His Baby Dream (Safe Harbor Medical) (6 page)

“Fantastic!”

She summarized the events: Melissa’s phone call, the revelation about a single dad and her decision to proceed.

Stacy listened wide-eyed. Cole’s expression was detached, as if he’d shifted into physician mode. Second nature for him, Harper supposed.

“I’m going to be a mom, but I won’t be part of the pregnancy or the birth,” she concluded wistfully.

“You must be disappointed,” Stacy said.

“As an egg donor, this is what I signed up for. Still, I’m sorry I can’t be more involved. I’ll never even know if it’s a girl or a boy. Or if there’s more than one.”

From the living room doorway came a rustling sound. Startled, Harper turned to see Peter, a wrapped gift in one hand, a pie in the other and a furrow between his eyebrows. How much had he heard?

“I didn’t mean to intrude.” He stepped aside to let Kimmie dodge past. Out she went via the patio slider. “That little girl let me in.”

Harper’s cheeks flamed. What was the last thing she’d said? If he’d learned that she was an egg donor, what did he think of it?

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Peter added. “My parents dropped by unexpectedly. They had some information about my sister’s upcoming wedding and they brought me a pie. I can’t eat it all myself, so please accept this as a peace offering.”

“No apology necessary.” As Harper transferred the pie to the counter, the aroma of apples and cinnamon teased her senses. “Cole’s happy to exercise his surgical skills on any and all desserts. Peter, I’d like you to meet my friends Cole and Stacy.”

When the men shook hands, she saw a glint of recognition pass between them. If Peter was Cole’s patient, it was none of her business, she thought. Still, why not just acknowledge that they knew each other?

“Gifts go on that table, I see.” As Peter squared his shoulders, it drew Harper’s attention to the slogan on his navy T-shirt: When Life Gives You Mold, Make Penicillin. How appropriate for a biologist.

“I think the grasshopper games are winding down,” she said. “Come on out and I’ll introduce you to everyone.”

She resolved not to worry about what he might have heard. She and Peter were friends, nothing more. If the relationship developed later, there’d be plenty of time to discuss her decision to donate. As a scientist, surely he’d understand.

And if not, too bad. Harper wasn’t living her life subject to a man’s approval.

Chapter Six

That had been uncomfortable, Peter reflected—accidentally eavesdropping on Harper, and then shaking hands with Cole as if they were strangers. Neither he nor his doctor had figured out a better way to react on the spur of the moment.

That, however, was unimportant compared to the insight he’d gained into Harper’s feelings. He was sorry she felt let down about the donation process. Peter had to admit that, while he’d given much thought to how she might relate to any future children, he hadn’t realized she looked forward to being involved with the pregnancy.

Although it was minor by comparison, he hadn’t meant to disappoint her by arriving late, either, but his parents had put in an unexpected appearance. They’d tried to call first, but Peter had accidentally left his phone off. Unable to reach him, Rod and Kerry had taken the chance of dropping by on their way to join friends for a barbecue.

They’d only meant to leave the pie, one of several his mother had baked that morning, but then they’d asked about the latest developments in his quest for fatherhood. Before he knew it, half an hour had passed.

Now, after giving Mia and Reggie a hug, he gathered the children for the hunt. They responded with enthusiasm when he explained that they were all scientists today—that they’d be observing insect and spider activity, taking pictures and jotting notes on pads that he’d brought in his knapsack.

“When you get home, you can write about what you’ve seen, then combine your comments with your photos on pages so they look like books.” That idea had struck him this morning, and he’d spent an hour researching and printing directions on how to lay out the pages so they could be printed, folded and stapled to give to parents and grandparents. This would reinforce their writing skills as well as encourage them to do more research on their computers. “I’ll give you each an instruction sheet to take home. It’ll be a fun project. I’m sure your parents will be glad to help you.”

“We can make our own little books!” Mia cried.

“Exactly.” The comment reminded Peter of his idea to write a children’s book. But while it was easy to visualize the type of photos he’d like to include, he lacked the patience and the artistic eye to capture them. Speaking of photos... “Okay, who brought cameras and who needs one?”

“Mommy gave me one for my birthday.” Mia waved a small camera.

Other children showed theirs or accepted the disposable ones Peter offered. With the aid of Harper’s outdoor team—Reggie’s aunt Adrienne, whom he’d met at sports camp, and a sturdy woman named Patty—he set to work.

Hard as he tried to put Harper’s disappointment out of his mind, though, her words lingered.
“I’ll never even know if it’s a girl or a boy.”

Occasionally, Peter sneaked a glance at Harper. If she was unhappy, you’d never guess it from the way she kept up with the kids. Her face alight, she teased the youngsters out of their squeamishness and assisted them with framing their shots.

“Don’t use flash,” she cautioned Reggie. “There’s plenty of daylight, plus digital cameras have great resolution.”

