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“No.”
On the contrary, she’d fought him adamantly. Said some other stuff that had made his jaw tense. As long as she had him to talk to, she didn’t need anyone else. He understood her. She trusted him. Stuff like that.
He didn’t want her trust.
“She says she doesn’t need the help,” he murmured.
“Yet she comes to you.”
“Yeah.” And it was really bothering him. He hadn’t felt so trapped since he’d been locked up in a ten-by-ten cell.
“You need to keep trying, Matt,” Phyllis said emphatically. They were moving toward the checkout. “If you’re the only one she’s talking to, you might be her only hope. Stick close to her, gain her confidence. Maybe you’ll convince her to change her mind.”
“Not likely.”
He couldn’t do that, couldn’t let her get any closer. Sophie was already much too close for his comfort. Damn thing was, she was a great kid, with more potential than any student he’d had since coming to Montford, and Montford, with its small enrollment and impressive reputation, brought in only the best.
“If you think it’ll help, I’d be glad to come and talk to her,” Phyllis offered.
Unloading the groceries onto the counter for her—heavy items first, light items last so when they rolled down to be bagged, nothing would be smashed or damaged—Matt considered the idea. He wasn’t sure he liked it—adding another knot to the tangle that his relationship with Phyllis had become. But he sure wanted to back away from his involvement with the pretty coed.
“I just might take you up on that, Doc,” he told Phyllis, “if you’re sure it’s not too much trouble.”
“Not at all. I’d like to help. It’s what I do.”
Matt nodded; he already knew that about her.
“Besides,” Phyllis continued, moving up to the cashier as she finished emptying the basket and pushed it down toward the bag boy. “It’d be a way I can repay you for all the work you’re doing.”
“Uh, I’m the one in debt here,” he said, glancing pointedly at her stomach.
Her little grimace grabbed his gut and wouldn’t let go.
“PHYLLIS?”
Coming fully awake, hardly aware of how she’d come to have the phone at her ear, Phyllis sat up in bed.
What time is it? “Tor? What’s up, honey?”
Three o’clock in the morning. Phyllis tensed. Three o’clock in the morning could mean only one thing, and it wasn’t time for that yet. Tory had another month to go.
“My water broke,” the younger woman said. “Can you come?”
“I’m on my way,” Phyllis said, taking the phone with her as she pulled on the beige slacks and black sweater she’d worn grocery shopping with Matt the day before. “Have you called the Montfords?”
Ben Sanders, Tory’s husband, was out of town with his daughter, Alex, that weekend, finalizing his sole custody of the child, as her mother was signing away a
ll rights. He was Sam Montford’s cousin, the elder Montfords’ nephew, something they’d only discovered the year before, when Ben had come to Shelter Valley to start his life over. Which meant the Montfords were Tory’s family now.
“No,” Tory said. “I just want you.”
Phyllis could hear the panic in Tory’s voice. The whole reason Ben had gone to California now—taking Alex out of school—was that he’d thought the time was safe. He hadn’t wanted to wait and go during Alex’s Christmas break. He’d figured that was too risky, cutting it too close.
“How far apart are the pains?” Phyllis asked, slipping into black ankle boots.
“Seven minutes.”
Phyllis nodded. Okay, that was good. “You have a bag packed?” she asked next, intending to keep her friend on the phone until she could get to her.
