Murphy's Law (24 page)

Clipboard and pen in hand, the emergency room doctor continued with her never-ending list of questions. “Is there a possibility you could be pregnant?”

Ashley stopped fidgeting with the long ties to the hospital gown. Because her wrist hurt so badly, a technician had helped her change and she now wore the hideous cotton contraption that didn't want to stay closed.

Utterly mute, she stared at the female doctor. “What?”

Glancing up from her clipboard, the doctor smiled. “Please understand. When a patient is female, I'm required to ask if there's a possibility of pregnancy. I'm not making assumptions about your sexual activity or orientation.”

“No.”

The doctor paused, then moved to sit on the edge of the narrow metal bed by Ashley's hip. “X-rays can pose a risk to a developing fetus, so we try to take every precaution. We ask this question of
all
women.”

Ashley shook her head.

Folding her hands over the clipboard, the doctor asked gently, “When was your last period?”

It was…New panic burned in Ashley's stomach. She pressed her right hand to her forehead, but she just didn't know, when usually she was regular as clockwork. “I…I can't remember. I'm late, I guess. But I'm
not
pregnant. I'm sure of it. We've been careful.”

“If you've missed a period—”

Desperate, she said, “I'm new to this sex stuff. That ought to be enough to throw off anyone's cycle.”

The doctor lifted her brows. “You've only recently become sexually active?”

“That's right.”

“I don't think that would have any bearing on your regular cycle. And you should know, the only foolproof birth control is abstinence. So even if you've been using protection, it could still be possible.”

“Oh, God.” Ashley bit her lip. “It hasn't been that long. Are you sure you'll even be able to tell if I'm pregnant?”

“A test can detect pregnancy as early as six days after conception, or one day after your last missed period.” She squeezed Ashley's hand. “It's better to be safe, yes? The test won't take long, I promise. Then we'll know, and we can take the necessary precautions before X-raying your wrist.”

“I came here with a man…” Ashley snapped her mouth shut, but the doctor had already picked up on her train of thought.

“We finished stitching him up some time ago. He's pacing the hallway waiting to see you.” She squeezed Ashley's hand again. “Your records are entirely confidential. He'll know only what you choose to tell him. Now just relax. I'll be right back.”

The next few minutes left Ashley numb. Even after the test, she sat there in silence, unsure of her feelings, wishing she could see Quinton now, but unwilling to involve him.

When the doctor returned, Ashley knew something wasn't right. She pulled up a chair beside the bed, tipped her head in a thoughtful way, and finally met Ashley's gaze with clear concern.

Ashley held her breath, at least until the doctor said, “You're pregnant.”

Then she let it out in a whoosh.

Pinpoints of light danced in front of her eyes and a rush of heat made her dizzy. For a moment, she thought she might faint.

The doctor eased her back to rest against a pillow on the cot. “Take some deep breaths.”

Ashley gulped instead. No way. This couldn't be happening. “You're sure?”

“Yes. I take it this is unexpected news?”

She gulped again.

“Ms. Miles, listen to me. An unplanned pregnancy presents a lot of complicated decisions and often ambivalent feelings. Pregnancy counseling is available to talk over your alternatives or to get referrals for additional support and information. They can help you explore your options and feelings regarding an unexpected pregnancy.”

Ashley stared at her. Counseling? Good grief.

The doctor continued. “You don't have to decide anything right now. You've just been through a very traumatic experience. You're injured and in need of medical care. For tonight, let's just take care of that.”

“But…”

The doctor patted her hand. “Tomorrow, or the day after, you can think more about the pregnancy. If you choose to keep the baby and you don't already have an obstetrics and gynecology physician, I suggest you contact your primary care doctor. He or she can refer you to someone right away.”

That sounded too ominous by half, and Ashley bolted upright again. “Why the rush? Is there something wrong with the baby?”

“No, I didn't mean that. The objective of prenatal care is to monitor the health of the pregnant mother and fetus. The doctor will monitor your weight and blood pressure, and he'll be able to tell you exactly when you're due.”

“Okay.” Ashley drew another, slower breath this time. “Thank you.”

“You're all right?”

She honestly didn't know how she felt about the idea of a baby.
A baby
. Dear God, just thinking about it scared her to death. She could barely take care of herself, and she had all her plans for the future, but now…

Ashley shook off the renewed panic. As the doctor said, she didn't have to have all the solutions tonight. She knew only one thing for sure. “I'll keep the baby.”

The doctor smiled. “So you're not unhappy about the pregnancy?”

“Shocked stupid. Taken off guard. Scared spitless.” She felt herself smiling and didn't know why. “But no, I'm not unhappy.”

“I'm glad.” After patting her hand, the doctor moved away from the bed. “We'll use a lead apron to protect the fetus during the X-rays.”

“What about my face?” Ashley could still feel the burn from where they'd cleaned the wound and closed it with over twenty-five tiny sutures. The shot to numb the area had stung, as did the solution they'd used to clean it. Now bandaging pulled at her skin every time she spoke or moved her mouth.

But luckily, the doctor hadn't detected any serious damage.

“I can give you the name of a plastic surgeon if you're worried about a scar. After twenty-four hours you can get the stitches wet, but be sure to dry them well and apply antibiotic ointment twice a day. In five days you'll come back to have the sutures removed. It'll be red for a while, but with time to heal, I think it'll barely be noticeable.”

Ashley waved a hand. “That sounds fine. No need for a plastic surgeon. I'm not real worried about it. I was just curious.”

“Then we're ready for our X-rays.”

