Nick Richards grimaced at the shut door and clicking lock, hoping the woman wasn’t terrified of him. What the hell had he just done? Opened himself up to anything from being tomorrow’s gossip to a rape charge? But he couldn’t have turned her down. Not with that pretty pink bundle of a baby.
He sat down on the end of the bed. There was no way out now¾unless he gave up the room, but he hadn’t the strength for sleeping in the car. Or for getting the Jeep back on the road. She’d taken the one hiding place in this low rent hotel¾the bathroom. Nick studied the room in an attempt to somehow split it up in to two. Bed, TV armoire, one square blue chair, two bed side tables, desk with a mirror above it.
Nick wondered if the mirror was bolted to the wall or if he could take it down and turn it around. He didn’t want to see his reflection, for it would remind him of the man she thought he was. He stood to find it solidly secured to the wall and frowned as he turned away from the mirror. How’d she even recognize him that fast? He looked horrible. Unshaven. Hair uncombed. Face thin and pale as a ghost.
Well, this development had drastically altered his plans for the near future. He heard her turn the bathroom lock and quickly sat down on the bed again.
Safe in the bathroom, Natalie had changed Vanessa’s diaper on the bathroom floor and used the toilet, feeling quite self-conscious about the tinkling sound. Vanessa seemed okay, not cold, just crabby and hungry. Natalie needed to make the best of this situation for Vanessa’s sake. She also realized she was cold—and wet from the thighs down. She could not afford to get sick. No point in suffering. If this guy wanted to play-act rescuer she’d let him. Natalie carried the baby out of the bathroom to find him nervously sitting on the end of the bed.
“Um, it’s…Nick? Right?”
“It’ll do, yup.”
“I’m Natalie Devereaux, she’s Vanessa.”
Nick only nodded at her introduction.
“I’m soaked, you don’t have some…”
He leapt into action and dug in a big green duffel bag. “How about sweats?” Out came a white pair of sweat pants and a white sweatshirt. “They’re clean.”
“Socks too?” Natalie looked at her feet. “I think my feet are frostbitten.”
“Are you serious? Let me see,” Nick ordered.
“Do you play a doctor on TV too?” Natalie wisecracked.
“No, but I’ve lived in Montreal. It’s cold there. We know frostbite.”
She sat on the desk chair holding the fretting baby to her chest, planning to work one boot off with the heel of the other, but Nick was at her feet in a flash.
He grabbed her left foot and undid the soggy laces on her short boot more suited to summer hiking than snow and pulled the boot off and tossed it toward the heat unit. The boot hit the dog. Wolfgang flinched, but otherwise remained motionless. Nick pulled off Natalie’s sopping wet sock.
The crouching Adonis held her foot and rotated it in his hand. Her face burned again. Since Mike died, and Vanessa was born, she’d had no time for extensive grooming. The pink nail polish she’d put on in summer now only covered half her toenails. She had not expected anyone to see her feet, least of all a semi-famous actor. She hated to consider what he thought.
Nick rubbed her foot between his hands to warm it, and then gently put her bare foot down. “Nah, no frostbite. Just cold.”