The Heart Doctor and the Baby (6 page)

She stood, looking solemn and at least half as perplexed as he felt. “We stick with the plan. We're colleagues. We work together. And you've done an incredibly wonderful favor for me.”

Jon heard the resolve in her voice, but her body language wasn't nearly as certain. He watched her fidget with
her hair and look everywhere but into his eyes, then came to the only logical conclusion—anything between them was impossible, out of the question, not going to happen.

So that was how it would be.

T
HE
next morning, Jon steered clear of the clinic lounge. He wasn't ready to see René again after last night. One kiss had led right to insomnia, tossing and pulling sheets, adjusting and readjusting the pillow and cursing like a horny college kid.

He thumbed through his latest journal, waiting for his nurse to put his next patient in the exam room. He never wanted to go through the turmoil of a relationship again. Cherie's surprise departure had left him emotionally drained, and with nothing left to give. Maybe that's why he'd signed on to a sure thing—make baby, stay out of the picture. Hmm, write that down. Exclamation point!

So why the hell had he kissed René?

True, if life made sense it wouldn't be nearly as interesting, but the crazy logic of needing to stay aloof and disengaged from a woman who was carrying a child he'd helped make nearly made his head explode. He wasn't able to say “carrying
his
child.” No. The connotations that went along with that would surely do him in. And besides, he'd been absolved of the duty, and rightfully so, what with his future plans. He had to keep the proper frame of mind about the situation. He'd signed on to the project, and…it
had been a success.
On the first shot
. He couldn't help puffing out his chest as a macho, top-of-the-world feeling rustled through him.

Stop it
. He couldn't allow the prideful thoughts to mix him up any more than he already was. It was a favor. They had a contract. She wanted a baby of her own, and he had plans for a year's sabbatical. Theirs was a business relationship, nothing more. Write that down!

Turned out the fallout was a bitch, though, and he had the filled journals to prove it.

 

René had made her hospital rounds before her scheduled surgery that morning. It was almost 1:30 p.m. before she made it in to the MidCoast Medical clinic for her afternoon appointments, and she was grateful for the busy and distracting morning. The last thing she could handle was seeing Jon.

She parked in the back and entered through the porch, a continuation from the wraparound porch at the front of the clinic. Several terra-cotta flowerpots burst with color and lined the picket railing. She inhaled the winter scent of pine tree and reached for the chilly glass doorknob.

The redone hardwood floors throughout the hallway sparkled with care. Jason had spared no cost when it came time to refurbishing this grand old house, and she never grew tired of admiring it.

“Ah, you're just in time for lunch,” Jon said, looking chagrined, as she pushed through the door in the kitchen.

How had this happened? Normally he was already seeing his afternoon panel of patients by this time. So much for avoiding him.

“What are you doing here?”

“Morning clinic ran late when I had to admit one of
my patients into the hospital for an EPS study.” He spoke in between popping potato chips into his mouth. “Young kid. Basketball player. Passed out at a game. Got zapped with an AED.”

“Wow. That's not good.”

“Good news is he survived, and after we figure out what sets off his arrhythmia, we'll know how to treat it and keep him alive.”

She nodded. Even now, desperately trying to stay out of his way, she was glad to see him. He looked sharp in a mint-green button-up shirt and tie with some sort of hieroglyphics on it, no doubt spelling out the meaning of life or something equally as important. His trousers fit him impeccably, and she couldn't help but have a quickie flashback to the day she'd seen him stripped down and jogging. And the way he kissed.

This line of thinking had to stop.

René plopped into a chair and put her feet up on another. She'd stayed awake half the night thinking about the irony of asking a man to help her get pregnant, then, after the fact, realizing she was attracted to him. She'd live with her decision, though. Had to.

“What held you up?” he said.

“I was in surgery all morning. My tubal ligation clinic. Two of the women were younger than me and they've already met their personal baby quotas, and wanted to make sure they didn't have any more.” She glanced over her shoulder to make sure no one else was around. “And here I am just starting out. Ironic, huh?”

