Emergency Engagement. Michele Dunaway
Anderson would really evict me, not after the past few years I’ve had.” She swallowed.
She was so tired, so sick of fighting to eke out an existence. Still, she pressed on. “You wouldn’t know what it’s like to be poor, would you? You wouldn’t know how hard it is to put food on the table, to make sure your child doesn’t suffer. You wouldn’t know…” She suddenly saw two of Quinton.
Both Quinton’s spoke. “Beth, you don’t look good. You’re pale and…”
“I’m fine,” Beth said. “I’m just fine.” She was always fine. She couldn’t afford not to be.
And then, as if fate mocked her, the world went black.
Chapter Three
When she awoke, it was to gentle light and a pillow underneath her head. Where was she? Panic filled her and Beth forced herself to try to sit. Pain filled her head.
“Relax.” Quinton’s voice. “You need to rest.”
Beth closed her eyes and let herself sink back into the softness. Then she remembered.
“Carly.” Beth’s frantic voice came out a mere whisper.
“She’s fine. Ida’s got her.” Quinton’s voice was reassuring. “Just rest,” he said again. “Carly’s fine. Right now she’s probably watching Mulan.”
She kept her eyes closed. “Why are you still here?”
“Because you passed out in my arms. When’s the last time you had something to eat?”
“I don’t remember. Maybe lunch?”
“Which was hours ago.”
Beth’s eyelids snapped open, the light was too intense. She closed her eyes, waited a moment and tried again. Although this time her eyes adjusted better, she still winced. She then struggled to sit up.
“Not so fast,” Quinton said. “Let me help you.”
She felt his arms around her as he moved her to a sitting position.
One arm around her, he said, “Now that you’re up, drink this.” With his other hand, he brought a cup to her lips.
Parched, Beth allowed herself a long drink of the grape-flavored liquid. It tasted familiar. “What is it?”
“Sports drink. Full of electrolytes. I drink it after I work out. I had a bottle in my car. In my medical opinion, your body is dehydrated, hungry and plain fatigued. You need rest and hydration.”
Beth struggled to free herself from his arm. “I’m fine. I have a lot to do, and you need to go.”
A firm but gentle hand on her shoulder stopped her from rising.
“You’re not fine. You collapsed and lost consciousness.”
“I—” Beth began.
“No excuses, no protests. I’m a doctor, and if you want a second opinion regarding your physical condition I’d be happy to take you to the ER. Northwestern is right around the corner and I have some good friends there who would be happy to check you out, maybe even give you an IV.”
Quinton removed his arm and Beth let the soft pillow claim her head. No more ER visits—ever. Besides, she certainly didn’t have the money for another fifty dollars’ co-pay. “That’s okay. I’m not that bad off.”
“See, I knew you were a wise woman,” Quinton said. “Now, you’re going to stay right here and drink the rest of this. You’ve let yourself get run-down. If you were twenty years younger, I’d insist you go to a hospital.”
“Really, I’m fine.”
“You have to rehydrate. Let me help you.” He cradled her head and supported it while Beth took another swallow of the milk.
“And then I’m getting off my couch.”
“No, you’re not,” Quinton said easily.
Beth sipped the grape-flavored sports drink until the cup was empty. Then he lowered her back to the pillow.
“That’s better.”
Beth gazed up at him. “I have to finish packing.”
Quinton ignored her. “Now that you’re done this, I’m going to get you some more. We’ll talk about your activities after that.”
Despite herself, Beth cracked a small smile. “Yes, Doctor.”
The smile Quinton gave her in return before he stood could have melted even the hardest of hearts. Beth found her own fluttering.
“That’s my girl,” he said.
I wish! Beth’s hand shook as she adjusted the ratty old blanket he’d covered her with. Had she really just thought that? She stared at the flat brown doors of her apartment. Then she glanced at the clock.
Panic overtook her. She had things to pack! Stuff to move! She couldn’t relax for another moment.
“I told you to remain lying down.” Quinton’s voice cut through the room.
Beth paused, her left foot halfway to the floor. “I have to pack the rest of my things. I have to be out by noon tomorrow and—”
“It’ll all to be taken care of. I’ve hired packers.”
Disbelief filled her as she stared at him. Was he serious? His gray eyes indicated that he was. But how? Quinton set a tray down and ran a finger under the collar of his long-sleeved polo shirt. “As I keep saying, you need to rest.”
She had to concentrate on her priorities, her symptoms and Quinton’s good looks notwithstanding. “My stuff. I have to pack my stuff.”
He shrugged. “No, you don’t. I said I took care of it. I called in a favor.” He saw her expression and smiled. “Yeah, a favor. A friend of mine owns a moving service. Everything for storage goes at first light tomorrow, and he’s got a two-man crew coming to box your personal things at the same time.”
“But I have no place to go!”
“Trust me.” Quinton opened another bottle of the drink that he’d brought up from his car. “Carly deserves a mother who’s well.”
Anger returned, and Beth winced as her head throbbed harder. “I am not one of your patients! You can’t order me about. I’m not drinking anything until you tell me exactly what’s happening. I can’t afford this.”
“Stop stressing yourself out. It’s not good for you. I can afford it.”
“But I can’t. I told you before—I’m not taking your charity or your favors!” Beth sat up completely, the blanket slipping to her waist. She glanced down in a panic.
“Don’t worry,” Quinton said. “You’re decent. Besides, I saw it all the other night.”
Beth shot him a dirty look. “If I drink this stuff, will you tell me what you want and then leave?”
“I want to help you.” He handed her the bottle of sports drink.
“What’s in it for you?”
Quinton frowned. “Am I that transparent?”
“Men always want something,” Beth said.
“That doesn’t say much for my gender. And I guess, in a way, I do want something. But it’s not what you’re expecting. At least, I hope not. What I think is that I have a solution to your problem, and in turn, you can be the solution to mine.”
“Wait. You’re telling me that you have a problem you want me to solve. That’s what you want? A solution to a problem?”
“What, you find it hard to