His Baby Dream (Safe Harbor Medical) (10 page)

“Sorry.” Mia’s voice drifted back as she ran into the hall.

“I hope she didn’t stomp on you too hard,” Harper murmured.

“I got stomped a lot worse in my wrestling days.” With Mia out of earshot, he seized on the chance to talk privately. Rereading the information about the side effects of egg donation, Peter had found his concerns growing. “Are you feeling okay? I didn’t give enough thought to what I was asking of you, taking all those hormones.”

“You didn’t ask me. I volunteered.” From beneath long lashes, Harper regarded him coolly. “I’m a big girl, Peter. I’m fine.”

“You don’t like being fussed over,” he interpreted.

“Guess not.” She tapped the mouse.

“Still, the potential impacts aren’t minor.” Some egg donors experienced complications such as hyperstimulated ovaries, which could swell painfully.

“Dr. Sargent monitors me closely.”

Why was she defensive? Peter only wanted to protect her. “There can be bleeding from the procedure next week, too.”

“There are always risks with minor surgery.” Harper shook back her brown hair, which was growing into an appealingly thick tumble. “You aren’t expecting to be there, are you?”

He blinked at the change of gears. “Do you want me to?”

“No!”

“Then I won’t.” Just as well. He’d rather not witness the procedure unless she needed him, which she clearly didn’t. As fascinating as he found biology, Peter disliked anything to do with surgery, which was one reason he hadn’t considered going to medical school. “Did I mention that I spoke to the surrogate about you?”

“I know—I ran into her yesterday.” Harper’s tone softened. “I’m glad you told her.”

“How’d it go?”

“To say that we bonded might be exaggerating,” she mused. “But we’re on the same wavelength.”

“Where did you run into―” He broke off as Mia appeared with a printed-out booklet featuring photos of teddy bears. She’d written a brief story, as well, which she read aloud.

“That’s wonderful,” Peter told her. “You should be proud of writing your own book.”

“I am!” She jumped up. “Can I go play with my kitten?”

“Of course,” Harper said.

“I’m going to write a book about Po next,” the girl announced, and dashed off.

“She’s quite creative,” Peter said.

“I wish she had grandparents to share her work with.” Harper rested her cheek on her fist.

“She has your friends. They seem like a second family.” Peter was slightly envious of her intimacy with Stacy and Adrienne. Although he’d formed casual friendships at work and through volunteer activities, he’d never truly felt close to anyone other than his parents and Angela. And, to a degree, Harper.

“No one adores you like a grandparent. Well, not Sean’s mother. Oh, never mind that.” She indicated his tablet computer. “I’m eager to see what you’ve been working on.”

“I started with bees.” Peter opened a passage he’d written. “Shall I read it aloud? I’ve heard that’s a good way to see if it’s flowing well.”

“Sure.” Harper listened raptly, smiling and nodding in places he’d hoped would be amusing. Except for a dangling modifier and one pronoun with a questionable antecedent, she pronounced it perfect. “I’m fascinated by your research,” she said after he finished. “I didn’t realize bees were the only insects that produce food for people, or that they communicate by dancing.”

“Scientists disagree, however, as to whether it’s the tango or the cha-cha,” Peter deadpanned.

Laughing, Harper punched him lightly in the arm. “Silly.”

He’d like to try one of those dances with her, Peter thought. Preferably a waltz, slow and gentle, his body brushing her temptingly rounded contours, his mouth close to her parted lips.

Mia raced into the room, right behind her kitten. She was holding up her camera, trying to snap a picture. A timely interruption, Peter acknowledged. He’d been enjoying his fantasy a little too much.

“You’ll get a blur if you shoot while you’re moving,” Harper told her daughter.

Mia halted in her tracks. “Listen to Mommy, Po. Stop running!” The kitten halted, regarding her quizzically. “Gotcha!” She took the shot, then scooped up the kitten and carried him onto the patio.

“That cat has no idea he’s about to be immortalized in a book,” Peter said.