“What’s that?” he asked.

“It means they’re sensitive. They pick up all the details, even in dim light. Personally, I’d rather not have a flash on my camera at all.”

“Where’s your camera?” He indicated her empty hands.

“I left it inside, but I was out here this morning before the sun broke through the clouds,” Harper said. “That’s the best time to find bugs. The light is softer, too.”

“I’ll bet you took some great shots.” Peter was impressed, and curious.

She swung toward him. “I’d be happy to show you, if you can stay a few minutes extra.”

“Certainly.” Although that would be risking drawing closer to Harper, seeing her photos would be fun. Surely he could handle a simple friendship based on shared interests.

For good measure, though, and to avoid giving anyone the impression that they were a couple, Peter did his best to keep his distance during the party. That wasn’t difficult, since there was always a child to console over a tumble or a camera lens to clean after it fell in the dirt. Then Reggie and Mia got into a squabble over who had spotted a butterfly first, and he helped Adrienne separate them while Harper went to set out tuna, chicken and cheese sandwiches.

They were delicious, Peter discovered when he had a chance to eat. He liked the vegetables and dip, as well. “And there’s health food for dessert,” commented the woman standing next to him on the patio. Patty, that was her name.

“I beg your pardon?” Peter regarded the cake, which looked so sweet his teeth ached. “Just because it’s called carrot cake, that doesn’t make it good for you.”

“Sure it is,” Patty responded, blithely indifferent to a few leaves clinging to her short blond hair. “If a tiny piece of vegetable falls into the mix or somebody eats a banana and breathes on it, it’s health food.”

Harper certainly had interesting friends, Peter thought as they watched Mia blow out her seven candles. The children crowded around eagerly for their perfectly square slices, although a few chose apple pie instead. Peter decided to skip dessert. Patty took a slice of each—to make up for him, she declared.

“I take it you aren’t in the health care field,” he said.

“That’s my husband’s department,” she returned cheerily.

“He’s a doctor?”

“Embryologist. Alec Denny.”

“I’ve heard of him.” The name Alec Denny, Ph.D., appeared on the roster of fertility program specialists. This woman’s husband might even be the one who would inject Peter’s sperm into the eggs. Safe Harbor was a small world.

And I’m likely to get caught if I’m not careful.

Finally the gifts had been opened, the punch bowl emptied and Peter’s instruction sheets distributed. Parents arrived to claim their kids, while Harper’s friends removed trash, stowed food and cleaned the kitchen. The only remaining traces of the party were a few surviving clusters of balloons and the vinelike streamers draping the patio.

Two little girls—Kimmie, who’d let Peter in at the door, and her stepsister, Berry—remained to play with Mia and her kitten. Their parents had phoned to say they’d bought new patio furniture on their shopping trip, and they’d be along as soon as they finalized arrangements.

“Actually, I’m glad,” Harper told Peter as she set up her laptop on the kitchen table. “Having the girls here will keep Mia occupied. Otherwise she’d be bouncing off the ceiling.”

“After all that exercise?” He stretched, feeling the effects of the afternoon’s intense activity. “At camp, the kids do wear out eventually.”

“That must be a relief.” Harper activated her photo editing program. “But at this age, I’m sure they get a second wind. Unlike high school students.”

“What makes you say that?” Peter rested his elbows on the table.

“If I remember correctly, teenagers mostly want to sleep all day,” she responded.

“A certain percentage of kids are kinetic—they learn best in motion.” It required all Peter’s patience and creativity to manage those students. “I fantasize about conducting classes on the athletic field. I’d be tempted to haul trampolines into the classroom if it wasn’t for the liability.”

“Spoken like a coach.”

“True.” He grinned at her accuracy.

“You enjoy athletics, don’t you?”

“As a sideline.” Sports camp presented a welcome change, for a few months. “I find teaching science more satisfying, though.”

From the hallway came a burst of giggles. “Sounds like they’re having fun. Kimmie and Berry are sweet kids.”

“And your daughter’s a charmer,” Peter said.

It struck him that now would be a perfect time to mention that he was the dad who’d chosen her. He could allay her disappointment and invite her to...what? Become best buddies with his surrogate, Vanessa? And how would that change her relationship with him?

It went against Peter’s nature to blurt such an important revelation without considering the consequences. He had to weigh the possibility that he might regret doing so.

Might regret it for the rest of his life, if she became too emotionally involved.

His attention shifted to the screen displaying row after row of pictures. Harper clicked on a stunning image of dewdrops shimmering like silver beads on a spiderweb. Close up, the wheel-spoke design of supporting threads and laddered rows achieved an astonishing symmetry.

“That’s a remarkable shot,” Peter said.

“I went out several mornings in a row before I spotted it.” Harper switched to another photo, in different light, showing a similar web. “They’re fascinating.”

“It’s hard to believe that’s spun from a single continuous filament,” Peter said.

