The Tender Trap

“For your information, Adam Wyatt, there is no connect time of day to have morning sickness. It’s just a term they use to describe the nausea that can hit a pregnant woman day or night.” Blythe slapped at his hands when he double-checked her safety belt. “And I’m not your future wife! I haven’t agreed to marry you”

“Will you stop hitting me? I’m getting sick and tired of your slapping me every time I try to help you.” Adam started the engine and spun out of the parking lot.

“Then stop trying to be so helpful.” Blythe crossed her arms over her chest and sat there sulking. Dinner in Huntsville with Adam had been a mistake. When he’d stopped by her apartment to pick her up, she should have told him then and there that she wasn’t going to marry him. If she had, the whole fiasco with dinner never would have happened.

Hell! Adam thought. He’d never known such a disagreeable woman. Didn’t she realize that he’d been concerned when she rushed away from the dinner table, that he was still concerned? She was sick because she was pregnant. And he was the man who’d gotten her pregnant.

If only she’d stop resisting him and allow him to help her. Was it going to be like this the whole time she was pregnant, throughout their entire marriage? If so, things weren’t going to be easy for either of them. He wasn’t used to catering to a woman’s whims, and it was more than apparent that Blythe was unaccustomed to a man taking care of her.

Neither of them spoke a word on the ride from the restaurant to Blythe’s home on the second floor of a neat, but not so modern, apartment building in southwestern Decatur. By the time Adam got out of the Lotus and made his way around to the passenger door, Blythe had already opened the door and stepped outside onto the sidewalk. She held her house key in her hand.

Oh, yeah, he’d forgotten. She didn’t want him opening doors for her, or ordering for her in the restaurant, or doing anything that hinted of old-fashioned good manners.

Blythe gasped suddenly. The night sky swam around and around her. Groaning, she clutched the car door. “Not again.”

She hated for Adam to see her like this. Sick and weak. He’d think she was just another helpless female. And that was the last thing Blythe Elliott would ever allow herself to become. Helpless. Her mother had been totally helpless. A weak female who wouldn’t fight back when her big, macho husband ordered her around, ridiculed her and turned her into a virtual slave. Blythe couldn’t remember her mother ever standing up to her husband. What she did remember, all too well, were the nights she had lain awake for hours listening to her mother’s pitiful sobs. She had sworn to herself that no man would ever control her life.

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