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renovation projects left incomplete, and headed down a narrow hallway, following a hunch. At the end of the hall he hit pay dirt. What he found dismayed him.
    Someone had taken a sledgehammer to the master bathroom and completely gutted the space. The walls and ceiling had been stripped down to the studs, exposing the wiring and plumbing. Where the shower should have been, he noticed rotten wood, mottled with black stains. The only fixtures in the entire room still intact were the sink and the toilet. And that’s where he found Emma, hunched over the bowl, her eyes wide and incredulous in a face the color of chalk. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
    â€œNathan?” She closed her eyes, and her face twisted into an expression of agony. “What are you doing here?”
    Before he could answer she had leaned over the toilet and heaved. Concern for her overrode his earlier irritation. He knelt beside her and soothed his hand over her shoulder, buffeted by an all-too-familiar feeling of helplessness. How many times had he sat by his mom after her chemo treatments and struggled with the frustration of not being able to help her?
    â€œI came to see why you stood me up again.”
    â€œAnd now that you’ve seen why I couldn’t make it, you can be on your merry way.”
    Her rejection didn’t faze him at all. “And leave you like this? Not likely.” He cast around the dismantled space looking for a towel. “I’ll be right back.”
    He retraced his steps down the hall and entered her tiny kitchen. The ancient cabinets and outdated appliances indicated that her renovation project hadn’t gone far. That was probably for the best if her bathroom was any indication of how badly the remodeling was going. He found a kitchen towel and ran it under the cold water. He squeezed out the excess and returned to the bathroom. Emma sat where he’d left her.
    â€œHere, this should make you feel a little better.” He applied the wet towel to her cheeks and forehead, peering at her in concern. “What were you celebrating?”
    She had enough strength to glare at him, but not enough to fight his ministrations. “This is not a hangover. It’s food poisoning. Go away.”
    He sat down on the floor beside her, not caring that the torn-up flooring would ruin his expensive suit. It bothered him to see her in these sorts of surroundings. No wonder her father wanted her married off. She obviously needed someone to take care of her.
    Something reached through his concern and stunned him with its possibility.
    â€œIs there something else?” she demanded. “Because I’m not really feeling up to entertaining you.”
    He pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “Are you sure this is food poisoning?”
    â€œWhat else could it be?” Her brows came together.
    â€œWell, it’s been almost a month since we were together.” His voice trailed off as he scrutinized her expression.
    Emma eyed him through her long bangs. “And?”
    â€œAre you pregnant?”

Four
    P regnant? Emma’s queasiness now originated from a whole new source. Foreboding surfaced like a rash. Her focus narrowed to the irritation of a persistent itch that wouldn’t go away, no matter how long or hard she scratched.
    She had food poisoning. Nothing more.
    â€œWe used protection,” she reminded him, her voice a noon shadow.
    â€œIt’s not one hundred percent effective.”
    Oh, and wouldn’t he love that. He’d have even more leverage to get her to marry him if she turned out to be pregnant. Closing the door on her doubts, she glared at him. “Go away.”
    â€œI’m not leaving you like this,” he said. “I’m going to get you some water.”
    â€œNo, please.” While she acknowledged that her body could use some fluids right now, she didn’t want Nathan around while she felt so weak and helpless. It was