“I’m sure he’d be much more cooperative if he did.” Harper gazed fondly after the child. “If only I could freeze time. Vanessa’s daughter is twelve and she’s already acting like a teenager. I’d rather keep Mia this age as long as possible.”

It struck Peter that, in less than a week, his own child might begin life. Perhaps a girl like Mia.

“What’s running through your mind?” Harper asked.

He frowned. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You have an expressive face.”

He’d always considered himself a guarded person. But then, his wife used to read him fairly well, too. “Next week—well, it’s hard not to get excited about it, although I don’t want to count too much on the first attempt.”

“Me, neither.” Harper’s fingers tapped the table. “I’ll be on pins and needles till we find out.”

“Good thing my sister’s wedding is next weekend.” Peter was flying East on Friday evening. “That ought to keep me from dwelling on this. Plus, while I’m there, I can get a sense of the area.”

Since it was a short trip, he’d decided not to contact Angela’s family, who lived a few hours’ drive away in Virginia. Once he moved to the area, there’d be plenty of time to reconnect.

Then he noticed the strain on Harper’s face. “I’m sure you’ll find a beautiful house.” The words crackled with tension.

“I’m not buying anything yet,” he said.

“It would be rather early, I suppose.”

“And I’ll be back next Monday, well before we get Vanessa’s results.” He’d reserved an evening flight on Sunday.

“You’ll only be there two days?” Harper asked. “That’s not much time for such a long trip. Can’t you take a few days off from sports camp?”

“I feel a responsibility, especially these last few weeks.” The camp ended in late August.

“It’s nearly over?” She let out a long breath. “The summer’s flying by.”

“Too fast,” Peter agreed. “Once school starts, I’ll have a busy schedule.” Between grading papers, preparing for class and assisting the wrestling coach, he rarely had a free day. “We’d better put in as much work on the book as we can before then.”

They set an appointment for the weekend after next. As he left—with a farewell hug from Mia—Peter almost regretted not pushing to be present at the egg retrieval. But that would mean intruding into a very personal procedure. Besides, Harper had said no.

Reaching his car, he paused to study her house. What a profusion of flowers out front. And, inside, a vibrant, captivating, sometimes maddening woman, along with a girl and a kitten who were both growing fast.

Like Harper, Peter wished he could freeze or at least slow time. He felt as if, given the speed with which everything was changing, he might return from Maryland to find Mia a teenager and Harper sharing her kitchen table with another man.

Nonsense. He’d only be gone a few days. All the same, Peter lifted his cell phone and snapped a picture.

Chapter Ten

Harper floated into consciousness, groggy from the sedative. The last thing she remembered was being wheeled into the second-floor retrieval room and seeing Zack Sargent’s welcoming expression. The doctor had assured her that all systems were go.

An anesthesiologist must have administered the sedative, because after that she’d dozed. Vaguely, she recalled a few sharp pangs when Zack inserted the ultrasound-guided needle to draw the eggs from her ovaries...nothing more.

“You’re a champ.” The bedside voice belonged to Stacy, Harper discovered when she rolled her head. “Fourteen eggs.”

Fourteen. No wonder Harper still felt bloated. Thank goodness Stacy had volunteered to drive her home, pick up Mia and fix dinner. “I’m glad you’re here.” The words slurred.

“My last surgery ended half an hour ago.” As a scrub nurse, Stacy began her day early and finished by three-thirty or four o’clock. “Zack just popped in to talk to you, but you were still sleeping. He’d have preferred to give you the good news himself, only he has another retrieval scheduled.”

“Busy program.” Harper’s voice sounded thick. Why had she never realized how hard it was to pronounce the letters
b
and
p?

“You know the postprocedure drill.” Stacy recounted the instructions. “No driving or strenuous activities for the rest of the day.”

“Cancel the skydiving session.”

“I postponed it till tomorrow,” came the cheerful rejoinder. “Oh, be sure to report any excessive bleeding.”

