnancy test—she had neither the time nor the strength for that right now—she ran a brush through her hair, then reached for her mascara before running to catch the bus. She wouldn’t be sorry Tad was gone, wouldn’t regret the loss of a man too shallow to see she was the best thing that ever happened to him.

Working the tables at the Green Garter, a bar and grill not far from the 32nd Street Navy pier, she brooded on Tad’s disappearance and the thin state of her bank account. So, when Stan told her he was short-staffed, she wearily agreed to a double shift.

“Hey, red,” a voice called out, “we need another round over here.”

Clenching her teeth at the stale, hated nickname, Jesse nodded to indicate she’d heard. She caught her manager’s eye from behind the bar. His grin was really big, a reminder to smile at the customers.

Dutifully she showed her gritted teeth.

No surprise that by the time she started her second shift a headache beat behind her brown eyes. A gnawing low in her belly reminded her she hadn’t eaten since leaving for the grocery store that morning. She’d meant to grab something at home, but she’d been running behind, and Tad’s note had distracted her. Despite the hollow feeling, she lacked any desire for food.

She knew she should eat, to keep up her strength and give her a dose of energy. Lately she’d allowed herself to become run-down. At least, that’s all she’d thought her problem was until she realized she’d missed a period.

But she refused to think about the unlikely pregnancy right now. She blamed stress for her lack of appetite as she pushed the concept of a baby away along with the reminder to eat. The very notion of food made her queasy.

Which made serving the bar’s specialty—greasy burgers and fries—no easy task. The combined scents of alcohol and sweat didn’t help. Long before ten o’clock she regretted taking on the extra shift.

She’d be on until three, and the long, energy-sucking night stretched ahead of her. The Lord knew dodging the groping hands of randy sailors could be considered an aerobic sport.

“Jesse, order up.”

Hoping to settle her stomach, she grabbed a sip of cola and went back to work.

Looking for a drink and some downtime, Navy Chief Brock Sullivan entered the Green Garter. Country rock boomed loud enough to prevent thought, and the savory tang of grilling meat and onions filled the air.

His stomach growled at the mouth-watering scent. Just what he needed.

In a glance he noted the presence of friends, troublemakers and a brown-eyed, redheaded waitress. When it came to making the choice between the Garter and Mac’s Place on 31st, the view made the difference. Pretty and friendly, if a little young, the waitresses here had it all over Mac’s Place.

Set to ship out in six days, he’d spent his duty hours drilling foreign procedure into his crew, including advising them on what was needed to put their personal effects in order for a stint overseas. He’d then spent four hours taking care of his own business.

“Brock,” a voice hailed him from across the dim room.

He acknowledged the call with a wave but shook off the offer to join his fellow chiefs. Instead he chose to sit alone at his usual table in the corner.

He wanted a beer, a burger and an hour or two of bother-free time to himself.

Sprawled back in his chair, he watched the redhead approach. Call him a sexist, but he did admire a long-legged woman in a short black skirt. A white dress shirt, open to show a hint of cleavage, topped the skirt. A green garter worn high on her right thigh teased a man with the notion of peeling it from her body.

Too bad Jesse was too young for him, or he’d be tempted to spend a few hours of his remaining leave tangling the sheets with her. Seeing if her passion matched her fiery hair.

She reminded him of a time of youth and promise. Of another world and another woman, both lost to him long ago. Sherry rarely touched his thoughts after sixteen years, and when she did he lived with the guilt and her ghost for days.

“Evenin’,” the redhead greeted in a husky, slightly weary tone. She blinked as if trying to bring him into focus. “What can I get you?”

One glance at her too-pale features immediately took his mind off the rest of her body. Something was wrong, real wrong. So white the pink on her cheeks and lips stood out in garish lines, she actively swayed on her feet.

“Hey.” He instinctively reached out a hand, holding her steady with a hand under her elbow. “Are you okay?”

“I just need to sit.” She licked dry lips, but he saw perspiration beaded her delicate brow. The hand clutching her order pad rested on her abdomen. “Dizzy.”

“Sure. Here.” He stood to help her. But before he got fully to his feet, her head wheeled and she crumpled into his arms. “Well hell.”

“Jesse,” an insistent, gentle voice called to her. “Jesse. Come back now.”

Disoriented, she tried to place where she lay. The Green Garter, of course, but why was she on the floor? Why was her head spinning? What happened?

“Stand back, give her room. Jesse? Open those pretty brown eyes.”

She recognized the voice but found it impossible to place. Forcing her eyes open, she looked directly into a light overhead. Flinching, she closed her eyes again, tried moving her head away from the glare. Cloth rustled under her. Someone had placed a jacket under her head, a jacket smelling of musk and man, the scent telling her exactly who stood over her attempting to revive her.

Brock Sullivan.

“That’s my girl. Come on, sweetheart, open your eyes.” The minty scent of toothpaste told her how close he was bent over her.

