She was so thin, he could feel every rib.
"I'm going to deal with you when you are well enough," he promised grimly. Turning, he opened the back door for David. "Get in." Making sure he was secure, he rounded the hood and jumped in.
"Call Sylvia." He glanced over at her to ascertain she was comfortable enough. "Hi, I hope you're at the clinic. Good." He nodded.
Pressing down on the horn, he sent the vehicle in front of him sprinting forward. "I have my, er, I have someone who's--How far along are you?" He snapped the question at her.
"Eight weeks."
"Eight--" He bit off a curse and somehow managed to swing around a slow-moving SUV. "She's eight weeks pregnant and as thin as a rake. Have a wheelchair out front. ETA--" He glanced at the car clock. "Two minutes." He stopped at the light and turned to look at her. "Were you ever going to tell me?" he asked in an agonized tone.
Closing her eyes, she turned her head away and did not answer.
Dr. Sylvia Cooke was waiting with the wheelchair, her stocky body donned in winter white, hair carefully combed back from her face.
She wheeled the chair over as Rodney lifted Melanie gently from the seat.
"We have a room set up." Sylvia's light green eyes took in the boy who hopped out.
"Who do we have here?"
"Her son. David."
"Is my mom going to die?" he asked fearfully.
"Of course not. I'm going to fix her right up."
*****
"Mother, I know you're hosting that dinner and I'm sorry to disturb you."
"Nonsense, darling. You told the maître d' it was urgent. What is it?"
"Melanie." He passed a hand at the back of his neck wearily. "It's a long story; the short version is, she's pregnant with my child and is not doing well. I'm at the Wellness Clinic and Sylvia is personally taking care of her."
"The bottom line is, she is suffering from acute nausea and cannot keep anything down. She is also hypertensive and dehydrated. They've inserted a feeding tube." He fought the bitter fury and fear that was gripping him.
"I have her son; David is here with me. I contacted her grandmother and she wants him brought to her. I could call one of the drivers--"
"That won't be necessary. I will leave now and come and pick up the child."
"Thank you," he said softly. "I'm not leaving. I have to know that she's going to be all right. I want to strangle her for keeping this from me, but that's another matter." He bit off a sigh. "I did say some pretty awful things to her."
"You're there now," his mother said soothingly. "I'm on my way."
"I want to stay," David said mutinously. "She's my mom." He shot Rodney an accusing stare. "You did this to her. Made her cry and got her pregnant."
"And I intend to take care of her. Of both of you." One of the nurses had taken him to a waiting room and given him snacks. "Your grandmother is worried and wants you to come and staywith her. My mother is going to take you to her." Rodney sat next to him, his gaze direct.
"I promise to take the best care of her and will let you know when she wakes up."
"My father left us."
Rodney felt a jolt at the belligerent look on the boy's face when he said it.
"I'm not him. I'm staying."
"You made her cry," he pointed out, not ready to start trusting. "I heard her in her room when she thought I was asleep and I overheard her and grams talking about you."
