The Naughty List Bundle - Kylie Adams [253]
“Oh, God.” Georgia practically climbed over Jordan, who did his best to get the door open for her and to get out of her way. He didn’t even complain when her elbow clipped him in the nose and she stepped on his foot.
“Georgia, wait!”
She heard his alarmed tone as he followed her from the car, heard Morgan talking low, his words concerned. And then her daughter Lisa, only six years old, threw the front door open and dashed across the yard in her long nightgown. Georgia forgot all about the men.
“MOMMY!”
Jordan nearly slipped on the wet grass. Knowing she was a mother and seeing a little girl address her as such were two entirely different things. His heart punched hard against his ribs when Georgia dropped to her knees, unconcerned with the soggy ground, and caught her daughter up to her.
“Lisa, what is it, honey? What’s wrong?”
The little girl was crying too hard to make sense. A queer feeling of resentment—she’d left the child to dance in a bar, for God’s sake—and tenderness, seeing her now, holding the child so closely, made Jordan almost breathless. He stepped closer and with a hiccup, the little girl looked up at him. She had huge brown eyes with spiked wet lashes and was about the cutest thing he’d ever seen.
Keeping a wary gaze on him, the little girl mumbled, “Grandma is sick. She won’t wake up.”
“Oh, my God!”
Just that quick, Georgia was back on her feet. She’d picked up the little girl and was running hell-bent across the lawn. Her high heels sank into the ground, hindering her a bit, but in no way holding her back.
Jordan rushed after her, aware of Morgan right behind him. He followed her down a short hall as she called out, “Mom!” in a heart-wrenching panicked voice.
Lisa clung to Georgia’s shoulders and said in a wavering voice, “She’s in her room.”
They passed a family room with a television playing and every light on, toys all over the floor, then a dining room that held only one rickety table-still covered with dishes.
At the end of the hall, to the right, was a kitchen, and to the left, Georgia threw open a door then halted. Jordan could see her heaving, see the rigidity of her shoulders. Slowly, she set the girl on her feet and moved forward. “Mom?”
Jordan watched the little girl move to a corner, trying to make herself invisible. Beyond Georgia, lying in a rumpled bed, a slender woman of about sixty rested on her back, her eyes closed, her chest barely moving—until she started coughing.
Lisa cried. Jordan didn’t know what the hell to do. Then Morgan was there and he went down on one knee in front of Lisa. “Hi, there. I’m the sheriff and a friend of your mom’s. Are you okay?”
Lisa covered her face with her hands, hiding, and then she nodded. Seeing that Morgan had things under control there, at least as much as was possible, Jordan stepped close to Georgia and knelt by the bed. She was busy checking her mother over, her movements efficient and quick.
She glanced at Jordan. “We have to get her to the hospital. She has weak lungs and it looks like she’s gotten a bad cold or something.”
Jordan frowned in concern. “A cold can do this to her?”
“Yes.” Georgia’s voice was clipped as she moved to a portable oxygen tank and dragged it to her mother’s bedside. As she sat beside her mother and pulled her into a sitting position, the older woman’s eyes opened. Again, she started coughing.
“It’s all right now, Mom. I’m going to take you to the hospital.
“I’m sorry, honey—”
“Hey, none of that! I love you, remember?” She glanced at Jordan. “You’re going to have to take us since you left my car behind.” Then, as if just realizing it, her eyes widened in alarm and she said, “Lisa, where’s Adam?”
A small towheaded child peeked around the doorframe.
“They’re not used to men in the house,” Georgia explained, then gave her son a small smile. “Come here, sweetie. It’s okay. Grandma’s going to be fine.”
With the oxygen over her face, the older woman did seem to be breathing easier.