“It’s what he does, you know?” I said, sounding harsh, but what choice did I have?
His eyes opened wide. “What do you mean?”
“You’re not giving me a choice. I told you I want you to leave, but you refuse to. Why? So you can control me the way my father does?”
“Are you really suggesting I’m like Baron? Jesus, Isabel, that isn’t who I am at all.”
“Isn’t it—” My train of thought was interrupted by the worst cramping I’d ever felt in my life. I grabbed a sofa pillow and held it to my stomach, trying to breathe through the pain.
“Isabel?” Kick gasped. “What’s wrong?”
“I must’ve…eaten something—” Then I felt a rush of warmth between my legs. “No!” I cried, holding the pillow tighter.
Kick sank to his knees in front of me. “What’s going on? What can I do?”
“Ambulance,” I spit out between clenched teeth.
He got out his phone and dialed. “This is an emergency. We need an ambulance at the WhitmoreWinery.” He paused. “That’s right. Um, one of the cottages.” Another pause. “Symptoms?” he asked me.
“Bleeding,” I groaned, knowing without looking.
“Severe abdominal pain and bleeding.” He waited a couple of seconds. “Um, I’m not sure.” He took a deep breath. “Isabel, she’s asking if you could be pregnant.”
I squeezed my eyes closed, tears ran down my cheeks, and I slowly nodded. Then, everything went black.
Sounds came in fragments.Sirens. People talking. The jolt of wheels over uneven ground.
“Ma’am, can you hear me? Can you tell me your name?”
I tried to answer, but my tongue felt thick, as though it was disconnected from my brain.
“Isabel.” Kick speaking cut through the fog. “Her name is Isabel Van Orr.”
“Sir, are you family?”
“I’m the father.”
The father.He didn’t even know. Not for certain. But he’d claimed it anyway.
Someone was doing something between my legs. Positioning something. I tried to move away.
“It’s okay. We’re just placing an absorbent pad to monitor the bleeding. Try to stay still,” said a woman.
Someone pressed something cold against my arm. A blood pressure cuff. Then a sharp pinch on the back of my hand. I flinched.
“We’re starting an IV line. You might be dehydrated.”
“Ma’am, how far along are you?” someone else asked.
I couldn’t think. I couldn’t even remember what day it was. My eyes met Kick’s, silently pleading for his help.
“Twelve weeks,” he said without batting an eye.
“Any previous pregnancies?”
“No,” I managed to say.
“When did the bleeding start?”
