To Have the Doctor's Baby (11 page)

The dam holding back his feelings had a crack that was getting bigger every day he went home to her. He needed this arrangement to be over so his life could return to the way it had been before she came back into it.

Except he had flashes of an empty kitchen when he went down for coffee in the morning. Coming home at night without anyone there to ask about his day. He didn't like either scenario, and the sooner she left the better. Because she
would
leave. At least this time he knew up front. He'd get his head on straight this time and keep anything personal compartmentalized. He would not repeat the same mistake and come close to losing control again.

Margo poked her head into the office. “Your last patient is here, Doctor.”

“Thanks.” He looked up from a report that didn't list him as the referring doctor. “These CBC results are for Dr. Gallagher.”

The petite brunette came farther into the room. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail and a spray of freckles dotted her turned-up nose. She held out her hand. “I'll put it on his desk. Sorry about that.”

“No problem.” Just before she walked out the door, he said, “What do you think of him?”

“He's okay.” Her green eyes were wary.

“Is he charming?”

Now she really looked wary. “To me personally? Or the patients?”

“Either. Both.”

She shrugged. “In my opinion, he's just okay. But that could be about training him. He's resisting it, by the way. But, in all fairness—”

“Since when are you fair?”

“When am I not?” She grinned and it made her look about twelve. “You and I set up the office together. The patient protocols and paper flow make sense to us. It's not easy to learn everything without ruffling a few feathers.”

“Yours?”

“Mostly.”

Nick studied her. “So, he's charmed you?”

“No way.” Her tone was definitely defensive. “I've been inoculated against charm. But the patients are a different story.”

“Oh?”

“They love him. In fact—” She hesitated, then said, “Never mind.”

“What?”

“It's nothing.”

“I need to know, Margo. It could factor in to whether or not he joins the practice.”

“Okay.” She sighed as if about to spill state secrets. “A lot of existing and new patients are specifically making appointments with him.”

“Why?”

“Some of it is word of mouth. He's been around to
community health fairs. Does informational sessions at the YMCA and Boys and Girls Club. That's general. Specifically, he interacts with the entire family, not just the patient with the medical problem.”

“How?”

“I don't know.” She lifted one slender shoulder in a shrug. “He knows birthdays. Remembers a kid's win and loss records in whatever sport they play. He even knows what positions they have on the team. He's just totally, personally involved with people.” Unlike Nick.

She didn't say it, but that's what he heard. And even though she didn't say it, he felt the need to justify his own policy of maintaining distance, if only to himself.

“With that level of interaction, it's hard to maintain control.”

“Don't you mean objectivity?” Margo asked. “Because no one can control everything.”

No, he meant control. He didn't ever want to lose it like his father had when his mother abandoned them.

“Who's my last patient?” he asked.

“David Negri,” she said smiling. “Cute kid.”

The one from the asthma clinic who'd wanted to play football. “Thanks for the input, Margo.”

“Any time.” She disappeared to go and do whatever it was she did.

Nick walked down the hall and took the file folder from the plastic holder on the wall outside the exam room. He opened the chart and glanced inside, observing that David had been in while Nick was out with the flu. He'd seen Gallagher. The other doctor had noted that the kid's team beat their archrival, also the score of that game. He also put down that David's younger brother, Jonathan, was playing football in the same youth league, a lower division.

He opened the door and went inside. David was sitting on the exam table. His mom was in one of the visitor chairs and the other was occupied by a kid who looked a lot like David, only younger.

“Hi, David.” Looking at the younger one, he said, “You must be Jonathan.”

“Yeah.” The sandy-haired boy smiled shyly.

“Mrs. Negri,” he greeted the woman.

“Marilyn, please.” She smiled. “And it's not Negri anymore. I went back to my maiden name, Matthews.”

Ryleigh had done that after their divorce. Nick wasn't sure what to make of that and decided to ignore and move on.

