Page 28 of Brant
He arrived home at a little past the hour of ten, weary and frustrated. Nothing had gone according to plan. The pilot had to change his flight plan because of a sudden storm that had developed, making it impossible to fly the direct route. He had taken a circuitous route that delayed his arrival by three hours.
When he finally landed, his driver had not been at the hangar and had to be summoned. Now he was travel-weary and more than a little grouchy. He did not want to approach her with this attitude.
And the house was dark and silent. Letting himself in, he shrugged out of his jacket and took off his snow-covered shoes. The only lights were the ones from the stove. The Christmas decorations had been removed, leaving the house looking a little dismal.
He knew she was home because he had seen her vehicle among the others in the garage. Making his way up the stairs, he started to turn toward his suite when he hesitated and strode toward hers.
Her doors were open. Stepping into her sitting room, he made his way into the bedroom, and it was then he heard the sound: a moan, a distinctly agonized one that left him rooted in the middle of the floor.
The fire was dying in the hearth, which did not offer much light. And she had not turned on a lamp. A pale half-moon allowed him to notice her lying on the bed, curled up into a ball and rocking. A cry escaped her and had him bolting toward her.
"Indigo. What's wrong?"
Her eyes popped wide open, and he saw the sheen of tears. Her lashes were wet and so were her cheeks. She was in serious pain.
"Brant," she breathed.
"I'm here. What's wrong?"
"I-nothing." She bit her lip to stop the sound from escaping but did not quite manage it.
"Indigo-"
"Please excuse me." She shoved him away and raced toward the bathroom. He sprang up from the bed and stood there listening in horror to her awful retching. He was about to go after her when he noticed to his horror that the sheets were soaked with blood. Only one thing came to his petrified mind.
The excruciating pain, the blood, her vomiting: she was obviously dying. Belatedly realizing that he was still standing there while she was puking her stomach out, he rushed into the bathroom. She was on the floor, her hands wrapped around her stomach and keening. Dropping to his knees, he got behind her and held her from behind. Immediately, she gripped his arms, her fingers digging into his skin, making him wince at the pain she was causing him.
"Baby, what's wrong?" he asked her gently, rocking her back and forth. She was soaked through with sweat, the black sweater clinging to her skin.
"My periods," she whispered hoarsely. "I've had a hormonal imbalance since I was a child and have irregular periods. I haven't had one in a year now and never thought about it. I felt the heaviness in my abdomen while at the store but thought nothing of it until I came home and the pain started."
He brushed the coils of hair from her forehead and pressed a kiss to her temple. "How long ago?"
"Two hours."
He felt the guilty lurch of his heart at the idea that she was here alone and in pain. He was about to suggest he help her back to bed when she cried out, her fingers clinging to him.
"Oh, Christ!" His face went white and his body stiffened. "I'm calling the doctor."
"No. I need to take a shower. Please help me up."
He did so slowly and saw to his horror that the floor where she had been was soaked with more blood. Surely it had to be something dire. "I'll assist you in the shower-"
"No!" She shook her head. "I can manage." She closed her eyes briefly. "Just get me something to wear. Black leggings in the second drawer of the dresser and a sweater."
Before he could insist on taking her into the shower, she made her way slowly and stood waiting for him to leave, which he did with great reluctance.
Striding to the bed, he stood there staring at the spread of blood. Then firming his lips, he yanked the sheets off and was about to go and look for another set when he decided that she would be better off in his bed. Moving toward the dresser, he took out the clothing she had asked for and went back to the bathroom.
"All right if I come in?" he asked, knocking on the door.
"I'm getting out now. Stay there, I'll come and get them."
He waited by the door until she opened it an inch and reached for her clothing. "What else can I do?"
"I need a cup of hot tea."
"Before I do that, I want to make sure you come out. I'll wait here."
