From Dare to Due Date

by Christy Jeffries

  What was she playing at? Most women in her position would be salivating at the good fortune of successfully accomplishing the oldest trick in the gold digger’s handbook—getting impregnated by a famously wealthy man. Or in his case, the man reality television had once dubbed the most eligible doctor in Southern California.

  He was usually so careful about using protection for this exact reason, but he was fast realizing that his brain and his body simply didn’t react the way he wanted them to when Mia was around. Which was why he needed to treat her like any other patient. Not only would playing the doctor role force him to keep his emotions in check, but it might also make her more willing to talk and let her guard down so he could figure out exactly what she was up to.

  He didn’t want to resort to using their barely established doctor–patient relationship to try to get personal information, but she was pregnant—possibly with his child—and he deserved to know the truth. If he could get through performing an emergency spinal cord surgery on board a naval hospital ship during hurricane-force winds, then he could get through a routine examination.

  Actually, there really was nothing routine about this at all.

  He slowly touched her knee, and even through her black tights he could still feel the heat radiating off her. He concentrated on staring directly at her leg and not letting his eyes stray to her beautiful face to see if his touch could still bring her pleasure the way it had that night in Boise.

  She was his patient. He needed to treat her as such.

  But she was holding her body with such tension; she was as stiff as one of his father’s favorite surfboards. And just like a fiberglass board, she might snap in two if he didn’t handle her smoothly.

  How could he get her to relax when he was so damn dismayed himself?

  Go through the motions of the exam. Keep it steady. You’re the king of control, McCormick.

  “Where did you have surgery?”

  “I had it on my knee.”

  Was she serious? He chanced a look at her, but her eyelids were squeezed tightly closed. He was barely touching her, so he doubted she was in pain. Was she truly that uncomfortable in his presence?

  “I know the surgery was on your knee. I meant, where was your surgeon located? I would like to get your records from him or her and get an idea of what exactly they did.”

  “Right. Of course. It was in Miami. Dr. Ron Prellis.”

  “I don’t think I’ve heard of him.”

  “He specializes in sports injuries. The team doctor referred me to him because they were trying to keep the whole thing quiet.”

  “What team doctor?” She was on a sports team? And why would they want to keep it quiet? Mia Palinski seemed to have a lot of things she wanted to keep under the radar.

  “For the NFL.”

  “As in football?” That didn’t make any sense.

  “Yes. I was on their cheerleading squad after college.”

  Crap.

  When she’d told him that she was a dancer, his first thought had been stripper. But then she’d made it sound like she was a professional dancer. Professional jersey chaser was probably more like it. While he couldn’t believe he hadn’t made the initial connection, he kept his mouth shut and continued the exam.

  He felt some definite swelling, but he doubted she would be willing to remove her tights so he could get a better look.

  “I’d like to get an MRI on your knee, but just to be on the safe side, we should wait until after the first trimester. Are you currently taking anything for the pain?”

  “I used to take ibuprofen before I found out about the baby. But I’ve been too scared to take anything since then.”

  He sat back on his stool and let out a breath. At least she was taking healthy precautions with his unborn child’s life.

  His child. Possibly. He was going to be a father.

  “I take it you plan on keeping it, then?”

  “My baby?” Her eyes grew even more icy with the question and she wrapped her arms around her midsection. “Of course I plan on keeping it!”

  He’d noticed that she’d referred to the child as hers—not theirs. Did he get any say in this? Should he? She hadn’t denied it that the baby was his, but if he could keep her talking, maybe she would give him confirmation. “Were you planning to tell me about it?”

  She looked away quickly, but not before he’d seen the guilt flash in her eyes. She was probably planning to wait to tell him when the due date grew closer and there was nothing he could do but sign a hefty child support agreement.

  “Even if I’d wanted to, I really didn’t have any way of contacting you. Up until now, I didn’t know your real name or how to get in touch with you.”

  Wait. Did she just say even if she’d wanted to? Implying that she had no intention of telling him about the baby? He braced his feet on the floor. If he could roll his stool back any farther from the exam table and her duplicitous mind, he would have.

  “You know, if you would’ve stuck around that morning instead of sneaking off like a common criminal, I would have been more than happy to provide you with my name and contact information.” He couldn’t help the accusing tone of his voice.

  He wanted to lash out at her and blame her for orchestrating this whole mess. But if he was being honest, he was more upset for letting her fool him in the first place.

  She must have realized his exam was over because she sat up and reached for the boots she’d discarded before climbing up on the table. “I didn’t sneak off.”

  “Well, you didn’t wake me up to say goodbye and I certainly didn’t find a note anywhere thanking me for the good time.”

  She reached for her boot on the floor and must’ve thought better of swinging it at his head because she shoved her foot into it instead.

  “Did it ever occur to you that maybe I was embarrassed? Or that perhaps I wasn’t well rehearsed in one-night-stand protocol because I’ve never done anything like that before?” She stood up and stomped her leg as she tried to get the zipper unstuck, then sucked in a tight breath.