“I hope you're feeling better, Doctor.” The woman's gaze was full of sympathy. “The last time we were in they said you had the flu. It's pretty awful.”

“Yeah.” The only upside was having Ryleigh there to take his temp and push fluids on him. It made the awful part seem not so awful. “Fully recovered now.”

“I'm glad,” she said.

“So, David, how are you doing?”

“Pretty good.”

Nick put the chart down and removed the stethoscope from around his neck. He put the ear pieces in and pressed the other end to various areas of the patient's chest and back. There was a slight wheeze. “How's football?”

“I'm a wide receiver.”

“You're doing a lot of running then?” Nick said.

The kid nodded. “It was kind of hard at first.”

“He's wheezing at night, after practices and games,” his mother interjected, a thread of worry in her tone.

“Mom—” The boy looked annoyed.

“I'm not sure he should be playing,” she continued.

“It's not that bad.” He looked at Nick. “Coach says I've got good hands and some speed. I made a touchdown.”

“Good for you.”

Nick looked at him. “But you're having some problems after exercise?”

“A little.”

“Are you taking your medication before practice and games?”

“Faithfully,” his mother answered.

“I'm going to give you a different medication and we'll see if that helps. But we'll keep everything else the same. Drink lots of water. Stay hydrated. As long as you follow the protocols I've laid out, you should be able to play without a problem. But don't ignore symptoms,” he warned. “Use the rescue inhaler if you need to.”

The kid nodded. “Okay, Doc. You should come to the game this week.”

Nick stepped back and looked at the boy's eager expression. Dad probably wasn't in the picture and he was eager for male approval. Nick understood the lopsided parenting. Although in his own case it had been a parental vacuum when his mom left and his dad shut down. Seeing the hope in this kid's eyes could break your heart if you weren't careful.

“I'm not sure, David. We'll see.”

“I'm playing football on Saturday,” his little brother said.

Marilyn laughed. “He wants to do everything his big brother does.”

“Yeah. It happens.”

Nick felt his chest tighten, the way it always did when he thought about his own little brother, Todd. He missed the wisecracks, someone who gave him advice whether he wanted it or not. Usually he did, especially about girls.
Boy could he use some now, straight talk about his complicated relationship with Ryleigh. It made him miss Todd even more than usual, made him wish for more time. He would never stop blaming himself for the disease taking his brother sooner than it should have.

He pulled some medication samples from the cupboard and handed them to Marilyn. “If this works, I'll give you a prescription. I'd like to see David in a month for follow-up. But don't hesitate to call if you need anything.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

Nick nodded, then left the room and ran into Gallagher in the hall.

“How's David?” he asked.

“Good. You made personal notes in his chart about his football game.”

“Yeah. It helps me connect with a patient. Apparently the kid's got a lot of potential.”

“So do you, if you don't burn out first,” Nick said.

“What does that mean?”

“That you have to separate the personal and professional or you're going to have a meltdown.”

“I disagree.” Gallagher draped his stethoscope around his neck. “It's important to treat the whole person and that includes family. They aren't just lungs, liver or spleen. They're flesh, blood, bone and heart, too.”

“So we're still at a professional impasse?”

“Looks that way. I can't change,” Gallagher said.

Neither can I,
Nick thought. Margo called it objectivity; Nick believed in control. You kept your head in the medicine—everything else was unnecessary. It was just as advisable in his practice as it was in his personal life.

No one got through his armor.

“Nick?”

He looked over his shoulder and Margo was stand
ing there, a worried expression on her face. “What's wrong?”

“Karen Wagner just called. Micah is having trouble breathing. She called 911 and wants you to meet them at Mercy Medical.”

Micah Wagner was a cystic fibrosis patient in his early teens. He'd been doing so well but recently had battled a lung infection and this wasn't good.

“I'm on my way. Let the answering service know where I'll be.”

He'd call Ryleigh and tell her not to expect him until later. Though she wouldn't believe it based on his past history, he wanted to get home. But sex would just have to wait a little longer.

