The Holiday Triplets (9 page)

“You're going to be my backup?” Sam prompted, the corner of her mouth twitching. “This I'd like to see.”

Mark chose his words carefully. “I'll pitch in during this neonatal period, until they get stronger. You could obviously use the help.” That seemed a reasonable way to see her through this crunch without glossing over the serious issues involved in raising triplets. Sooner or later, she was going to have to make hard choices about her priorities.

“Pitch in how?” Sam pressed. “Details, details.”

“Since I live so close, why don't I stop by before work to help in the mornings?”
And play with the babies.
Impulsively, he added, “We could walk them to the hospital together when the weather's nice.”

“That would be wonderful. You're great with kids, even if you have sworn off fatherhood.” Her brilliant smile made him glad he'd volunteered.

“Before I forget, there's one more important matter to deal with.”

Her smile frayed around the edges. “You're not kicking the clinic out before Christmas, are you?”

“Nope.” From the Papa Giovanni's sack, Mark retrieved another white container. He flipped the lid to reveal two slices of Italian cake dipped in espresso, layered with a
sweet creamy mixture and topped with cocoa. “I was referring to dessert.”

“Tiramisu!”

“My way of leaving a sweet taste in your mouth.” His gaze flew to her lips. Mmm. He'd definitely like to leave a different kind of sweet taste in her mouth.

“That's fantastic. Thank you.”

Better to make an escape while he still had his wits about him. Mark pushed back his chair. “The cake's for you, so enjoy it whenever you like. It's been a long day, and all good things must come to an end.”

“Must they?” she broke in teasingly. “You could rub my shoulders. You did offer to be supportive, right?”

He ought to beg off. Common sense, good judgment…oh, the hell with them.

“So I did.” Without giving himself any more time to reflect, Mark moved to stand behind her and ran his thumbs across the ridge of her shoulders. “You're knotted up.” Sam was as tense as if she'd been carrying the weight of the world.

Her hair drifted across his hands. “Hauling babies and gear does that to you.”

He kneaded the lines of tension, probing between her shoulder blades, exploring her spine. A sigh fluttered from Sam. Her scent drifted upward, the sharp tang of antiseptic softened by baby powder and herbal shampoo and a whisper of femininity. She held so much in check, but now, in this moment, Mark felt her relax against his hands, against him. Satisfaction pulsed through him that he could ease her tension and cares. A healing power flowed from him into her.

Glancing down, he saw her eyes drift shut. “You going to sleep?” he teased huskily.

“Dreaming. Fantasizing. Don't stop.”

His mind kept veering toward some fantasizing of its own. Firmly, Mark focused on working out the nubs and knots in Sam's shoulders. The two of them shared a great deal, but he didn't kid himself about their fundamental differences. There was a line he refused to cross, no matter how much he might be tempted.

Yet when she tilted her head back, lifting up her sleepy face, he bent and traced a kiss across her temple. “You
are
going to sleep.”

“Think how much easier it would be to help in the morning if you stayed here all night,” she murmured.

Mark's body hardened at the suggestion.
And I wouldn't sleep on the couch, either.
With an effort, he dragged himself back to reality. Or, at least, to pragmatism. “Me and that army of nurses you hired?”

“Only one. Did you have to remind me?”

He chuckled and couldn't resist adding, “Besides, you'd regret that offer.”

“What offer?”

“The one you just made.”

She twisted to look up at him. “What did I say? I was half-asleep.”

“You propositioned me.”

Her mouth dropped open, but she rallied. “Well, good for me.”

“Because sex would relax you?” He quirked an eyebrow.

She brushed her palm across his scratchy cheek. “I give you more credit than that, Doc.”

At the inviting touch, he instinctively pressed a kiss into her hand. As if he didn't know better. As if the two of them weren't like gasoline and a lighted match.

With a wrench, Mark pulled away. “Give me credit
for leaving while I'm ahead. I'll drop by in the morning around, say, six?”

“Perfect.” Sam shifted as if to rise but couldn't seem to muster the energy. “Did you say
all
this tiramisu is for me?”

