McCallum Quintuplets (13 page)

Maybe she
was
touchy about her age. She worked with people older than she was. But that didn't mean she had less experience, that she wasn't just as mature, couldn't handle whatever came her way.

As far as sex went, sure she was inexperienced. She'd told him so as a courtesy. And for crying out loud, a girl had to learn sometime.

“I wasn't asking for a commitment of marriage, Zach. What's the big deal if I've decided to give up my virginity? I wasn't the only one who was feeling a rush of chemistry on that couch. Surely we're both mature enough to have a no-strings kind of fling.”

Zach ran a hand through his hair. “I wish you wouldn't say stuff like that.”

“Like—”

“Blunt,” he interrupted. “Whatever is on the tip of your tongue or your brain.”

“You want me to be silly and beat around the bush and hope you read my mind? I raised four kids. If I didn't make my wishes known, we'd have had no firm ground to stand on. I don't want to try and read someone else's mind or expect them to read mine. So, I'm blunt. Works better that way.”

He sighed, took her hand. “Sit down,” he said gently, then sat in the chair across from her as though not wanting to test his control by being too close.

“I had a relationship once with a co-worker. It didn't work out and it made it impossible for us to see each other every day at the hospital. She ended up transferring to another hospital, and I felt bad. I promised myself I'd
never be put in the position of disrupting someone's life—or mine—that way again.”

Annabelle silently agreed that was a fairly good policy. She loved her job. If they took this relationship further and it went sour, could they work side by side in the multiple birth wing the way they did now? Would hard feelings cause her to choose? To leave her job? Transfer?

Or suffer daily watching him, unable to have him.

Was she borrowing trouble? Setting herself up for heartache?

Well, heck. She was getting way ahead of herself, here. She'd worked with him for eight months and managed to corral her crush.

“If you recall, I didn't ask for a commitment.”

Just sex.

Thankfully, she kept that to herself.

“I know,” he said. “I just think we should keep things the way they are—friends. You're too valuable to me to take a chance on losing you.”

Oh, my. That was the nicest thing anyone had said to her in a long time.

She stood up and held out her hand. “Okay, you win.”
For now.
“Friends?”

He took her hand, gave it a squeeze, his features relieved. “Friends.”

Annabelle noticed that his gaze dipped to her lips. She barely controlled her smile. When she'd been beneath him on the couch, friends was
not
what she'd been thinking about.

He was the first man in her life who'd truly awakened her sexuality, tempted her.

And if she got her way once, just once, he would be the man to teach her the wonders of making love.

Annabelle brought in a plate of double chocolate chip brownies the next day and put them in the break room, smiling when the doctors and nurses swooped in to claim them.

Zach, holding a bottle of water, nodded to her and looked away.

Well, so much for an easy friendship, she thought. That kiss was going to get in the way.

“Brownie, Zach?”

“No, thanks. I had a late breakfast.”

She raised a brow. Did he follow such a rigid schedule that he couldn't allow himself a bit of chocolate?

Or a no-strings fling?

Darn it, she wasn't going to think about that.

When he excused himself, she felt annoyance eat at her insides.

“
I
won't turn down your delectable goodies.”

“Why, thank you, Brad. It's always nice to be appreciated.” Brad Stallings was a second-year medical resident. Young, a divorced father of two, he was handsome, fun-loving and the biggest flirt in the clinic.

“I definitely appreciate you,” he said, wiggling his brows and giving her a teasing once-over.

“I'll remember that when y'all are bossing me around in surgery. Speaking of which, I've got to go check the schedule.”

The board showed three cesareans with her name beside them as the assisting labor nurse. The first case, she would be working with Zach.

After scrubbing in, she prepared the room for surgery, then went to escort the expectant mother down the hall, easing nerves and rejoicing with her over the imminent joy of finally seeing her babies.

Suffering from a sudden onset of pre-eclampsia, Mrs. Presser looked a sight with her swollen face, hands and feet. Her blood pressure had peaked dangerously, and Zach hadn't wanted to wait any longer. Thank goodness she was nearly full term. And what a shame that her husband was away on business and wouldn't be able to get here in time for the birth of their children.

Zach was waiting in the surgery room when she rolled the patient in. Unlike yesterday, there were no long looks or locked gazes. He was all business, practically ignoring her.

Fine, if that's the way he wanted to play it, she'd do the same.

She did her job, kept a watch on the vital signs, firmly and competently slapped instruments in his hands.

“BP is one seventy over one thirty. Do you want me to push magnesium?”

“Yes. And go with the beta-blocker. Twenty milligrams.”

Annabelle had already prepared the expected meds. She'd done this so many times, it bugged her to have to ask permission to act. Then again, it was Zach's malpractice insurance at stake.

His expression never changed, but she could tell when
he felt the need to hurry, to get in and get out as quickly as possible.