T
he night of the fundraiser Ryleigh was ready before Nick and paced around the kitchen island while waiting for him. Her stomach was in knots, at least the part not doing the cancan. It almost made her forget that her fertile window had slammed shut sometime the day before without a single attempt during the whole five days to make a baby.

First she'd been too busy; then Nick had been at the hospital with a cystic fibrosis patient for what seemed like days. Knowing his brother died of the disease helped her understand his dedication to this particular fight. Fortunately the teen was doing much better now, thanks to the world's best pediatric pulmonologist. She'd been disappointed that there was no opportunity for sex, but she had him for tonight. As a friend. And that was pretty important to her. She was going to need the support.

Pacing past the microwave, she caught a glimpse of
her reflection and backed up. She fussed with the wisps of hair around her face and fretted over the asymmetrical bun she'd fashioned behind her ear.

“I should have gone to a salon,” she mumbled.

“You know what they say about people who talk to themselves.”

Ryleigh started. She hadn't heard him there. Her heart pounded even harder than it had when she was just worried about her event tanking.

“No, what do they say?” she asked breathlessly.

“I'm not really sure, but it can't be good.”

Nick looked gorgeous. Delicious. Scrumptious. The traditional black tuxedo fit his body to perfection, highlighting his wide shoulders and broad chest. A black tie and snow-white shirt completed his stunning look.

Ryleigh wolf-whistled. “And suddenly I'm not nervous anymore. Thanks to you.”

“Congrats to me.” He shrugged. “What did I do?”

“You look pretty spectacular, Doctor.”

He grinned. “Thank you. But, and I'm really not fishing for compliments here, what does that have to do with your nerves?”

“You look more James Bond-y than James Bond. No one will even notice me.”

His eyes narrowed with breathtaking intensity. “The men will.”

“You're so wrong. At least I hope you are.” She sighed at her reflection.

“I'm a guy. And I'm not wrong,” he said. “What's the problem with your hair?”

“I should have had a professional do it. On top of my head. Maybe with a cascade of curls. This side bun thing isn't working. No one will want to give money to a mutant Princess Leia who's missing one of her hair bagels.”

One corner of his mouth curved up as he moved closer. With his index finger, he gently traced the front of her hair, then down her throat. “Take it from me, every man in that room will be looking at you. And their eyes will be drawn to your lonely hair bagel, and your beautiful neck. That will get their wallets open and they'll beg you to take their money.” When she opened her mouth to protest, he silenced her with a finger to her lips. “You're just going to have to trust me on this.”

Oh my,
she thought. If he kept that up, she could be in serious trouble—and not just because she'd miss her own party.

“Thank you, Nick. That makes me feel much better.”

“Good. There's no reason to be nervous. You've put a lot of blood, sweat, tears and time into this. You can't miss.”

 

Ryleigh held on to that thought when she stood at the podium in the Milan Ballroom at the M Resort. There were over a thousand invitees to this shindig, and at least eight hundred formally dressed people had attended. Along with the Mercy Medical Center chief administrative officer she'd personally greeted everyone at the door as they walked in. During the cocktail hour that followed, she'd mingled, charmed and noticed a few men who might be looking at her neck. Now everyone was seated for dinner and it was time for her speech.

She adjusted the microphone down, then looked at the audience. On the first try she found Nick and he flashed her a thumbs-up.

She cleared her throat and hoped her voice didn't shake. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Ryleigh Evans and I'm the regional coordinator for Children's Medical Charities.

“I could stand here and talk for hours about all the good work we do, but I have someone very special to do that for me. Just a hint—this person is responsible for tonight's menu and you're going to love it.

“You've already contributed to the children just by being here, but I'm hoping that our live auction will tempt your generosity just a little more. We have an impressive assortment of items including a year's worth of cupcakes from Piece of Cake.” She waited while the room erupted in applause. When it died down, she said, “Continuing with culinary arm-twisting, we have a night to remember at the Marquis mansion—a dinner for twenty hosted by Chef Candy Garrett, of reality-TV fame. There are spa packages at some of the Las Vegas Strip's most sophisticated and elegant hotels. Weekend getaways with dinner and shows.