“Every last bite.”

“You're a generous man.”

“I'll remind you of that next time we cross swords,” he said.

“I'll pretend I don't hear you.”

She remained at the table while he wended his bemused way through a living room still reflecting prismatic rainbows from the glassware. He was closing the door behind him when he heard a wail from deep within the house and the instant response as Sam leaped from her chair.

A mother's instincts trumped exhaustion. Whatever he might think of her impulsive decision to adopt, Sam had obviously given her heart to those babies.

 

O
N
T
UESDAY MORNING
, M
ARK
arose half an hour earlier than usual. After a shower and breakfast, he scanned his personal email, as was his custom. A sale at the golf pro shop…updates from former coworkers at his Florida office…and a funny photo from Bryn of a startled-looking puppy and kitten, curled in each other's paws and staring at the camera as if they'd been caught in an indiscretion.

Hope your day is full of unexpected moments read her message.

Failing to think of a clever response, he typed, “Can't wait to see you. I miss your sense of humor. Love, your bro.”

Maybe Sam was right and he should have more faith in his sister. People did overcome substance abuse. Due to the drug thefts, his former fiancée had been unable to find
another job as a nurse, so she now worked as a receptionist and volunteered at a homeless shelter. Recently, she'd messaged that she and her new husband were planning to start a family.

If Chelsea had shaken off the demon of addiction, Bryn could, too.

Showered, shaved and ready for the day, Mark tossed an old work shirt over his clothes as protection and headed toward Sam's house. He arrived at the bungalow to see the night nurse, a middle-aged woman in a pink uniform, heading for her car. “How'd it go?” Mark asked.

She peered at him dubiously. “Excuse me?”

He hadn't considered the disreputable effect of the torn shirt lumpily covering his suit. “Dr. Mark Rayburn. I promised Sam I'd stop by. How's everyone doing?”

“The triplets are fine, and Dr. Forrest got a few hours' sleep,” the nurse summarized. “I tried to let her rest, but someone forgot to tell the babies to take turns getting hungry.”

“Thanks for the report.” He categorized Sam's first night with the babies as provisionally positive, since no one had fallen ill, but the situation sounded far from ideal. Concerned about the effect of inadequate sleep on Sam's volatile temper, he tapped cautiously at the door.

To a greeting of, “It's open!” he turned the knob.

From a blanket spread on the floor, the baby girl with the port-wine stain—Connie—blinked up at him. Beside her, a red-faced little boy was grunting mightily. The smell confirmed Mark's suspicions.

“Hi.” Sam appeared from the hallway with a welcoming grin, Courtney at her shoulder. “I'm nearly done feeding her and then I have to dress.” A shower-damp spiral of hair hung over one ear, and without makeup her eyebrows disappeared at the edges. Yet, to Mark, she seemed radiant.
And, amazingly, not at all crabby. The woman seemed to thrive on motherhood.

“Where's the diaper changing station?” He indicated Colin on the floor.

“No room for a changing table,” she responded. “I use the dryer.”

“Seriously?”

“It's in a nook off the kitchen. There's a pad on top and diaper supplies above on the shelf. Hey, that's one of the practical tips I give the teen moms. It really works.”

Mark collected the little boy and carried him to the dryer. As he bent to his task, the little one's alert gaze followed him. “Remember me?” he asked Colin. “I'm Dr. Rayburn, but you can call me Mark.”

A burbling noise might have been an attempt at communication, although it was too early for the kid to start babbling. The tiny mouth formed an
O
. Or, perhaps, a
D
.

“Daddy? Sorry, no.” He felt as if he was letting the baby down. “I'm sort of a father substitute.”

Blink. Stare. Yawn.

“Am I boring you?”

Colin studied him as if trying to puzzle out his meaning. Or perhaps marveling at how swiftly and efficiently the doctor changed his diaper, Mark mused.

The job finished, he lifted the clean baby. One wriggle, and the diaper slid down to half-mast.

So much for efficiency.

