She Woke Up Married by Suzanne Macpherson Page B

shirt sleeve. Then he sat quietly beside her until her cry subsided, her breathing changed, and he knew she was sleeping.
    He had a lot of thinking to do. Funny thing was, most of it had come to him as she’d described her plan to him. Now he just had to figure out how he was going to carry through with his part. Paris was a force to be reckoned with. Her strength was amazing. But her strong walls were built on sand, because she didn’t have the foundation that loving parents can give. He needed to be the foundation she never had. For her…and for their baby.
    He looked around her apartment at the odd assortment of childlike things: her bear collection, her dolls, even her piles of pillows and quilts. Paris had never gotten to be a child. She’d taken care of her mother as she’d fallen to pieces after the birth of Paris’s sister, and after that she’d taken care of her father. Under such unfortunate circumstances, her childhood had been taken so early from her. She was right about one thing—they should have adopted her out with her sister. He supposed the father couldn’t bear parting with Paris too, after having lost everything.
    And after all that caretaking she’d done, all those people had died or been lost to her anyway. No wonder Paris felt the way she did.
    Turner knew it was his job to get Paris through this. Her pain and her past were a storm that they’d have to pass through to get to the otherside. And he would have to be a firmly rooted tree that bowed in that storm but always stood steady. He just hoped he could stand the hundred-and-twenty-mile-an-hour winds that were about to hit.
     
    As the afternoon sun shifted downward from the peak of the tall windows, Paris stirred under her bundle of covers. She was too hot, and she pushed them aside with her feet.
    “Good morning again,” Turner said.
    Paris rolled herself toward the sound of his voice, pulling the sheets with her. He stood next to her bed. He was shaved, dressed in jeans and a clean white shirt. She could smell his clean scent. She breathed him in and felt a smile cross her face. He was the only thing that didn’t make her feel nauseous right now. She adjusted her bleary eyes to the clock beside her bed. It was one o’clock in the afternoon.
    “I left you some lunch in the kitchen—a pot of soup and a sandwich. Just warm the soup back up. Paris, take a nice shower and put on some clean clothes. You’ll feel better. I’m going to the bar and I’ll be back late. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”
    “Thank you, Dr. Phil, I’ll be sure and spruce myself up. I’m sure a shower and some lipstick will fix everything.”
    Turner sighed, then bent over and kissed heron the forehead. “It won’t fix everything, but it will make you smell better.” He smiled big at her, shrugged on the big Nevada shearling coat he was holding, and headed toward the door.
    “Go ahead. Leave me,” she hollered, sitting up in the bed.
    “Good-bye, Paris, I’ll be back about eleven tonight. I’ve got your spare key from the rack here.” He held it up in the air, then stepped through the open door and closed it behind him.
    She was alone. Alone with her miserable self. She usually liked her own company. No one to tell her what to do. But today she was too horrid to be around. Turner might be right. A nice shower and maybe a little lunch might perk her up.
    She showered.
    She shaved her legs.
    She washed her big red piles of hair and conditioned them. The smell of the apricot conditioner almost made her yak again.
    She got out and toweled herself off and wrapped a smaller yellow towel around her hair. Then she stared at her naked body in the mirror. She knew she was barely two months along, but she could swear her belly was puffed. Her breasts were definitely puffed. They hurt like hell. This was going to be like never-ending PMS.
    She bolted out of the steamy bathroom and walked naked across the apartment to the wardrobe closet she’d had built on one