Anything but Love

She slapped at Sam’s hand, trying to push him away, but not losing a conversational beat. “I told you before, Chico, you can’t punch a member of the paparazzi. I know they’re a nuisance, but they’re necessary.”

“You’re bleeding.” It wasn’t bad, but now Sam wondered if she had sustained any other wounds—possible contusions hidden beneath her shaggy red coat. He pulled a wad of tissue from his coat pocket and gently pressed the compress to her small cut. “Hold this in place,” he told her. “I’m taking you home.”

“In a minute,” she said to Sam then went back to admonishing Chico. Some shit about TMZ (whatever that was) making the guy look like a self-righteous asshole.

Sam eyed her car, in the ditch and out of the way of anyone who might drive by. Leo would arrive within the half hour. Meanwhile, it was fricking freezing and Harper Day was bruised and bleeding. Only one way to handle a stubborn, reckless, and injured woman.

Sam hauled her over his shoulder and carried her to his truck.

Meanwhile, she continued to admonish her Hollywood client while simultaneously stroking the dude’s ego. “Don’t worry, love, I’ll spin this crisis by noon. Hold on.” She glanced at Sam with those killer baby blues as he placed her in the cab. “Would you mind going back for my purse?” Holding the tissues to her temple, she flashed a quick smile. “Thanks. You’re a doll. No, not you, Chico. I mean … What? No, I can’t pop over for a drink. I’m out of town. Now listen…”

Everything about this woman rubbed Sam the wrong way. Why the hell he still had a hard-on for her was a mystery. Except she frickin’ oozed sex and Sam hadn’t had any in a long while. Yeah. That was it.

Crossing over to Harper’s upended car, he visualized cooling his dick in the snowdrift while sending a text of his own to Rocky:

YOU OWE ME

THIRTEEN

Regardless of the icy roads, Luke broke the speed limit and ran a couple of stop signs in his haste to get to the Pine and Periwinkle.

In anticipation of having Rae over for a baking lesson, he’d spent the morning cleaning his house. Sure Rae had maintained a frugal lifestyle the year she’d spent in Sugar Creek, but he assumed she typically lived in places as posh as her mom’s Bel Air mansion. Luke lived in a modest three-bedroom Colonial on a ten-acre plot southwest of town. He couldn’t do anything about the rustic decor, but he could collect rogue chip bags, beer bottles, discarded T-shirts and socks, and, as much as he hated the chore, he scrubbed the downstairs john. He’d been drinking coffee and surveying his baking supplies when he’d gotten the troubling call from Rae.

“Luke, I—”

“You’re not calling to cancel, are you?”

“No. Yes. I’m sorry. I’m sick. I’m … I’m worried.”

She’d sounded weak and shaky and her earlier warning rang in his ears.

The first trimester … it’s iffy.

“On my way.” Luke grabbed his coat and hauled ass. He’d never been a pessimist, but he kept thinking the worst. He would’ve been concerned for any woman and any baby. But, dammit, even though he didn’t wholly trust her, Luke had a soft spot for Rae. And apparently, his feelings ran deeper than he’d imagined regarding her baby. His baby. He felt a whole new kind of sick as he jumped in his SUV and peeled onto the road.

Ten minutes later he skidded up to the Pine and Periwinkle Inn. Two minutes later he stood on the fourth floor in front of her door.

He knocked. “Rae, it’s Luke.”

Silence.

Chest tight, he tried her cell.

No answer.

“Dammit.” He glanced across the hall, eyed the stocked housekeeping cart and the wedged open door. He peeked inside. Viv Underwood was making up a guest’s bed. “Viv. Hey.”

She looked over her shoulder, ponytail bopping. She smiled. “Luke. You aiming on coming in here and taking advantage of me and this bed?”

He forced a smile of his own. “Nice thought, but no.” Luke had dated Viv awhile back. She was fun in the sack, but too clingy. He’d eased out of the relationship, wanting to spare her feelings before she was in too deep. “I need a favor, hon. Can you let me into room 412?”

“Is it registered to you?”

“To a friend. She’s not feeling well and she’s not answering her phone or door. I just want to check in. Make sure she’s okay.”

Viv frowned. “A woman friend, huh?”

“It’s not what you think.”

“Mmm.” She moved into the hall and around her cart. “I could get fired for this.”

“I won’t tell a soul.”

She inserted a master card key.

Luke turned the knob. “Thanks.” He gave her cheek a peck then slipped inside and shut her out. He eyed the spacious, elegant suite, the empty queen-sized poster bed.

His fricking heart rammed against his chest. “Rae!”

“In here.”

Luke found her in the bathroom, curled on the tile floor in between the tub and the toilet. His gut knotted as he stooped and palmed her pale face. “Did you faint? Are you hurt?”

“Just resting.”

“What?”

She met his gaze, wet her lips. “Woke up sick in the middle of the night. Dizzy, nauseous. I’ve been puking and … stuff … all night and morning. It stopped a while ago, but … weak. Thought I’d rest here awhile.”

He spied her cell phone, on the floor, within her reach. “Why didn’t you answer when I called?”

“You called?”

He thumbed on the screen. “You lowered the volume.”

“I did?”

Was she delirious? Luke pocketed her phone, adrenaline racing. She looked small and vulnerable and, short hair aside, a helluva lot like the dysfunctional woman who’d roped his interest back in October. The woman who’d fallen apart when that jerkwad college student had grabbed her ass and caused a scene. Luke weathered a swarm of emotions, most of them tender. Pulse kicking, he finessed her into his arms.

“Where are you taking me?”

“I’m putting you to bed then calling a doctor.”

“Researched on-line while I was still vertical. Symptoms indicate food poisoning. I think I’m okay now. Just weak. I wouldn’t have called, but then I got worried.” Her voice caught. “What if the baby—”

“I’m sure the baby’s fine.” He wasn’t sure at all, but he wanted to calm her. He laid her on the rumpled comforter, smoothed away her shaggy bangs, and felt for a fever. Her brow was clammy but cool. “Why do you think it was food poisoning? What did you eat?”

“Sweet and sour chicken. Had it delivered from that new Asian place. I was starving. Wolfed it down. If it tasted odd, I didn’t notice. But that had to be it.”

“You’re probably right. Haven’t heard the best things about King Chow’s.” Not that Luke considered every new restaurant as competition for the Shack, but he did take note. King Chow’s had opened their doors a month ago. Knowing how popular Chinese food was, Luke had asked Anna to add three Asian dishes to their menu. Those additions had paid off in spades. Then again, Anna was a gourmet chef.

Luke eyed a quart of bottled water on the nightstand. He poured a glass then eased Rae up against the