Too close. Soon he’d realize she was awake, and she’d have to open her eyes and face him.

Navy Chief Brock Sullivan. Always polite, always respectful, always the one the sailors went to in a crunch. A true gentleman, except for the hungry eyes.

Sometimes when he looked at her, she felt he wanted to eat her up.

More than once she’d thought if she weren’t currently with Tad, she’d be tempted. Though Sullivan was over thirty, he was a fine specimen of manhood—over six feet, muscular but lean with it, and shoulders wide enough to carry the world.

She’d be crazy not to be tempted, especially when she looked into those true-blue eyes.

She’d heard the young crewmen talking about him. They always spoke of him with respect edged with fear. She got the impression he was strict but fair. He helped them out of tight spots but expected them to learn from their mistakes. And pay for them.

How embarrassing to fall flat at his feet. Maybe if she stayed very still, he and the others gathered around would leave her to expire of mortification on her own. Yeah, she thought as she listened to the advice being jockeyed back and forth, that was her best course of action. She had a good chance of the earth opening up and swallowing her whole. This was California after all.

Where was a good earthquake when you really needed it?

“She’s not responding,” another voice stated. “Time to call 911. She needs to go to the hospital.”

No. She couldn’t let them call 911. She had all of $39.80 in her bank account. She couldn’t afford the cost of an ambulance or a hospital.

Forcing her eyes open, she looked right into Sullivan’s vivid blue eyes.

She blinked once, twice.

“Hey,” he greeted her in a voice both gentle and calm. “Welcome back. You were out for a couple of minutes. How do you feel?”

Because she saw real concern in the depths of those incredible eyes, she tried for a smile. “Peachy.”

“Do you hurt anywhere?”

Hurt? Other than her pride? She took a minute to take stock. Her head throbbed, the nausea still churned her stomach and an ache beat on her left side below her waist. Too many sodas. So she’d cut back, switch to water and go back to work. “I’m fine. I missed lunch is all. I just got a little light-headed.”

“Lunch, huh?” He quirked a dark brow. “It’s ten o’clock. Does that mean you missed dinner, too?”

“Maybe.” She frowned, disliking being caught in a weak moment. “I’m fine now.”

To prove it, she tried to sit up. Immediately her head and stomach protested and the burn in her side flared again. Biting the inside of her lip, she tried to hide the hurt, continuing to move through the discomfort even as worry niggled at the back of her mind.

“Whoa, take it slow and easy.” He instantly offered support, his hands warm and strong on her back and upper arm.

Weak and hurting, she leaned heavily on him as she climbed to her feet. The effort cost her in pain and strength. In pride. Gratefully she settled into the chair her manager pulled forward. Stan had hovered behind Sullivan the whole time he tended to her.

She realized Stan had been the one to suggest calling 911. Pulling her shoulders back, she sat up straighter to show everyone she was fine. She couldn’t afford to be sick.

She focused on Stan. “I’m sorry for the trouble. I’m okay now. There’s no need for the hospital.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, black dots began to dance in front of her eyes. The same dots she’d seen before she fainted. Light-headed, she leaned forward in the chair letting her hair fall around her face to hide her condition from the men.

The black receded a bit, enough for her to feel the clamminess of her skin, the sweat breaking out on her brow.

No, not again. She fought off the dizziness, taking deep breaths. She needed to get back to work. She couldn’t faint again.

A gentle yet insistent hand on her hair pushed her head down between her knees. Immediately she felt the blood flow back into her head. But the ache in her side intensified, and she clutched herself.

“Okay, that’s it,” Sullivan said. “I’m taking her to the emergency room.”

“No,” Jesse protested. She tried to sit up, but his hand in her hair kept her from raising her head. Her gaze fixed on the dirty tile floor, she argued against any need for medical attention. “It’s just a headache.” She tried to convince him as she had herself. “Some aspirin and a burger, I’ll be fine.”

She pushed against the weight of his hand and this time he let her up. Biting her lip at the discomfort in her side, she glared into his blue eyes.

“You have no right to manhandle me. I’m not going to the hospital, and you can’t make me.”

Her irritation bounced off him like bubbles off stone.

“Okay.” He crossed his arms over his impressive chest. “Show me you can walk to the bar unassisted, and I’ll leave you alone.”

Jesse gauged the fifteen feet between her and the bar. Not so far. So she was a little light-headed. She’d still make it. She had no choice. She needed this job, which meant she had to make it to that bar.

Standing, more of a chore than usual, she caught her balance. Beginning by placing one foot in front of the other, she took one step, then the next. Sullivan kept pace with her. She’d blast him with a killer look, but she couldn’t spare the energy.

As Martina McBride proclaimed this one was for the girls, Jesse ran the gauntlet of eyes. The Green Garter catered to the Navy crowd. From ensigns to master chiefs, she had the attention of them all. This must have been what it felt like to walk the plank.

