His Secretary's Little Secret

And she would. Keeping her secret wasn’t worth risking her child. Already, she could hear sirens and see cop cars, firetrucks and an EMT vehicle. She would check in with a medical tech.

“All right. I’ll go give the statement to the police.” He squeezed her hand quickly before walking away to check in with one of the officers.

One deep breath after another, she calmed her nerves, taking comfort in the strong breadth of Easton’s shoulders. She winged a prayer of thanksgiving that he was okay, as well. This could have been so much worse than a dented fender.

In all honesty, she had been in a worse accident when she was thirteen, shortly before her mom died. Her mother had taken her to school in a little blue car. At the final turn before the school, they’d been sideswiped by a bright red pickup truck. That day, she’d needed stitches, and her mother had severely damaged her already ravaged liver. Only a few months later, her mother had died, leaving Portia and her brother alone. They’d moved from Nevada and into the house with their father’s older sister in Florida.

While today’s crash had only been a fender bender and there were no overt signs of damage, still, she worried. Had the crash harmed her unborn baby?

The thought brought a wave of nausea as the steady swirl of red-and-blue lights echoed in Portia’s peripheral vision. How much longer until those emergency vehicles wove their way closer?

She was responsible for the life growing inside her. The life she had to protect. A little boy or little girl—

And thank goodness, one of the EMS trucks stopped on the shoulder of the road just one car up. Since there wasn’t a line of others who appeared in need of emergency care, she pushed away from the light pole and moved toward the ambulance.

Smoothing her sundress in an excuse to steady her hands, she approached the younger of the two EMTs. The gold name tag read Valez.

“Uh, sir?” Stammering, she twisted her fingers together, a flush crawling across her face.

“Yes, ma’am?” Valez, a man in his midthirties with a jet-black mustache, asked, gesturing toward the back of the ambulance.

“I feel fine. But...” Oh Lord. This was the first time she would talk about her pregnancy out loud. “I’m pregnant and I just want to make sure everything is alright.”

The rest of the sentence flew out of her mouth, the reality of her situation echoing back to her.

“You did the right thing in coming over here, ma’am. Please, sit down. We’ll get you checked out. If you need additional care, we’ll transport you to the nearest hospital. But let’s hope that’s not needed. Okay?” He lifted her wrist and began taking her pulse. “So just relax and let’s talk. How far along are you?” He glanced at her while waving a hand for the other EMT to come over. The older gentleman handed Valez a bag filled with equipment.

“Umm. Well, not quite two months. But fairly close to that point.” Portia’s voice was a whisper, nearly covered by the sounds of car horns and conversations.

Valez’s brow furrowed, reaching for his stethoscope. “And so far, your pregnancy is going well?”

“Yes.”

He checked her pulse, nodding to her. “So far, your vitals seem just fine.”

Deep breath out. Good. “What should I watch for?”

Handing his equipment back to the other EMT, Valez turned to face her. “There are two things you can watch for—bleeding and cramping. Based on your vitals, I think you are in the clear. Just be sure to put your feet up and try to relax.”

Portia’s vigorous nod sent loose tendrils of her hair out of her ponytail and into her face. Before she could respond to Valez, Easton strode toward them, concern wearing lines in his ruggedly handsome face.

“Everything okay?”

Heart palpitating, palms sweating, she urged her tongue to find words. “Fine, I’m just fine.”

He glanced at the EMT. “Is that true? She’s a tough cookie who doesn’t complain.”

Valez nodded, holding his medical kit. “We’ve checked her over and everything appears fine. She knows what signs to look for.”

“Signs to look for?” Easton’s brow furrowed, looking confused.

Damn.

Panic pulsed in her throat. This could not be how he found out.

The two technicians exchanged glances. Valez cleared his throat. “Yes, symptoms to look for after a car accident.”

“Symptoms?”

She tried to interrupt, panicked over what the tech might give away, but he nodded at her reassuringly.

“Whiplash, for example. If your neck feels stiff in the morning. Or aches from the seatbelt or from the impact if your airbag went off.”

She inched away. “No airbag. Our vehicle was barely tapped, but I appreciate all the other information you provided. Truly.” She spun to Easton. “We should clear out so they can check out any others who need help.”

“Okay,” Easton answered, giving a final wave to the EMT. “Thank you for taking the time to be so thorough. I appreciate it.”

“Just doing our job.” The tech nodded to her. “Take it easy, ma’am.”

Easton turned back to her, gesturing to the slightly damaged car. A deep sigh escaped his lips, though when he turned to face Portia, a smile manifested. An easygoing smile. One she wanted to give in to. She wanted to lean on him, to rely on him, but she knew that was a recipe for disaster. She had to do this on her own. The sensible thing? Cut her losses on today—on the idea of them.

He touched the top of her arm with gentle fingertips. “This is not the way I envisioned our date going, but I’m glad no one was injured. You must be starving. I know I am. Would you like indoor or outdoor dining?”

The accident shook her ability to remain calm. Though her vitals checked out, she worried about the baby. And that worry made her realize the futility of pursuing anything personal or romantic with Easton. She would always be connected to him, but she couldn’t come to rely on him.

“Honestly, I would like to pick up to-go food and head home.”

“I know it’s a long day driving the whole way down the Keys. Would you rather we get a hotel?” he asked, rushing to add, “Separate rooms of course, if that’s what you want.”

“I want to go home.”

Portia felt downright foolish. She needed space—a place to think. Somewhere away from Easton.

He studied her eyes for a long moment, then shrugged, “Sure, your day. Your date. But it’s going to be damn good carryout.”

* * *

Thoughts of the accident still shook Easton. Though small, the fender bender replayed in his mind.

Portia’s scrunched brow visibly displayed her stress. Her demeanor shifted after talking to the EMT. Easton had the sinking feeling that she wasn’t as fine as she let on. Or maybe the accident had spooked her as it had spooked him. She’d been initially hesitant to accept his offer of the date. Maybe she’d interpreted the accident as a sign that they had to turn back.

He fished his soda out of the cup holder and sipped on the cola. She was safe. They were both safe. The car had received some damage, but that didn’t matter. Not really.

Portia, currently chowing down on carryout, appeared pale, but her color was returning by the bite. She’d chosen a hogfish sandwich, which he hadn’t expected at all, even though the delicate fish had a scallop flavor he personally enjoyed. But he’d thought she would order something grilled on top of a salad, the kind of thing she’d pick up locally when she grabbed them takeout for lunch if she needed to go into town on a workday. Yet, this time she’d chosen heartier fare and downed the sandwich like a starved woman. Even alternating each bite with a conch fritter.

This glimpse of her zest for life, her savoring of the senses, made him hungry for a taste of her. He’d wanted to stop for a roadside picnic, but she’d shot down the suggestion, noting the gathering storm clouds. He had to concur. They needed to start for home.

Traffic in the northbound lane moved moderately fast, but allowed Easton to take in the scenery. Sometimes, he felt like he lived at the refuge. Not a big complaint—he loved his work, knew caring for the animals transcended a job and landed squarely in the realm of a vocation. But he often forgot what a normal day looked like.