A Suitable Wife: A Sweetwater Springs Novel (14 page)

She swallowed, her eyelids heavy.

Heaven was one slick thrust away.

A faint cry drifted from the bedrooms upstairs, growing in intensity. Rosie froze, and Sam whispered an obscenity.

“I’ll go.” She gave him a quick kiss. “Hold that thought.”

Grasping both sides of the chair seat, he tried to regain his sanity while she stepped back into the scrap of lace that served as panties and hurried from the room.

After several deep breaths, Sam righted his clothing and headed for the stairs, deciding to wait in the bedroom.

“Sam!”

Rosie’s cry of distress had him taking the stairs two at a time, heart thumping crazily. He rounded the landing as she ran into the bathroom with Lorelei in her arms. She stripped off Lorelei’s night clothes, snapping orders and information like a drill sergeant.

“Run some tepid water. I’ll undress her. We’ve got to lower her temp. It’s a hundred and three.” Her voice mirrored the panic rising in his throat. She held Lorelei on her lap with a hand tucked around her chest and pulled her cartoon panties off. “Has she had symptoms like this before when she teethed?” She smoothed the damp hair off the little girl’s forehead.

Sam shook his head at her questions while starting the bath water. “No. Nothing like this.” He helped lower Lorelei into the tub, her heated skin a shock. She looked so listless, her eyes dull and bloodshot. Cold claws of fear gripped his heart, bringing him to a halt.

“I’ll bathe her. Call her doctor and see what he thinks we should do.” Rosie shook his arm, leaving droplets on his skin. “Sam?”

“Right. I’ll be back.” He blinked hard against suddenly hot eyelids as he located the doctor’s phone number and punched them into his cell phone with shaking fingers.
Please, please let her be okay. I should have been watching her, checking on her.

“Sweetwater Springs Children’s Clinic answering service. Martha speakin’,” the mature voice drawled.

Sam rushed into his explanation, but was interrupted.

“You’ve reached the answering service, Mr. Moreland. Give me your number, and I’ll page the doctor right away. Meanwhile, you might try a tepid bath. It’s worked more than once with my grandkids. The doctor on call will be in touch with you soon.” Martha’s confident, matter-of-fact manner soothed Sam’s nerves.

“Thanks, Martha.” He dutifully recited the number on his way back toward the bathroom and the sounds of splashing. “I’ll keep my cell phone with me.”

Rosie squeezed water over Lorelei’s chest and shoulders. Wringing most of the water from a baby washcloth, she wiped the little girl’s face. He lifted her while Rosie wrapped a fluffy towel around her tiny body and took her temperature again. Lorelei remained limp, her cries weak.

“How long ago did you give her the children’s acetaminophen?” he asked.

“Less than an hour.” The thermometer beeped and she pulled it away from Lorelei’s ear, her eyes alarmed. “Sam! The bath didn’t help. Her temp is three-tenths higher than before. What did the doctor say?” Her voice shook.

“I got his answering service. He’s supposed to call any minute.” He lifted the cell phone to indicate he was ready for the call, and she nodded.

“I don’t know what else to do. I’m pretty sure Sara mentioned doctors don’t recommend alcohol rubs anymore. Should we try another—”

The ring of his cell interrupted her. “Hello?”

“This is Doctor Avery.”

Sam explained the situation.

“Bring her to the emergency clinic. I’ll meet you there. And try to stay calm. Young children often run high fevers over very routine illnesses.”

“Thanks, Doctor. We’re on our way.” Sam ended the call, feeling slightly better now that a professional had agreed to look at Lorelei. “We’re supposed to bring her to the emergency clinic,” he explained.

Twenty minutes later they left the dark of night behind, walked into the eye-stabbing brightness of the clinic and met Dr. Avery. He ushered Rosie and Lorelei through a pair of swinging doors, leaving Sam to fill in the necessary new patient information.

He completed the tedious forms and waited for his insurance card to be copied by a woman in faded fuchsia scrubs. His nerves stretched tighter and tighter as he tried to concentrate on the task at hand. What if Lorelei needed him?

Rosie’s voice reached him as he handed the clipboard of completed forms back across the counter. “You’re sure she’ll be all right?”

Sam swiveled toward the voices, straining to hear every word. Rosie’s voice echoed his feelings, wanting to believe his little girl would be fine, but fearing it wasn’t that simple.

“Absolutely. This antibiotic should take care of the ear infection. Keep the numbing solution on her gums as needed and give her acetaminophen every four hours for the next twenty-four, then on an as-needed basis.”

The doctor’s words leached the tension from Sam’s system. He started forward as the handsome, young doctor and Rosie rounded the corner, their voices carrying easily in the empty corridor. Lorelei lay slumped over Rosie’s shoulder.