Except these men and women weren’t her enemies. She felt their concern, their sympathy. Somehow that made it worse.

Swaying, she caught herself on a table, holding her side with the other hand. A young man jumped up to help her, grabbing her elbow to steady her. Frantically she shook her head, trying to pull away. She had to do it on her own.

Too late.

Sullivan moved in. He wrapped an arm around her waist and led her toward the door. “Lean on me.”

His strength was too seductive to refuse. Knowing she’d fought as long and as hard as she dared, she accepted his support. Forcing down a burger wouldn’t cure her problem.

“Wait,” she pleaded when he led her outside to his black SUV, “I need my purse and coat.”

Stan appeared a moment later with both items. “Is she going to be all right?”

“I’ll let you know what the doctor says.” Sullivan lifted her into the front seat.

Stan handed through her purse and coat. “You need me to call anybody for you?”

Thinking of Tad’s goodbye note, she shook her head. He’d made it clear where he stood and it wasn’t beside her.

She stole a glance at Sullivan’s set profile. So strong, so sure, so confident he probably hadn’t made a mistake in his entire life. How could he understand her life had been one mistake after another? That every day she struggled to hold everything together.

Yes, going to the hospital made sense. If she had the money to pay for medical treatment, which she didn’t. Time for her to confess that truth to her companion.

She cleared her throat. “Listen, Chief…? Um, sir?” Exactly what did she call the man?

He glanced at her from the corners of his eyes. Looking back at the road, he held his right hand out toward her. “I’m Brock Sullivan. You can call me Brock.”

CHAPTER TWO

BROCK. Right, okay, proper introductions were good.

“I’m Jesse.” She placed her shaking hand in his. Immediate warmth and a gentle, steady grip enveloped her fingers.

“Nice to meet you, Jesse.” He released her to return his hand to the wheel. “But if you’re thinking of trying to talk me out of taking you to the hospital, save your breath.”

“You could take me home. I’ll be fine, I promise.”

He shook his head. “Jesse, you passed out. People don’t pass out for no reason. And you’ve been holding on to your side with a death grip. Something’s wrong. I’m not leaving you alone until you’ve seen a doctor.”

“I don’t have the money, okay?” she blurted, shame curling in her belly. “I can’t afford to pay the emergency room fees.”

The matter-of-fact look he turned on her spoke volumes, questioning her worry of money over her health. “I’ll cover the fees. You can pay me back.”

He made it sound so easy, so reasonable. Which somehow made her feel worse. “I can’t let you pay for me.”

“Why not?”

Wonderful. Now he wanted her to explain her irrational feelings. Not easy to do when she didn’t understand them herself.

All she knew, all that made it through the throbbing in her head, the rolling in her stomach, the pain that seemed to be everywhere, was it should be Tad with her.

And that truly was irrational. She’d received more compassion from this stranger in the past hour than she ever had from Tad.

Old habits died hard.

She’d only been in San Diego for a year, so she was by no means an authority on Navy etiquette, but she had learned one thing. A seaman’s reputation mattered. The Navy supported family values and frowned heavily on sailors having their fun but not living up to their responsibilities.

Brock deserved to know what he was letting himself in for. Only fair she give him that consideration.

“I can’t let you pay, because I think the doctor is going to tell me I’m pregnant.”

The words hung heavy in the air between Brock and Jesse.

Even in profile she saw his brows rise, then settle into place. Otherwise he showed no reaction to her announcement except to say, “Then you can’t afford not to see the doctor, can you?”

“I guess not.” Jesse cringed down in her seat, hugging her middle. Fear and denial had been her constant companions since the first niggling suspicion of pregnancy had occurred to her.

Sure she wanted kids. Someday in the future. When she had a career, a husband, a home.

Now was not good.

Now was a no-future, no-benefits job, a deadbeat, former boyfriend and a cramped apartment with an unreliable roommate.

“I heard you tell Stan there was no one to call. Does that mean the father isn’t in the picture?”

“Not anymore,” she confirmed, no longer worried about her dignity. “He left me a goodbye letter this morning.”

“Maybe if he knew—”

She raised a hand to stop him. “He taped the note to the home pregnancy test I bought last night. He found the test in my purse when he took my tip money.”

“Scum.”

She pursed her lips. “You’re flattering him.”

“So why were you with the guy?”

“Once upon a time, long, long ago, I loved him.” She laughed wearily. “What’s funny is I made the break. Moved all the way to San Diego to get rid of him.”

He sent her a pointed look. “You must have gotten together at some point.”

She closed her eyes and leaned her throbbing head against the soothing coolness of the glass window. Her left hand braced her on the seat. “He showed up a few months ago. Swore he’d changed. I held him off, but he really seemed different. He talked me into going to a party on Halloween. We were having a good time, drinking. It seemed like a good time to try again.”

