A Baby for the Doctor

“That’s why you learned to cook?”

“Along with other household skills.” He shrugged. “That’s how my childhood went. Better than for a lot of kids, but not exactly storybook.” Jack glanced toward the house. “That’s why it tears me apart to see Tiffany and Amber growing up like this. Being rich doesn’t compensate for feeling unloved and unvalued.”

“Surely their mother loves them.”

“Not enough to put their interests ahead of hers,” he said grimly.

Anya had no intention of discussing that subject. Instead, she sent forth a small feeler. “I don’t suppose you want children of your own, considering how unhappy you were.”

Deep green eyes bored into hers. “If I’m ever lucky enough to have them, I’ll be there for them one hundred percent. They’ll be the most important things in my life.”

What a devoted father he’d make, Anya thought, but how realistic was his promise? As a surgeon, he had to work long hours. The person who’d really be there morning, noon and night was the mother.

Still, seeing his hurt, feeling his unhappiness, Anya couldn’t help wanting to fix things for him. But she knew where that path led. She had the best of intentions but eventually her patience wore out, and she made dangerous mistakes.

She’d tried to be the perfect substitute for her mom with her younger siblings and to help at home as her mother’s rheumatoid arthritis grew progressively worse. Molly had put on a cheerful face for her husband and the triplets, but Anya had noticed the swollen joints and profound fatigue, the weight loss and the discouragement as one promising medication after another proved disappointing.

Anya had been exhausted by the extra work and—much as she regretted it—sometimes resentful. During her senior year in college, she was studying for exams one weekend and had decided to ignore her mother’s call for assistance from downstairs, just for a few minutes. Please, let someone else help her this once, Anya had thought. Unaware that everyone else had gone out, she’d concentrated on her textbook until she heard a sickening crash.

Trying to go to the bathroom alone, Molly had fallen and sprained her hip. Aching for her mother and filled with guilt, Anya had spent the next few days sleeping in her mother’s hospital room to make sure no such accident happened again. She’d also endured furious lectures from her father about failing those who relied on her yet again.

Then on the exams she’d received her lowest grades ever, losing a chance at a grant for a graduate program. Anya had given up her goal of becoming a nurse practitioner with her own practice. Instead, she’d taken a job at a hospital in Denver, continuing to make the hour-long commute from her small town until she’d gained enough experience and enough self-confidence to move out of state.

It was only two years later, and Anya wasn’t ready to tackle a lifelong commitment to a child or a man. Her baby would have as close to an ideal childhood as she could arrange, though—with an adoptive family. As for how Jack might react when he learned about her pregnancy, she’d rather not be there.

She’d learned the hard way that avoidance was often a wiser tactic than blunt honesty. She’d admitted to Dad what had happened that day with her mother and had received a tongue-lashing.

Yes, she’d let Jack calm down on his own rather than lash out at her out of shock. In fact, the more distance she put between them, the better. Suddenly, Karen’s house seemed like a haven.

“It was great meeting your niece,” she told him.

The tension eased from his body. “You were great. Thank you.”

“Glad to do it.” As she slid into the car, Anya added, “By the way, my roommate and I are moving.”

“Moving?” Dismay replaced his warmth. “What about your lease?”

“It’s up for renewal, and this will be cheaper,” she said. “We’re only going a few miles, to Karen Wiggins’s house. See you at work!”

Quick escape: turn on the ignition, pull out from the curb, wave blithely and go! In the rearview mirror, she saw Jack staring after her, openmouthed.

As she drove home, Anya processed the fact that she’d just committed to living with four other people, including Lucky, who was annoyingly nosy. And she still had to deal with informing Jack about his impending fatherhood.

Look on the bright side. Literally. In Karen’s airy house, her African violet had a better shot at survival.

And so did Anya’s hard-won peace of mind.

Chapter Four

“Manager or police?” Jack asked.

His uncle studied the dented blue van blocking their carport spaces. “I’m guessing the driver hasn’t gone far. It’ll be faster if we wait.”

“I’d rather call someone, but you’re probably right.” At 11:00 a.m. on a Sunday morning, Jack’s stomach was growling for brunch at Waffle Heaven. “I figured now that you have your car back, we’d be bulletproof. If one doesn’t start, we could take the other. Then this jerk blocked us both.”

“Shall we punch him when he shows up?” Rod asked drily.

“You do the punching,” Jack said. “A surgeon’s hands have to be protected.”

“It takes dexterity to insert my tubes and syringes,” his uncle replied. “How about I sit on him while you administer the beating?”

“What if he is a she?” Jack asked.

“Let’s do rock paper scissors,” his uncle proposed.

“To decide whether we call the police or to decide which of us messes up our hands?”

They broke off their nonsensical discussion when they heard voices from around the corner of the nearest apartment unit.

“Angle it to your left! No, your other left,” a man ordered.

“It’s tilting!” squawked a woman.

“Hang in there, Anya. Zora, get over here!”

Shoes shuffled on the sidewalk. “Okay, I have it.”

They came into view on the walkway, navigating the narrow path between low-growing palms and bushes. With Anya and Zora was the male nurse Jack had met a few days earlier. Even though the temperature had barely reached the low sixties, he was wearing a sleeveless undershirt, displaying his expansive tattoos.

Behind him, Anya helped her roommate support the other end of a faded purple couch. She’d tied back her dark hair and donned an oversize T-shirt that ought to be shapeless. But on her, every movement reminded Jack of the tempting curves underneath.

“That,” announced Rod to the group, “is a truly ugly sofa. Dare I hope you’re taking that purple monstrosity to the Dumpster?”

“It isn’t purple,” said Anya. “It’s orchid.”

Her roommate’s thin face poked out from behind the couch. “It’s for the second-floor landing.” She blew a curl of reddish-brown hair off her temple. “Nobody has to see it but us.”

“Hauling it upstairs is going to be a fun job,” Lucky muttered. Served him right for playing rooster in the henhouse, in Jack’s opinion. “Are we blocking you doctors?”

“Yes, and we’re hungry,” Rod answered.

Show no weakness in front of Anya. Especially not while this guy was hefting furniture and rippling his muscles. “I’m not that hungry. We can pitch in.” As if to defy his speech, Jack’s stomach rumbled. Hoping no one had heard, he marched over to boost the women’s end of the couch. They released it willingly.

Reaching the van, the men maneuvered it inside. A few minutes of grunting and shifting later, they’d fitted it in place. By then, Anya and Zora had disappeared between the buildings.

As Jack jumped down, the male nurse said, “I’ll get the van out of your way. We don’t want to inconvenience you lords of the realm.”

Did the man resent all physicians or just the two of them specifically? Jack had learned—more or less by chance—that Lucky worked for the distinguished head of the men’s fertility program. He doubted the fellow leveled snide remarks at the famed Dr. Cole Rattigan. But apparently an anesthesiologist and an ordinary ob-gyn were fair game.