Page 59 of Prognosis Christmas Baby

‘When does the doctor do his round?’ Maggie asked her.

‘He should be around before lunch,’ the nurse said.

Maggie frowned. ‘That long?’

‘You’ve got somewhere to be?’ Nash asked, amused by her Maggie-like annoyance.

‘I’ve got the ball tonight.’

Nash rubbed his hand along the stubble that had peppered his jaw overnight. ‘Ah. I don’t think so.’

Maggie raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m sorry?’

Nash sighed. ‘Maggie. You have a concussion. Don’t give me any grief over this.’

‘I’m fine.’

‘You need to be resting.’

‘He’s right,’ the nurse admitted as she recorded Maggie’s pupillary reaction in the chart at the end of the bed.

Maggie gave her the eyebrow this time and she wisely backed out of the room. ‘I’m fine,’ she repeated, turning her attention back to him.

Nash took her hand. ‘It’ll be too tiring.’

‘I slept like a rock last night.’

‘Yes.’ Nash nodded. ‘It’s called concussion.’

Maggie wormed herself out of his grasp. ‘I bumped my head, I didn’t have a lobotomy.’

‘Maggie, you know the doctor’s going to advise against it.’

Maggie wasn’t sure why she was so desperate to go suddenly when only yesterday she’d been thinking how hard it would be to sit near Nash - Nash in a tux - and know he was leaving.

But she’d just be sitting at home, doing it.

Keeping busy was the only way she was going to get through the months until the baby was born. After that she figured she’d be too busy to think about anything.

And then there was the dress. She’d bought it a few days ago and knew she looked spectacular in it. She’d already pictured the look on Nash’s face when he first saw her in it. The look that told her she was his, that covered her in his heavy sexual fingerprints, that said, hey, baby let’s blow this joint and go swap DNA.

It wasn’t love but it was the closest thing to love she was ever going to see on his face and, damn it, she wanted to see it again.

She wanted to dress up for him. Wanted to show Nash just what he was kissing goodbye.

‘I’m going to be in a roomful of doctors and nurses. Hell, the neurologist will probably be there. I couldn’t be in a better place.’

‘You should be tucked up in bed. Fast asleep.’ He added the last bit for his own sake. Maggie tucked up in bed never involved anything as passive as sleeping in his head.

‘What are you going to do, Nash? Lock me in my room?’

Nash knew he had no power to stop her but couldn’t help the overwhelming feeling that it was his job to protect her. From herself, if need be. He gave a rueful smile. ‘Don’t be putting thoughts in my head, Maggie May.’

Maggie sucked in a breath. His pupils had dilated and she felt the familiar tug in her womb. ‘Please, Nash?’ Not that she needed his permission but she wouldn’t put it past him to try and influence the medical decision to discharge her.

Nash wavered. ‘Maybe for a short time?’ Maggie nodded eagerly. ‘And no dancing.’

She nodded again. ‘I’ll even stick to orange juice.’

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