Expecting the Doctor's Baby (14 page)

Go, Sam, Mitch thought. For the life of him he couldn't wipe off the smug, almost satisfied grin he knew was on his face.

“Samantha, what are you saying?”

Her expression was firm and clearly indicated she would tolerate no argument. “If you can't say nice things, and only nice things, I want you to leave. And I don't want to see you until you can.”

“You don't mean that.”

“On the contrary, I've never meant anything more.”

Ryan shot an angry parting look at her. Without further acknowledgment of Mitch, he turned and left the room.

Mitch wanted to pump his arm and holler “Way to go.” He couldn't be more proud of Sam, but then he saw the tears sliding down her cheeks.

“Don't cry, Sam.”

He sat on the side of the bed and pulled her into his arms. She was a hell of a roller-coaster ride. First she'd scared the crap out of him. Then she'd told her pompous, arrogant father where to get off.

And now she was crying. He couldn't stand it when she cried. And it was his fault. If not for him, her relationship with her family wouldn't be in jeopardy. If not for him, she wouldn't be pregnant and there'd have been no reason for the scene she'd just been through. She sniffled and her shoulders shook from the effort to pull herself together.

He hated that he was responsible for upsetting her. Almost as much as he'd hated seeing her in a hospital bed, a trauma that had reduced him from respected doctor to a mere mortal man scared for the woman he cared too much about.

He hated it because it was a symptom that he was in deep trouble.

 

Sam was so confused.

In her apartment, sitting with her feet up on her chenille corner group, she watched Mitch banging pots and pans in the kitchen and wondered how this had happened. One minute she'd been lying in a hospital bed in his arms trying to make herself push him away. Not an hour later he'd insisted on carrying her upstairs to her place. He was one burly medic she didn't mind having haul her around.

That pesky romantic streak had made her putty in his hands. How ironic was that? She'd taken two independent steps forward with the ultimatum to her father and so many back that she couldn't even
see
independence from where she was sitting.

She'd tried to tell Mitch to go away but couldn't be sorry he'd ignored her.

“Dinner is just about ready.”

He leaned a broad shoulder against the wall just outside the kitchen and folded his arms over his chest. In jeans and a T-shirt he looked more delicious than any food he was whipping up. The fact that she still thought so even after the way he'd acted about the pregnancy put her pretty high up on the pathetic scale.

“I'm not very hungry,” she said.

“You need something. You're eating for two.” He went back in the kitchen, making further argument a challenge.

If only he'd reacted this way when she'd told him about the baby. She glanced at the expanse of beige carpet on the other side of her coffee table and thought about the night that passion for Mitch had made her go up in flames and resulted in the new life inside her. She'd been conflicted about this child until the possibility of losing it became very real. A powerful feeling of protectiveness came over her and she knew she'd lie, cheat, beg or steal to take care of this baby.

Mitch brought a tray with a bowl of split pea soup and a ham sandwich from the kitchen and set it on her lap. The smell of the soup she normally loved turned her stomach.

She sucked in a breath and pointed to the plate. “Take it away. If you have any compassion or consideration for my dignity, you'll remove that stat.”

“It's good for you—”

“I don't care. I'm telling you the baby doesn't like it and if it's not gone in ten seconds you'll be sorry.” She put her hand over her mouth.

“Okay.” He took it out of her sight, then came back and sat on the coffee table beside her. “Tell me what sounds good.”

“Peanut butter.”

“Coming right up.”

He disappeared and returned a few minutes later with a sandwich.

“Thank you.” It actually tasted good and made her realize she was hungry. After eating most of it, she said, “I don't mean to be a diva, but there are some smells that just set off the nausea.”

“It's not like I've never seen anyone get sick,” he pointed out.

True. But it wasn't high on her list of things to do in front of him. “Still, I'd rather avoid the experience if at all possible.”

“I understand.” He took the tray back in the kitchen, then returned with a cup of tea and handed it to her.

“Let's get one thing straight. You don't have a clue.” She vigorously dunked the tea bag in the mug of hot water. “You have no idea how it feels to be pregnant. You can't possibly understand what it feels like to be accused of…well, the things you implied. And that begs the question. If you believe I'm capable of such despicable behavior, why are you here being nice to me?”

