Hired by Her Husband by Anne McAllister

mode now. She wanted to strangle him.
    He looked at Sam. “You did say that, didn’t you?”
    Sam rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, I—” And Sophy thought he might deny what George had said. But then he shrugged helplessly. “That’s what I said. You can go home if you get someone to keep an eye on you. If you take it easy. If you don’t do stupid stuff. No straining. No lifting. No running up and down the stairs. No hot sex,” he added firmly.
    “Well, damn,” George said mildly while Sophy felt her cheeks burn. He gave Sam a quick smile, then turned his gaze back on her. “Dr. Dan says I can go home.”
    Sophy ground her teeth. He’d boxed her in. Made it impossible to say no. But, why?
    It wasn’t as if he wanted to be married to her. Clearly he didn’t. Just this morning he’d been vowing—promising!—to file for divorce. And now? She pressed her lips together in a tight line.
    “How long?” She didn’t look at George, only at Sam.
    “Depends,” Sam said slowly, and she could see him go back into his doctor demeanor as he thought about it. “He needs to remain quiet. Besides the concussion, which he will still be feeling the effects of, he has a subdural hematoma.”
    He went on at length about the blood spill between the dura and the arachnoid membrane, telling her it was impossible to know how extensive the bleeding could be, that it might organize itself in five to six days, that it could take ten to twenty for the membrane to form. The longer he talked, the more detailed and technical Sam became. Sophy heard the word seizure and felt panicky. She heard the word death and her sense of desperation grew.
    “Then this is no small matter,” she summarized when Sam finally closed his mouth.
    “No, it’s not. So far he’s doing so good. But we’re not talking about Mr. Sensible here.”
    They weren’t? George had always seemed eminently sensible—sensible to a fault almost—to Sophy. She looked at him, then at Sam.
    “I’m giving you worst-case scenarios.” Sam assured her.
    “Thanks very much,” she said drily.
    “But it’s necessary. It’s why I won’t let him go if he’s going to be alone.”
    There was silence then. Sam waited for her answer. George didn’t say a word, just stared at her with that “is your word good or not?” look on his face. And Sophy wrestled with her conscience, her emotions and her obligations.
    “So you’re saying it could be days,” she said finally.
    “Honestly it would be better for him to have someone around for several weeks. Or a month.”
    “A month? ” Sophy stared at him, horrified.
    Sam spread his palms. “The chances of him needing anything are minimal. They go down every day. As long as he doesn’t do something to complicate matters. I’m just saying, if he’s alone, how do we know?”
    Indeed, how would they?
    Oh, hell.
    Sophy understood. But she just didn’t like it. Not one bit. And she couldn’t imagine George liking it, either. Not really. She shot him a glance now to see how he was taking Sam’s news. His face was unreadable, his eyes hooded, his expression impassive. His arms were folded across his chest.
    “I can’t stay a month or two,” Sophy said. “I have a life—and work—in California. I can’t leave Lily that long.”
    “Bring her,” George said.
    “Who’s Lily?” Sam asked.
    “Our daughter,” George answered before Sophy could.
    Sam’s eyes went round. His jaw dropped. “Odd you never mentioned any of this,” he murmured in George’s direction.
    “Need to know,” George said in an even tone.
    Sam nodded, but he blinked a few times, still looking a little stunned as his gaze went from George to Sophy and back again.
    He wasn’t the only one feeling a bit shell-shocked.
    All she’d intended to do was drop into the hospital long enough to give Tallie the key to George’s house, say thank-you for the few hours sleep and say that Gunnar was fine. She hadn’t even expected to have to talk to