Prince Charming of Harley Street / The Heart Doctor and the Baby (20 page)

The middle-aged patient and her husband shared a sigh, smiled and hugged. The scene made René wish all her medical “news” could be as good.

After they stood and shook hands, and René had instructed the patient to stop by Gaby’s desk and make a follow-up appointment, she folded her arms and paced the
room. She was at her prime, in excellent physical condition, and good health should never be taken for granted. Now was the perfect time…for…

Her eyes drifted to the one wall reserved for every baby she’d ever delivered. The ever-growing collage of pictures—big and small, ornate and plain—called out to her. She scanned the gallery and thought again about becoming a mother. Chills tickled her neck.

She sat at her desk, stared at the detailed crown molding along the ceiling and tapped a light rhythm with her pen. More exciting thoughts about parenthood whispered through her mind. Her dream really could come true. She could barely wait.

With her restless gaze wandering the expanse of the office, she nibbled a fingernail, while her crossed leg pumped a breakneck beat. On the opposite wall was a framed photograph of the four MidCoast Medical partners the day the clinic had opened. She meandered over and took the picture in her hands. They all smiled. She was flanked by Jon on one side and Philip on the other, and next to Jon stood Jason, the owner of the building. The day was one of the happiest of her life. She remembered hugging each of them, and sharing a bottle of champagne. She thought about the hope they all had, and the desire to serve the local Santa Barbara community, back before Jason’s wife and daughter had died and Jon was still happily married.

She’d expected to marry, too, but life had surprised them all. Only Philip, the happy bachelor, seemed to make it through the past five years unscathed.

Well, it was her chance now. The sperm bank had called to tell her Jon had made an appointment for today—Valentine’s Day! He had skipped part of his morning clinic
for an appointment, and she’d quietly chuckled over the reason—to donate his sperm, designated for her. But when it hit her between the eyes that her dream was about to come true, the gesture touched her so deeply she’d flat-out cried. Now she grinned and shook her head. Jon was right about two things: he was full of surprises, and no matter what happened after this, their relationship would never be the same.

Who knows how long she stared at the photograph. Jon’s image made her smile. His lanky frame, angular features, friendly demeanor and over-the-top intelligence gave her confidence she’d chosen the right man, and right now, she owed him another gigantic thank-you. And maybe another home-cooked meal?

Jon stared down Antonin Grosso. The stocky man sat across from his desk with arms folded, and a stubborn glint in his eyes.

“Your thallium treadmill showed an abnormality suggestive of arterial blockage.”

The man scrubbed his face with a beefy hand. “Please, doctor, I’m a butcher—speak the English!”

Jon grimaced. True, layman’s terms were his downfall. “You may have a blocked artery in your heart. I can’t stress enough the need for an angiogram. Oh, uh, that’s a study that will tell me if any of your heart arteries
are
blocked.” He fished through his patient education pamphlets and found the right one, then handed it to him.

“I no need this test. I feel fine.”

“Feeling fine and being fine are two different things, Mr. Grosso.” Jon ran his hand over his stiff spiky hair and reconsidered the explanation in butcher’s vernacular. “Take your prime beef. It may look fine, but until the U.S. government
checks it out and approves it, you won’t know if it’s diseased or not.” He stared at the man while the analogy computed. “You look good. You feel good. But your heart isn’t so good. This study says so. We may need to unplug the arteries so your heart gets more blood and feels better.”

Something clicked. The man’s expression brightened. “You mean like that plumbing guy? My pipes need cleaning?”

Jon snapped his fingers and pointed at Mr. Grosso. “Exactly! Your pipes may need cleaning out. We need to schedule an appointment for a special test to decide if they do.”

“I don’t know. That sounds dangerous. I need to talk to my wife first.”

“Okay. Talk to your wife, but make it soon. I’ll talk to her, too, if you’d like. Bottom line—you need this test, Mr. Grosso.”

“Okay, okay, but I feel fine.” He rose to leave, and Jon stood, too.

“It’s Friday. I want to hear from you by next Wednesday.” Jon waved the EKG and treadmill results around to impress the patient that he had solid proof he needed the angiogram. “You have to get this done ASAP.”

The man glanced over his shoulder, then hung his head when he grabbed the doorknob. “We’ll see,” he mumbled.

Jon sat on the edge of his solid oak behemoth of a desk and shook his head. Before he had the chance to mutter a single curse, something grabbed his attention, and two young ladies rushed him.

“Dad!”

“Hi, Daddy!”

Amanda and Lacy threw their arms around him and
hung tight. Every frustrated physician-oriented thought he’d been thinking flew out of his head. His teenage daughters had a way of doing that for him.

“Hey!” he said, smiling. “You guys are early.”

“Mom had a hot date,” Lacy said, with a strong hint of sarcasm.