“Keep in mind that all the money we raise tonight will go to fund programs and equipment, directly benefiting the pediatric department at Mercy Medical Center. It's all for the kids, only the kids. This money cannot be used for anything else. And I have the best job in the world because I get to help decide where it all goes. Anyone who knows me knows that I love kids even more than I love to spend money, so please open your hearts and your wallets. On behalf of the kids, I thank you all for supporting Children's Medical Charities.

“And now I'd like to introduce someone a lot of you know from reality television. She has a story that will touch your hearts. Before turning the microphone over to her, I just have to say that if you've checked out tonight's salad menu, heirloom beets aren't an antique and no one knows what blood orange emulsion is. But I guarantee you're going to love it. Ladies and gentlemen, Candy Garrett.”

While the celebrity chef told her emotional story, Ryleigh made her way back to Nick. As she was weaving through the maze of cloth-covered tables with fragrant flower centerpieces, she watched the women in the audience dab at their eyes with their napkins. Candy related her baby's early health issues and why Mercy Medical Center had just the right diagnostic equipment to help. On the big screens set up in the front of the ballroom, there was a picture of a beautiful, smiling, healthy little blond-haired, blue eyed toddler.

Ryleigh felt again the envy and the ache to be a mother.

When she reached Nick, she leaned down and whispered in his ear, “If that doesn't get these people to give until it hurts, then their hearts are two sizes too small.”

He grinned and she felt an odd tightness in the center of her chest. The scent of him filled her head and his lean, freshly shaven jaw was right there. She wanted so badly to kiss him, but that was against their rules. She decided to blame it on a hormonal hiccup, just like he had.

Nick looked at her when she sat. “Is that it for you?”

“Pretty much.” She put the cloth napkin in her lap. No blood orange emulsion for her. Not on this white dress. “Candy is going to mingle during dinner and personally introduce herself, sign autographs. It's good publicity for her and the venue where she works. As far as arm-twisting goes, it's not bad, either.”

“When is the auction?”

“Right after dinner. I've got a professional auctioneer, volunteer of course, to handle that. He makes a living getting people to cough up money. Then the event is pretty much done except for dancing.”

“So, for you, the nail-biting part is over?”

“Yes, at least until the numbers are in and we find out how well we did. Last year brought in the most money ever
and set a pretty high bar. I hope to top it by two percent. Minimum.”

He whistled. “An ambitious goal, what with the economy recovering.”

“So you can see why I've been sort of a basket case.”

“Sort of?” One dark eyebrow lifted as he leaned back and stretched his arm across the back of her chair.

“Okay. I've been crazed. But seriously, Nick…” She put her hand on his knee. “Thanks for coming tonight. The support means a lot to me and I know you hate these things.”

“Can you blame me?” He looked at her. “Blood orange emulsion? Really?”

“When people come to a charity event they expect exotic, unidentifiable food,” she defended.

“I think this menu will meet and exceed the expected weird factor.”

This verbal sparring only happened with Nick. When they'd split up, she'd missed it. Along with the way he looked at her, like he was now. As if he wanted her. She forced herself to look away from him, afraid her eyes would give away the weakness she was feeling for him. Dinner was moving forward. Waiters in white shirts and black pants were bustling around serving salads and refilling water glasses. The celebrity chef was chatting up the people at the next table. When she saw Ryleigh, she waved and came over.

“Hi, there, Miss Mega Event Coordinator.”

“Candy.” Ryleigh smiled at the blue-eyed blonde in the white chef jacket that didn't do a very good job of concealing her growing baby bump. “You did a fabulous job of telling your story.”

