The Virgin Cowboy Billionaire’s Secret Baby(64)

When he left, he didn’t even stick around long enough to put the top down. He just got the hell out of there, leaving his parents’ house in a cloud of dust and losing himself in the roar of the Ferrari’s engine, and when the leather smell started creeping under his skin, he rolled down the window and blasted the air conditioner.

All the way home, he breathed slowly and carefully, anticipating that throbbing behind his eyes. Sometimes it was a delayed reaction, but sometimes it happened right away. Maybe he needed to sit down with his therapist again sooner than later, especially now that he had a few new things to stress over.

Not to mention the old stuff. The will. Mom’s meddling. He genuinely believed his mother’s heart was in the right place, but he couldn’t abide by the manipulative bullshit. And the fucked-up thing was, though he wasn’t surprised by her reactions to his hypothetical scenarios, it hurt. And it left him feeling even more like he didn’t know what he was getting himself into. Dara was stressed and worried, and he didn’t want to compound that.

But it had taken him until last year to figure out how to take care of himself.

How the hell was he going to take care of a baby?

“Are you sure you can carry this?”

Dara glared playfully at him over the crib’s flat box. “Yes, Matt. It’s fine.”

“I’m serious. Does your doctor—”

“It’s under fifty pounds, and you’re helping. Relax.” She started up the stairs backward. “Just go slowly.”

“I’m following you.”

The box was awkward and not very well balanced, but between them they made it up the stairs, down the hall and into the baby’s bedroom. They carefully laid it on the floor beside the stroller, dresser and changing table they’re already brought up.

As Matt stood, a fuzzy spot in his field of vision made his stomach drop.

Shit. Not now.

He looked at the writing on the crib’s box, and one of the words was slightly warped, as if a crease in the cardboard had swallowed up two of the letters. When he shifted his gaze to another word, the same thing happened.

He rubbed his eye. He knew damn well it wouldn’t help, that he didn’t just have something in his eye, but he did it anyway because hope springs eternal. As he lowered his hand, sure enough—the little crease in his vision was still there. His peripheral vision was narrowing too. First the left side, then the right. There was no turning back now. Before long, the Christmas lights would start—an arcing strand of red and gold flickering lights across the left side of his field of vision.

“Matt?” Dara touched his arm. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I…” He rubbed his eyes again. “Fucking migraine’s kicking in.”

“Oh no. Is there anything I can do?”

“I wish. I do need to lie down for a bit.”

“My bedroom is closest. Why don’t you take my bed?”

“You don’t mind?”

“Don’t ask stupid questions. Of course I don’t mind. Come on.”

He knew the layout of her house by heart, but he was more than a little grateful that she took his hand and guided him across the hall. She turned off the lights and pulled down the blinds, darkening the room while he slipped off his shoes and lay back on her bed.

“Thanks,” he said. “Sorry. I probably won’t be much help for the—”

“Don’t apologize. Do you need anything?”

“Would a cool cloth be too much trouble?”

“Like, just a damp towel?”

“Yeah.”

“Of course not.” She patted his shoulder. “I’ll be right back.”

Alone in the quiet room, he kept his eyes closed and took slow, deep breaths. He wasn’t as prone to the skull-splitting migraines anymore, thank God, but these ocular ones were no picnic either. His eyes ached from trying to focus, and the flickering colors didn’t help the queasiness at all. The Christmas lights behind his eyelids were nauseating, but there was nothing he could do except let them run their course.

Quiet footsteps told him Dara had returned. She eased herself down onto the bed beside him and pressed a cool, damp cloth into his hand. “Will this work?”

“It’s perfect. Thank you.” He laid it over his eyes and, for a moment, just enjoyed the cool relief. It wouldn’t make the migraine magically disappear, but it sure did feel nice.

Keeping her voice soft, she said, “How are you feeling?”

“Not great, but I’ll be okay.”

“Do you want me to go?”

“We’re in your house, aren’t we?”

“You’re lucky you have a migraine, or I’d smack you.”