Ack.
Cherie hadn’t even tried to hide her multiple trysts from the girls since the divorce. Hell, she’d started extramarital dating before they’d even finalized the divorce. The thought still boiled his blood.

While deep in a group hug, he noticed René walk up to his door. Her intent expression changed to comprehension when she spied the girls. Since his office was in the back of the building, and the copying machines and bathrooms were in the middle, he knew she only came to this part of the clinic if she needed to talk to him.

She shook her head and flipped her hand in a wave, mouthed “thank you” and started to walk away. The sparkle in her eyes, since he’d agreed to be her sperm donor, had made everyone in the clinic take note. He’d heard his nurses comment to each other. “What’s up with Dr. Munroe?” “I wonder if she’s in love!”

His daughters turned their heads toward the door and caught sight of René just as she turned to leave. “I just wanted to wish you a happy Valentine’s Day, Jon,” she said, expertly covering for herself.

“Hey, same to you.”

He grinned at the thought of having put that gleam in her flashing eyes. Briefly, he wondered what would have transpired if his daughters hadn’t arrived early. Would she give him another squeeze of the hand and kiss on the cheek, a gorgeously grateful smile, and eyes so filled with joy his
heart would palpitate? He felt guilty how simple his part of the agreement was, but if she wanted to make this huge deal out of it, it was fine with him. As long as no one found out. As long as it wouldn’t change his life or routine, or plans for China.

“Who was that?” Lacy asked.

“You know, Dr. Munroe. She’s one of the partners,” he said. He continued the group hug with the girls, and smiled.

“She’s really pretty,” Amanda said.

“Why don’t you ask her out?” Lacy added.

“A date?” He made an incredulous laugh. “Who needs that when I’ve already got my favorite girls?”

Even if it would cost him a dinner out and involve some sort of shoes or clothes shopping, he wouldn’t trade his biweekly visitation weekends with his daughters for anything in the world. Especially on the most interesting Valentine’s Day he’d had in a long time.

M
ONDAY
morning, René had to teach the last “What to Expect When Expecting” class since Claire had delivered prematurely. Ten women in various stages of pregnancy sat rapt with attention at the day’s topic: Epidural or Natural Birth. René already knew what her personal preference would be. Natural birth.

One woman was unfamiliar to René, and since only MidCoast Medical patients, in particular her OB/Gyn patients could participate, she questioned her.

“Oh, I’m Gretchen, Stephanie Ingram’s doula. She was called into court today.”

The lawyer was involved in a high-profile murder case, and René had often lamented about the horrible timing of it with her pregnancy.

Hmm, a doula. Stephanie had hired an assistant to provide nonmedical support during the pregnancy and delivery. Claire had recommended her. The doula would perform nonmedical duties—anything from back rubs to aromatherapy, to errands, or anything else the future mom might need. The doula’s goal was to organize and support the mother through the entire process.
Sounds like something
I may require in the near future, if all goes well.
It was never too soon to plan ahead.

“May I have your business card?” René asked.

Gretchen Lingstrom—freckled, redheaded, tattooed and eyebrow pierced—beamed as she handed her the card.

After the class had ended, René searched out Jon. She wanted to bring him up to date on the chat with her lawyer. Both of his exam rooms were closed, which meant he was seeing a patient.

She peeked around the corner of his door. He sat, head down, scribbling away with his left hand. For an out-of-this-stratosphere smart guy, he definitely had an artistic side. One thing she remembered was that he kept a journal, and it was something she’d always admired about him. He’d admitted it to her at the first clinic Christmas party after his divorce, where he’d had a bit too much to drink. He’d clearly been hurting at the time, and said it helped him relieve stress and work through his divorce. She’d never realized how hard his divorce had been on him until the other night, when they’d set out to get to know each other after agreeing to make a baby together. She wondered if he was writing about how backward their process was.

René smiled and tapped on the door. Her stomach went quivery and her heart bumped up its rhythm, and she didn’t understand why.

“Hey,” he said, a welcoming gleam in his eyes.

“Hey. I just wanted to bring you up-to-date. I got word the…uh…specimen made the grade. We’re all set to go as soon as I—” she glanced down the hall and back, then whispered “—ovulate.”

Surprisingly, his cheeks rouged up as he gave her a

lightbulb broad smile and a thumbs-up sign.

That afternoon, Mrs. Grosso stood somber faced before Jon, with Antonin doing his best to hide behind her four-foot-eleven frame. “He no want the test. It’s too much. Too dangerous.”

“Mrs. Grosso, are you aware that your husband could die from a heart attack if he doesn’t take care of his arteries?”

She glanced over her shoulder; Antonin made such a minute head shake only his eyes seemed to move. She let go a long string of emphatic Italian words, obviously berating him for denying that fact prior to now.