Judging his body language, she stepped up her pace. They worked as a silent team. The surgery went off without a hitch, and they delivered two healthy baby girls.

For the first time that day, Zach actually looked at her, met her gaze. “Thank you. You did an excellent job, as usual.”

She sketched an impertinent bow. “I aim to please.”

The skin at the corners of his eyes crinkled in a brief spark of amusement that he masked so quickly, she wondered if she'd imagined it.

Then he went to the sink, washed his hands and left the surgery room, leaving Annabelle to clean up and stew.

She had two more deliveries to assist before she could confront him.

And she did intend to confront him. There was no sense in them walking on eggshells around each other.

As the morning wore on, Annabelle's mind spun, vacillating between exasperation and strategies of how to make things right. If there was one thing she couldn't stand, it was discord.

Leaving the surgical wing after the third successful delivery, she slapped the elevator button, rode up to the second floor and knocked on Zach's office door.

“Come in.”

She was already pushing the door open. She didn't usually give the courtesy of waiting for permission to enter. Normally, she'd give a soft knock and poke her head in. The fact that she hesitated disturbed her.

He glanced up, and his hand tightened on his pen.

“This is ridiculous,” she said.

“This is exactly what I was talking about,” he countered, obviously on the same wavelength.

“For pity's sake. We didn't even do anything. I may not have a whole lot of experience in the sex department, but at least I know when I
haven't
had it.”

He stared at her for a heartbeat, then stunned her when he laughed. The sound was wonderful, the deep dimples in his cheeks making her want to touch.

“You ought to do that more. Look at you, buried under paperwork.” She noticed a case of bottled water behind his desk, lifted a brow. “Don't trust the fancy water in the cooler they deliver each week?”

To her amazement, his skin flushed. Zachary Beaumont was blushing.

He shrugged and stacked his papers, laying them aside in precise stacks.

She let the subject of water go for now.

“You know what you need?”

“No, but I'm sure you're about to tell me.”

“What you need is a day off. In fact, I checked your schedule and I happen to know you're free tomorrow. I'm here to invite you to a baseball game.”

His brows rose. “I don't think the Astros are playing at Enron this week, and I'm fairly certain the Rangers are in Cleveland. You planning to drive to Florida or Chicago?”

“You just leave the itinerary to me.”

“Forgive me, but that sounds a little dangerous.”

She grinned. “Come on, live a little, Doc. I promise you'll have a great time. I won't steer you wrong. How about I pick you up at your place at eleven?”

“I can come for you.”

Gotcha, she thought. He'd as much as agreed.

“No. This is my treat. A friendly ball game. There's only one rule. No talk about kissing and sex.”

He did that thing again with his eyes, where they smiled but his mouth didn't. “You're on.”

“Great.”

“Annabelle?”

She turned at the door.

“Do you want my address?”

She felt her smile stretch. “I may not participate in gossip, but I do hear things. And it just so happened I was riding shotgun when some nurses passed your house and pointed it out to me.”

He shook his head. “No privacy around here.”

She laughed. “See you tomorrow, Dr. B. Wear your sneakers.”

Zach stared at the closed door and shook his head, his smile growing despite himself.

Now the little spitfire was telling him how to dress.

 

A
NNABELLE DROVE
her pickup through the open gates of the estate. At least he hadn't changed his mind and locked her out. The massive brick structure in front of her nearly took her breath away.

“Definitely out of your league, Annabelle. What in the world are you thinking?” Obviously with her hormones instead of her rational brain.

Her old Ford looked a little sad sitting in his grand driveway. As though in agreement, it stayed running when she switched off the key, misfiring and acting ugly.

“Come on, Sadie. Be polite. This is no time to show your tail.”

The front double-door entrance opened, and there stood Zach. Oh, Lord, the man made her drool.

Wearing faded jeans, a body-hugging polo shirt tucked in at the waist and the requisite tennis shoes she'd insisted on, he was the epitome of every fantasy she'd ever had.
Good night, how could the man consider himself old—or too old for her? He was mouthwatering.

She swallowed hard and slid out of the truck—which thankfully had quit doing the carburetor boogie.

“I like a woman who's punctual.”

“And I like a man in a nice pair of jeans.”

He gave her a warning look.

“What? I'm complimenting your clothes. I didn't say a word about sex or kissing.”

He grinned and shook his head. “Annabelle, I don't know if I've got the energy to keep up with you.”

She gave him a blatant once-over, standing in front of him, her hands in her hip pockets. “I think you can manage. Ready?” She was dying to get a look inside that house but wasn't going to be so gauche as to ask.

“As I'll ever be.” He leaned sideways, picked up a ball cap from the hall table, and Annabelle got a glimpse of black and white marble floors and a huge elegant chandelier dripping crystals high over a massive, grand staircase that could have been right out of the set of
Gone With The Wind.