“Because it's my baby.”

She wasn't sure what had changed for him, but the disappointment trickling through her was very identifiable. His presence here had nothing to do with any feelings for her and she so wanted it to be about that.

“I see.”

“No, you don't.” He let out a long breath. “But I owe you an explanation.”

“That's all right. I get it. You've been great, but I'm fine now. You should go—”

“I'll go if that's what you want, but not before you agree to hear me out.”

They stared at each other for several moments and the expression in his eyes told her whatever he had to say was going to be bad. Suddenly she was afraid. She didn't want to know, but knew she had to.

“All right.”

He nodded and held her gaze for a couple of seconds before saying, “My wife was pregnant.”

Of all the things it was possible for him to reveal that was the last thing she'd expected. “With your baby?” she blurted out.

“Yeah.”

“It's just that I thought—When you talked about her—I just had the impression that she'd cheated on you—” And when she'd told him she was pregnant he'd felt the need to ask if it was his.

“She cheated, but not the way you mean.”

“I don't understand.”

“You already know about my brother and how I tried to help him.”

She nodded. “And that she felt neglected. I thought you were saying that she'd turned to another man for attention.”

“I could have understood that.”

His eyes turned icy, desolate, and Sam gripped the mug until her knuckles turned white, grateful for the warmth. If only it could reach inside where she was the coldest. What could be worse than the woman you trusted cheating with another man?

As much as she didn't want to know, the silence was unbearable. “What did she do?”

“Without discussing the idea with me she suspended all birth control and got pregnant. She came up with some song and dance about forgetting to take the Pill.”

“She got pregnant on purpose.” It wasn't a question. She was almost afraid to ask. But like an accident on the side of the road, she couldn't look away from this now. “What happened to the baby?”

“She said she miscarried. It wasn't until after our divorce that she confessed what she'd done.”

“What?”

He met her gaze and the truth was there in the dark intensity of his eyes. “She got rid of it.”

Sam was shocked. She sat up straight and swung her legs over the side of the sofa. After setting her mug down, she whispered, “How could she do that to you?”

“To me?” His laugh was bitter. “She said it was all my fault. I was too preoccupied trying to save the world to pay any attention to her and she didn't want to raise a child by herself.”

“Oh, Mitch—” So it was a trust issue after all, just not as simple as she'd believed. He'd been deceived in the most elemental and hurtful way. She reached out and put her hand on his arm. “I'm so sorry.”

“No, I'm sorry.”

“Don't be.”

“I am. It had nothing to do with you, but the bad stuff was all right there, as if no time had passed. The feeling of being invisible, irrelevant, used. She stole something from me—not once but twice.” The anger was back in his voice when he said, “That day you told me about being pregnant…The news came out of left field. Again. It wasn't my finest hour. I was wrong to take it out on you.”

“Maybe. But your reaction makes sense now.”

It made so much sense. The truth of the situation made her sick to her stomach all over again. She and the baby were a responsibility he in no way wanted. The fact that he was being sweet and solicitous only heightened her sadness and pain by giving her a glimpse of what might have been.

Mitch would never believe she hadn't gotten pregnant in order to trap him. Without trust, love wasn't possible.

“I'm so sorry all that happened to you.” That was an understatement, Sam thought. They might have had a chance if things had been different.

“It's in the past. I don't mean to whine.”

“It never crossed my mind that you were.”

He shrugged. “Just thought you should know.”

Was it better or worse now that she did? His anger wasn't directed at her, but there was no way he'd ever care, and risk hurt and deception. And suddenly she just wanted to be alone. She was tired. The fear she was going to lose the baby had drained her and she wasn't sure how long she could hold herself together. She'd cried in his arms twice when things with her father had gone badly. Who was going to hold her when she cried over Mitch?

“I'd like you to go,” she said.

He looked up, surprised. “What?”

“I'm worn out. It's been a long day.”

“You go to bed, I'll just hang here in case you need anything.”

