Abbey finally played nice with her obstetrician and stayed in her hospital bed as she was told. It’s a good thing too, she contemplated. Her blood levels were nowhere near where they needed to be. Instead of going home later that day, it would be at least twenty-four hours. If not longer.
She was very obedient and followed the doctor’s orders—to a point. There were the exceptions when the floor nurses snuck her into the neonatal intensive care unit to be with Amelia. The pediatrician was working miracles with the tiny baby girl.
It killed Abbey, though, that she couldn’t hold her daughter. She could only gently touch the baby’s fragile skin. She did snap a cell phone picture of the infant and texted it to Sloan. If it tore her apart not to hold her daughter, it had to be destroying him not to even get to see her.
She was amazed at the thick black hair Amelia was born with. And once, while Abbey was sitting next to the incubator, the baby had opened her eyes. They were ice blue. Amelia had inherited her father’s most striking, beautiful features. She would grow up to look like her Aunt Maggie.
Abbey hated not to be near Sloan, not to be sitting beside his bed as he recovered. Her mind raced, wondering what his condition was. Is he still improving? Soon her fingers raced over the face of her phone, begging Gordon or Mary or Maggie or Bartholomew to check on Sloan and let her know how he was doing.
It wasn’t long before her mother appeared at the door. Mary had just come from the intensive care unit. Sloan was fine, his breathing tube had been removed, and he agreed that Abbey stay put in her bed. As far as he was concerned, her leaving that bed was non-negotiable. She was relieved to hear that he was doing better. It didn’t stop her from missing him terribly.
As the day wore on, she dozed off in a restless sleep. There is way too much on my mind. She woke up, startled. Her eyes widened as she found him standing next to her bed.
Big, bad Robert.
I wondered how long it would take for him to show up. She glared at him defensively.
“What do you want?” she demanded.
Robert chuckled. “I wanted to see if you were all right. Is that so wrong?”
“I’m fine.”
“If you were fine, you wouldn’t be sitting in a hospital bed hooked up to an IV, now would you, Abbey?”
She huffed aggravated. “Just get it over with, will you?’
“Get what over with?”
“Blaming me.”
“For what?”
“For your best friend lying in the ICU.”
“Did you pull the trigger?”
“No.”
“Well, other than dating a psycho at some point, I don’t see where you’re to blame for anything.”
“I dated the psycho.”
“Did you know he was a psycho?”
“No.”
“Then I rest my case.”
Abbey glared at him silently for a few moments more before her gaze softened. “How long are you here?”
“A couple more hours. I’m flying to Miami to cover some issues for Sloan.”
“Oh.” She knotted her fingers together. “And he’s still all right?”
Robert sat on the edge of her bed and smiled at her. “He’s Sloan O’Riley. He’s forgotten how he is. He’s worried about you and Amelia. By the way, Mary took me to see her.”
“She looks like her daddy, doesn’t she?”
Robert laughed. “The hair and eyes, yes. But I think even her daddy will agree—she looks more like her mommy.”
Abbey felt her cheeks flush. Robert patted her arm and then stood. He pressed a farewell kiss to her cheek before he said goodbye and strode from the room.
Abbey settled into her hospital bed. Talking to Robert made her realize how ridiculous she had been. Her family needed her healthy so she could take care of them. She flipped on the television and relaxed, allowing the medication in her bloodstream to work its magic.
Twenty-four hours of taking care of herself made all the difference. Abbey’s early morning blood draws came out perfect. The obstetrician had no choice but to release her from the hospital. Bartholomew drove the happy, excited, overly-chatty Abbey home to Mount Vernon to grab a quick shower and pack some clothes. Then he returned her to the hospital.
She discreetly dodged doctors, nurses, patients, and visitors as she raced to the intensive care unit. She stopped short at the nurses surrounding Sloan as they disconnected his tubes and wires.
“What’s going on?” Abbey demanded in a panic.
Sloan’s head popped up from the bed. “I’m being moved out of the ICU, Abigail.”
Exhaling a sigh of relief, she crossed the room to his bedside. She pressed her lips to his. Her kiss lingered longer than it should have. She was never so happy to kiss Sloan. I thought I would never get to kiss him again.
She gazed at his face as she pulled away. The display of affection didn’t seem to bother him as he flashed her his sly, cocky grin. She gathered a few of his personal belongings and stuffed them in her overnight bag. Abruptly, she stood straight as a thought crossed her mind.