“Don’t skip a dose on the antibiotic and make sure she takes the full ten days of it, even if she seems completely well.” Dr. Avery received a megawatt smile from Rosie as he finished his instructions.

“I will, Doctor. Thank you.” She hugged Lorelei to her. The relief evident in her loving expression reflected Sam’s own. His gaze roamed over her face. Her lips still bore the mark of their heated kisses, but it was the feeling in her voice that stuck in his mind.

She loved his daughter.

Sam pushed his hands into his slacks pockets and breathed deeply to calm the tendrils of panic pulling at him.

“Any further questions?” Dr. Avery asked.

“How long before she starts acting herself again?” Rosie’s total concentration was on his daughter and her health.

“Children are very resilient. I’d expect twenty-four hours to make a big difference. If not, call my office with an update. I’d like to see her in two weeks to follow up.”

“I’ll see to it,” Sam stated, reaching to smooth his daughter’s hair away from her face. He needed the contact, to reassure himself she was okay.

Rosie swung around, elation in her voice. “Did you hear? An ear infection and teething, but she’s going to be fine.”

“That’s great,” Sam responded. “Why don’t you let me take her? She’s heavy.” He reached for Lorelei, who tightened her arm around Rosie’s neck and hung on.

“It’s okay. I don’t mind.” The bright warmth shining in Rosie’s cool blue eyes was a striking combination. Why had he thought any of them could escape this marriage unscathed? He’d pushed hard for more involvement from Rosie, though they probably could have gotten by with less. The result was that she’d thrown herself into her roles wholeheartedly, despite the certainty of eventual heartache. Lorelei had responded to Rosie’s mothering as any maternally starved child would.

Bill would be pleased. Anyone could see the intensity of the bond. Funny how the knowledge didn’t bring the level of smug satisfaction he’d thought it would. What struck him as monumental was the idea that a loving family was within his grasp. Rosie held fast to the rhetoric he’d spouted. Temporary arrangement. Agreement. Charade. He was sick to death of hearing those words. Was it simply a defense mechanism because she thought he didn’t return her feelings?

He’d seen the level of her emotional involvement, pretended her tears during lovemaking and the tender glances when she thought he wasn’t looking were nothing to be concerned about. Now they gave him hope.

The two females in his life had risked their hearts, while he’d tried to protect his. Didn’t he owe them the same in return?

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

T
he first tinges of light were streaking the horizon when Sam returned to the SUV after refilling the gas tank. With a quick backwards glance in his sleeping daughter’s direction, he plopped a Sunday newspaper in Rosie’s lap, opened to the society section. She gaped at a picture which captured their first kiss as husband and wife, with Lorelei looking on from within the crook of her arm. Their small wedding had warranted more than the usual announcement in the Little Rock newspapers and had been picked up by the wire services. At least one of the onlookers had been a reporter with a camera and there were candid quotes from friends and neighbors.

Would the press cover the dissolution of her marriage as well? She accepted its eventual demise as a fact. Even so, the question made her heart ache—an ominous omen of what her future held.

“
That’s
what I couldn’t remember earlier, when we were going to bed,” Sam said, pointing to the newspaper shrouded in darkness now that they’d pulled away from the brilliance of the gas station. “Bill mentioned it when he called right after we got home. A reporter friend of his gave him an early warning.”

“I guess you’re used to this sort of thing.”

Sam grimaced. “I’m not sure anyone ever gets used to it. All you can hope is that something else happens to one-up you.”

“We’ll be old news tomorrow, don’t you think?” Viewing the passing scenery, so small-town and commonplace, she found it incredible that her actions were news to begin with.

“There’s no way of knowing. Lorelei and I will be fine at home. We can ignore the phone and doorbell, but that’s not possible at your shop. You could even get an overzealous gossip reporter looking to fill air time.”

Have a reporter shove a video camera and microphone in her face while conferring with a bride or worse, a grieving customer? “I can’t have them interrupting my workday. You’re a writer. Couldn’t you draft something? Issue a statement?”

“That’s not a half-bad idea. I’ll work on it first thing and run it by Bill. If anyone bothers you, tell them I’ll give them something before the day is done.”

She mumbled her agreement, dozing on the short trip home.

They’d barely made it inside the house, when the ominous
Law and Order
“cha-chung” sounded from his cell phone. She vaguely remembered hearing the sound before. Was it yesterday? Jeezus Pete, it felt like they’d lived a week since then.

He pulled the phone from his belt, and she turned toward the stairs. By the time Lorelei had taken her medicine and fallen asleep, the sun was glowing orange through the trees. Rosie stepped into a hot shower, needing its reviving properties before a long workday. Only one other idea sounded as invigorating, but there wasn’t time if she was to get current on her paperwork before opening the shop. Besides, if Sam was smart, he was catching a nap while he could.