“That's not necessary. I'm fine.” That was a lie, but what else could she say? “Rest is what I need. Doctor's orders.”

“I don't want to leave you alone.”

He was going to force her to say the words. She needed a clean break because it hurt too much to have him there knowing she could never have
him.

“Alone is better than being an obligation.”

“That's not why I'm here,” he protested.

“I appreciate the lie, but we both know that's all it is. What you went through was awful. And if I could change that I'd do it in a heartbeat. But the reality is that the past ate up too much of you and there's nothing left over for me.”

“I want to take care of you.”

“And I want your love. I understand why it can't happen, but I won't settle for less.” Her throat felt tight and it was difficult to say the words. “So it's better if you just go now.”

“Sam, you don't mean it—”

“I do. Please, leave, Mitch.”

He stared at her for several long moments, his eyes going darker and more intense. “Are you sure about this?”

“Very.” She put more conviction into that one word than she would have thought possible. But, thanks to him, she was the new and improved Sam. She knew what she wanted and wasn't afraid to say so. Let the chips fall where they may.

Finally he nodded, and stood. “You'll call if you need me?”

What she needed and always would from him he couldn't give her. “If there's anything you need to know, I'll get in touch,” she promised.

He leaned down and she knew he was going to kiss her. She turned her face and his lips brushed her cheek.

“I don't want to see you in my E.R. again.”

“Yes, sir.” She would never know how she managed to smile.

When the door closed behind him Sam felt more alone than she'd ever felt in her life. Her father would probably never speak to her again but she hadn't been able to stand by and say nothing while he was putting down the man she loved. Her lashing out could very well cost her the only family she had.

Worse, she'd lost the love of her life, and the pain of that realization sliced clear to her soul.

“A
re you all right, Mitch?”

He straightened the silverware on the white tablecloth. “Of course. Why do you ask?”

Ellen Tenney's expression was wry as she looked across their table in Primo's, a steak house at the Suncoast Hotel in Summerlin. “We haven't exactly been close for a long time. Taking me to dinner is out of character.”

“Is it too much to ask that you could stop being a detective for a couple of hours and just relax?”

“It's okay to ask, but I can't promise anything. I look at patterns. I notice things. I ask questions.” She glanced around the elegant, second-floor dining room with floor-to-ceiling windows looking out on the lights stretching across the Vegas Valley. “And dinner here is a major red flag.”

“I can't take my mom out for a nice meal?”

“I'm not complaining. But there are hundreds of places that would be nice. Primo's is
nice,
if you know what I mean. That makes me ask questions. Like what's going on with you?” She shrugged. “So sue me.”

In some weird way the fact his mother could still read him was cool. He felt like a drowning man going down for the third time. A week ago he'd left Sam after bringing her home from the E.R. He'd thought about calling her and every time he'd picked up the phone, he remembered the death of hope in her eyes. Warm optimism disappeared and he felt as if he'd stomped the stuffing out of Tinkerbell. He'd wanted her to understand why he'd acted like a jerk and now she did but it didn't help much. Telling her hadn't changed his past or the man he'd turned into because of it. He still tended to find trusting anyone a challenge.

Yet he hadn't wanted to leave her. Walking out that door had felt like cutting his heart out with a spoon. The only reason he'd gone was the fear of stressing her out after what she'd already been through. He would never do anything to hurt Sam or his child.

Seven days had gone by. He could feel her slipping away from him and didn't know how to stop it. He'd spent so much of his life watching out for Robbie and patching people up but he didn't know how to fix himself.

“What is it, Mitch? You look like you lost your best friend.”

That wasn't surprising since he'd lost Sam and she was his best friend.

Before he could answer, the waiter in white shirt and black vest arrived to take their orders. Throwing her cholesterol levels to the wind, Ellen ordered a filet mignon and he got the lamb, then selected a good bottle of wine. After the bread basket arrived, there was an awkward silence while his mother put her cop face back on and let the lack of conversation drag on to make him feel obligated to fill it.

So he did. Through their dinner he made small talk about his career, the weather, upcoming holidays. Anything and everything that wasn't of a personal nature.

