She studied the contents of the jewelry box. Most of the earrings, pins and bracelets weren’t valuable, could have been bought at any department store . . . but not so this ring. She knew intuitively that it was worth a small fortune.
Why would she keep it here?
It was planted, you dope. You mentioned it to someone who either put it back or told someone else and they returned it. Because someone’s trying to drive you crazy or they don’t want you to question who you are.
Why?
She dropped the ring unceremoniously into the box, then snapped the watchband over her wrist. Yep, it was too big, but she wore it anyway.
James yawned and began to fuss, so she kissed his head and carried him to his crib. She watched as his eyes closed and his thumb inched toward his mouth. Once he was settled, she walked into the hallway and paused at the guest room. The door was ajar and she spied a duffel bag that had been tossed into one corner, a shirt slung over the bedpost. A hint of Nick’s aftershave wafted into the corridor and memories of the night before rained over her in a torrent of sweet, heady seduction. Don’t even go there, she warned herself. It was just lust. Sex. Two restless people who needed a release.
But it hadn’t been before.
Nick had stopped his truck, held her in his arms and comforted her on the night he’d driven her to the clinic.
Then dumped you off with Alex and left.
Because he’s my husband, she thought angrily. What else could he do?
Wasn’t he also the one who had dragged you bodily out of bed and was hell-bent to see that you got some decent medical care? Without his interference, you might still be loaded up on painkillers and Valium or whatever the hell it was. She nearly laughed aloud. Nick was right. He didn’t fit the image of some sort of twenty-first-century hero.
No way. No how.
“Mrs. Cahill?” Tom’s soft voice caught her off guard. He’d just come down from the servants’ quarters. “I was about to get your medication.”
“What medication?”
“The painkiller Dr. Robertson prescribed.”
“What is it?” she asked, walking away from Nick’s room.
“Acetaminophen.”
“Tylenol?”
“Yes.”
“Anything else?”
“Well, it’s with codeine,” he said.
“What was I on before?” she asked, stepping closer to him. “What did Dr. Robertson prescribe when I got out of the hospital?”
“Halcion.”
“What’s that?”
“Triazolam. It’s a mild sedative.”
“Great.” Had she needed one? “Look, forget any pain pills. I think I’ll just stick with Bayer, okay? I’ll take it when I need it for the pain and if I can’t sleep, too bad. I’ll deal with it.”
“But—”
“It’s my body, Tom, and no matter what you’ve been told, I’m in control of it. If there’s a problem with Dr. Robertson, I’ll talk to him. The same goes for my husband. I’ll deal with him.”
“They only want what’s best for you,” he said, his face totally guileless.
“If you say so. In the meantime I’ll handle the pain however I see fit.”