  “Hey, take it easy. No wonder your injury has been aggravated again.”

  “Look, I think it’s in everyone’s best interest if I find a different doctor. You don’t need to worry about my knee anymore and you certainly don’t need to concern yourself with my baby.”

  “Wait, Mia. Please.” He moved in front of the door. He would never physically restrain a woman, but at this desperate moment, he wasn’t above impeding her escape route. “We really need to talk about this.”

  “What’s there to talk about?” she asked.

  “Are you kidding me? I’d say there’s a whole lot to talk about. First of all, you can barely walk—you’re visibly in pain. Even without an MRI, you probably have a loosening of the device components. It sometimes happens a few years after surgery when the artificial replacement is faulty or doesn’t graft properly to your bones. Which means you might eventually need a revision surgery. But I can understand if you want to go see another specialist. Second of all, you’re carrying my child. I mean, it is mine, right?”

  Her head whipped up as if he’d slapped her. “Of course it’s yours.”

  “You can’t blame me for asking,” he said. “Up until an hour ago, I didn’t even know your name, let alone your relationship history. You’ve had almost two months to get used to this whole pregnancy idea, so forgive me for being a little slow in wrapping my head around everything that’s just happened.”

  She gave a barely perceptible nod, but her nostrils flared slightly, indicating she was still on edge with him. But at least she could acknowledge that he wasn’t trying to be confrontational.

  “I’m still trying to get used to it all myself. Like I said, running into a former one-night stand and having him find out I’m pregnant with his
child isn’t something I’ve had much practice at.”

  “Fair enough.” Garrett heard the office phone ring and was reminded that they still had an audience out in the waiting room. “Look, maybe we should take some time to think this all through and then meet later. Somewhere in private and figure out where we are going to go from there.”

  Mia lifted herself up to her full five-foot-four frame and arched a perfectly sculpted black eyebrow. “How private? I think I made it pretty clear that I don’t normally engage in...you know...what happened at the hotel in Boise. So I hope you’re not expecting me to hop right back into your bed.”

  “First of all, I think it was your bed we were in.” Although, as discombobulated as Garrett felt, he couldn’t help but be intrigued by spending another night with her. Don’t go there, McCormick. “And second of all, unless you allow me to give you a shot of cortisone for the pain, you’ll be lucky if you can hop anywhere.”

  She sat back down and he opened up his cabinet, pulling out a clean syringe and small glass vial. He turned his back while she removed her black tights and, he assumed, shoved them into her purse. She closed her eyes, while he injected her knee with the pain reliever, then turned around again and busied himself in his cabinets as she pulled her boots back on—her legs remaining bare.

  When it seemed that they’d both gotten their emotions under control, he finally said, “I just meant we could meet someplace that didn’t have the town busybody sitting right outside the door.”

  “I prefer the term ‘town socialite,’ Dr. McCormick,” Cessy Walker shouted from a location that was much closer than the reception desk.

  “Sugar Falls is a small place. It’s pretty hard to go anywhere without seeing someone who doesn’t already know your business.” Then Mia raised her voice a few octaves. “Which is why I’ll know exactly who to blame if any of this leaks out.”

  Garrett heard a sudden increase in volume over the computer’s desktop speakers.

  “Why don’t we meet for dinner tonight?”

  “I can’t. After school, I teach two ballet classes and then I’ll have rehearsals for the Christmas pageant until eight.”

  Garrett remembered the small sign on the pink Victorian building downtown. He’d passed by it several times when he’d been driving into town to check on the progress of his office remodel. “At the Snowflake Dance Academy?”

  If women had hackles, Garrett would’ve sworn that he’d just seen hers rise. “If you didn’t know anything about me, then how’d you know about my studio?”

  And here he’d thought they were making progress. Maybe the cortisone wasn’t as effective as he’d thought it would be. “It wasn’t a difficult deduction, Mia. I know I haven’t been here long, but that’s the only dance place in town. At least, that I’ve seen.”

  She wrapped her cardigan sweater tighter around herself and let out a small breath. Jeez, did this woman think he was some kind of creepy stalker?

  “Well, if you can’t meet me tonight, then what about breakfast tomorrow at the Cowgirl Up Café?”

  “Nope. The Quilting Club meets there on Wednesdays.”

  God forbid they bring the attention of the Quilting Club upon them. “Is there any place we can go where there won’t be a swarm of townspeople?”

  She bit her lip. “I guess we could meet at my place.”

  “Great. When?”

  “On Saturday. My last class is at three. So any time after five should guarantee us some privacy. But come to my apartment above my studio. I know our situation will come out eventually, but the longer we keep things anonymous around town, the better.”

  Anonymous? That’s how they’d gotten into this predicament in the first place. Yet, he was too much of a gentleman to point that out. “Okay, your apartment on Saturday. I’ll meet you there at six, just to be safe.”