“I'm going to ask for a raise,” she commented.

He looked at her, saw that she was admiring the house. “Investments,” he said. “I've done well with them.”

“Maybe you'll give me some pointers sometime.”

“Maybe.”

“Okay. Hop into Sadie. She was in a bit of a snit a few minutes ago, but I think she'll mind her manners now.”

“You've named your truck?”

“Of course. She's an important part of my life and gets me where I need to go. She deserves a name.”

“Why is it a she instead of a he?”

“Because she sometimes has bouts of PMS.” She slid in behind the steering wheel.

Zach hesitated. “We could take my car.”

Annabelle lifted a brow. “Too good to ride in my truck, Dr. Beaumont?”

He shook his head, chuckled. This beautiful whirlwind absolutely confounded him. Confused him. How many women did he know who drove an old Ford pickup that had a name and PMS, or who would turn down a ride in his luxury Mercedes?

Annabelle Reardon was one of a kind.

He got in on the passenger side and tossed his hat on the seat. She looked like a kid in her tight jeans, her blond hair in a ponytail sticking out of the back opening of the baseball hat on her head. Her T-shirt had the word “Bears” emblazoned on the front and back.

She reversed, then let out the clutch, and off they went. He didn't think he'd ever ridden in a three-speed manual-shift truck before. She double-clutched into third gear and they picked up speed, winding through the roads, heading toward the outskirts of Austin. The air conditioner barely blew out cool air, so they had the windows down, letting in the scents of alfalfa fields and hot tar.

For a while, he simply watched her drive, watched her tap her fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of the country-and-western tune fading in and out on the radio, her ponytail bouncing, both from her head bobbing and the ruts in the road.

He told himself not to stare at what else was jiggling beneath the logo on her shirt every time the tires hit a pothole. Maybe this hadn't been such a great idea.

“Are the Bears the team you're rooting for?”

“They're the team I'm
playing
for.”

“Playing?”

“Sure. Rival pharmaceutical companies. We're actually the Teddy Bears—my dad's name is Ted. The other guys are the Wolverines.”

“Hmm. I think I'll root for the Wolves. They sound more aggressive than the Teddy Bears.”

“Don't you dare. I'll hand you a scalpel instead of a clamp in surgery Monday morning.”

He grinned. “That's an empty bluff if I've ever heard one.”

“Well…I'll think of something. We're here.”

She tooted her horn, stuck her hand out the open window and waved. The truck coughed and sputtered after she shut it off. She admonished it, then slid out and was enveloped in a group hug.

Family members, he concluded. The resemblance was there. Father, brother, three sisters, and the petite brunette with the perpetual smile must be the stepmother.

He stood by the front of the truck, not wanting to intrude. He was close to his mother and sister, but they didn't display this kind of open, public affection. He felt an odd pang, as though he was missing something in life.

“Zach,” she called when she'd disentangled herself from the group. “Come meet the family.”

He hadn't been prepared for this. He'd thought they were going to watch a game with a bunch of strangers. Instead of strangers, her whole family was here.

This was sort of like going home to meet the folks. Exactly what he
didn't
want to do.

He moved forward and shook hands with Ted Reardon.

“And these brats—” she introduced them “—are my siblings, Carrie Anne, Lori, Stevie and Sabra.”

The girls, fourteen to nineteen, he remembered, all checked him out, then gave Annabelle a thumbs-up.

Oh, man.

“And this wonderful lady is Jolene,” Annabelle said, putting her arm around the slender, beautiful woman.

Jolene held out her hand. “Welcome to bedlam, Zach. I hope we don't scare you off.”

“No, ma'am, I don't scare easily. I have nine-year-old triplet nieces. I'm used to bedlam.”

“Oh, he'll do nicely,” Jolene said.

Zach stiffened. These people were getting the wrong impression.

Jolene caught his look and laughed. “I was actually speaking of your physique, if I may be so bold. Our first baseman called yesterday with a sprained wrist, leaving our team a player short.”

His gaze honed in on Annabelle, who stared at him with a perfectly innocent expression on her face.

Wear your sneakers.
He'd been had.

“I haven't played ball in a lot of years.”

“We're not talking pros, here, son,” Ted said. “Although I'd hate like heck to lose to those Wolverines. They're too smug for their own good.”

“Oh, we can beat them with our hands tied behind our back, Daddy,” Annabelle said. She looked at Zach. “You'll fill in, won't you? Heck, Stevie and Sabra are only fourteen, and they're game.”

She was trying to shame him or appeal to his competitiveness. She'd chosen the right dare. Because he was nothing if not competitive.

He slapped his ball cap on his head. “Let me borrow a mitt. Who plays second base?”

“Carrie Anne.”