“No. No. No,” Antonin said. He couldn’t be swayed.

Worry etched her brow as she shrugged. “What I’m going to do?”

Jon looked into his patient’s eyes. “If I make an appointment for an ultrasound of the heart, where they just bounce sound waves off your chest, will you go?”

“No cutting? No needles?” the man said.

Jon shook his head. “If you see for yourself there is a blockage, will you promise to have the test—the real test—to save your life?”

The missus poured out more Italian, this time using her hands and arms for accentuation. Antonin’s grumpy face took on a more thoughtful expression.

“You’ll already be in the hospital and we can handle things from there. What do you say?” Jon said.

The man stared at the floor and mumbled, “Oh-kay.”

Jon clapped his hands. “That’s the spirit.” He hopped behind his desk and punched in a phone number. “Let’s see how soon I can arrange the ultrasound.”
For the walking time bomb.

He got put on hold, used his index finger to play with the silly little patch of hair under his lower lip. The patch
his girls had insisted he grow. They said it would make him look sexy. He almost laughed out loud. Did a man want to look sexy at forty-two? A really odd thought occurred to him. If René had handpicked him to be her donor, was there anything about him she found sexy besides his DNA?

He squashed the thought immediately. The last thing he wanted was to foul up his plans for freedom with any kind of commitment.

As he waited on hold, and the Grossos spoke in excitable Italian, hands and gestures flying, his mind drifted to the vision of René at his door that morning. She wore a little white sweater over her earth-tone patterned sheath dress. The half-sleeved sweater with a shiny bead-and-stud design up the front had been the perfect accessory. He’d noticed that about her. She was good with details.

And he liked that. Liked that he knew she’d always do a job thoroughly, down to the miniscule touches. He thought about the dinner she’d made the night she’d asked him to be her sperm donor—she cooked that way, too. Whenever they had potlucks at work from now on, he’d twist her arm to cook. There was something in the way she combined herbs and spices that made her dishes exceptional. If she weren’t such a fantastic doctor, he might suggest she’d missed her calling, but if she’d become a chef, he’d never have met her.

An uncomfortable feeling spun in his stomach. These were useless thoughts, fanciful thoughts, that a man with plans for a sabbatical shouldn’t bother to have. As he continued to wait to speak to a hospital operator, he thumbed through his journal, past the part detailing life’s recent surprising turn, and back to his list of cities in China that he
planned to visit after he attended the world cardiac conference in Beijing—2011; the year of the rabbit.

In light of the new circumstances, for some dumb reason, the year of the rabbit struck him funny.

The following Saturday morning, René rode her bicycle on a different route, along the Cabrillo Boulevard bike path. The early morning air was crisp and the sun bright. She squinted, despite wearing sunglasses. Up ahead on the palm-tree-lined path, a tall, fit figure ran at a near sprinter’s pace. From the crowd of joggers, she’d recognize him anywhere.

She’d never seen Jon jogging, and definitely had never seen him shirtless before. It shook her a little. His musculature surprised her, too. Intrigued her. Long waisted, like a swimmer, his shoulders were broad and his upper arms were surprisingly buff. Jon? His stomach was flat and obviously no stranger to crunches. Another surprise. Long solid legs finished off his six-foot frame, and carried him at a rapid clip along the shore.

He concentrated on his run, and didn’t see or recognize her when she pedaled toward him. Maybe it was the bike helmet? Vanity prompted her to take it off and fluff out her hair before she called his name.

“Jon!” She waved.

His pace stuttered, he turned and followed the sound.

“Jon! Hi!”

He waved and ran off the path, circling back toward her. “What’s up?”

“Just enjoying the sunny morning.”

“Yeah, it’s beautiful today, isn’t it.”

As they chitchatted, she worked hard at concentrating on his face so he wouldn’t think she was checking him out.
His gaze passed over her shorts-clad legs once or twice. What was that about?

A large group of cyclists advanced, so she cut things short.

“I just wanted to thank you again for…you know.”

“Ah,” he said, suddenly finding his running shoes fascinating. “That.”

They exchanged a secret-handshake kind of look, something that was quickly becoming routine.

“Yeah. That. You know how grateful I am.”

“Yep.”

“Okay. Well, I’ll see you Monday,” she said.

He nodded and waved. She noticed the well-formed muscle ripple up his arm and shoulder, and couldn’t stop herself from waiting until he’d run off before putting her cycle helmet back on. Once she’d set off, she couldn’t resist a glance over her shoulder for the back view. She swerved and had to put her foot down to keep from falling. But it was worth it! A straight spine with triangular muscles fanning across his back, flexed with the natural swing of his arms. His torso angled down to trim hips and a backside barely covered by his shorts. Never in a million years would she have imagined him to look this hot. She’d come to a dead stop and soon realized several more cyclists were headed her way, so she pushed off and continued in the opposite direction.

