And Father Makes Three

“I just found out last week I’m a father.”

“How’d you find out?” His partner whistled as Blake stopped the ambulance at a red light. As he tapped the steering wheel impatiently, waiting for the signal to change, both Tessa’s and Elizabeth’s faces rose in his mind’s eye. How different they were, yet his late ex-wife had changed his life in one way, and the doctor would as well when she allowed him to see Jordan. “I received a letter from my ex-wife’s attorney last week.”

“I never knew you were married.”

“Not many people do. It’s not one of the highlights of my life.” Blake sighed.

“What happened?”

“We were too young. I didn’t understand what it took to be a good husband. Tessa probably didn’t have any confidence in me as a father either, because after she split she never told me she was pregnant.” Blake hit the gas and stared out the window as streets and houses replaced strip malls. Tension tightened his neck muscles and bracketed his mouth. “I want to meet her, but I’m scared I’ll blow it. I don’t know how to do it. What’s it like?”

Corey didn’t answer until they’d stopped at another light. “I think you’d make a good father. You’re there for people when they need it and that’s what matters. This’ll sound cliché, but being a parent is one of the most rewarding and frustrating jobs there is. There’s no instruction manual, you just kind of wing it.”

That was the problem. He’d had no relationship with his father and had no idea how to start. His daughter was almost ten years old—the past had already been repeated.

A strange emotion pulled at his heart when he thought about the daughter he had yet to meet. An unbreakable bond had been set in place the moment he’d received the letter. In an instant, clarity whacked him and he gripped the steering wheel like a lifeline.

Blowing it with Jordan was only the beginning of his worries.

* * *

“Have a second?” Blake knocked on the partially open door to Dr. Eric Stevens’s office inside Kingfisher Memorial Hospital late Tuesday afternoon. He thought Elizabeth would have contacted him by now, but apparently not. He glanced at his cell phone again to see if he’d missed a call. Nothing.

The woman couldn’t avoid him forever. As Jordan’s biological father, he should have some rights, even if someone else had adopted his daughter.

Surprise shone in his paintball buddy’s eyes. “Sure. Come in. Ready to talk about your defeat?”

“I’ll challenge you to a rematch anytime you’re ready.” Striding into the room, Blake suffered déjà vu. His late father’s office had been laid out the same way, even though it was farther down the hall. All the hours he’d spent inside this building after middle school crowded his brain, and anxiety twisted his stomach. Blake had spent most of his time reading his father’s books and trailing after medical staff to learn the ropes.

Other twelve-year-olds were playing basketball, while he was watching open-heart surgery.

Blake sank down in a chair before his knees gave out. He’d fainted during that procedure, a fact his father never let him forget. Beads of sweat formed on his upper lip and forehead.

Outside of the E.R., Blake hadn’t stepped foot in the deep interior of Kingfisher again until today.

“What brings you to my neck of the woods, then?” Eric pulled his glasses from his face and set them down on the file he’d been reading, tipping back in his chair. Piles of research files and books leaned dangerously to one side and three half-empty foam cups lined the edge, ready to topple into the overflowing garbage can.

Having grown up blocks from each other, his best friend knew more about Blake than anyone. Even Tessa, which was probably another problem in their marriage. Instead of talking, Blake kept things bottled up. The less people knew, the less chance of his getting hurt.

“Dr. Randall. You know her?”

Eric eyed him warily. “Sure. But she hardly interacts with anyone outside the E.R. Why?”

Sweat rolled down Blake’s forehead. “Her daughter is mine.”

“What?” The front legs of Eric’s battered chair thudded against the carpeted floor. “Jordan is yours? How did that happen? I didn’t know you knew Elizabeth all those years ago.” His eyes widened as he stared at Blake from the other side of his small, cramped desk.

“I didn’t know her. She adopted Jordan from my ex-wife.”

“Wow.” Eric fingered a vintage World War I model airplane on the only part of his desk that wasn’t buried under mounds of stuff. Deftly, he avoided Blake’s gaze.