The silence struck her, and she opened her eyes to focus on his strong profile silhouetted by the lights from the dash. What was she thinking?

“I’m sorry,” she told him, “TMI.”

His gaze left the road to sweep over her. “TMI?”

“Too much information.” She looked out her window, at the lights flashing by. “It was all a big mistake. And now I’m all alone.” She trailed off to a whisper, more thought than spoken.

Who could blame her for ignoring all symptoms and the possibility of pregnancy for as long as possible? She’d become so good at pretending, she hadn’t considered what her run-down condition meant to the baby. A new kind of fear cut like ice. She began to shudder as she prayed her ignorance and neglect hadn’t harmed her baby.

His large, warm hand settled over hers on the seat. “You’re not alone tonight.”

He kept his promise. Brock never left Jesse alone. Not in the waiting room, not in the emergency room, not for a moment. Not until he was asked to step outside the cubicle while the doctor conducted his exam did Brock leave her side. Even then he only left after she indicated she’d be okay without him.

Dr. Wilcox, an older gentleman with white hair and a Vandyke beard, gently poked and probed, asked a few more questions, extremely personal questions she was happy Brock wasn’t around to hear.

Of course, once a girl revealed she’d been left high and dry at her most vulnerable moment, she had few secrets left worth keeping. Answering when she last had a period, when she last engaged in intercourse were small potatoes after that.

Staring at the overhead light while the doctor completed his exam, Jesse bit off a humorless laugh. She’d already volunteered that last information to Brock.

Yeah, she was definitely on her stride today.

“You can sit up now,” Dr. Wilcox told her. After explaining she was dehydrated, he had a nurse hook her up to an IV. He then called Brock back to join them.

“Ms. Manning, I can confirm you are pregnant.”

The doctor continued to speak, but she didn’t hear another word as her mind, her heart, her soul dealt with the reality of a child growing within her.

In a single instant love filled her to overflowing, full tears flooded her eyes and her hands, cradled over her child, began to shake. She forgot every moment of denial, regretted every harsh thought as joy and wonder replaced doubt and fear.

A sense of belonging, deeper than any she’d ever known, forged an unbreakable bond between her and her baby. Silently she vowed never to let her child down.

“Ms. Manning, are you listening?” Dr. Wilcox demanded.

Jesse blinked and focused on him. “Excuse me?”

Brock reached for her hand and squeezed. “You should start over, Doctor.”

“You’re going to have to take better care of yourself.” His chastising look included Brock before the doctor turned his attention back to Jesse.

“As well as being dehydrated, you have a kidney infection, and your blood is low in iron. From what you tell me, you’re just over two months along. Still in the first trimester, which is the most dangerous time for the fetus.”

He leveled a stern gaze on Jesse that made her feel no bigger than a gnat and smaller still when he again moved the same stare to Brock who was innocent of any wrongdoing.

“You don’t understand, Doctor—”

He held up a finger, stopping her explanation. “It’s not up to me to understand, young lady. If you want to keep this baby, you need to make some changes. My recommendation is at least twenty-four hours’ bed rest, followed by a month of light activity.”

“A month…” Jesse whispered, appalled at the thought of the time off work.

“Get lots of rest, eat regular meals. I’m prescribing prenatal vitamins and iron. Drink lots of water. Cranberry juice is also good for kidney infection.” He scribbled on a pad as he spoke, then handed her the paper. “I want you to finish the IV, and I suggest you see an obstetrician soon.”

He stood, tucked the pad and pen in his coat pocket. “Good luck, Ms. Manning.” He shook her hand, nodded at Brock and left the cubicle.

Jesse pleated the paper, running her fingers over the crease again and again until Brock reached over and took it from her and placed it in her purse.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

She glanced up at him, aware she owed him an apology for the assumptions the doctor had made and the condemnation he’d shown Brock. He didn’t deserve to be cast as the bad guy when he’d done nothing but help her.

She reached for his hand. Without hesitation he wrapped his larger hand around hers and lowered himself into the chair the doctor had vacated. Her fingers felt very small in Brock’s grip, and it struck her again how strong and capable he was. She’d always be grateful to him for staying with her through this unreal night.

Forcing a smile for his benefit, she said, “Thank you so much for your help. Ever since I fainted everything has seemed surreal.” She met his direct gaze, fearing contempt but finding only sympathy. “Just having you here, seeing a familiar face helped to keep me grounded.”

“If having me here helped, I’m glad,” he said simply.

“You’ll never know how much.” Torturing her lip while uncertainty tortured her insides, she looked away. “I’m sorry the doctor blamed—”

“Stop right there.” He squeezed her fingers. “You are not responsible for what the doctor thinks.”

“But—”

“Jesse you can’t take on every misinformed person out there. Life is too short for that kind of burden. Let it go.”

“I’m still sorry. And I want you to know you don’t have to stay here with me any longer.”

He made no move to leave. “I’ll stay to see you home.”