  Mia nodded and left the exam room, still limping, but at least she wasn’t on crutches. The doctor in Garrett wished he could have finished his examination and made a better recommendation for her treatment. But the man in him was relieved to be alone for a second to get control of his thoughts. There was something about that woman that turned his brain to spaghetti, and he needed all his wits about him if he was going to take control of this situation.

  He slumped down in his stool and rubbed his palm over his forehead. He couldn’t believe it. He was going to be a father. This wasn’t what he wanted, and it definitely hadn’t happened the way he would have planned if he had wanted it. But he couldn’t help but feel a small kernel of anticipation. Not at all the unknowns that lay ahead—he was too pragmatic to see this as an actual blessing—but at this chance for familial redemption. He always knew that when he became a dad, he would break the overbearing cycle of parenthood that he’d been subjected to.

  Cooper had assured Garrett that once he moved to Sugar Falls and the locals embraced him as one of their own, he wouldn’t have to worry about the potential celebrity ramifications that tended to follow his family name. After all, if his building contractor, who Garrett soon figured out was baseball legend Kane Chatterson, could hide out in this small, tight-knit community, Dr. Gerald McCormick’s long-lost son should be able to fly under the radar, too.

  But all it would take to blow his cover would be some tourist with a smartphone and a fondness for reality shows about plastic surgery makeovers spotting him in the quaint ski resort. But maybe that was what Mia was hoping for.

  Suddenly, the Quilting Club and some low-level town gossip didn’t seem so bad.

  Chapter Five

  Mia had been kicking herself the past couple of days for not clarifying that she’d actually meant she’d meet Garrett McCormick at her studio, not her apartment.

  Of course, where the meeting took place was probably the least of her worries.

  At least she now knew the name of her child’s father. And so did her friends, who were aware that she’d be seeing him tonight. They’d convinced her that she was perfectly safe with the reputable doctor and that she would’ve looked paranoid and suspicious if she had called him and changed the location of their rendezvous.

  Sheesh. She needed to stop thinking of it like that, of him like that. This was a formal discussion and she’d keep things as proper and as professional as she could. There would be no drinking, no sultry piano music, no dim lighting. In fact, she’d been debating all afternoon whether or not she should take a quick shower before he showed up or whether she should play it casual and stay in her work clothes.

  At five-thirty, she suddenly decided that she wanted to at least look physically put together, because her spinning emotions had her feeling like a mental wreck on the inside. As she stood in her bathroom blow-drying her long dark hair, she considered everything she’d been able to find out about him so far.

  She’d done an internet search on him the moment she’d gotten back from his office. She’d already known he’d been in the navy and was licensed to practice medicine, but not much else. The name was common enough to land several hits and she’d even been directed to a website for some reality shows on Med TV about rich plastic surgeons in Southern California, but that Dr. McCormick was in his sixties. She’d found a couple of articles published by Garrett McCormick in a medical journal. Other than recent developments in robotically assisted surgeries, she hadn’t been able to narrow anything down. At least there weren’t any glaring articles about serial killers or other criminals with that same name.

  Of course, Mia knew all too well that narcissistic spoiled jerks, especially ones such as Nick Galveston, with wealthy families, usually kept their sociopathic personalities well hidden. Even though Garrett’s office was sparsely furnished, underneath that white lab coat he’d worn, his clothes reeked of fine taste and fortune.

  A firm knock sounded at her front door and she took one last look in her bathroom mirror. Please don’t
let my baby’s father be anything like Nick Galveston.

  Her soft-soled flats didn’t make much noise as she crossed her small living room to let him inside, but honestly, she couldn’t hear much over the pounding of her heart. She almost lost her nerve when she looked through the small peephole and saw his hazel eyes and freshly shaved jawline.

  Why did he have to be so handsome?

  She took a deep breath, just as she used to do before a big performance, steeled her spine and swung the door open. But she must’ve been standing a little too close because she yanked the doorknob right into her hip bone.

  “Ow,” she said, trying not to double over as she rubbed the spot just below the waistband of her jeans.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, coming quickly to her side. But she wasn’t comfortable with his attention focused anywhere near the location of her injury so she sucked up the pain and pretended she couldn’t feel the throbbing ache or the sting in her pride.

  “Yes, I’m fine. I just misjudged how far I was from the door. Come on in.”

  Her apartment was a small one-bedroom and, up until this moment, she’d never felt cramped by the lack of space in the tiny entryway.

  She gestured him toward the white-and-blue sofa upholstered with a soft paisley print, and tried not to worry about how he might perceive her eclectic decorating skills. Most of her furniture and accents were funky pieces she’d picked up at nearby antiques stores and came in a multitude of shades of blue and painted oak. She’d moved around so much as a child, she’d always been drawn to furnishings that were old and had a deep history. But she also had an artistic streak that extended beyond dancing and she liked the abstract hodgepodge of it all—the uniqueness that was reflective of her personal style.

  “I feel silly showing up to your house empty-handed like this,” Garrett said, before taking a seat. “But, I wasn’t sure what to bring. It didn’t really seem like the occasion for flowers, and, well, you probably aren’t drinking much champagne these days.”