After the waiter cleared their plates and they decided to split a huge piece of chocolate cake, she gave him the narrow-eyed detective look again. “So are you ready to talk yet?”

“I thought that's what I've been doing.”

She shook her head. “You threw me a bone, but it's not what I'm really after.”

“And what would that be?”

“I want to know why we're here. What's this dinner all about?” She pointed her finger at him. “And I want the truth.”

He twirled the stem of his water glass. “There's just something unnatural about a guy's mom being a detective. This isn't casual conversation, it's witness interrogation.”

Instead of being intimidated, she grinned. “If you are what you eat, that lamb should have made you more accommodating.”

“Baa.”

“Better,” she said, then laughed. Their dessert arrived with two forks and she took a taste. “That is too good for words.”

“Good enough to stop twenty questions?”

“Not even for money.” Her expression turned serious. “Don't get me wrong. This evening means more to me than you'll probably ever know. And maybe I'm going about it all wrong. But I'm your mother and I know that something's bothering you. If you want to talk, I'm happy to listen.”

That was when he felt the weight of everything he'd carried for so long. Robbie had been his brother and the burden was heavy. But not as much as the failure he'd lived with since losing him.

“I'm sorry I let you down. I'm sorry I couldn't save Robbie.”

Ellen looked like he whipped out a gun and aimed. “This is about Robbie?”

“Partly,” he admitted. “The thing is, it was my responsibility to take care of him. In school I included him with my friends. I made sure he didn't flunk out. If anyone picked on him they had to deal with me. And then I went to college and medical school.”

“You're entitled to a life,” Ellen said.

“But he changed.”

Her mouth thinned. “Robbie got in with a bad crowd.”

“I should have stayed,” Mitch said.

“No. After your father was shot, all you ever wanted was to be a doctor. It would have been wrong to put your life on hold for your brother. He needed to find his own way.”

“But he didn't. That's why I came back to Las Vegas for my residency. He needed me. And I tried to help him. I dropped everything if he called. I was there for him. I tried to get him into rehab—”

“You think it's your fault, Mitch?”

“It is, Mom.” He met her gaze. “I finally told him he was on his own. My marriage was failing because I put it last. I had to try and salvage it.”

“You were right to try,” she said. “But, for what it's worth, I'm glad you're not with her. She was a manipulative, conniving, cunning schemer.”

He smiled at the fiercely maternal look on her face. “Don't sugarcoat it, Mom. Tell me how you really feel.”

“I didn't like her. Ever. And I'm not sorry she's no longer in you life.”

Funny, Detective Tenney was right on the money about his ex and she didn't even know the whole story. There was no point in bringing it up now, but it didn't seem so much like a failure after hearing her opinion.

“Anyway, the night he overdosed, Robbie called me.” He stared out the window, not wanting to see the censure in her eyes. “I didn't take the call. And I just wanted to tell you I'm sorry that I let you down.”

“I can't believe you blame yourself for what happened to Robbie.” She sounded surprised.

Mitch looked at her then. “After Dad was killed, you always told me to watch out for my brother. That I was the responsible one. But I wasn't. Not the last time.”

“Oh, Mitch.” She looked down and shook her head. “I'm the one who should apologize.”

“What for?”

“For making you feel as if you had to be a substitute father to your brother. I'm so sorry for anything I said or did to make you think he was your job. If anyone was to blame, it was me. With your father gone, I was the sole support of the family. I had to work and that meant there just wasn't enough time to spend with my boys.” Tears welled in her eyes and she didn't look like a tough detective anymore. She looked like a mom, sad for the child she'd lost. “Robbie's weakness wasn't your fault, son. He's the only one who could have helped himself and for whatever reason he didn't. Or couldn't.”

“You really believe that?”

She nodded. “And after he died, there was a distance between you and me. It felt like I'd lost both my boys and I didn't understand. Funny, I can get information from a suspect, but not from my own son.”

More weight lifted from his shoulders and he smiled. “Food for thought.”

“No kidding.”

“We'll have to do this more often,” he said.

“Are you buying?”

“Yeah.”

“Count me in.” She sipped from her water glass, then met his gaze. “Speaking of food, I had a good time at Sam's on Thanksgiving. How is she?”