Instead, he surprised her with a strong cup of tea, toast and jam while she dressed. He enveloped her in a quick hug and pressed a kiss to her temple. “Don’t exhaust yourself working late. I’ll have dinner ready about six, and we can turn in early.”

He left, obviously not expecting a response. In her weary state, his quiet consideration was almost too much for her tender heart to bear.

Rosie was descending the stairs when the doorbell rang. She hurried to open the door so Lorelei wouldn’t waken. It was half open before it occurred to her the person on the other side could be a reporter.

The face was familiar, yet they’d never met.

“Jasmine?” What was
she
doing here? Had Sam called her about Lorelei’s illness? Doubtful. Even if he had, there hadn’t been time for Jasmine to catch a flight.

“Stop staring and step aside. I know Sam lives here, and I want to see my kid,” the woman ordered.

Rosie wasn’t impressed and hadn’t the time for patience. She widened the opening. “Lower your voice. Your daughter is sleeping.”

Jasmine pushed her way past Rosie and into the room. “She’s always sleeping. Isn’t that what babies do? Are you the new nanny?” Jasmine wore monstrous heels and towered over her. A haughtier, more dismissive expression would have been hard to find.

Surely the woman knew her child was past the baby stage. The thought of what she’d put Lorelei through made Rosie want to shove her back through the door and lock it.

“I’m Rosie Moreland.”

“Moreland? Are you some backwoods relation of Sam’s?”

“Some might see it that way.”

“Look, I didn’t come here to talk in riddles. Whoever you are, go get my daughter. I want to see her. Sam had no right to take her so far away from me.”

When Rosie didn’t move to do her bidding, Jasmine’s words took on a plaintive tone. “I’m her mother. I’ve nearly died with wanting to see her these last few weeks.” She threw herself into the role, ending with a dry sob.

“Save the theatrics for someone who’ll believe them. There’s no audience here to influence, and I’m hardly going to give my opinions to the press. If you’d like to wait for Lorelei to finish her nap, you may do so.” Rosie gestured toward the sofa, hoping Sam had heard the doorbell and would show himself soon. What was she to do with this rude and obnoxious woman?

Rosie gave her a once-over as Jasmine did the same to the living room.
So this is what a famous cover model looks like.

Thin to the point of emaciation—but with stunning looks, long shiny black hair, and a well-tailored pants suit, Jasmine exuded glamour. She walked around the room, leaving in her wake an unpleasant mixture of expensive perfume and stale cigarette smoke. Her nose wrinkled slightly before she perched on the edge of the couch as if it might contaminate her designer clothes.

She flicked a glance over Rosie. “Where’s Sam?”

“He’ll be in soon.”

A calculating look crossed Jasmine’s features. “He’s not here, is he?” She arched one eyebrow and stood. “I’ll see my daughter now, even if she’s sleeping. I really don’t have time to wait.”

Over my dead body.
Rosie calmly clasped her hands together and squared her shoulders. “You won’t disturb her and neither will I. She’s sick, and she needs her rest.”

“Sick?” Distaste curled Jasmine’s upper lip, inspiring Rosie.

“Oh, yes. We even had to rush her to the emergency clinic last night. You never know what might happen with kids.” She performed an elaborate shudder as Jasmine paled.

“Sometimes they projectile vomit, especially when they’re running a temperature—possibly contagious—and I try to be prepared. Those plastic zippered bags in the gallon size make a handy barf bag.” Rosie fought the urge to laugh at the look of revulsion on the other woman’s face.

“Did I mention she has an ear infection? I’m so glad the pressure hadn’t built up enough for the eardrum to burst. That can be pretty messy when the infection drains. Sometimes there’s blood with it. I know you’re relieved to hear it wasn’t that bad.”

“Blood?” Jasmine looked like she was the one ready to lose her stomach’s contents. She swallowed audibly. “Look, I’m on a very tight schedule here. Tell Sam I’ll come back this evening, will you?” She grabbed a Louis Vuitton handbag Rosie suspected cost way more than the average person spent on their mortgage and made a swift exit.

In the sudden quiet, Rosie didn’t regret one word. Regardless of the circumstances, she’d held her own against the insufferable woman. She smiled with the knowledge until Sam pushed through the dining room door, clapping. He pulled her into a fierce hug.

“You have no idea how proud I am of you. Here I was, intending to come in and rescue you. But you didn’t even need me. That scene was worth every bad moment I’ve had since Bill said Jasmine came to his office demanding to see her kid.”

“And he told her to come here?”

“After I approved it, sure. I can’t deny Jasmine visitation.”

