Million Dollar Christmas Bride - Holly Rayner Page 0,27
a refill,” Bianca said to her mother the next day, after they greeted each other with a hug and a kiss.
Helen Jones, Bianca’s mother, smiled in her lopsided way. Over the past few years Bianca had become accustomed to the way the stroke had changed her mother’s expressions. Despite the frozen muscles and folds of skin, Helen’s kind nature always managed to shine through.
“That would be wonderful, love,” Helen said. She used one arm to prop herself up more in the bed. “Haven’t seen my nurse since eight this morning.”
As Bianca walked swiftly to the room’s exit, she checked the name of the nurse and nursing assistant who were supposed to be caring for her mother that day. She groaned inwardly when she noted that the nurse in charge was one of her mother’s least favorites.
“I’ll see if I can track her down,” Bianca said.
Because it was Monday, Bianca’s usual day off, she had a whole list of items to check on with the nursing staff with regards to her mother’s health. How was physical therapy going? Occupational therapy? Her lab results, her nutrition, her mobility?
Of course, Bianca also planned on talking to her mom about her mental health. How was she feeling emotionally? Back when she’d first moved into the facility, Helen had gone through a fairly severe bout of depression. Since then, Bianca tried to be sure to always keep a finger on the pulse of her mother’s mental wellbeing.
As Bianca filled up her mother’s ice water in the small communal kitchen, she thought over the other item she wanted to discuss with her mom: Jackson Wylde. Bianca had always valued her mom’s advice, and she longed to get a second opinion on the proposed fake marriage that she and Jackson had discussed at the dog park, just the day before.
When she returned to her mom’s room, she found that Helen had turned down the volume on the television and was now flipping through a stack of magazine clippings with one hand.
“Bianca, honey, I just remembered a recipe that I meant to give you yesterday evening when you stopped by. It’s in here somewhere… homemade autumn soup.”
“I wish you’d been able to try that soup I made last week,” Bianca said. She placed the full Styrofoam cup of water on Helen’s tray table then took a seat in the recliner that was positioned by the bed. “It turned out perfectly. Too bad it spilled all over my car—it still smells like parsley and oregano in there.”
Helen laughed softly as she continued leafing through glossy pages. “You mean you haven’t cleaned it yet?”
“Not yet. Been too busy.”
“With what?”
“Well, work, for one thing,” Bianca said. Her mind turned to all that had happened since her minor car accident. Not only had she met up with Jackson several times, but she’d also gone out of her way to find a suitable outfit to wear to the charity dinner. Did all of that count as work? Was Jackson her employer, in a way?
She frowned with confusion.
Helen stopped flipping through recipes. “What is it, honey? You look upset. Are your hours getting to you? Have you heard anything more about switching to the day shift? Nights can be so hard on the body’s systems, you know. You need some regularity. Routine.”
Bianca shook her head. “It’s not that,” she said. “Work is actually going pretty well. It’s just… well, it’s actually the guy that I rear-ended. It turns out he’s kind of a big shot. His name is Jackson Wylde—as in Wylde grocery stores. His father started the chain, and Jackson now owns it.”
Helen’s eyes narrowed skeptically. “Is he giving you a hard time about the accident? These things happen, honey. And even if you were at fault, that doesn’t make you guilty of a crime. It was a simple mistake.”
Bianca shook her head. “He’s not upset about the accident. Actually, he kind of worked it to his favor. He asked me to accompany him to this fancy dinner, as a way of breaking even with him. It turned out I didn’t have adequate insurance to cover the damage to his car, so it was a pretty nice offer.”
Helen nodded knowingly. “Honey, it sounds to me like he has the sweets for you. And how could he not? You’re beautiful, smart, thoughtful—”
“I don’t know, Mom,” Bianca said. She sighed, letting her head loll back against the firm blue cushions of the seat. “It’s all such a mess. I did think he liked me, a