Just like that it was Interrogation Central again. For some reason he didn't mind. “She's okay.”

“Care to elaborate?”

It seemed to be the night for confessions and they said it was good for the soul. “She's pregnant, Mom. It's my baby.”

Ellen's eyes went wide, then the news sank in and she smiled. “I'm going to be a grandmother?”

“Yes.” He braced himself for questions about his intentions. If they were getting married.

“That's wonderful, Mitch. Sam's a nice girl. I like her very much.”

“How does she rate on your detective radar? Conniving, cunning, deceitful or scheming?”

“None of the above. She's a keeper and I just have to ask what she sees in you.”

“Thanks, Mom. I just got a warm fuzzy.”

He teased back, but her words struck a chord. What
did
Sam see in him?

From the very first she'd worked her tail off to salvage him because she felt he had something to offer. Of course it was her job. He knew that. But she went above and beyond the call of duty. He'd been crabby, grumpy and ungrateful. She'd been sunny, caring and brimming with optimism. Yet he'd managed to crush that out of her.

She'd told him he had too much baggage and there was nothing left over for her. The last thing he wanted was to make another mistake. His spirit was lighter, knowing his mother didn't blame him for Robbie's death. But he couldn't stand it if he did anything to crush the light out of Sam any more than he already had.

Except it wasn't that simple.

He'd missed her like crazy. She was all he could think about and being with her was the only time in his life that he could remember being truly and completely happy.

Talking to his mother made him remember what Robbie had gone through. He'd had a weakness for crystal meth and cocaine and couldn't shake it. Drugs were an addiction. Until Sam Mitch hadn't really understood what it felt like to crave something you couldn't get out of your system. He hadn't been able to relate to the feeling of wanting something with every fiber of his being.

That's the way he wanted Sam.

But she wanted love and a happy ending and his track record in that department was in the dumper. Her father was right about him. He was the wrong man and would only make her unhappy. So he was trying to do what was right for her.

It would be easier to be noble if he didn't love her so much.

 

What did an unmarried, pregnant-and-fighting-nausea woman do on a Saturday night in Las Vegas?

If that woman was Sam, she would stay home and try to keep a stiff upper lip at the same time her life looked like a train wreck. She had to snap out of it because there were plans to make, another life to think about that was more important than being rejected by the man she'd fallen for. Getting over him wouldn't be easy, but she'd do it. Or at least pretend.

Mitch hadn't called and that hurt. She couldn't pretend it didn't. Her father wasn't speaking to her. She'd hoped to hear from Connor and Fiona. The fact she hadn't hurt, too.

Good grief, she was pathetic. Enough, already. It was time to snap out of it. No one liked a whiner.

There was a knock on the door and Sam's heart took a flying leap. Mitch!

As she rose from the couch, her hand automatically went to her hair, which was falling out of the scrunchy on top of her head. There'd been no reason to put on makeup and she looked like something the cat yakked up. A phone call would have been nice, but who was she to complain?

After rounding the coffee table, she forced herself to slowly walk to the door. When she turned the dead bolt, she noticed her hand was shaking. That was nothing compared to what her insides were doing.

She opened the door and did a double take because she'd been expecting someone else. “Connor.”

He slid his hands into the pockets of his khakis. “Hi, Sam.”

“I wasn't expecting you.”

“Probably I should have called, but—” He looked around her. “Do you have company?”

“No. I'm alone.” That sounded so pathetic. She was going to have to work on it harder.

“Can I come in?”

“Oh. Sure.” She stepped back and opened the door wider. “Sorry.”

“That's my line.”

After turning the dead bolt, she looked at him. “What?”

“I'm sorry.”

“For?”

“Not being here for you.” He shoved his hand through his hair. “Dad just told me you're pregnant.”

It never occurred to Sam that her father would keep the news to himself. By this time she figured Connor and Fiona knew and were simply avoiding her.

“Wow, I—”

“Why didn't you tell me?” In his eyes, anger mixed with something that looked a lot like hurt.

“I figured news would spread. I'm still getting used to the idea. I didn't think—”