“Sloan is being moved to a normal hospital room?” Abbey questioned the nurse.
“Yes,” the woman answered as she re-hooked the IV bag to the wheelchair.
“Does that mean he can leave his room and visit other parts of the hospital?”
“With an escort, yes.”
Sloan’s brow furrowed. “What are you getting at, Abbey?”
“Is there any way we could stop somewhere on the way to his new room?” She watched his eyes glow with excitement.
“Where do you want to stop?” the nurse inquired.
“The NICU.”
The woman smiled and nodded. She motioned an orderly over. Together, they supported Sloan as he stepped out of the bed and settled into the wheelchair. Abbey gathered the rest of his things. She followed the nurse as the woman pushed her husband out of the room.
Abbey walked beside the chair as her heart fluttered in excitement. Sloan couldn’t wait for their baby to be born when she was pregnant. She couldn’t wait now for him to meet their new daughter. She looked down as she felt strong fingers wrap snugly around hers. He gazed up at her. The anxiousness she felt, he felt also. She smiled at him warmly. He lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss against it. He squeezed it tight, unwilling to let go.
They stopped at the nurses’ station of the NICU. The department nurse, a silver-haired, heavyset woman with rosy cheeks, rose from her seat.
“Mrs. O’Riley. I‘m so glad you’re here. We’re moving your baby from the incubator today. We have a long way to go, but you can at least hold…”
The head nurse’s voice trailed off as her eyes fell on Sloan. Each of the other nurses had already found him, their whispers and lovesick sighs filling the room. Abbey giggled to herself. As usual, Sloan’s sweet sexiness charmed them all.
“I see you brought a friend,” the woman commented.
“I’m Sloan O’Riley,” he replied. “I’m…”
“We know who you are. Follow me so we can get Mrs. O’Riley in scrubs and ready to see your daughter.”
They thanked the nurse who had escorted them from intensive care to the NICU. Abbey pushed the wheelchair into the nursery. After they washed and Abbey changed into scrubs, she wheeled Sloan through the maze of bassinets until they reached Amelia’s.
Sloan stared, fascinated, through the clear Plexiglas at the tiny infant. “Abigail, she’s beautiful,” he breathed. “Look at all that hair. And her beautiful eyes.”
She leaned over the back of the chair, wrapping her arms around Sloan’s shoulders. “I know. She looks like her daddy.”
“No. She’s a beautiful lass like her mama.”
Abbey smiled as she kissed his cheek. They both looked up as the head nurse joined them. “Who wants to hold her first?” she offered.
Abbey met Sloan’s surprised gaze. She nodded lovingly toward him. “You.”
“Have you held her?” he asked.
“Not yet.”
“Abigail…”
“I carried her for a little over seven months. You can hold her first.”
He exhaled nervously as he stared at his tiny daughter. “All right.”
The nurse laughed. “With the baby being a preemie, you need to hold her kangaroo care.”
“Kangaroo care?” he questioned.
“Hold her against your bare chest. Your bare skin against hers will comfort her.”
Abbey stepped back quickly as Sloan struggled with the hospital gown. She helped him to shrug the garment to his waist. She wasn’t sure she had ever seen him get undressed so quickly. Abbey smiled at the collective groans that came from the nurses at the sight of her husband without his shirt on.
She watched as the nurse helped him pick up Amelia with trembling hands. He nestled her carefully against his bare chest. The nurse draped a warm, soft, thin pink blanket over them both. He studied Amelia as she stretched her tiny arms with all her might. The baby blinked her own blue eyes open. Abbey could see his face soften, his heart clearly melting as their daughter cuddled against him the best she could.
Sloan glanced down as Abbey kneeled next to his chair. A thin trail of tears wove their way across her cheeks.
“Abigail, what’s wrong?” he asked concerned.
“You holding her,” she whimpered. “Everything I love is right here with me. Just a couple of days ago, I thought I was going to lose you both.”
He secured a strong hand around Amelia. With his other, he reached down, wiping away his wife’s tears. She turned her face into his hand, pressing one kiss after another into his palm. She heard him heave a heavy sigh. She looked up to see his eyes glistening with his own tears. The three of them were together. They had made it through. Life couldn’t be more perfect.