No wonder Lori always tightened the tabs after he examined a baby, Mark thought with a touch of embarrassment as he pulled the diaper more firmly into place. Thank goodness no one had observed his mishap.

Good thing babies didn't swap stories about their caretakers' dumb mistakes.

After returning the little boy to the living room, he washed his hands. He hadn't paid much attention to the strollers the other day, but a quick glance revealed a double and a single. Mark opened them and was positioning the second baby into place when Sam breezed out, smartly clad in a pantsuit with a receiving blanket safety-pinned to one shoulder.

“Thanks for helping with the strollers,” she told Mark, and laid Courtney in the single pram. “Ready?”

“You don't waste time.” He'd expected her to take another ten minutes at least.

“The only way I'm going to survive is to put myself on a supertight schedule,” she informed him as they maneuvered the strollers outside, with Mark handling the double.

“I thought you were already on one.”

“I play hooky once in a while, but I won't be able to do that anymore,” she told him. “You were right—I'll have to give up a few things. Hanging with my friends, unless I can bring the kids. Browsing yard sales. Unnecessary stuff like that.”

“That's how you recharge. You need to do those things.” He paused to tuck in Connie's quilt. The temperature was in the fifties, crisp but not uncomfortably cold.

“I'll recharge by enjoying special moments with my children,” she replied.

“Are those on your schedule, too?” He let her move ahead, since the sidewalk wasn't wide enough for both strollers side by side.

“Sure. I'll see them before work, pop in during lunch, and of course there'll be evenings and weekends.” Her voice drifted back. “Except when I'm tied up with the counseling clinic.”

“You can't do everything.”

“Why not? I considered giving up advising the girls at the teen center, but they'll love the triplets. Besides, that's how I met Candy in the first place.”

“Sam,” he began through gritted teeth.

“You think I'm overcommitted, don't you?”

Since she'd brought it up, he saw no reason to soft-pedal. “You're going to crash and burn. Dial it back for a while.”

“Like you?” she challenged. “Dr. Workaholic? You even delivered Tony and Kate's baby on Thanksgiving.”

“That's different.”

“How?”

“My family doesn't need me, because I don't have a family.” The statement gave him an uncomfortable twinge. The words seemed to echo down a long corridor into the future. “Besides, I do relax. I play golf.”

“You call that relaxing?” Sam asked as a woman jogger veered around them and continued on her way. “That's exercise, not fun.”

“I get fresh air and stay healthy,” Mark argued. “Whereas you're sacrificing your sleep and your leisure. You should identify other activities to drop.”

Sam swung around so fast he nearly ran the double stroller onto her heels. “Quit harping on how overworked I am.” He
had
sunk to nagging. “Not another word,” Mark promised.

She resumed course. Two minutes later, she halted to confront him again. “Quit thinking about my schedule.”

“Excuse me?”

“I can feel your criticisms smacking me in the back like BB pellets.”

“I was thinking about
my
schedule,” he countered.

“No, you weren't,” she blazed.

“You can't read my thoughts.”

“They're written all over your face.”

“You can't see my face—I'm behind you,” he pointed out, and then wondered how he'd become entangled in such an absurd argument.

Sunshine highlighted the freckles sprinkled across Sam's nose. “I can read your thoughts from two floors away. Or even in another time zone, and you can do the same with me. You knew precisely how I'd react when you canceled the press conference, didn't you?”

If they kept arguing, they'd never get to work. “Maybe, but I gave you the benefit of the doubt.”

“You did?”

“I might have upped my life insurance, but I trusted you to handle the press wisely. And did my best to stay out of it, honestly.”

The crease eased from her forehead. “Thanks. Sorry for being so pugnacious.”

“No problem.” If he mentioned her lack of sleep, it would only make her temper flare again, so he kept silent.

Courtney let out a high, thin cry. Sam hurried to adjust her blanket, and then set out at a faster clip.

When they reached the medical complex, Mark realized how much he'd enjoyed the walk. He'd never known that a squabble could clear the air and bring people closer, yet in a funny way, that's what had happened. In fact, the experience had put him in an upbeat mood for whatever the day might bring.