It was another hour and a half before the doctor confirmed a break and put her left wrist in a cast. Ashley chose hot pink for the cast, which fit in around her fingers and came up to, but not over, her elbow.

By the time she finally rejoined Quinton, Denny and Tim had arrived to keep him company.

She came to a halt in the hallway and stared at them all. Exhaustion weighed her down, her arm and face thumped with pain, and her emotions were on a wild roller-coaster ride.

But she noticed the bandaging on Quinton's forehead, the bruises on his cheekbone, and the harried way he paced. His hair stood on end, and he'd exchanged his bloodied shirt for a clean one, probably supplied by Denny.

She'd already decided against telling Quinton about the baby tonight. After everything else that had happened, she didn't have the courage, and he didn't look up to hearing the news anyway. They'd both been through the wringer; no reason to heighten the tension further.

Still, the second Quinton met her gaze, she wanted to run to him and share all her worries for a future that had drastically changed in a matter of minutes.

With all three men watching her, their concern and worry plain to see, it took all Ashley's resolve to stiffen her spine and crack off a smart reply.

“Jesus,” she teased, propping her hot pink cast against her hip. “Did I die and someone forgot to tell me? I've seen happier mugs on the convicted.”

 

With feigned calm, Quinton started toward her. An awful strain, almost like fear, showed in her expression, and it kept him from rushing to her and hauling her into his arms. He knew Ashley, and she had to be thinking about the difficulties of getting along with a cast, maintaining her hectic nonstop schedule, and dealing with more possible attacks from Elton. The situation would be daunting to anyone, but especially to someone without resources, without family backup.

He wished Jude and May were home because Ashley could use May now more than ever. Denny and Tim were there for her, and God knew he'd do everything in his power—everything Ashley would allow him to do—to make everything easier and safer for her. But he'd witnessed himself the special closeness of the two women.

Ashley held herself in careful restraint, as if she might shatter if he said or did the wrong thing. She was by far the proudest woman he knew, and if she broke down now, in front of Denny and Tim, she'd be doubly upset with herself, and possibly with him.

Casual as he could contrive, Quinton walked to her, tipped up her chin, and said, “You look beautiful, Ashley. Are you sure you needed to be back there so long? Did you take a nap and leave me out here to worry needlessly?”

Her mouth quivered into an uncertain smile.

Unfortunately, Denny and Tim had followed on his heels, and at almost the same time, Denny said, “Damn, girl. You look like shit.”

Blue and black bruising from her cut had spread out to her eye, along with some substantial swelling. She partially squinted while saying, “Gee, thanks, Denny. That's so good to know.”

“He's right.” Tim grimaced and looked ready to throw up. “Your face is all puffy and colorful, and scraped in places. There's still some blood in your hair, and it's all over your shirt—”

Quinton rolled his eyes, but because Tim had worried right along with him, he didn't strangle him. “Good going, guys. That'll make her feel better.”

“Oh.” Tim grimaced again, visibly racked his brain, and shrugged. “I'm sure you'll look like your old self once you heal, right? I mean, you won't be scarred up or anything, will you?”

Ashley's grin went lopsided, likely because of the stitches in her upper cheek. Thank God, the projectile that had cut her had missed her eye. When Quinton thought of how badly she could have been hurt, rage infused him to the point that he couldn't talk, could barely breathe.

One way or another, he'd get to Elton and remove the lunatic from her life.

“I dunno, Tim,” she teased. “Will you quit being my friend if I look like Frankenstein?”

“No!” He replied without hesitation. “I swear, Ash, it won't matter to me.”

This time she laughed, and though it sounded weak and scratchy, Quinton felt better for hearing it.

“Relax, Tim.” She curled her uninjured arm through Quinton's and edged up close to his side. “I was just funning you. Before long you won't be able to tell that I was ever hurt.”

“That's great.” Tim nodded to her colorful cast. “You gotta wear that for six weeks?”

“Nope. Four, which is a whole lot better, but bad enough.” She looked up at Quinton and gently touched his forehead. “Ouch. That looks painful.”

“I didn't need stitches. The cut was shallow, thanks to the way you pulled me back.” He rubbed her left shoulder, down to the start of the cast. “That's when you broke your wrist, isn't it? From the way I landed against you?”

“From the way I stupidly braced myself.” She went on tiptoe to kiss his chin, surprising him. “The X-rays are what took so long. Then they had to put on the cast. I'm just relieved it's my left hand and not my right. I can't imagine trying to finish up my semester without being able to write.”

Denny, as enraged as Quinton, drew a deep breath. “If there's anything I can do to help, you let me know.”

“You're already doing it. Thanks.”

Quinton noticed the way she favored her injured wrist. “It's hurting?” He tried to keep his tone light, but from the inside out, he felt scraped raw.

“Nah. It's fine.”

He could tell she lied, but he didn't call her on it. “Come on then, let's go home.”

She held back, and he realized his choice of words might have taken her off guard. With Denny and Tim crowded close, he bent down to her and said firmly, “My home, honey. And don't argue. Everything's already arranged.”

“He's right,” Denny chimed in. “The police can't do a damn thing. They don't have proof that Elton was involved with the mailbox bomb, not yet anyway. They're still looking for him, but who knows how much he might have changed, or where he could be hiding?”

Quinton glared at Denny. “It doesn't matter. I'm not going to let anything happen to her.”

“That's my point,” Denny shot right back. “We've got people watching the house, and they'll trail both of you wherever you go. As long as you stay with Quinton, Elton Pascal won't get within shouting distance of you again. I swear it.”