she had learned a cruel fact of life—never trust a man, no matter how pretty his promises. Men were only interested in someone like Jenna for one thing. As Mother had so succinctly put it, “A trust fund makes any woman attractive.”
She swallowed back the festering hurt. She might not be beautiful, but she refused to care anymore. All that mattered now was assuring Sophie the happy, uncomplicated life and freedom she had never known.
To do that, she could never go back to the Carrington Estate or even to Pennsylvania.
As she marveled at her baby’s velvet skin, at eyelashes so pale and perfect, the pink rosebud mouth, Jenna made a silent promise. No matter what she had to do from here, her daughter would lead a normal life.
The nurse, whom she’d almost forgotten, patted her arm. In a pleasant drawl she said, “I’ll be back in a few, Jenna. We’ll get your vitals again and then you’ll be good to go.”
Jenna’s head snapped up. “Go?”
Go where? She’d hoped to stay in the hospital a few days, to get her thoughts together and form a plan. To read the newspaper and make sure the world hadn’t been alerted to her disappearance. To figure out where to go and what to do with a newborn.
“Sure thing. Unless there are problems, an OB stays twenty-four hours or less these days. Would you like for me to phone your family?” The young woman reached for the chart at the end of the bed, flipped open a few pages. A frown appeared between her black eyebrows. “Seems we didn’t get that information when you arrived yesterday evening. Well, it was a hectic time. No problem. Someone from the business office will be in. They always extract their pound of flesh.”
Jenna managed a weak smile at the woman’s joke. She hadn’t thought about the hospital bill or even about the records a hospital would keep on her and Sophie.
She’d given them her name yesterday and no one had reacted. But she wasn’t surprised no one recognized her face. Due to her family’s paranoia, their only child had been publicly photographed very little. Jenna found a certain irony in that. The fear that had made her life a prison might be the very thing that assured her freedom. Unless her parents had released her disappearance to the press, there was a chance no one here in this small Texas town would ever guess that she was one of the Carringtons, reluctant heiress to a staggering financial empire.
“Would you like for me to call Dax?”
Jenna blinked. “Who?”
“The rancher who brought you in. Dax Coleman. I thought you knew him.”
A warm blush crept up the back of Jenna’s neck. She hadn’t remembered her rescuer’s name. “No.”
“Oh, well, I just assumed…” The nurse flapped a hand. “Never mind. My mouth is running away, though it’s too bad about Dax. He seemed real concerned, and for a reclusive guy like that, well, we just figured the two of you knew each other.”
Was the nurse asking if she and Dax knew each other in the Biblical sense? Did she think Dax Coleman was Sophie’s father?
Her flush of embarrassment deepened.
“Mr. Coleman,” she said in her most dignified voice, “was kind enough to render aid to a damsel in distress. But no, I had never before made his acquaintance.”
The nurse, who was darkly pretty and not much older than herself, looked disappointed. “Well, then, that’s really too bad. Dax could use a spark in his life after what happened.”
Jenna refused to ask the obvious question. “You know him?”
“Sure. In a region this sparsely populated everyone knows everyone else. Dax is an old friend of mine. Or used to be.” The nurse fanned her face with her fingertips. “He’s still pretty deliciouslooking, too, if you know what I mean. Don’t tell my husband I said that.” She laughed.
Delicious-looking? Jenna remembered a gravelly, rough voice and strong, calloused hands, though he’d been as gentle as could be with her and Sophie. As far as his looks, she could only recall intense green eyes and dark hair that fell in sweaty waves onto his forehead. A cowboy. She remembered that, too.
En route to the hospital, he hadn’t said much. But he’d glared at her and Sophie in the rearview mirror every few minutes until Jenna became convinced she’d somehow angered him. At the time, she’d been too tired and shaky to wonder about her roadside rescuer. Now she did.
“You were lucky he came along,” Nurse Wolf said. “Out here you can drive forever and not see a soul.”
She almost had.
“Yes, I owe him a debt of gratitude,” Jenna muttered, absently rubbing the side of her finger over Sophie’s delicate cheek. She’d never been indebted to anyone before, ever. People were indebted to the Carringtons, not the other way around, but the cowboy, a total stranger, had been there for her and her baby when they’d had no one else. She wasn’t likely to forget that.
“I’ll be back in a few,” the nurse said and started out the door.
“Nurse?”
The woman did an about-face. “It’s Crystal. Please.”
“Crystal,” Jenna said, oddly pleased at the simple request. “Would you mind bringing me a newspaper or two?”
“Nothing newsworthy ever happens around here except church dinners and baby showers and school sports, but I’ll bring you a paper.”
The simple activities sounded like heaven to Jenna who’d never experienced a single one of them. “Thank you.”
With a hand wave, Crystal sashayed out of the room, only to lean back into the room with a twinkle in her eye.
“Prepare yourself. A certain delicious cowboy is headed your way.”
Jenna was sure her mouth fell open. “You’re kidding.”
But Crystal had already disappeared, leaving the door open.
Dax kicked himself all the way down the hall. He had no idea what he was doing here. He’d done the right thing already. He’d played the good Samaritan. He should be on the south side of the ranch right now fixing a water gap before snow or rain made the work miserable. But here he was at Saddleback Hospital in the maternity ward, feeling as uncomfortable as if he’d stumbled into one of those ladies’ lingerie stores.
But he was here. Might as well get this over with.
Stetson in hand, he used the opposite hand to tap on the open door, doing his level best not to look inside until he was invited.
“Come in,” a feminine voice said. He remembered that voice. Soft and educated and worried. He’d dreamed about it last night. Imagine that. Dreaming about a woman’s voice. And her bare feet. And the way she’d gazed at him with trust.
Blast it. That’s why he was here. She’d haunted his dreams and he’d not been able to get a thing done this morning until he was certain she and her baby were in good shape.
According to the desk nurse the baby he’d delivered was doing well. Thank God. That should have been enough. He should have turned tail and headed for his truck.
But no. He had to see for himself that the brave young woman with the fancy voice was okay.
With a final inward kick, he stepped into the room.
His eyes went straight to the bed. Fluffed up in white sheets, the little mama looked small and flushed. But good. Real good.
Her dark blond hair, sweaty and uncombed yesterday, was clean and neatly brushed and lay across her shoulders in a soft wave. She was prettier than he’d thought. Her thin face was blessed with long doe-shaped eyes the color of pancake syrup and a mouth that tipped up at the corners.
The thing that really drew his attention was the bundle nestled against her breast. A small eggshaped head covered with a pink stocking cap protruded