»»•««
Maggie raced down the dim hallway to Bartholomew’s apartment. She stifled a yawn. She had just finished her overnight shift in the maternity ward, and there hadn’t been a dull moment. After the melee in the emergency room, Maggie had asked for an immediate transfer. She couldn’t stand one more moment being in the same department as Jackson and his stooges. What the bastard did to me and my entire family was unforgivable.
Maternity was a refreshing change of pace. Instead of being faced with illness, injury, and near death every day, it was wonderful to greet new life each shift. To see the mothers holding their new babies warmed Maggie’s heart. And at least for now, she had an added treat.
When there was a slow moment, she was able to spend time with her new niece. There was even a time or two when Sloan had snuck in for a visit in the middle of the night. Having her brother with her, just the two of them as they visited Amelia, was incredible. There hadn’t been much time alone with him.
In the neonatal nursery, she got to spend time with the real Sloan O’Riley—not the world-renowned artist and billionaire, but the loving husband and father. In that nursery, he was the big brother she had missed for so many years, the big brother she had almost lost. She loved every second she spent with him and Amelia.
Maggie knocked quickly on Bartholomew’s door. She was hungry. She was tired. She was hoping to lure the sweet, sexy hunk to breakfast. And she was really hoping he would let her sleep in his bed after they ate. The thought of being snuggled in his sheets, immersed in his scent, made her heart flutter wildly. And if he wanted to join me, I certainly wouldn’t turn him down.
“Come in,” she heard him call from inside.
She opened the door and excitedly stepped across the threshold. Her excitement downshifted to confusion when she saw random piles of cardboard boxes lying lay scattered all over the apartment.
“What is this?” she demanded, as she gestured to the clutter.
Bartholomew glanced around at the piles and then put some books in the box on the kitchen table. “I’m officially unemployed. The ambulance service had no problem accepting my resignation.”
“So you’re moving?”
“Yes. I terminated my lease this morning.”
“You’re moving to Mount Vernon?”
Bartholomew shook his head. “Montana.”
“Montana!” she screeched.
“Maggie, I have no job. Not that I did very well at the ones I had. I sucked at being a paramedic. And a bodyguard? The man I was hired to protect is in the hospital recovering from a near-fatal gunshot wound.”
“Thank you for reminding me.”
“I’m best off going home. What’s here for me to stay for?” He turned away from her to pick up another stack of books.
Tears stung her eyes. “Me.”
He stopped for a moment and then turned back. She stood straight as frustration filled her, balling her little fists at her sides. She felt the tears pool in her eyes and slide down her cheeks. He dropped the stack of books, and in one stride, crossed the room to her. He cupped her face in his hands and pressed a long, soft kiss against her lips.
“Maggie, there’s nothing left. It would take so much to start over,” he breathed.
“Then we’ll do it together.”
“How? You have school to pay for and rent and bills. How are you going to add me to the list?”
“I will, all right? Just don’t leave me.”
“Maggie…”
“Please, Bartholomew. Please don’t leave me.”
He sighed. “All right.”
“So, you’ll go tell the apartment manager you aren’t terminating your lease?”
“It’s too late for that.”
“Then move in with me,” she offered.
He laughed. “No. I said near-fatal. Your brother is very much alive, and if he knew I was living with you, he would kill me. Literally.”
“I’m a grown woman…”
“You’re Sloan O’Riley’s baby sister,” he interrupted. “A man with a very strong moral center. Even though a large part of that center is actually rather corrupt. I’ll talk to Gordon. He has an extra room. I’m sure he’d let me move in for a bit.”
“But you won’t leave?”
Bartholomew smiled at her as he wiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb. “No. I won’t leave.” He wrapped her tightly in his arms as he tenderly kissed her forehead. Maggie buried herself against his chest, drying her tears on his T-shirt as she rested her head against his broad upper body. How could he possibly leave? This man holding her securely in his embrace was her home. She had already left one home behind. She wasn’t about to let the other get away.
»»•««
Abbey knew it was going to be a good day. It wasn’t going to be a great day. But it would be a good day.
Finally, two weeks after the nightmare in the grocery store parking lot, Sloan was leaving the hospital. The only thing better would have been if she could take Amelia home as well. It would be at least another two weeks before Amelia was strong enough. That meant two more weeks of living in a hotel.