She fiddled with the single braid she always wore on surgery days and happened to pass glances with Jon. He nodded. She'd made the mistake of pondering her circumstances in front of him. He was bound to comment.

“You smell like chocolate,” he said, ignoring the irony and throwing her a curve. “What's got you stressed?”

Like he didn't know. And from the looks of the dark circles under his eyes, he didn't get such a great night's sleep, either.

“What do chocolate and stress have to do with each other?” She'd play dumb.

“I've seen you go for that chocolate stash in your purse when you're under pressure.”

She blurted a laugh. “Guilty as charged, but this time it was more out of necessity. My blood sugar took a dive after being in the O.R. all morning, and I forgot to bring any lunch.”

“Here,” he said. “Have half of my sandwich.” He pushed a portion of a sub sandwich loaded with deli meats and vegetables under her nose. “You need to eat, now that you're…”

“Jon, you don't have to look out for me.” Though the sandwich did smell delicious and her taste buds had already gone on standby.

“Someone's got to do it.” He flashed a smart-ass smile, the kind that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. “Take it. It's loaded with those dill pickle slices you love.”

How could she refuse?

Ravenous, she took a huge bite, then said muffled thanks while dabbing at some mustard at the corner of her mouth.

He watched her with a quiet inward expression. “I like watching you enjoy your food.” He smiled again.

Then as if he'd only meant to think it and not say it out loud, his gaze darted away.

“We're not going there, remember?” she said.

“Yup.” He finished the last of his half of the sandwich and rose to leave.

A bittersweet pang made it hard to swallow. He was the smartest guy in the room—any room—and he always acted the humble and perfectly mannered doctor. Even now.

Her decision had already blurred the lines of their working together, and they both felt completely awkward about it. Unfortunately, that was the way they'd have to handle their business association—all manners and etiquette.

No matter how unsatisfying that approach would be.

 

Two weeks later, word of René's pregnancy had obviously gotten out when one afternoon Jon witnessed every female in the clinic circling her, fawning and gushing with well wishes. “Oh, congratulations!” “I'm so excited for you.” “When's the big day?” What he didn't hear was, “Who is the father?” And for that, he thought, ducking his head and making a U-turn, he was grateful.

René proudly stood in the center, beaming, as Jon knew pregnant women often do. His ex-wife seemed to walk on air when she'd first gotten pregnant—that is, until morning sickness kicked in. René held her head high, chin up with pride. She wore a white peasant blouse with a paisley patterned knee-length skirt, and looked so damned pretty he could hardly contain himself. Her exotic almond-shaped eyes sparkled with happiness, and when she glanced at him just before he made his turn, their gazes met and merged for the briefest of moments. He read her gratitude, nodded, and though wanting to make a beeline for his office, he went against his will so as not to come off suspicious acting.

“What's going on?” he asked, hoping his high school thespian days might still serve him well.

“Dr. Munroe is expecting!” Gaby was the first to respond.

“What's she expecting?” He'd go for the lame-and-loving-it facade.

His nurse and two others groaned over his sorry joke. René was the only one gracious enough to smile. If he'd been at arm's length, she probably would have cuffed him.

He drew closer as a rally of mixed emotions made him stiffen. “When's the due date?” He'd been so busy kissing her the night she'd come to his loft to celebrate, he'd forgotten to ask the most basic questions.

“November,” she said softly.

“Hey, that's a great month—that's my daughter Lacy's birthday month, and she's a great kid.” Why the sudden onslaught of nerves? Could he overexplain more if he tried? How ironic that this baby would be born in the same month as one of his other children. Other children? Only children. He had no claim on this one. The contract said so.

“From what you've told me, I can only hope my baby will have half the verve of Lacy,” she said with a smile, and a subtle knowing look.

Out of the blue, he wanted to hold René, to stroke her hair and run his thumb over her lips. To kiss her, deeper than he had the night they'd almost crossed the line. Did it show on his face?

The nurses had gone quiet. The fact he and René were staring at each other as if everything else on earth had disappeared may have had something to do with it. He knew he had to do something, knew this invisible thread joining them had to be severed. He schooled his expression and finished the last steps to reach her, awkwardly patted her back, and when she reached for a hug, he made sure there was at least a foot worth of air between them. This was
the kind of hug coworkers gave each other; he'd seen it countless times, but it bothered him to fake it with René.

