The Doctor's Second Chance

When she looked up, Jake stood in the doorway, a half smile on his face. “No need to warn her of my ineptitude. She’ll know soon enough.”

Though he was kidding, there was an edge of truth in what he said. He truly was in over his head.

Unfortunately, he might not fare well, and she worried about Abigail. Maybe she should check in on her tomorrow.

No, that wasn’t her place. It wasn’t as if Remy or Jake was a personal friend.

Once Violet set up a makeshift diaper-changing area on the dresser, she showed Jake how to clean Abigail, slip a disposable diaper under her bottom and fasten it. Then she had him give it a try.

The first attempt left him chuckling. Despite Violet covering her mouth, a laugh slipped out.

He truly was pathetic at diapering.

“How’s that?” he asked after his second attempt. The diaper was mostly straight but was extremely loose.

Looking into his hopeful eyes, she felt a thread of connection that gave the tiniest of tugs on her heart. She could not afford a thread of anything with this man who claimed she was a shady person and felt free to share that opinion around town.

“I’m afraid that will leak,” she said, refocusing on the task at hand. “Try to fasten it tighter. It won’t hurt her or cut off her circulation. It’s stretchy.”

Biting his lip while concentrating, he jumped in once again like a good student, determined to succeed. But this time Abigail started to fuss. “Uh-oh. I’ll never manage this with her wiggling.”

“She’ll always wiggle, so you may as well learn to deal with it.”

“Man, the doc is harsh,” he mumbled into the baby’s ear.

Violet caught herself smiling. “Hey, I can show you harsh by walking out right now.”

“I take it back. Now...I’m trying again.” Once, twice, he made the diaper too loose. The third time, he sighed. “This one’s too tight.”

“Wait.” Violet ran a finger along the waist and leg holes, checking. “That’s perfect. You did it!” She applauded him before she thought better of it, but then reined in her excitement, her face heating.

“Now who’s inept?” Jake grinned, eyes gleaming with victory. “I’ll be teaching a parenting class before you know it.”

At his proud look and touch of humor, her breath gave a little hitch. She should not let his funny side affect her.

“Nice job,” she said as she checked her watch. “Oh, look. My hour is up. I jotted a suggested feeding schedule and left it on your kitchen counter. Call my assistant tomorrow if you have questions.”

In other words, don’t call me.

“Time’s up already?” He carefully tucked Abigail in the crook of his arm, becoming a regular pro at carrying her.

Violet had always had a weakness for a big strong man holding a baby. How different might her life have been if she’d fallen for someone strong and responsible all those years ago?

“The receipt for the baby items is also on the kitchen counter,” Violet said. “You can mail a check to my office.”

“What’s your charge for the hour of training?”

Lifting her chin, she focused on Abigail. “Don’t worry about it.”

“No, I insist.”

“Consider it a favor for a new patient.”

His brows drew downward, and he looked uncomfortable. “We had an agreement. It’s been worth every penny I owe you.”

She couldn’t bring herself to ask for money for doing a task she had enjoyed. Besides, it would only add to his image of her being mercenary. “Instead, make a donation to your favorite charity for children.”

“That’s generous of you.”

Her heart raced as hope shot through her. Hope that maybe he would believe she hadn’t ripped off his aunt and uncle and that she was a decent person.

She grabbed her purse and headed toward the front door.

Close on her heels, he followed. “I’ll mail you a check tomorrow. Thank you for buying the baby stuff and for coming over. I owe you a favor.”

She could imagine how it pained him to say that. “You don’t owe me anything. I like to think I can make a difference in the community. Like your aunt and uncle did.”

He nodded but didn’t comment. She couldn’t help but wonder if he considered her a poor substitute. Sure, they hadn’t known how to run a business well. But they’d taken good care of the local children for a long time, had been loved by the Appleton residents.

Would she ever feel as if she had a place in the town?

“I guess I’ll see you around, Dr. Crenshaw,” he said.

“Yes, and if Abigail is still in town in two weeks, be sure to schedule an appointment for her next vaccination.”

“Oh, I’m sure Remy will take care of that.”

“Well, good night. I hope you get some sleep.”

She truly did hope he had a good night. For Abigail’s sake. Yet she couldn’t help but worry about the tiny, dependent girl. How would she fare with this man who had absolutely no experience dealing with infants?

The insecurity on Jake’s face, as well as the fact Abigail looked so vulnerable in his arms, made Violet’s decision.

To ease her mind and ensure the baby was thriving, she would check on Abigail over the weekend.

* * *

Jake sat in his truck Saturday morning rubbing red, scratchy eyes and trying to read the directions for the soft baby carrier he’d bought first thing that morning as he’d learned his way around the baby section of the local discount store. Abigail had spared him and slept in the cart through the whole shopping trip.

Probably because she’d cried late into the night.

After nearly four hours of inconsolable crying, he’d looked up colic on the internet and thought that must be what she had because she didn’t seem sick otherwise. Still, if she had another night like the last, he’d take her to the doctor to be on the safe side.

With the fabric carrier assembled, adjusted to fit and strapped on him, Jake climbed in the backseat and lifted Abigail from her car seat. Then he followed the step-by-step, very complicated directions for slipping her into the fabric that would hold her against his chest, kind of like a reverse backpack.

As he was hooking one of the head supports, her little body slipped sideways, about stopping his heart. He quickly stabilized her head and snapped the buckle into place. Assured she was peacefully snoozing and wouldn’t fall out of the contraption, he climbed out of the truck, hoping he could work awhile.

His flooring subcontractor, Zeb, a trim man in his sixties wearing jeans and an old blue work shirt, stood at the front of the brick ranch home they were building with his arms crossed, waiting.