Prescription for Romance / Love and the Single Dad: Prescription for Romance / Love and the Single Dad

Paul had already put in a full day and then some as far as he was concerned. He was actually on his way out of the institute when his pager had gone off.

A quick call to his answering service told him that the McGees were frantically on their way in. Allison McGee was spotting and they were terrified that she was going to lose the babies she was carrying. The woman at the answering service said that Marc McGee sounded as if he was the on verge of having a heart attack and was barely coherent. He was driving and shouting into his cell phone at the same time.

Paul knew that he could have easily turned their case over to one of the more than competent doctors on the staff, but he knew that seeing him would calm Allison down a little.

And besides, he felt a personal obligation to the couple, just as he felt a personal obligation to every couple he counseled and worked with.

So he called Marc and told the frantic father-to-be that he would meet them at the nearby hospital where he had surgical privileges. The McGees arrived in the parking lot, tires screeching, less than five minutes later. Knowing what part of town they were coming from, he judged that they’d have to have done eighty all the way. Paul and an attendant greeted them with a wheelchair and Paul personally helped Allison out of the vehicle and into the chair.

What he’d hoped was just an aberration had turned into a premature delivery. A rather difficult one at that, requiring the services of two other obstetricians besides himself. But at the end of the ordeal, Allison and Marc had two viable sons, both now sleeping peacefully in their incubators. They were alive and that was the only thing that mattered.

And he was beat beyond measure. If he tried to drive home now, he had a feeling that he would undoubtedly be the subject of headlines tomorrow: Head of Staff of Armstrong Fertility Institute Caught Driving Erratically and Arrested. Drug or Alcohol Abuse Suspected. Possibly Both.

Or at least something along those lines. The press loved building you up and then tearing you down and the institute, for the moment, was in the tear-down stage. Since he had absolutely no desire to fall asleep behind the wheel, he decided that he would be better off sacking out on the couch in his office for at least an hour until he got his energy back.

With a weary sigh, he lay down on the leather sofa. He was asleep within five seconds.

Chapter Six

Paul felt the beads of sweat forming along his forehead. His hair stuck to his forehead. His limbs felt too heavy to lift. He had no more control over any part of his body.

He was having that dream again.

The one where he was trying to find his way to his office and the more he walked toward it, the farther away the office became.

Frustration and anxiety filled him. His breathing grew more shallow. His lungs began to ache. He kept walking, going faster now.

The corridor shifted. Instead of going straight, it became a series of twists and turns that led him down unfamiliar hallways. And all the while his sense of urgency continued building. Building until it grew to almost unbearable proportions.

Just as he thought he finally saw his office at the end of the long, tunnel-like hallway, the ground beneath his feet disappeared and he found himself plummeting into a ravine.

The churning waters below threatened to drown him and then carelessly wash his body away, casting it wantonly where no one would ever find him.

Then suddenly, unlike all the other times he’d had this unnerving dream, there was someone touching his arm.

Someone grabbing it and shaking him.

Someone was saving him, keeping him from being swept out to sea. He was saved!

More frustration assaulted him because he couldn’t make out the face of the person who had rescued him at the very last, possible moment.

And then he heard the voice—a woman who had hold of his arm, calling his name even as she shook him.

Somehow, he finally managed to open his eyes.

And then he saw her bending over him, her blond hair falling into her face, her hand on his arm. Holding him and keeping him from falling.

Startled, he bolted upright.

The ravine, the churning waters, they were gone. He was back in his office again. The same office where he’d lain down a few minutes ago to catch a short nap before driving himself home.

No, wait, it wasn’t a few minutes ago. It was last night.

Except that, unlike last night, he wasn’t alone. Ramona Tate was looking down at him, concern evident in her sky-blue eyes.

“Are you all right?” she asked, and he realized that this wasn’t the first time he’d heard the question. She’d voiced it before, only then it had been part of his dream—or maybe he should start calling it his nightmare. Nightmare seemed like a far more fitting label for it.

Sitting up, he swung his legs off the sofa, trying to gather his dignity to him.

“What are you doing here?” he asked gruffly, dragging his hand through his hair.

“It’s eight o’clock,” she told him politely. When he continued staring at her, she added, “You told me to come in early for a tour. Introduce me to some of the other people, things like that. I knocked on your door first,” she added. “You didn’t answer, but I heard you moaning.”

Scrubbing his hand over his face, Paul tried to focus. “I was having a nightmare.”

Ramona nodded. “That’s what it sounded like,” she agreed. Her eyes washed over him, taking in every last detail, or so it felt to him. What was she thinking? he couldn’t help wondering. “You never went home last night, did you?”

“One of my patients called in, or rather, her husband did. She was spotting and really afraid. I met them at the hospital. I seem to have a calming effect on her and her husband,” he added with a shrug. A pain zigzagged up and down his spine. He’d forgotten how uncomfortable his sofa really was.

“And?” Ramona prodded.

The woman actually looked interested, Paul mused. “She delivered just before midnight.”

Her eyes held his. “Everything went all right?” she wanted to know.

He laughed shortly. “Other than the fact that the babies arrived six weeks prematurely and that Marc McGee fainted at the first sign of blood, everything went just fine.”

“Babies?” she echoed. One of the allegations making the rounds against the Armstrong Fertility Institute was that there were entirely too many embryos being implanted at one time, resulting in multiple births. “How many babies?”

Was that interest, or suspicion, he heard in her voice? He wasn’t sure. “She had twins. Two boys. I think she was hoping for one of each, but the last few hours, she was just hoping they’d be alive and well—and out of her.”

Her mouth curved warmly. “So you delivered them and then came in here to catnap?”

Paul shrugged dismissively. “Something like that.”

He still looked tired, Ramona thought. She wasn’t going to ingratiate herself to him if he felt that he had to drag her around when he was half-asleep.

“Look, if you’d like to postpone my orientation and go home to catch up on your sleep, I understand completely. We can do this tomorrow,” she told him cheerfully.

Paul rotated his shoulders, trying to get the kink out. The sofa had definitely not been constructed with napping in mind. Still, though she’d given him an out, he didn’t want to postpone the tour. He’d already postponed it once when he shifted it from yesterday to today.

“Tomorrow,” he told her, “has a habit of never coming.”

Tongue in cheek, she pretended to take this as a revelation. “You know something that the newscasters don’t?”

He wasn’t sure if she was kidding or not. “I just meant that life has a habit of interfering with things. If we postpone this now, who knows what might come up tomorrow? For all I know, there might be a bigger fire to deal with.” He stretched, feeling several muscles line up in protest as he did so. “Just give me a couple of minutes to pull myself together.”

She was more than willing to be cooperative. “No problem. I can wait in my office if you like. And, better still,” she volunteered, “I can get you a cup of coffee.”