“Ugh.” The mention made Harper’s abdomen twinge.

“No important decisions while you’re under the influence,” Stacy added. “Except for a few documents I brought, signing over all your worldly possessions.”

“That won’t get you far.”

“I half expected Peter to show up,” she said. “I guess I’ll share the news about the eggs when I see him at sports camp.”

“Won’t Cole tell him? Or Zack?”

“Probably, but I can’t be sure. Cole doesn’t discuss patients with me, of course.”

“Well, phooey.” Harper’s eyelids drifted shut.

“Wakey wakey.” Stacy shook her gently. “Say, you haven’t mentioned who you’re inviting to my wedding as your plus-one.”

“Mia.” That was a given.

“She gets a separate invitation.” Stacy began removing Harper’s clothes from the storage bag. “Why not Peter?”

“Because we’re not―” blearily, Harper searched for the right word “―dating.”

“Who’re you going to dance with?” Stacy demanded. “Dr. Tartikoff?”

“Spare me.” The head of the fertility program, who was serving as Cole’s best man, terrified the staff, except when he condescended to charm them, which he did occasionally. “There’s Lucky.” Cole’s male nurse was the other groomsman.

Stacy shook the wrinkles out of Harper’s blouse. “He isn’t your type.”

Harper searched for another objection. “Peter already has a wedding this weekend. His sister’s.”

“I’m not getting married till next month. Men are allowed to attend more than one ceremony per year.” Clearly, Stacy wasn’t taking no for an answer. “And you’ll look so smashing in your bridesmaid’s dress, he’ll completely forget what’s-her-name.”

“His wife?” What a preposterous idea. “He loves her, and always will. It’s a passion that will last through slime.”

“Time.”

“I knew that was the wrong word.” Her brain really was muddled.

“He’s in denial,” her pal told her. “At the birthday party, he couldn’t take his eyes off you.”

“Except for the bugs. And the children. And the refreshments.”

“Never mind those.” Stacy short-circuited further argument by asking, “Are you strong enough to get dressed?”

“I don’t suppose they’ll let me spend the night here.” Tentatively, Harper sat up. Her head spun, and then settled. That left her stomach mildly queasy, a familiar sensation from the pills and injections.

That was finished now. She’d done her part. As for what might happen if this attempt didn’t work, she was in no mood to dwell on that. Putting one foot in front of the other was a big enough challenge to contemplate.

A nurse joined them. After the routine questions concerning how Harper felt, the woman presented her discharge papers and repeated the instructions Stacy had given. “I admire what you’re doing,” she concluded. “You and Stacy both. Wow!”

“Thanks.” With an effort, Harper swung onto the edge of the bed.

“I hope they’ll deliver the babies here at Safe Harbor,” the woman chattered on. “I can’t wait to see them.”

“It’ll be a while,” Stacy said dryly. Once the nurse left, she helped Harper slide off her gown, and handed over her underwear. “I’m glad you agreed to let me invite Peter to the wedding. That’ll be fun.”

“I didn’t.”

“Sure you did.”

Had she? With the sedative fogging her brain, Harper wasn’t sure. “I think you’re tricking me.”

“For your own good,” Stacy insisted. “Allow me to play Cupid, okay? I love romance.”

“I’m not interested in remarrying.” Stacy pulled on the loose-fitting pants she’d brought. “Especially not―”

“Your bra’s on backward.”

“That’s impossible.”

“I’d have thought so.”

Harper glanced down at the sports bra, not much more than a strip of fabric she’d chosen for today because it was easy to manage. She really had put it on backward. “Well, what do you know.”

A flurry of shrugging and tugging rectified the mistake. Finally, she was ready to totter out on Stacy’s arm, her body aching and her mind rambling.

The next few hours slipped by in a fog. After a nap, Harper welcomed her daughter’s return and enjoyed sharing a pizza and antipasto salad with Stacy. Unfortunately, her abdomen hurt.

“Take the pain pills,” her friend advised.

