SH Medical 08 - The Baby Dilemma (2 page)

Thank goodness his teasing had distracted her from asking what he was doing at the hospital. While he’d told his immediate family, he didn’t care to broadcast the news that he’d become a sperm donor. Fortunately, his parents had accepted his decision with only a trace of regret.

They understood becoming a sperm donor was a highly personal decision. It was certainly none of Dr. Paige Brennan’s concern, future roommate or not.

Chapter Two

Wear something pretty.

No, I’ll deliberately choose something ugly.

Paige was glad she hadn’t said that. Her crack about wearing scrubs hadn’t been especially clever, either. In retrospect, she wished she’d ignored the remark entirely.

Even more, she wished that five-minute conversation with Mike Aaron hadn’t kept playing through her mind for the past four days. Now glaring into her closet, she tried to decide what to wear to the wedding. Her wardrobe was divided between pantsuits appropriate for work and supercasual beach clothes. Even before she’d inherited this house six months ago, she’d lived nearby and spent a lot of time here with Aunt Bree.

Her russet cocktail dress was the wrong color for a June wedding. As a last resort, she took out the low-cut green sheath she’d bought for Nora’s ceremony and examined it critically. What had possessed her to choose a dress so sexy, revealing the cleft of her breasts and emphasizing the emerald shade of her eyes? She’d be embarrassed if Mike remembered it and made some snippy remark. Or if he stared down her cleavage as he’d done on Tuesday.

No, if he did that,
he
was the one who should be embarrassed.

From next door, the sudden
boom-thumpa-boom
of an overamped stereo shook her small house. Only two-thirty in the afternoon and those idiot renters were already starting their party. Paige released an impatient breath. Thank goodness she’d be gone most of the day and all night. With luck, this trio of party-hearty young women would be gone by Sunday. She hoped the next set of weekly renters would be more considerate.

Shaking off her annoyance, she examined the tantalizing spill of green fabric. It was flattering and expensive, and she’d only worn it twice, to the wedding and on an internet-arranged date that was best forgotten. Who cared if Mike stared at her?

Paige laid the dress across the bed’s blue-and-white quilt and, going to the window, drew the blue print curtains. As she did, a drift of her aunt’s lavender perfume brought a rush of nostalgia. Since her parents’ deaths five years ago, Paige hadn’t felt truly loved by anyone except her elderly aunt. In some ways, even while her mother and father were alive, she’d been closer to Bree.

Other members of the family—including Paige’s five much older brothers and sisters—had considered Aunt Brenda disagreeably eccentric. She’d shortened her name to Bree, chosen never to marry and spouted colorful opinions that rubbed her conservative Texas relatives the wrong way. Legend had it that Bree had even been arrested once at an antinuclear protest.

By the time Paige moved to California to attend medical school, Bree was in her seventies and had mellowed from the young firebrand who’d scandalized the family. She’d been supportive and a source of excellent advice. And now she was gone.

Aunt Bree had left Paige this house along with enough money to pay off most of her student loans, but Paige would trade all that to have her back. Tears prickled as she slipped on the dress. She wished Bree were here now, more than ever. To share the low moments and especially the happy ones.

Paige’s period still hadn’t started. Being almost a week late might not mean anything, since she wasn’t always regular. Still, an excited shiver ran through her. As she sat at the dressing table to apply makeup, the mirror showed a face brighter than usual, with freckles slightly darker. Both increased blood flow and increased pigmentation could be signs of early pregnancy. As could the uneasiness in her stomach these past few days.

Eight months from now, she might be bringing home a baby. What a miracle! Yet, although she’d planned for this, Paige could hardly wrap her mind around the reality. Or the potential reality.

Boom-thumpa-boom.
The drumbeats after a quiet interval made her hand jerk, smearing her makeup. Muttering in annoyance, Paige wiped her face and started over.

Her thoughts returned to the issue of a roommate. Despite her inheritance, she needed to be careful about finances, and the rent would be welcome, especially since Paige couldn’t count on finding anyone to share the house once she bore a child.