She was elated to have Sloan back. The hotel room she rented in Iowa City was lonely. It wasn’t far from the hospital and was mostly inhabited by families of patients admitted there. It broke her heart to see families missing a child—a child too sick to go home. Then, she was smacked back to reality. One of those children in the hospital too sick to come home was her own daughter. And when visiting hours were over, and they went back to the hotel for the night, it certainly wouldn’t hurt to have his warm, hard body to snuggle up against.
Abbey glanced across her minivan. Sloan scowled as he stared across the frozen, bare farm fields that raced by the car window. They had gotten in a small argument in the hospital parking lot over who would drive home. Sloan had lost.
Her lips curled into a small smile. She understood. Sloan equated control. He accepted nothing less. He abhorred the idea of Abbey driving him. That just wasn’t how his world worked. However, she wasn’t taking any chances. If she had to deal with a temper tantrum every time she chauffeured him for the next few days—well, so be it.
“So, I thought we’d get some changes of clothes then get back to the hospital so we can be with Amelia. Unless you want to take a shower. It’s up to you,” she offered.
He didn’t answer. He just continued to glare out the window. She sighed and returned her concentration to the road.
Abbey parked in the driveway and then braced herself for the winter wind as she stepped out of the car. Opening the sliding back door of the van, she snaked her hand through the handles of the hospital bags sitting on the floor. She would carry Sloan’s clothes in. His health was far too important to take any chances. She didn’t need him to fall.
She balanced the bags as she slipped her house key in the lock and turned. Concerned, she spun on her toe to look for her husband. He stalked across the frozen ground after her, the scowl he wore still embedded on his face.
She glanced around her living room. A thin layer of dust had begun to coat every flat surface available. She let go a huff of exasperation. She’d have to clean another day. Right now, she just needed to get back to Amelia.
“So, shower or no?” she asked.
“No,” Sloan barked.
“So how long will it take you to pack so we can get back to the hospital?”
Sloan strode through the living room to the kitchen. He returned with his truck keys. “I’m going to the gallery.”
“You’re what?”
“Is the truck in the garage?”
“Y-y-yes-,” she stammered. “Gordon and Bartholomew took it to the car wash. Other than a couple of dents, you can’t tell it was part of a blood bath.”
“Excellent. I’ll see you later.”
“Why are you going to the gallery?” Abbey demanded.
“If you recall, before all this chaos, I was in the middle of resetting the gallery. It needs to be finished.”
“It does not.”
“I have a business to run, Abigail. I have clients to serve.”
“You have an incision on your chest where you were shot! You have doctor’s orders to take it easy!”
“I believe I know my body better than the doctor, Abigail.”
Abbey felt her nerves tremble in rage. “Do you think you were the only one hurt, Sloan? Of course you do. No one else got hurt in this. Your baby girl didn’t have to fight for her own life because she was born eight weeks early. Bartholomew didn’t lose his job. I didn’t watch the man I’ve given my heart and soul to die three times.” She held up three fingers to him, shaking her hand for emphasis. “Three times, Sloan. Three times!”
A cold silence fell between Sloan and Abbey as they locked glares with each other. It was then that they noticed the couple in the doorway. Maggie and Bartholomew watched them with a combination of shock and uneasiness. They had obviously heard most of the conversation.
“Go reset your gallery,” Abbey growled. “If you want me, you know where you can find me.” She stomped up the stairs to her bedroom. The sound of a slamming door ended what she had to say.
∙•∙
Sloan stared at the empty staircase, his stone cold resolve melting away. Lord, what am I doing? He shook his head, frustrated. He turned as he heard Bartholomew’s voice.
“Sloan, I’ll go with you and help. You can tell me where to hang things. You direct, and I’ll be the muscle. All right? I’ll even drive.”
“I’ll go back to the hospital with Abbey,” Maggie volunteered.
Sloan sighed heavily. “All right.” He handed Bartholomew his truck keys. He took one last, long look at the staircase. Deep inside, he wanted Abbey to storm back down the stairs to start their argument over again. He wanted to see that fiery rage from her again. Would I fight back? Or would I walk over to those steps, kiss her long and deep, and remind myself just how lucky a man I am to have her and still be alive to love her?
He waited. But she never appeared. With another heavy sigh, he stepped out the front door into the biting cold with Bartholomew trailing behind. He walked with his friend to the garage and climbed into the passenger side of his truck. He laughed hopelessly. Being chauffeured by Bartholomew was no better to his pride than being driven by Abigail.