Yes, please. She really didn’t want to be in this cold, sterile place alone. Where the people were impersonal and judgmental. But the saline solution in the IV dripped slower than molasses, and she couldn’t ask him to waste any more of his night on her. Especially when she saw the clock read 1:00 a.m.

“You’ve done enough. Besides I’m a big girl. I’ll find my own way home.”

He sat back in the chair, crossed his arms over his impressive chest and leveled a chief’s stare on her. “How? Taking the bus?”

“No.” She checked on the status of her drip, unable to look him in the eye as she lied. “A cab.”

A gentle finger under her chin turned her back to him. “Don’t start messing with me now, Jesse. No way are you paying for a cab when you’re already worried about how you’re going to take time off work for a month.”

Embarrassment heated her skin at being caught. But that didn’t mean he was obligated to stay.

A sweep of his thumb chased the red over her cheek, causing the heat to intensify. For a moment their gazes locked and held. Finally she lowered her eyes before she gave in to his persistence and begged him to stay.

“I’ll be fine,” she insisted.

He stood.

Instantly a flood of disappointment rushed through her. He was leaving. This time she couldn’t even fake a smile.

She swallowed back tears. “Bye.”

“I’m not going anywhere. Except the cafeteria. Would you like me to bring you something? You never got your burger.”

Jesse stared at him, horrified. “Oh my God. All night you’ve been with me. You haven’t eaten.”

He winked at her. “It’s not the first time. I’ll survive. Will you be all right if I leave for a few minutes?”

“Of course.”

“What would you like?”

Her stomach hadn’t settled enough to like the thought of food. “Maybe some crackers if you can find some. And cranberry juice.”

“Sure thing. Why don’t you close your eyes and rest while I’m gone.”

“I will.” She nodded, though she didn’t really want him to go.

She felt safe with him near, comforted by his concern. Without him the hospital was a cold, sterile place. But he would be out of her life soon enough; she needed to start getting used to the idea.

CHAPTER THREE

IT WAS nearly two when Brock helped Jesse to her door. He frowned as he surveyed the run-down condition of the apartment complex. Not surprising, considering the area.

More asleep than awake, Jesse stumbled. He moved his hand from her elbow to her waist to help her up the stairs to the second floor. The night had taken a toll on her, both emotionally and physically.

He felt the weight of fatigue himself after a twenty-hour day. And with his crew shipping out in a few days, he needed to be up and alert again in less than four hours.

Plus the sooner he delivered her into the safe haven of her home and got back to his life the better. She was a sweet kid—older than he’d originally thought but with twelve years between them, still a kid.

Music, loud in the early-morning stillness, beat behind the door Jesse stopped beside. A resigned look of disgust deepened the exhaustion on her face.

She blocked his path with a hand on his chest and tried for a smile no more successful than the pathetic attempts she’d made at the hospital. There wasn’t a whole lot of pretense about Jesse.

“Thanks for all your help tonight.” She hesitated as if wanting to say more, but she only opened the door and stepped inside. Behind her, smoke filled the room, thick and cloying. Three people, two men and a woman, sprawled across the mismatched furniture. Hip-hop came from a stereo on top of a plastic crate doing duty as a coffee table.

When the smoke hit Jesse, she went white then green.

With a bravery that told him of the effort it cost her, she lifted her chin and said goodbye.

“I won’t forget what you did for me. Have a nice life.”

Brock made it all the way back to the top of the stairs before his conscience got the better of him. Perhaps his memories of Sherry made him more sensitive tonight, but he couldn’t leave Jesse to deal with that crowd alone.

If he’d listened to his gut and his brother sixteen years ago, he wouldn’t have destroyed the most important things in his life. In one fell swoop he lost his fiancée, his future and his family’s respect.

The thought of spending the next six months haunted by Jesse’s courageous brown eyes turned Brock around. Determined strides carried him back to apartment 2B. He knocked, then stepped inside. The three in the living room looked at him with dazed disinterest.

“Hey, man.” A limp young man with greasy brown hair roused enough to notice Brock. “You bring any with you?”

Brock ignored him, convinced he’d done the right thing in coming back for Jesse. He headed for the hall and the bedrooms figuring she’d go straight to bed. A movement to the left drew his attention. She sat at the kitchen table, her head in her hands.

She looked up when he stopped beside her. The fire of anger burned through the tears pooled in her whiskey-bright eyes. “Someone’s in my bed.”

He hunkered down to her level and ran a soothing hand over her thick amber hair. “Which room is yours?”

“The one on the right.”

“Get your purse and jacket. I’ll be right back.” He pushed to his feet.

She grabbed his wrist. “Brock, it’s okay.”

He gently pried her fingers free and placed her hand on the table. “No, it’s not. You’d better get what you need from the bathroom, as well. I’m taking you to my place for the night. I have an extra room in my condo. You can stay there.”