She’d received two responses to her ad on the hospital board. A lab tech had stopped by Thursday night with her boyfriend. Incredibly, they’d expected to both move in for the price of one. Then an admitting clerk had called last night, but backed off after an explosion of rap music from next door drowned out the phone conversation.

No word from Mike, thank goodness. Well, someone would come along soon. Summertime at the beach was an irresistible lure.

Makeup complete, Paige put on a pair of earrings made of bright green sea glass. She’d begun collecting the colorful, naturally polished pieces of glass during beach walks with Aunt Bree before her degenerative disease—amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, better known as Lou Gehrig’s Disease—deteriorated her health in the final months. They’d both loved the glimmering colors and shapes.

Bree had had these pieces made into earrings and given them to Paige in early December. Aware that her aunt’s days were numbered, Paige had prepared a gift of her own: a video slide show of Bree’s early years, longtime friends and special moments with Paige. Her aunt had watched it over and over, right up until the morning she died, two days before Christmas. Now Paige had the video to help relive those precious times.

Rising, she smoothed the dress over her hips. Bree had urged her to enjoy life and not dwell on the past. Today, she meant to take that advice.

And since she’d be dancing with a guy taller than she was, she could afford to wear a pair of three-inch heels. Slipping on a shiny black-and-white pair she hadn’t been able to resist buying, Paige transferred her wallet and tissues into a coordinating purse.

After running a brush through her shoulder-length auburn hair, she was ready to go. She checked the window locks and the rear door, set the alarm and went out the front, locking the bolt behind her.

Bright sunshine took the edge off the sea breeze as Paige crossed the brick patio with its white rattan furniture and blue-and-white cushions. The rumble of waves from half a block to her left softened the outrageous noise from the right. On the two-lane street, a woman cycled by, a leashed dog pacing alongside. Down the block, a father was playing Frisbee with a pair of energetic boys on the sidewalk.

As Paige clicked open her garage door, the music paused. Welcome relief—until a shrill wolf whistle split the air. She knew without looking where that came from. Since the halfway house had opened on the next corner, there always seemed to be seedy-looking men hanging around the porch, harassing any woman under fifty who ventured into view.

Paige hurried into the garage. When had it become open season on women around here? While she had sympathy for recovering addicts, many of the residents had been court-ordered into treatment as a condition of their release from prison, according to testimony before the majority of city council members approved a use permit for the facility. She wished those members who’d approved the permit had to live near these men and be subjected to their rudeness.

She slid into the bucket seat of her aging but well-kept blue sports coupe. Time to forget obnoxious neighbors and everything else weighing on her mood.

Paige Brennan planned to have fun. And nobody better get in her way.

* * *

“I
HAVE
THE
RING
,” M
IKE
MURMURED
, patting his tuxedo pocket.

“Of course you have the ring. You’re the most anal-retentive…I mean, reliable guy I know,” Lock replied from the corner of his mouth, keeping his gaze fixed on the back of the wedding chapel where in a few minutes Erica Benford would appear in all her bridal splendor.

Under normal circumstances, Mike might have considered wrestling his brother to the ground to retaliate for that remark, but not in a wedding chapel. And certainly not in front of their gathered family and friends, along with Erica’s relatives who’d flown in from Boston.

Gazing across the shining faces of his parents, his sister, Marianne, and a couple of grown foster kids who’d become a permanent part of the Aaron family, Mike felt an unaccustomed swell of nostalgia. It had been more than twenty years since a hurt, angry twelve-year-old named Sherlock Vaughn became the latest kid to share Mike’s bedroom at their house in the inland city of Pomona.

Lock had run away from his previous foster home, and this was his last chance before assignment to a group care facility. Mike hadn’t been crazy about this rough-and-tumble kid with an attitude as big as nearby Mount Baldy.

Gradually, he’d learned that Lock had had a series of bad breaks, being relinquished at birth and adopted by a couple who developed serious drug problems. The adoptive father had abandoned the family and the adoptive mother ended up in prison.