“Not yet.” Harper didn’t want to doze off until Mia’s bedtime. “We’re going to watch cartoons.”

Stacy fixed a mock-stern gaze on Mia. “Take care of your mom.”

“When can I see the babies?”

The two women exchanged startled glances. “Uh-oh,” Harper said. “I did explain the whole thing, honestly.”

“You set up the cartoons,” Stacy ordered. “Mia and I will put away the food and have a chat.”

Harper didn’t try to listen. It felt good to have someone else make explanations for a change.

After Stacy went home, Mia sat in the living room wearing a solemn expression. “I’m glad Fiona’s daddy is taking care of the eggs.”

What?
Oh, right, Alec Denny, embryologist. “He’s good at his job.”

“And they won’t hatch—I mean, be born till spring, like baby chicks,” her daughter went on. “Except there’s no guarantee, whatever that means.”

Oh, dear. Harper decided not to pursue the matter tonight. She was poised to start the cartoons when the bell rang.

“Stacy must have forgotten something.”

Mia sprinted for the door and threw it open. “Hi...Peter!”

He’d come. Despite her best intentions, Harper’s spirits soared. He hadn’t taken her role for granted, or ducked out of the painful aftermath. She yearned to throw her arms around him...and then smack him for putting her through this, which was totally irrational. Peter hadn’t put her through anything. She’d volunteered, as she herself had pointed out.

Besides, men were like that. After Mia’s birth, while Harper lay throbbing from eight hours of being squeezed in a vise, Sean had strutted around the hospital, boasting that he’d produced a gorgeous baby. She’d only heard that later, though, and by then she’d been in a forgiving mood.

Peter entered shyly, blond hair falling across his forehead, and gave Harper a questioning look. “How’re you feeling?”

“Like a pincushion,” she admitted, thankful to be wearing a loose, Mexican-style embroidered dress rather than her bathrobe.

He held up a sack. “I had a devil of a time figuring out what kind of present to bring.”

Mia skipped over and tried to peek inside. “What is it?”

“It’s for you both.” Peter drew out a box decorated with a picture of a glass tube filled with red liquid. “It’s a hummingbird feeder. There’s enough light for me to hang it on your patio now, if that’s okay.”

“I’d appreciate it.” Harper shifted position, and flinched. “I won’t be able to help, though.”

“You’re hurting.” He touched her arm. “What can I do?”

How lovely that he was asking, rather than ordering her to bed or demanding she swallow a pill. “Help me onto the patio. You can keep Mia entertained, and I’ll watch.”

“I can help, too!” Mia came around Harper’s far side. Although leaning on them both, at different heights, presented a challenge, Harper braced one hand on her daughter’s shoulder and relaxed as Peter’s arm surrounded her.

This was what she’d been longing for, without acknowledging it. A man to lean on, just for a while.

At a shuffling pace, they passed through the kitchen, switched on the patio lights and went out. Peter eased Harper onto the couchlike glider, while Mia propped a cushion behind her. “Where’d you learn to do that?” Harper asked.

“Aunt Stacy showed me when she was babysitting,” Mia replied proudly. “That’s what nurses do when your back hurts.”

“Now I’ll show you what handymen and -women do,” Peter said. “I’d fetch a tool kit from my car but I’m betting there’s a better one in your garage.”

“Sean could have set up a home repair business out there,” Harper confirmed, and let Mia show him the way.

While they were gone, twilight settled around her, filled with the twitter of birds and the appetizing scent of the neighbors’ grill. The dry climate kept mosquitoes to a minimum, thank goodness. For once, she had no desire to commune with insects.

The pair returned, bringing the tool kit along with a footstool for Mia. More comfortable than she’d felt in days, Harper leaned back to watch the show.

Peter started by hanging an S-hook from a patio-cover slat. “We’ll slip the handle over this, and it’ll hang at the right height.”

“Can’t we set it on the table?” Mia asked.