Rosie recoiled at his words, but he didn’t seem to notice. Her anger was irrational. She wasn’t the love of Sam’s life. Not even close. Didn’t want to be. But, oh, it hurt that he’d been warned and hadn’t bothered to share the probability of his ex-wife’s impending visit.

“I’m telling you, I’ve never seen anyone handle Jasmine like you did. That was . . . inspired.”

“You
knew
she might come here?” Something in her tone must have alerted him, for Sam’s face had an “uh-oh” look to it.

“Well, yeah, but not long. That was Bill calling when we first got home.”

“You’ve had ample opportunity to tell me. Didn’t you think I deserved some advance warning?” The adrenaline pumping through her system during her ordeal with Jasmine subsided, leaving her feeling depressed. “You should have mentioned your ex was coming here.”

“I didn’t think she’d arrive this fast. I’d planned on telling you at dinner tonight, but she got here first. What’s the big deal? You handled her like a pro.”

Why was it so important to her? Rosie frowned at the initial answer.
Because I feel like an afterthought, not a real wife.

But, you’re not. You’re the leading lady in a plum role. Someday the curtain will fall for the last time
.

“You’re right. It’s not important. I’m just tired, irritable, and late for work.” Rosie backed away, turning to scoop up her keys and purse.

She needed the distance of a workday to put things back into perspective. Between the wedding and the pleasure they’d taken in each other in the honeymoon suite, she’d let her emotions run wild. That couldn’t happen again.

* * *

O
nce she arrived at the shop, Rosie threw herself into work, hoping to relegate her personal life to a corner of her mind. Concern for Lorelei resulted in two calls home, and Sam indulged her, sounding pleased. She kept the conversations brief, almost curt in an effort to protect her heart, though it was rather like reining in a race horse during the home stretch.

During a mid-afternoon lull in customers, Cass entered the shop. The glow of new love was noticeably absent from her face today.

“I need to change the roses in my bouquet to Stargazer lilies,” Cass said, her gaze shifting away from Rosie.

“Didn’t you say you hated their smell?”

Cass hesitated. “They’re both pink. It’ll be fine.”

There was only one reason Rosie could think of that Cass would carry flowers she despised in her bridal bouquet. “Did Dean . . . express a preference for the lilies?” She modified her question mid-sentence to soften it.

Cass flushed as pink as the flowers she’d originally wanted. “They’ll be more showy than the roses.”

Which meant they wouldn’t fit with the understated elegance Cass had stressed during the initial consultation. Rosie debated the wisdom of digging into the true reasons for the change. She knew all too well the tactics Dean employed to get his way. First the casual suggestions. If that didn’t work, he waged an all-out campaign to effect the change he wanted. The object was to control, to manipulate, to dominate. Cass showed signs of resisting his tyranny. Was there a possibility she could be spared future heartache?

“They’ll look all wrong, won’t they?” Cass asked, nervously fingering a gift card she’d plucked from a little stand on the counter. Rosie took the unexpected question as an encouraging sign and tested the waters.

“Little things like this seem inconsequential,” Rosie said, “and you ask yourself if it’s worth the hassle. Then it’s your choice of coffee shop or favorite restaurant that isn’t good enough anymore. After insisting you’ll like his choice better, he coerces you into ordering dishes you’re not fond of or worse, orders for you. Unfortunately, it doesn’t stop there. Unless he’s changed his methods, Dean is already finding fault with those you’re closest to, and resents the time you spend away from him.”

She paused, waiting to see if she’d overstepped her bounds. Cass stared at the card with a faraway look, her thumb lazily rubbing its surface.

“One night he’ll ask you to change—into a dress most likely—which brings into question your sense of fashion and further undermines your confidence. More than likely, he’ll request you wear something he’s picked for you, something that’s revealing and beyond your comfort zone. Then he gets jealous and accuses you of trying to entice men. You question why you’re so dissatisfied when he can be such a romantic, so thoughtful about other things.

“Think about the last time he was in a really good mood. Were you at your most docile, making a huge effort to please?”

With a movement so slight Rosie almost didn’t catch it, Cass bobbed her head in agreement. She turned the card over and over, her dark blonde brows knit into a worried frown.

“You’re making excuses for him in your head. Stop it. Trust your instincts. Be smarter than I was.” Rosie placed her hand over Cass’s, stilling the repetitive movements.

The young woman blinked rapidly, eyes bright but dry. “It was so easy in the beginning.”

Rosie squeezed the cold fingers beneath hers, letting Cass come to her own conclusions.

“Mother never liked him. He’s driven a wedge between us, and I let him. I once told her our love was perfect. She said love—true love—is never perfect. It’s a bumpy road, messy and passionate. If it comes without trials to strengthen it, the feeling will fade.” Cass attempted a tremulous smile. “Can you imagine her saying such a thing?”