“Hey, congratulations. I'm really happy for you. Really.”

He knew of all the phony business he'd just pulled off, this was the one true statement. He definitely was happy for her, just didn't know where
he
fit into the picture. Actually, he did know where he fit as far as pictures went, and that would be
out of it
. Completely. Which suited him just fine.

“Thank you,” she said, patting his back.

“Hey, it was nothing,” he said.
Oops!
He'd taken her superficial thanks and applied it to their personal business.

His nurse, Lois, stared at him with a screwed-up face. “You are such a dork. You didn't have anything to do with the doctor's baby!” she snorted.

Oh, if she only knew…

Grateful Lois had saved his slipup, he cleared his throat and made a self-effacing smile, striving for the absentminded professor effect. “You know what I mean.” His eyes never left René's, and now her cheeks were tinted peach, which was very becoming with her light olive-toned skin. She nodded her understanding, and he turned and headed back for his office, feeling moisture under his arms, and a grimace on his face.

If this was the way things were going to be at the clinic now that the pregnancy was out in the open, he wasn't sure he'd survive.

The next week, Jon arrived at work later than usual. The early April morning had been bright and clear after a string of rainy days, and he'd made up for it with a long, solid run. After ten miles, showered and feeling like a new man, he strode through the clinic toward his office when he overheard the distinct sounds of someone heaving. The
sound came from the forgotten, sequestered bathroom in the far corner of the ground floor. He paused and verified that someone was definitely losing their breakfast, and rather than risk also getting queasy merely from the sound effects, he pushed on.

A few minutes later, René emerged from the tiny bathroom. She tried to slink by Jon's office, but failed.

“You okay?” he called out, brows raised, eyes dark with concern.

She self-consciously ran the back side of her hand across her mouth, and stopped at his door. “That hormone surge really messes up the system.”

“Tell me about it. I used to puke right along with Cherie.”

He could always manage to get a smile out of her, even after she'd thrown up for fifteen minutes straight. “I'm interviewing doulas today.”

“What's that?”

“They're people who take care of the pregnant woman. They offer physical and moral support. Sort of like a preggers woman's girl Friday.”

“I see,” he said, wearing an expression that gave the distinct impression he hadn't a clue what she was talking about.

“Since I'm going through this alone—” she purposely avoided his pointed stare “—I thought I'd hire one earlier than necessary for the extra help.”

“Sounds wise.”

She couldn't read the look in his eyes, but speculated there might be a twinge of regret. Was he sorry he'd donated the sperm? She hoped not. “This is the first time in my life I've felt complete.” She glanced at Jon.
Well, almost complete
.

He'd paused behind his desk, and she suspected the sig
nificance of what she'd just said had sunk in. “I'm really glad to know that,” he said, an earnest expression on his face.

They spent more time than necessary gazing at each other, searching each other's eyes, which got awkward. She needed to make her feet move, to start her day, before the next wave of nausea swept through.

“I better get back to my clinic,” she said, looking down the hall.

“René?”

“Hmm?”

“If there's ever anything you need, don't hesitate to get in touch. Remember, I've got superfriend status now.”

The damn hormones stretched her emotions as if rubber bands, and Jon's simple offer made the room blur. “Thanks,” she said, as she made a swift getaway. She couldn't let him see her cry; he might think she wasn't happy, and she was. “I really am happy about being pregnant.”

“Good. And for the record, I never thought you weren't.”

She was; she was happy. It was the alone part that kept stumbling her up.

She rushed into her office and closed the door. What was the matter with her? She'd been going back and forth between throwing up and crying for two weeks now. She knew pregnancy wouldn't be easy, but being an obstetrician, somehow she thought it might feel more clinical for her. She couldn't have been more wrong. Being pregnant ran the gamut from elation to hysteria, exhilaration to total exhaustion, confidence to near panic over the thought of raising a child. Alone. There was that word again.