“Putting it up high will discourage squirrels and raccoons from poaching,” he told her.

Her face scrunched. “We don’t have ’coons, do we, Mommy?”

“I’ve heard Carolyn mention seeing them.” The young secretary from the fertility office lived down the block with her parents.

Mia didn’t appear convinced. “How would ’coons get the juice out?”

“You’d be surprised what they can do with their tiny hands, including squeeze milk cartons and turn doorknobs.” From the box, Peter lifted a clear plastic tube and a flavor envelope. “Here’s a packet of nectar. Let’s go mix it with water.”

Mia climbed down from her stool. “Do we have any more of that?”

“I brought a recipe for homemade nectar,” Peter said as the two of them went inside. “It’s one part sugar to four parts water. Don’t use honey. It can ferment and kill the hummers.”

“What makes it red?” Mia’s voice drifted from the kitchen.

“Food coloring, but you shouldn’t use that once we’ve finished this commercial stuff.” Through the open window, Harper listened as Peter ran the tap and explained that the effects of red dye on birds hadn’t been tested. “You can store leftover nectar in the fridge for two weeks.”

“I won’t ’member,” Mia said worriedly.

“I printed the directions for you and your mom.”

A woman could fall in love with a guy like him.
No, that wasn’t what Harper meant. Thanks to the lingering effects of the sedative, it was hard to keep her thoughts in focus.
My little boys will be lucky to have him for a father.
That was it.

They returned with a plastic pitcher of red liquid. While Peter filled the cylinder, Harper rocked the glider to prevent her muscles from stiffening. The rapidly cooling air soothed her pleasantly.

“It may take the hummers a day or so to discover this,” Peter said as he screwed the base onto the upside-down tube.

Mia gave a hop. “Let’s go find some right now.”

“And shoo them over like tiny sheep?” Harper teased.

“Oh, Mommy!”

“They don’t usually eat at night.” Peter righted the tube. “Look—there are feeding stations around the base. Once they figure out that it’s here, you might see more than one bird at a time. Hummers have to eat frequently to keep up their energy.”

“Do they fight?”

Mia possessed an endless store of questions, and Peter an equally bottomless supply of answers. “They do. But when there’s plenty of food, that’s less likely. They’ll take turns, each hovering at a different height and darting in to get dinner. Oh, I nearly forgot.” From the sack, he produced a decal of a hawk and stuck it to the window. “You can peel this off if you don’t like it. That’s to keep birds from flying into the glass.”

“Ouch!” Mia patted the top of her head in empathy.

“You think of everything,” Harper said.

“I try.” He gave her a tender smile.

She had a question of her own. “How can birds live on sugar and water? Don’t they need protein?”

“What’s protein?” Mia put in.

“A substance in food that builds our muscles and blood and helps us fight disease,” Peter told her.

“I wouldn’t have known how to answer that,” Harper admitted.

“It’s really a long train of amino acids, but I didn’t think that would go over well.” In the light from the patio fixture, Peter’s teeth gleamed. “To answer the first part, hummingbirds eat insects, too. They’re useful to have around.”

“Better and better,” Harper agreed.

Inside, the kitten batted its paw against the screen slider. “You can’t come out at night, Po,” Mia told the kitten. “And no eating the hummingbirds!”

Looping the feeder over the hook, Peter stepped back to study the height. “I think it’s high enough and far enough from the table so Po can’t reach it by jumping. But there’s no telling how big he’ll get, and cats are keen hunters. So keep a lookout.”

“You bet.” Mia nodded for emphasis. Inside, Po sat on the floor and went to work grooming his fur. “When do the hummers get here?”

“They’re probably emailing each other as we speak,” Harper teased.

Her daughter ignored the joke. “They
could
show up tonight, couldn’t they?” she asked Peter.

“No guarantees, but let’s sit out here awhile and watch.” After replacing the implements in the tool kit, Peter slid into place next to Harper. When her head tilted and her cheek came to rest on his shoulder, it felt exactly the right height.