“It's easy to do when there's a happy ending. I'd like to give every sick kid one.” Candy settled a hand on her
belly as her gaze jumped to Nick. “Is this your husband? I didn't know you were married.”

Ryleigh met his amused gaze. She was trying to figure out how to explain him and he knew it. Friendly exes? Friends with benefits? The ex-husband she'd convinced to help her have a baby? Finally she said, “This is Nick.”

“You could say we're friends from Mercy Medical Center. Nick Damian.” He held out his hand and she shook it.

“You're the pediatric pulmonologist.” Candy's voice held traces of awe as if she were meeting a rock star or the president.

“Guilty,” he said.

Candy looked from one of them to the other. “So, when she goes to spend all the money from this event, do you play the friend card?”

He laughed and looked at Ryleigh. “I take advantage of whatever I can.”

“I bet you do.” Candy's gaze dropped to his hand, and the thumb brushing back and forth on Ryleigh's neck. “I could have sworn you two were a couple. And I'm not usually wrong about these things.”

She wasn't completely wrong, or completely right, Ryleigh thought. And it was time to change the subject. “I thought your specialty was arugula, not interpersonal relationships.”

Candy shrugged. “A chef gets personal with food. People are a logical next step. And it's a shame.”

“People and food?” he asked.

“No, you guys not being a couple.” She absently rubbed her pregnant belly. “You'd make beautiful babies together.”

Not this month,
Ryleigh thought sadly. And next month?
She didn't know if she could handle more time under his roof and still keep her feelings in check.

“I have to finish making the rounds.” Candy leaned down and gave Ryleigh a hug, then looked at Nick. “It was great to meet you, Doc.”

“Same here.”

The dinner was fabulous, even the salad, if one didn't dissect the parts and simply enjoyed it as a whole. When coffee and chocolate cake with multiple layers and fillings that was to-die-for were served, the auctioneer took the stage and worked the crowd. He did a fantastic job of getting the audience involved, enthusiastic and generous. It didn't hurt that the big screens were streaming pictures of children in various treatments at the hospital, then healthy, running and playing.

When that portion of the evening ended, they'd made almost another two hundred thousand dollars, by Ryleigh's mental tally. Even Nick had bid for and won a spa treatment at one of the big resorts on The Strip. The five-piece band had set up and were playing dance tunes. People who weren't staying for that were heading for the exits.

She and Nick were alone at the table. Her skin tingled everywhere as if she'd had a full-body massage—probably a result of Nick's touching her. If he could do that with one finger, imagine what would happen if he used both hands. The thing was, she didn't have to imagine. She actually knew. The thought had a knot of yearning growing inside her.

“So,” she said, to distract herself, “I was just wondering what you're going to do with that super-expensive spa treatment you bought.”

“Christmas isn't that far away. I thought it would make a nice gift for Margo.”

“Mellow her out?”

“One hopes.” He rested his forearms on the table as he looked at her. “And I was just wondering why you bid against me.”

“Jack up the price.” She smiled. “It's for a good cause.”

“Speaking of causes…” He stood and held out his hand. “Dance with me.”

That so wasn't a good idea. “You don't have to, Nick. It's been a rough week for you. You're probably tired.”

“Not that tired.” A gleam stole into his eyes. “You have to be here to the bitter end, right?”

“Until our allotted time here in the ballroom is up,” she confirmed.

“Then we might as well take advantage of the music.” His hand still beckoned.

“If you want to go early, I can get a cab—”

“No way. I brought you, I'll take you home.” His eyes narrowed with intensity. “Right now I just want to dance with you. For old time's sake.”

“Okay.” She put her fingers into his palm and let him pull her to her feet.

He led her onto the parquet floor set up to the right of the tables. Sliding his arm around her waist, he pulled her into his arms, then folded her hand in his and pressed it against his chest. Even through his tuxedo coat, she could feel his heart beating and his breath seemed to come just a little faster even though the steps of the slow dance were not much of an exertion. In fact they barely moved. He just held her and she wanted to stay there forever.