“Wait a minute. If she doesn’t interact with anyone here, how do you know about Jordan?” Blake wanted to grab the sleek yellow bi-winged plane from his friend’s hands and force him to concentrate on the conversation. Things hadn’t changed much since high school, and Eric was still the master of dodging uncomfortable situations. He spun the propeller around with his pointer finger and stared at it intently.

“Despite Dr. Randall’s attempts to keep it private, nothing goes unnoticed by the staff. Especially because Jordan is being treated here.”

“What do you mean she’s being treated here?” The blood drained from Blake’s face. “What’s wrong with her?”

“Dr. Randall didn’t tell you?”

“No. What’s wrong with my daughter? Tell me.” Blake curled his fingers around the arms of his chair to keep from jumping up.

Eric dusted the empty spot on the desk with his palm before he put the plane back. Then he leaned back, the front legs of his chair off the floor again. “We watch each other’s backs here at Kingfisher. I can’t. I’ve said too much as it is. Dr. Randall will have to tell you herself.” Compassion filled Eric’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Blake, in more ways than one. Life stinks sometimes.”

“Tell me about it.” Tension bit into Blake’s shoulder muscles, still a tad sore from their recent paintball excursion. “Dr. Randall has a lot of explaining to do, if I can get a few minutes of her time.”

Eric steepled his fingers together underneath his chin. “Because we have a history of running wild together and my dad bailed you out of a few scrapes, there are a few other things you need to know about Dr. Randall.”

“Like what?” Having grown up with a doctor, Blake didn’t think anything could surprise him.

“She’s a genius who intimidates everyone on staff. Me included. My dad’s the only one who isn’t intimidated by her, but then again he’s been here forever. He’s retiring—they’re throwing a party for him Saturday night. You should stop by. He’d like to see you again.”

“Dr. Randall sounds like my father,” Blake said, ignoring his friend’s attempt to change the subject.

“Dr. Randall did a fast track. She graduated from Harvard at twenty-two and finished her residency before most students get through med school. Most people her age are just getting their feet wet in a hospital setting, not passing their five-year anniversary mark.”

“I can handle that.” Blake stood. “She’s working today, isn’t she?”

Eric made a quick call. “If you wander down to the E.R., you’ll run in to her, but her shift’s almost over. I’m not done yet.” He paused and eyed Blake warily. “She’s also the widow of the late renowned heart surgeon Thomas Randall.”

Thomas Randall. The Thomas Randall? The name conjured up a big, black hole in Blake’s heart. His father had mentored Thomas Randall, but he’d died young, much to his father’s grief. In Dr. Crawford’s eyes, Tommy had been the son Blake would never be. And now that his father was gone, Blake would never have the chance to prove otherwise.

He squeezed the bridge of his nose. How could Tessa give away his child to Thomas Randall? All work and no play left no time for any family time. No matter how many times Blake had begged his father to play ball with him or come to one of his games, his dad was too busy helping others.

Resentment, anger and disappointment fought for dominance. Blake didn’t know what type of mother Elizabeth was, but his daughter would not suffer the same lonely existence he had. With Thomas Randall dead, Jordan needed a father.

And not just any man that Elizabeth might be involved with. Jordan needed her real father. Now.

“Are you okay?” Eric’s question brought him back to the present.

“Thanks for the info, I’ll see you around.” He strode to the door and shot his friend a quick smile as he marched into the hallway, determined to find Elizabeth Randall.

* * *

Her shift over, Elizabeth wanted to grab a quick bite before she went upstairs to visit Jordan. As she headed out the E.R. doors, her head down, she crashed into someone.

“Oh, excuse me,” said a warm, masculine voice.

“No, excuse me. My fault. I wasn’t looking where I was going.” She looked up and found herself face-to-face with Blake Crawford. He was better looking than she’d remembered. His short, cropped brown hair accented the smooth planes of his cheeks and his strong jawline covered with a hint of a five o’clock shadow. Dimples creased his cheeks and laugh lines crowded the corners of his eyes despite the fact that he wore a frown.