She’d been up all night thinking about Jon. Not in a sexual way. No. But in a new and different light—a beam of potential. Seeing him like this mixed her up, especially now, when things were moving ahead as planned.

She had nothing but respect for Jon Becker. They’d been through a lot together launching the medical practice. She remembered how flattered she’d been when Jason and
Jon had approached her about joining them on the venture. She’d only been board certified in OB/Gyn for a year and yet they’d invited her to take a chance on a new direction for her career, one where she had more say and control. She remembered blinking two or three times and saying yes! And she hadn’t looked back or regretted it since.

She’d almost broached the subject foremost on her mind with Jon last Friday afternoon, just to tell him thanks for what seemed like the hundredth time in the past few weeks, but he’d been waylaid by his girls. She’d caught them in a cuddle with the oldest, Amanda, sporting a sleek dark-brown bob, kissing his cheek, and the honey-haired Lacy, with wild shoulder-length curls, snuggling his chest. He never looked happier than when he was with them. A prerequisite for what they’d planned was that it couldn’t affect his relationship with his girls in any way. They’d never know, and she’d do anything to keep it that way.

René pedaled beyond the beach volleyball courts toward the pond. Her mind wandered back to Jon as the hodgepodge of her thoughts practically made her eyes cross. They’d worked closely together for five years. Not only was he a person she admired and trusted, he was a genius, and ethically minded—a great combination for father material. She had nothing but respect for him and cared about him as a friend. To admit he was a damn fine specimen of a man on top of everything else was far too confusing.

No way would she allow herself to examine that freshly discovered secret. Even though he’d looked fantastic in those jogging shorts, there was no place for emotion in this plan.

She circled the pond and headed toward home. She’d been tracking her menstrual cycle for the past few months, and if all went well, she’d be ovulating next week. Deep
in thought, she glanced up and nearly screamed. A four-seat bicycle surrey almost ran her off the road. She veered from the path and onto the grass, and stopped just before rolling over the curb and into the street, heavy with fast-moving traffic. Once she regained her breath she got right back on the bike and pedaled faster.

If she got herself killed, she wouldn’t be able to get inseminated!

The following week, Jon’s morning cardiac clinic had been brutal. One complication after another—a surprise diagnosis or three, word of a cardiac arrest of one of his oldest patients and then he’d had to break the news to Katerina and Antonin Grosso that, after having the echocardiogram, Antonin definitely needed a triple bypass graft,
molto presto.

Just before noon, as Jon discussed the pros and cons of blood pressure medicine with his newest cardiac patient, his intercom buzzed.

It was René. “I’ve got the contract. Can you meet me at Stearns Wharf for lunch today?”

“Sure,” he said, pleased about the prospect of seeing her away from work again.

She gave him the time and hung up.

He’d managed to compartmentalize the whole artificial insemination agreement since the day she’d dropped the überbaby bomb. But the call shook him out of his complacency, his heart
lub-dubbed
more per minute than usual and he held the receiver with a suddenly moist palm. There was no way he could convince himself his part in their deal was insignificant when a new life might be created as a result.

He scratched his forehead, and remembered he had a
patient sitting across from him. “Yes. Well, let’s discuss beta blockers versus calcium channel blockers.”

The patient’s expression drew a blank. “Sorry,” Jon said, then stated a brand name for each drug classification he’d mentioned and noticed an ember of understanding in his patient’s previous dull gaze. Together, they chose the best medicine suited for his condition and lifestyle, and when at the end of the appointment they shook hands, the patient thanked Jon profusely.

The morning seemed to drag on, while Jon had second, third and even fourth thoughts about actually going through with the contract. He remembered the bright spark of hope in René’s eyes when he’d agreed, and relived the unbridled excitement when she’d hurled herself into his arms, hugged the wind out of him, then kissed his cheek so hard he swore he felt her lips there the rest of the day.

He smiled. He could make René’s dream come true. How often in life did a man get that kind of opportunity with no strings attached? He thought about his daughters and how much he loved them. How parental love surpassed romantic love, at least it had in his marriage. While marital love might weaken and fade away, the love of a child grew stronger every day. The joy those girls had brought to his life went beyond measure, and René deserved her chance to experience the same.

He removed his doctor’s coat, replacing it with a light-weight bomber-style jacket for the crisp February day, and set off on foot to meet René at the wharf after her morning surgi-clinic at the local outpatient center.

As he approached their agreed-upon restaurant, the crunching and creaking of the wooden planks from behind made him turn. He spotted her car. She’d been lucky
enough to find a parking place on the often-overcrowded wharf. A nervous zing buzzed through his system, and he quickly ignored it. He was a man of his word—he’d made a promise; he couldn’t back out now. After all, he’d already given the specimen!