Over the years, Mike and Lock had fought their share of battles, physical and verbal. They’d also become close friends. While they’d attended different colleges, both chose careers in law enforcement. At Mike’s wedding half a dozen years ago, Lock had been best man, and now he was returning the favor.

Mike hoped his brother’s marriage turned out better than his. He’d told Sheila up front that he didn’t want children, but she hadn’t believed him. Her resentment had festered until everything fell apart. Mike tried to be philosophical about the mess because the less he thought about it, the better.

In the chapel, the last of the guests settled into their seats. Nearly three o’clock, the designated hour for the ceremony.

Mike surveyed the group from the hospital: Dr. Owen Tartikoff, world-famous head of the fertility program; his wife, Bailey; plus a few others on the surgical team that Erica worked with. Mike had met most of them before, and made a point of recalling their names.

For an indulgent moment, he allowed his gaze to fix on Paige Brennan, sitting in their midst. He’d been fighting the urge to stare at the striking redhead ever since she entered the chapel in that form-fitting dress. She’d worn her hair loose, the color so rich he ached to sink his hands into it, or better yet spread it across a pillow as he slid down her straps to bare the swell of her breasts.

Mike yanked his attention away. If anyone in this roomful of people noticed his reaction to Paige, he’d never live it down.

Mercifully, the piano changed themes, auguring in the matron of honor in a long dark-pink dress. The sturdy figure and strong, lined face belonged to Lock’s birth mother Renée Green, with whom he’d recently reconnected. A hospital volunteer, she’d become friends with Erica as well, and now the prospect of her grandchild’s birth had brought her joyously into the family.

The music changed again, and the velvet curtain parted. In sailed a glowing Erica, her white lace gown obscuring the slight thickening at her waist. Her widowed mother, Bernadette, who went by the nickname Bibi, escorted her daughter with pride.

Paige angled in her seat to watch, her lovely face intense with yearning. She seemed riveted by the bride.

Was she longing to walk down the aisle herself, or was the longing aimed at the bride’s pregnancy? Maybe both. That didn’t mean Mike and the gorgeous lady doc couldn’t enjoy some good times, but he’d be careful.

Bibi Benford relinquished her daughter and retreated to a front-row seat. At last night’s rehearsal, she’d told Mike how much she enjoyed traveling and shopping with her sisters, relishing the freedom now that her daughter was grown. He understood perfectly because he treasured his freedom after an adolescence spent shepherding whiny kids. That had been enough parenting to last him a lifetime.

No danger of falling prey to some biological imperative. As a sperm donor, he was not only helping childless couples but also leaving his legacy to the next generation. Case closed.

The radiant bride joined the groom at the altar. Lock was grinning so hard Mike wouldn’t be surprised if the two of them, after exchanging vows, simply floated off on their honeymoon.

He turned his attention to the minister and prepared to produce the ring.

* * *

P
AIGE
HADN
’
T
EXPECTED
the world to suddenly look different. Although she kept trying to rein in her hopes, she felt as if powerful hormones were flooding her system, awakening her to fresh perspectives.

The bride’s pregnancy, plus seeing her with her mother, reminded Paige that behind the new family lay thousands of mothers who’d given birth and raised babies over the millennia. Erica—and perhaps Paige—had become part of a chain of life that would stretch into the far-distant future.

Now, in the large reception room, Paige watched the photographer pose the wedding party. Her eye traced the resemblance between Lock and his birth mother, the strong jawline and tilt of the head. Nearby, Erica and her mom formed a matched set with their petite figures and blond hair.

Who would Paige’s baby resemble? Her, of course, but there’d be a paternal influence, as well. What unknown chain of men and women lay behind this tiny and still theoretical infant?

She knew some details about the donor from his description in the computer profile. Over six feet tall, with light brown hair and gray eyes, he’d tested as highly stable on the psychological screening. A professional man with a master’s degree, he enjoyed excellent health, and three of his grandparents had lived to a gratifyingly old age. One grandmother had suffered from type 2 diabetes, which was usually controllable with diet and exercise.