In the hall, too grand a name for the four-foot-long space, he flipped open the door on the right and flicked on the lights. On the bed a man and woman sprang apart.

“Hey,” the man yelped in outrage. “Get out. This room is occupied.”

The woman grabbed the sheet to cover herself. The man yanked a pillow into his lap.

“Not anymore,” Brock told him in the tone he reserved for raw recruits, sparing a glance for the woman. “Get dressed and get out. This room doesn’t belong to you.”

“Tracy said we could use it.” The man muttered belligerently.

“Tracy doesn’t pay the rent for this room. Jesse does. Do you have Jesse’s permission to be here? No. So get dressed and leave. Now.”

The couple glared at him, making no move to follow his directive. Brock put them from his mind. He went to the closet and pulled out a sport duffel. Going to the bureau, he filled the bag with the essentials he thought Jesse would need for the night.

He returned to the kitchen where she waited. She had her purse in her lap, her coat over her arm and a cosmetic bag on the table next to her.

“Ready?” he asked, reaching for her coat to help her into it.

Behind him the man and woman exited Jesse’s room, went to the front door and left. Brock ignored them and the dark looks they sent his way.

Jesse watched them go, her total lack of expression telling him the extent of her weariness. “They’re gone. I don’t have to go now.”

Funny, she didn’t sound relieved. Then he saw her glance distastefully down the hall toward her room. Obviously, she found the thought of sleeping in a bed recently used for recreational purposes less than appealing.

It didn’t matter. No way he was leaving her here.

“Can you walk or should I carry you?”

“You’ve already done too much,” she protested. Pride showed in the lift of her chin even as tear-heavy brown eyes pleaded with him.

But pleaded for what? Did she want him to leave her alone or insist on her compliance? She sadly overestimated his stamina if she thought he had the ability, or patience, to read minds at this time of night.

“Jesse,” a shrill voice called above the music. “Who is this guy? Where’s Tad?”

Brock turned his attention to the living area where the washed-out blond woman perched on the edge of a brown plaid couch. He met her suspicious gaze impassively. Finally, a show of concern on Jesse’s behalf. He’d begun to wonder if she had anyone who cared about her, who’d be there to help her through a difficult pregnancy.

Maybe she did just want him to leave.

“My roommate, Tracy,” Jesse told him and then raised her voice to say, “Tad’s gone.”

The woman frowned. She reached out and turned off the stereo. Blessed silence followed.

“What did you say?” Her shrill attitude made him wish for the music back. “Where’s Tad?”

“Gone,” Jesse informed her flatly. “He left.”

“Left where?” Tracy demanded. She licked her lips. “He usually brings the beer. Why are you home so early, anyway? I figured you’d taken a second shift.”

So much for the roommate’s concern.

“And what?” Jesse demanded. “You decided to throw a party?” The bite in the question didn’t quite disguise the underlying disillusionment. “You told me this morning you were going to work a second shift to pay back the money you borrowed for the rent.”

Tracy answered with a dismissive shrug. “There’s plenty of time to make that up before rent is due again.”

During all he’d seen her go through tonight, Jesse had lifted that delicate chin and kept on going. Now, for the first time, defeat stole the life from her expression.

He reached for her as her strength gave out and she went limp in his arms.

She looked up as if seeking reassurance from him. Then she blinked and the hope disappeared. “Please take me away from here.”

That’s all he needed to hear. He hooked the shoulder strap of her sport bag over his shoulder, then thrust her purse and cosmetic bag into her hands. But she stopped him when he would have swept her into his arms.

“I’m walking out of here on my own steam.”

“Let’s go.” He nodded approval before he opened the door, and they were in the clean night air on the way home.

Jesse slept the day away. She’d been beyond thought, beyond emotion by the time Brock tucked her between the clean sheets of his spare bed.

“I have duty in a few hours.” He’d competently and impersonally helped her strip off her blouse, skirt and shoes. “Sleep as long as you want. Don’t leave this bed except to use the bathroom and for meals. Help yourself to anything in the fridge. I’ll be back around six.”

She dragged the covers up to her chin. On principle she should protest his high-handed attitude, but sleeping for the next twelve hours sounded like heaven so she didn’t.

A thought nagged at the back of her mind, and she finally came up with the memory of work.

“I have first shift tomorrow.”

“The doctor said no work.” He turned the switch on the bedside lamp until only the dim light in the base lit the room. “I’ll call Stan in the morning and let him know you’ll be out for two weeks.”

She’d been going to protest—no way she could miss work—but the next thing she knew, she awoke to sunlight streaming around closed blinds.

She fought the waking, clinging to unconsciousness to combat the aches and pains waiting for her on the other side. Already the throbbing behind her eyeballs put a dent in her defenses.

In the end the need for the bathroom lost her the war.

Dragging her body out of bed, holding her tender head, she stumbled around until she found the navy-blue and pewter bathroom. Right where Brock Sullivan had told her it would be.

