Page 44 of The Guest Cottage

“Dylan is dead.” Did the girl not know that?

“Marlow,” Cort said, his arm coming around her waist, his strength surrounding her. “She has a baby.”

It took a moment for that word to penetrate.Baby?Gaze dropping, Marlow took in the infant sleeping swaddled in a blue blanket.

Life couldn’t be so unfair! This had nothing to do with her.Nothing. Why involve her?

“I’m so sorry,” Pixie said, openly crying now, her nose running, her voice broken. “I’ve been sick, and I don’t know what to do.”

“Christ,” Marlow complained, her stomach knotting, her brain cramping—and her heart clenching hard. Pixie wavered, looking as if she might keel over. In fact, Cort had one hand outstretched, as if to catch her. Marlow’s own throat closed tight, but she managed to say, “Come in.”

Cort immediately supported the woman, steering her through the foyer and into the sitting room, where he helped her into a comfortable seat on the couch, then quickly plucked two tissues from the box and handed them to her. As Pixie cleaned up her face, he put his hand to her forehead, then turned to Marlow. “She’s feverish.”

Great. Just freaking great. If only she were numb, but instead feelings bombarded her. Strong feelings. Powerful, even. “I’m not sure what to do.”

Pixie nodded, then again dashed the tears from her cheeks. She avoided Marlow’s gaze. “I . . . Andy is only three months old. I could live in my car, but he can’t. I’m breastfeeding.” She grew silent, sniffling. “I’m almost out of diapers. I have no way to wash his clothes.”

Slowly, Marlow sank down on the couch, not close to Pixie, but not that far away either. Needing a moment to decide on what to say or do next, she glanced at Cort.

Of course, he easily interpreted her look. Standing before Pixie, his feet braced apart, his hands on his hips, he asked gently, “Have you taken anything for your fever?”

Pixie shook her head.

Glad for a reason to grab a private moment, Marlow shot back to her feet. “I’ll get you something. And maybe some juice?”

The hope and gratitude in Pixie’s big blue eyes were enough to unravel Marlow. She spun away, anxious for a quick escape from this new reality.

Why couldn’t the past stay in the past?

She wanted to be free and clear of it; instead, it was smothering her.

The neediness of her in-laws had been bad enough, but now this? The “other woman,” at her doorstep, begging her for help?

Literallybegging.

She went through the bedroom into the attached bathroom. In the medicine cabinet, she found two OTC medications. Unsure which would be best, she carried both with her to the kitchen, where she poured a glass of orange juice. On impulse, she put two cookies on a napkin and, feeling like a martyr, reentered the sitting room.

Cort now sat on the coffee table, talking quietly with Pixie. He’d taken charge of the situation, thank God, because for a few minutes there, she hadn’t known what to do.

But no more.

This was her new and improved life, but life was never perfect. She’d continue to deal with every blow that came her way, and no matter what, she’d stay true to herself.

That meant liking herself enough to be kind, but not a pushover.

Putting everything on the table, she turned to Pixie. “Since you’re breastfeeding, are there restrictions on what medicines you can take?” It pleased her that her voice sounded strong instead of stricken, that she’d infused concern into her tone. Damn it, shewasconcerned.

Warily, Pixie peeked at her.

The girl was far too timid, but then again, she was wrecked. The color in her cheeks was a clear sign of fever, and she looked drawn to the point of collapse. The baby stirred, stretching and scrunching up his little face before settling again.

Cort lifted his phone. “I just looked it up. Let’s give her this one.” He picked up one of the bottles, shook out two pills, and handed them to Pixie with the juice.

Her quietly mumbled “Thank you” was barely audible. She swallowed the medicine, drank a sip of juice, handed the glass back to Cort, and then just stared down at her son.

When she finally lifted her gaze to Marlow again, there was a quiet dignity there. Yes, desperation remained, illness too, but she faced Marlow head-on. “I swear to you, I didn’t know he was married.”

The vow startled Marlow. It wasn’t what she’d expected and was hard to believe. Pixie had worked for the Heddings. Okay, sure, a warehouse position was not a corporate job, but still, surely she’d known the marital status of the company heir?

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