Page 20 of Conail (Members From Money Season 2, #150)

The fetus was sucking everything from her. The doctors had some sort of medical term for it, but it boiled down to the fact that she was not doing very well and for the first time, Yasmine's family and Eleanor were gravely concerned.

She had a private consult with the doctor in charge.

"I hate to bring this up--" She paced the length of the private office they had been offered, a frown on her brow. "Do you think we should terminate the pregnancy?"

Charlene stared at her steadily. "That's going to be up to Conail. Where is he?"

"On his way and he's going to want answers." She moved over to the window that overlooked the main parking lot. January had ended with fierce snowstorms as if trying to make its stamp on this part of the world by showing its reluctance to leave.

Ice dripped off trees made bare by the brutal weather.

"What do you think?" She asked without turning around.

"She needs complete bedrest for a few weeks. If we manage to get the pressure under control, she will be okay. She's already showing signs of improvement."

They both looked up at the knock on the door. It was pushed open and Conail stepped in, eyes assessing the two women.

"Mother. Doctor." He pinned the woman with his gaze. "Tell me." The authority in his tone was unmistakable. Dr. Channing felt more than a little bit intimidated as she outlined the symptoms and the treatments.

"How detrimental will it be for her to have an abortion?" he asked tightly. He had convinced himself to stay away and even though it had been three weeks, he had been unable to get her out of his mind. Reading the reports had made things even worse.

Charlene answered carefully. "If the embryo is endangering her life, we can consider that possibility. But we are going to have to consult Yasmine. It's her body."

"I'm well aware of that." He could not help but think that his seed was poison or there was something wrong with him. "I need to see her."

"She's resting."

"I need to see her." He repeated in an inflexible tone.

"She's in room ten. Let me--"

"I'll find it." With a curt nod to both of them, he strode from the room.

"He's pretty scary, isn't he?" Charlene observed wryly.

"He's worried."

The doctor glanced at her curiously. "I thought this was an arrangement."

"Somehow it has become much more than that."

*****

Removing his overcoat, he carefully folded it and laid it on the single chair in the room. He had had some harsh words with her brother in the waiting room and was still steaming about it. The son of a bitch had accused him of ruining his sister.

He had countered by reminding the man that his sister was going through all of this because they needed the help. He had seen the way the mother winced, and the father turned away and regretted it. But dammit, the man had gotten to him, and he was already feeling like crap.

Shoving the sleeves of his sweater past his forearm, he toed off his shoes and went to sit on the edge of the bed.

She looked so still and restful. The tubes were running through her mouth and machines were quietly beeping. He did not particularly love hospitals. His father had stayed in a private room for two weeks before succumbing to his illness. Missing him was still an issue for him.

Reaching out a hand, he indulged the need to touch her and found himself trailing a finger down her cheek to feel the softness. He had a hard time forgetting the night he had spent with her and how he felt right after. It had been innocent, on her part of course.

On his part, he had been so aroused, it had plagued him throughout the night.

Her breathing was even indicating that she was having a restful slumber.

Moving down to her arm, he took her hand in his and studied the surprisingly long and elegant fingers. She had the hand of an artist, he mused.

Lifting his head, he stared at her face. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry as hell. I keep thinking that no one should go through this, and I want to take back the decision. But I am powerless to do so." He stared off at the plain white wall.

"There's a possibility that the pregnancy can be terminated and we should think about it.

" He was unconsciously rubbing his thumb over her fingers.

"You did not want to listen to reason before, but I would like to assure you that the money is not important.

" He wanted to add that she would still be paid, but under the circumstances, it would have sounded callous.

And dammit to hell, he was hurting. He wanted the baby she was carrying. And he wanted her.

Letting go of her hand, he sprang off the bed and strode to the window. Shoving his hands into the pockets of his navy dress pants, he rocked back on his heels, his jaw clamped tightly. Where the hell did that come from? Any of it?

He could not 'want' her. He had seen what this kind of emotions and feelings do to people. He was living proof of it. He had given his heart and body, and it had not been enough.

He had been bamboozled and played for a fool. He would be damned if he was going through that again.

No way in hell.

Pacing back to the bed, he stood there staring at her before going over to sit on the chaise. He would spend the night here so that he could convince her of the decision. His decision.

After all, he had paid her an exorbitant amount of money. She was damn well going to listen to him. With that resolved, he settled back and closed his eyes.

*****

"Have I made a mistake?" Maeve asked quietly. "In my quest to run my daughter's life, have I sent her to her death?"

They had finally been convinced to come home. Eleanor had promised that she would give them updates as soon as she had any information.

It was almost midnight, and they were still unable to sleep. The anger on Conail McLaughlin's face had frightened her. And it made her wonder if this was a man she wanted for her baby girl. He looked ruthless and formidable.

"You would never do anything to harm our children." Her husband came up behind her. Wrapping his arms around her, he kissed her cheek. "You have been such a tower of strength to this family, me in particular." His voice had roughened. "We have all benefited from Yasmine's suffering."

She continued to stare out the window. "If anything happens to her--" She broke off as he squeezed her arm.

"Nothing will. I'm surprised at you." He chided. "You're the one with the mountain top faith. What happened to praying for results?"

"It took a nosedive when I saw Yasmine lying on that bed." She turned to face him, her expression one of weary resignation. He was not accustomed to seeing her defeated and it frightened him.

She was strong, with an indomitable strength he always put stock in, he realized. She with her strong familial support, was determined to hold them all together.

He needed that strength now, he thought. Taking her hand, he led her to the bed and pressed her down. Pulling up a chair, he set about taking her boots off.

A surge of tenderness and love swept through Maeve as she stared at his bent head. He never had a lot to say, but when he opened his mouth it was meaningful. He was her man, her best friend and her lover and had been since they were children. She had never looked at another man.

Feeling the tension easing from her chest, she wriggled her toes and held her left foot out. "It feels like when we were on our honeymoon." She smiled as he looked at her in surprise.

"At the sweet little bed and breakfast, you lifted me over the threshold and proceeded to take off my shoes."

He smiled in return and peeled off her stockings.

"You still look as beautiful as you did that day." His touch lingered on her thighs and sent a thrill through her tired body.

"You old flatterer." She drew him to sit beside her and held his hand.

"Clive, tell me it's going to be fine. That our daughter is going to survive this."

"She will." He spoke strong and confident and hoped he was saying the right thing. "She's her mother's daughter. Strong and determined to make it." He squeezed her hand. "The gentleman looked worried."

She smiled at his old fashioned and impersonal term. "He is. Eleanor said he spent the night in her room a few weeks ago. He would not leave. He made her tea and held her while she puked."

Letting go of her hand, he drew her head down on his shoulder. "I remember doing the same for you and how terrified I was. With Clive it wasn't so awful, but with Yasmine, you were as sick as a dog. I prayed for it to end.

Each day I would dread waking up to another moment of it. You would rush into the bathroom after drinking tea."

"And you were right there behind me," She laughed softly at the memory. "You were always there for me."

"Where else would I be?" he stroked her arm slowly. "She's going to be okay."

"I am praying so." She murmured sincerely.