And it all came flowing back to her. The baby. Tad’s leaving. The disaster at her place last night.

She didn’t remember the part where she got hit by the truck, the two-trailer semi, but it must have happened because that’s what her body felt like.

The cool water felt so good against the skin of her hands, she splashed her face, too. And that felt wonderful, too. Then she remembered coming to, on the floor of the Green Garter, and the skanky feeling of strangers having sex in her bed. The mirror reflected the navy-blue shower curtain behind her. That’s all the encouragement she needed to step out of her bra and panties and under the shower spray. For a few blessed moments she forgot everything else, even the memory of Brock stripping her of her clothes last night.

He’d truly seen her at her lowest. At least, she hoped it was her lowest.

What was she going to do? She had a baby growing inside her. She cupped her lower belly as the warm water ran over her. But the doctor said if she wanted to save the baby, she needed to rest and take it easy.

How was she going to take care of herself and the baby if she couldn’t work?

By getting off her feet was the first answer, so she shut off the water, dried off, then wore the towel to the corner of the bedroom where Brock had thrown her bag. She searched through it twice, but he’d forgotten to include a nightie. The thought of tight jeans or shorts didn’t appeal, so she pulled on clean panties and went in search of a T-shirt from Brock’s room.

The gray carpeting in the hall moved right into his room. Black replaced the navy in here. Black, square-edged furniture topped the light-gray carpeting, while a pewter-gray comforter covered the bed he hadn’t bothered to make this morning. Probably because he only got three hours of sleep last night.

The room smelled like him. Clean and masculine. It made her skin prickle. She’d been surrounded by that scent last night, and she was reminded of his strength and competency. She felt safe with him and cared for. And she wanted the feeling again.

So instead of searching for a clean shirt, she reached for the one tossed across a black chair. She held the white cotton to her nose and inhaled. Yes, that was his male scent. She pulled the shirt over her head and sighed. Better already.

Next she went to the kitchen where she took her vitamins with a full bottle of water. Then she drank a glass of cranberry juice that Brock had stopped for on their way to his place in the early hours of the morning.

Her energy gave out on her at that point, and she crashed back into bed.

“Excuse me, Chief. Do you have a minute, sir?”

Brock signed his authorization on a requisition, handed off the clipboard and turned his attention to the seaman apprentice waiting for a response. “What can I do for you, Sanchez?”

The young sailor glanced around nervously. Blood rose up his neck turning his swarthy complexion a ruddy brown. He cleared his throat, stretched his neck.

Brock’s attention sharpened. “What is it, sailor? You have something to report?”

“No, sir.” Another throat clearing. “Chief…sir, I was wondering…” He trailed off, took a deep breath, and grinned real big. “I’m getting married, sir, tomorrow. Would you be my best man, sir?”

Brock crossed his arms over his chest and fixed his concentration on his crewmember. Sea tours often provoked rushed marriages. In Brock’s experience most such marriages failed to go the distance.

“Have you thought this through, Sanchez? Are you sure you don’t want to wait until you get back? It’s only a few months.”

“No, man—I mean, no, sir.” Sanchez didn’t shuffle his feet, but Brock could tell it was a near thing. “I want to do this now. I love Angela. You made me see that when you made me question why I was always so jealous of her. I want to marry her.” He lowered his voice. “She’s pregnant. I want her to have good benefits, you know, while I’m gone.”

For all his nervousness, Sanchez projected an aura of excitement. And he was stepping up, being responsible. Brock couldn’t fault the young sailor for taking action like a man. Brock held out his hand.

“Congratulations. Sure I’ll be your best man. Just tell me when and where.”

Jesse woke up feeling human again. She was hungry, which she took as a good sign. Back in the kitchen she cut up an apple. Wanting a change of scenery from the bedroom, she carried her snack to the couch and put her feet up.

For the next hour and a half she tried to come up with a solution to her problem but still had no answers of how she could survive without working when Brock walked through the door at six.

Just seeing him lifted her spirits. A weird experience, one she’d truly never had before. Not at home, not with Tad. But here it was with this stranger at a time in her life when she needed it most.

Too bad it had to end so soon. No doubt he meant to take her home as soon as he got cleaned up. Not that he looked bad. He wore a beige uniform, short-sleeved with lots of bars on the arm. It gave him an aura of power and authority.

He came into the living room when he saw her and sat on the coffee table to survey her.

Self-conscious under his intense, blue scrutiny, she smiled shyly.

He nodded. “You’re looking better. How do you feel?”

“Rested.”

“That’s good.” He hit his thighs and rose to his feet. “I’m going to fix us some dinner, then we’ll talk.”

Talk? What did they have to talk about? She appreciated everything he’d done for her, but she wasn’t his responsibility and she couldn’t continue to allow him to take on her problems.

With that in mind she returned to the room he’d given her, made the bed and changed into her own clothes. She sat on the bed when she finished, amazed by how weak the slightest effort made her.