“Here’s one with the spider at work.” She switched to a picture of a half-finished web, its eight-legged creator busily plying its thread.

As she leaned forward, the residual aroma of sun-warmed skin teased his senses. Despite his appreciation for the artistry of both spider and photograph, Peter had trouble concentrating on the picture. Instead, he observed how honey-colored strands added richness to Harper’s chestnut hair, and how satiny her skin looked at close range.

Peter cleared his throat. “Your work shows a real gift. Ever think about doing that professionally?”

“I have to be realistic.” Harper sat back. “Trying to earn a living at art photography is a good way to go broke. Oh, look at this one.” On the laptop, she brought up a yellow-and-black butterfly on a red flower.

“That’s brilliant.” Peter recognized the coloring. “It’s a dogface butterfly, the California state insect.”

“We have a state insect?” Harper’s mouth quirked. “Do we have a state spider, too?”

“Probably.” If he knew what it was, though, it had slipped his mind. He found it hard to concentrate when the green of her blouse intensified the color of her eyes.

“Snakes? Rabbits?” Harper asked.

“I’m sorry?”

“Do we have a state bunny?” she prompted.

Somehow Peter dredged up a coherent response. “Not officially, but there is a domestic California rabbit that was bred here. It has big fat ears and it’s mostly white except for dark feet, nose and tail.”

“The stuff you know!”

And the stuff I can’t help seeing.
Such as that, from this angle, Harper’s top clung to the inviting curve of her breasts.

He had no business lusting after her. It felt disloyal to Angela. Yet, for a startling moment, he almost resented his late wife.

To change the subject, he broached a topic he’d been toying with. “While I was picking out a book for Mia about insects, it occurred to me that I’d like to write one of my own someday. I’d use photos instead of illustrations, and go into the biology with more depth.”

“What a great idea.” Harper studied him admiringly. “I’ll bet you’d have a blast.”

“I
would
enjoy doing that.” Despite the risks inherent in spending time with her, this presented an irresistible opportunity. “Would you be interested in collaborating?”

She paused with her fingers above the keyboard. “You mean, take the pictures for you?”

“You’ve already made a good start.”

Her gaze swept the screen. “I guess I have, haven’t I?”

Now that they were discussing it, Peter considered the practical side. “I have no idea how we’d find a publisher, or whether we’d earn any money. If we did, we’d split it.”

“I hear a lot of people are publishing on the web.” The fringe of lashes around her eyes seemed darker at close range, Peter noted irrelevantly. “As you say, it probably wouldn’t pay much, but having my name on a book would give me a professional credit that could lead to occasional photography jobs. It might boost your reputation as a teacher, too.”

They’d be working closely together—very closely. He’d better make sure there was no misunderstanding. “We’d have to finish it in a few months, before I move East.”

The room became very quiet. The only noises were the refrigerator’s hum and, from deep within the house, girlish chatter. It sounded like Mia and her friends were playing a game.

“You’re...moving?” The question seemed to stick in Harper’s throat.

Peter nodded.

Her mouth formed the word, “When?”

Although a lump had formed in his throat, as well, Peter pushed out the words, “Next summer. After school finishes.”

“Oh,” Harper said. “I didn’t realize.”

“It’s a recent decision.” But a good one. Today, Peter had planned to ease out of Harper’s sphere, and instead he was carving out a larger role for himself. The deadline for his departure would make it easier to set boundaries. “My sister’s having a baby. Since my parents decided to live close to her, I’m going, too.”

“Where?” She kept her gaze trained on the screen.

“Maryland, in a suburb of D.C.” Speaking about his plans gave them a kind of solidity. Until now, Peter hadn’t confirmed the move to his parents, other than to mention he was considering it.

“The other side of the country.”

“So it is.” Having dropped that bombshell, Peter hoped he hadn’t discouraged her from their project. “When’s a good time for us to have a planning session?”

“For?”

“The book.”

“Oh, right.” She checked a calendar on the computer. “Mia has a ceramics workshop next Saturday. She’s been dying to play around with clay, which gives me a free day.”

“I’m free, too. How’s 10:00 a.m.?”

She was entering it into her calendar when the doorbell rang. The Sargents had returned.

Peter said his farewells, accepted the remaining half of the pie at Harper’s insistence and departed. All the while, his body reverberated with an awareness of her—the touch of their hands as he accepted the pie plate, the sweetly sad curve of her lips as she murmured goodbye.

Perhaps joining forces on this book was a mistake. But Harper’s photos had provided the special quality he’d been searching for. This might be his only chance to put his ideas into action.

Peter could steer this course smoothly. He wasn’t some hormonal adolescent with a crush.

And so, when he arrived home, he set to researching children’s books currently published on backyard biology, both in his collection and online. The more he studied what was available, the more he became convinced that his—his and Harper’s—would be special.