When they arrived at the gallery, Sloan unlocked the door and pushed it open. With Bartholomew following, he stepped inside and glanced around. There were finished paintings leaning against the wall and bare spots all around the room.
Bartholomew pulled off his coat and set it on the counter. “Where do you want me to start?” he asked.
Sloan shuffled to the staircase to the second level and sat on the step. His eyes locked on the plate by the door. Gallery owned by Sloan and Abigail O’Riley. He exhaled as he ran his hand through his thick, black hair.
“Just give me a minute,” Sloan answered.
“Sure.”
Sloan sat in silence for several minutes. Just get in the truck, go to the hospital, and be with them. He thought about Abigail and Amelia. He thought of them in the hospital. The combination of them together made him feel powerless. He rubbed his hand against his chest. His fingertips grazed the scarred flesh of the gunshot wound. Powerless.
He looked up at Bartholomew, seeing the concern in his friend’s eyes. The man saved my life. I couldn’t have a better friend. If he hadn’t been there… Sloan rose to his feet.
“Come on. I’ll show you where to start,” Sloan said as he led Bartholomew to the back room.
The reset took several hours, much longer than Sloan had expected. As soon as he and Bartholomew were finished, he locked the gallery door and jumped in the truck. The trip to the hospital took less than a half an hour. It felt like an eternity.
The nursery was surprisingly quiet. Sloan glanced at his watch. Of course it was. Visiting hours were over in twenty minutes. Most of the hospital guests had already gone home. He pushed open the door to the prep room for the NICU and then motioned Bartholomew to follow him. They each took a set of scrubs from the pile and quickly changed. After scrubbing every pore of exposed skin, they slipped inside.
Sloan stopped short as the sound of a soft baritone voice drifted through the NICU nursery. He listened intently to the song. Instantly, he recognized the melody. It was an Irish lullaby that his mother had sung to him as a child.
Sloan and Bartholomew weaved carefully among the incubators and bassinets. Gordon sat in a rocking chair next to Amelia’s bassinet, gently swaying the tiny girl as she slept on his bare chest. He stopped singing when he noticed the two men.
Sloan clasped Gordon’s shoulder. “I’m surprised to see you here,” he remarked.
“Just having some Grandpa time with little Amelia,” Gordon answered softly. “Do you want to hold your daughter?”
“No, you’re fine. Grandpa time?”
“Aye. This lass is half Irish. She needs to learn of her rich heritage.”
Sloan pulled two chairs toward Gordon, motioning for Bartholomew to sit in one. He sat in the other. “As her father, I believe I can teach her that.”
“Ah, young one. You have far more important duties.”
“Such as?”
“You have to protect Amelia. Comfort her. Mend her broken heart. Be her hero. Discipline her. Be proud of her. And most important of all, love her mother.”
Sloan stared at Gordon. Ever since Abigail’s pregnancy had been announced, Sloan had had parenting advice pushed down his throat. None had been as wise, as valuable, as the advice Gordon had just given him. It was the advice a father gave his son.
Sloan smiled. “Amelia must be getting stronger. She’s able to tolerate being held more.”
Gordon gently patted the baby’s back. Amelia’s eyes fluttered open, blazing in a brilliant blue when she heard her daddy’s voice. “Abigail didn’t hold her much. She said you would be by eventually. She wanted to make sure you had time with little Ame.”
“Where is Abigail?”
“She went to dinner with Mary and Maggie. They went to that pizza place next to the hotel.”
Sloan paused. He thought about his and Abbey’s argument before he left for the gallery. “Abigail is furious with me.”
“That is true.”
Sloan rubbed his chin. “I shouldn’t have gone to the gallery. I know that. I just—”
Gordon held up the hand that was not holding Amelia to stop him. “Do not have this conversation with me, young one. You know who you need to have this talk with.”
“Abigail,” Sloan breathed.
“Aye. I know it wasn’t the bullet that bothered you. It wasn’t the first time you’ve been shot.”
“Of course.”
“Whatever is bothering you, it’s between you and Abigail.”
“Of course.”
Gordon began to sing his lullaby again. Sloan exhaled slowly as he contemplated the talk he was about to have with his wife. Somehow, he knew it wasn’t going to go well.