Page 10 of Deny Me
King followed the girl inside, knowing Saint would be right behind him. When she turned in the dim room to sit on the couch, a jolt of surprise went through him—her stomach was a basketball, even bigger than Olivia, Dain’s wife, looked these days. Becky wasn’t just pregnant; her delivery was imminent.
And her father had tried to sell her baby.
“Becky, where is Richard?”
She ran a hand over the mound of her belly. “He left. I don’t think he’s coming back.”
But someone would be coming, expecting a child in return for the money they’d probably already given Richard Jones.
“Do you have any family close by?”
“No.” Her gaze skipped around the room, focused anywhere but on him. “Nobody cared about me but Charlotte.”
He guessed that included the baby daddy. And King refused to leave her here, unprotected. If there was no one she could go to, that left only one option. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, a plan forming in his head. “Sweetheart, I’m not sure what all is going on, but I believe you’ll be safer with Charlotte than you are here alone. Would you come with us?”
Becky’s eyes went round, her hand gripping her stomach. A tinge of fear reappeared.
“I promise, we won’t take you anywhere but to Charlotte.” He keyed in his cousin’s number, then passed her his cell phone. “Call Wes, please. He’ll tell you the truth.”
Becky stared down at the phone for a long moment before pressing the Call button. When she glanced back at him, he gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile.
“Perfect,” he told her. “You talk, and I’ll pack. Where’s your stuff?”
Chapter Five
“Wes is meeting us at the house,” her mother said as she helped Charlotte settle into the wheelchair the nurse had pushed into the room. It took hours to get the approval to leave, hours in which Charlotte’s nerves had ridden a razor’s edge, ready to fall over. Only an earlier phone call from Wes saying someone was on their way to check on Becky had allowed her to relax the slightest bit.
“He’s been so anxious, not being able to be here.”
Charlotte ducked her head, hiding her expression. The topic of Wes was one she wasn’t up to discussing, not right now. She was too battered, physically and emotionally. There wasn’t a muscle in her body that didn’t hurt, but that was nothing compared to the fear crouching at the back of her mind.
“Such a good man,” Ben Alexander said from his position holding the door open. “When are you going to put him out of his misery and say—”
Charlotte raised her hand, noting that it shook the slightest bit. “Not now, Dad. Okay?” It was a common conversation, but not one she could deal with in her hospital room after coming too close to dying.
Her father’s sharp features softened. He moved to kneel in front of the wheelchair and laid a big hand over both her knees. “Of course.” He squeezed slightly. “Let’s get you home. That’s the important thing.”
A rush of affection and sheer gratitude that she hadn’t lost them filled her a bit too full. “Right.” Leaning in, she kissed his cheek, the stubble tickling her lips just like it had since she was a child. “Let’s go home.”
She closed her eyes on the ride back to the house, not wanting to see the spot where her accident had occurred. She’d woken multiple times during the night, her heart in her throat, her body rigid with panic, always with that image of the truck rushing toward her in her mind. Between that and the constant nurse checks to see if her concussion was worsening, she’d barely rested, much less slept. All she wanted was a shower and her bed—afterthey reassured her that Becky was all right.
The slowing of the car outside the gates of the house registered, the familiar creak of the wires as they drew the heavy wrought-iron panels back. The sound had signaledhomesince she was a little girl. Now they signaled safety, and her muscles went slack with relief and fatigue.
“Almost there,” her mom said beside her as if she sensed Charlotte’s response.
She opened her eyes, her gaze sweeping the wooded lawn until it snagged on the front door. Two cars, one Wes’s silver Mercedes, the other a sleek electric-blue sports car she’d never seen before, waited in the circular drive. Her father passed them to stop at the bottom of the steps leading to the front entrance. “Wait there,” he warned her. “I’ll carry you inside.”
The snort that escaped made her head hurt. Her chest. Everything, really. She rubbed gently along her temples. “You’re not carrying me inside, Dad.” But he was already out the door and coming around. “Tell him he’s not carrying me, Mom.”
Her mother patted her hand. “We almost lost you. If carrying you makes him feel better, let him.”
Which was how she found herself entering the foyer in her father’s arms. The second car in the driveway flashed in her mind. “I’m really not up to company.”
“Wes isn’t company,” Dad grumbled in her ear, totally missing the point. “Let him see you for a few minutes. You need some food in you so you can take some pain medicine anyway.”
She closed her eyes, unwilling to argue. Her father had always been Team Wes. She couldn’t make him see that Wes was a friend, not husband material. No one was, not for her. Not after—
“Charlotte!”