She hadn’t called Stan today because Brock had said he would and because she didn’t know what she was going to say when she finally talked to him. She knew she should consider alternatives to keeping her baby, not only for her sake but for the baby’s, as well.

The love she already felt prevented her from exploring any other option. It may be selfish of her, but her heart demanded no other decision.

If that’s what Brock meant to talk about, he could save his breath. She’d already made up her mind.

He grilled steaks, tossed a salad and baked potatoes. She ate a few bites of each, not managing more as she’d eaten the apple only a short while ago. She enjoyed watching him, the flex of muscle as he cut his meat, the strong movement of his jaw as he chewed, the focused concentration with which he did both.

He told her of his day, entertaining her with the comic antics of his crew as they got ready to ship out. She laughed, as he meant her to, but under the humor she grew saddened to hear he’d be leaving soon.

Oh no, she caught herself before the thought went any further. She had no business having feelings regarding him one way or another.

Hadn’t she learned anything from Tad running out on her and their child? She should be cursing all men as scum. Look at the examples in her life. Her father had been a disinterested spectator, Tad a disinterested parasite, and tomorrow Stan would probably turn out to be a disinterested employer.

By no means prime specimens.

At the very least, she should mark Brock down in the disinterested stranger category and move on. She sighed. Okay, the incredibly gorgeous, disinterested stranger category.

So he’d been solicitous and gentle and attentive. So what?

So he’d gone out of his way for her not once, but twice. So what?

So he hadn’t washed his hands of her when he could have. So what?

So he’d stripped her nearly bare without copping a feel. No big deal, right?

Wrong.

He’d been good to her when he didn’t have to be. Better than anyone in a long, long time. She may not have known him for long, but yeah, she’d miss him when he left.

“You ready to talk?” Brock set a glass of cranberry juice on the coffee table within easy reach. He sat in the black leather La-Z-Boy adjacent to the couch.

“There’s no reason to drag this out, Brock.” She smiled to show no hard feelings. “I’m packed and ready to go.”

“Not so fast. You shouldn’t have to go through this pregnancy alone. Tell me more about Tad.”

“Tad and I were best buddies since the fifth grade. My parents were undemonstrative people who should never have had a child. When he was lucky, Tad’s parents flat-out ignored him. When he wasn’t so lucky, he dodged fists and bottles. His dad had a hard time keeping a job, and his mother didn’t even try. They got a divorce so she could claim welfare. It made me sick to hear her call her benefit installment a paycheck. They were the worst kind of parasites, always acting entitled as if the world owed them.

“I should have known Tad would turn out just like them.”

“What about your family?” he asked.

She shook her head, emphatic in her response before he finished his question. “I was nothing more than a duty to my parents. I felt their indifference every day I lived in their home. I won’t subject my child to the lack of emotion I grew up with.” She swept her hair behind her ear. “We’re better off on our own.”

“You need to take it easy for the next six weeks. How are you going to manage that?”

Dread clenched her insides. Lord, she didn’t know.

“The rent is paid for the next three weeks.” She worked hard to keep the uncertainty out of her voice. “There must be some program to help me. I promised myself when things started getting bad, I’d never go on welfare. But my baby is more important than my pride. I’ll do whatever is necessary to protect her.”

“Her?”

Jesse frowned, confused by his question until she realized she’d given her baby a sex. A slip of the tongue there. But she couldn’t deny wanting to give this child everything she hadn’t had as a little girl. She may not have much in the way of creature comforts to offer, but she had overwhelming love. Which personal experience had taught her was the most precious gift a child could receive.

“Jesse, I have a suggestion.” Brock leaned forward in the black chair. “I don’t want you to answer right away. Take tonight, think about it. Tomorrow morning you can give me your answer, but no later, because I only have a few days. Whatever you decide, I want you to know you’ll always be safe with me.”

Dismayed, she met his gaze straight-on. Had he somehow read her negative thoughts? Looking into his clear, steady eyes, she saw his compassion, his honesty and knew she could trust him in ways she’d never been free to trust anyone before.

“You may think me a naive, trusting fool,” she said. How could he not after she had so easily bared her entire awful history to him? “But don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself. And I’ll take care of my baby, too.”

He lifted a hand toward her hair, but pulled back before touching her. “I think you’re incredibly courageous and giving. And I don’t think you should have to take care of yourself and the baby alone. I want to help. If you marry me, you’ll have medical care and a place to stay.”

She stared at him unblinking, truly uncomprehending for a full minute. “Marry you?”

“It’s not as far-fetched as it sounds. The Navy provides full benefits. As my wife you’d have access to all of them. An obstetrician for you. A pediatrician for the baby. There’d be other Navy wives to help and advise you. You’d be able to take some classes, aim for a career.”

Jesse blinked. It sounded wonderful.

In fact, it sounded too good to be true.

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