The Baby Jackpot
Page 1
They Know Everything About Babies…
So why is recently single Stacy Layne suddenly on the mommy fast track? As Safe Harbor Medical’s first successful egg donor, she should have known better. That goes double (or should she say triple?) for Cole Rattigan, the country’s leading fertility surgeon.
Cole prefers the operating room to figuring out what’s going on inside a woman’s head. But after an unplanned night of passion with his favorite nurse, the the man who wrote the book on fertility is about to become a father…three times over!
Stacy not only nixes Cole’s marriage proposal—she plans to give up the triplets for adoption. Stacy wants to be swept away. Can a man who’s just discovering his paternal side find the words to let the woman he loves know how much he cares?
“If you need taking care of, I’m the one to do it.
This pregnancy is as much my responsibility as yours. I’m the guy who should be your roommate.”
Stacy touched her still-flat abdomen, keenly aware of what lay inside. Part of her longed to lean against Cole and yield to his guardian instincts, but she’d learned caution, the hard way. “One disastrous mistake per relationship is the legal limit. And we used ours when we did this.”
“Why would living together be a mistake?” he pressed.
“Because I’m vulnerable,” she said. “Have you ever fallen in love?”
He frowned. “Define falling in love?”
Oh, for pity’s sake! “If you ever do, you won’t have to ask. It will sweep away everything else like a wildfire.”
Dear Reader,
While visiting a friend, I was delighted to meet her daughter-in-law, a nurse who’s an approved egg donor and who generously answered my questions. What is the process? What are the pitfalls? Why would she, as the married mother of two children, choose to do this?
In addition to being impressed by her generosity, I was startled to learn that egg donors have to be very careful during the rest of the cycle. The harvesting process often misses some eggs, and if they become pregnant, they could find themselves carrying multiple babies.
Naturally, that implied a story line. Developing it proved a challenging process, and I hope you enjoy the results.
Nurse Stacy appeared as a secondary character in The M.D.’s Secret Daughter, in which she had a crush on Dr. Zack Sargent. Cole was introduced in the same book and had a few run-ins with Zack over hospital issues.
Moving them to center stage required deepening and expanding their characters. Cole especially surprised me. Going inside his head proved a journey into a rather unusual character. In my ninety earlier novels, I don’t believe I’ve ever created a hero like him. But then, I don’t feel as if I create my characters—rather, they reveal themselves to me.
Welcome to Cole and Stacy’s story!
Best,
Jacqueline Diamond
The Baby Jackpot
Jacqueline Diamond
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
The author of ninety romances, mysteries, Regencies and paranormals, Jacqueline Diamond lives in Orange County, California, with her husband of more than thirty years. Writing about a fertility program at a medical center draws on Jackie’s long-standing interest in medicine, which began when her father, then the only doctor in the small Texas town of Menard, delivered her at home. You can learn more about Jackie and the Safe Harbor Medical series at www.jacquelinediamond.com.
Books by Jacqueline Diamond
HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE
1046—THE BABY’S BODYGUARD
1075—THE BABY SCHEME
1094—THE POLICE CHIEF’S LADY
1101—NINE-MONTH SURPRISE‡
1109—A FAMILY AT LAST‡
1118—DAD BY DEFAULT‡
1130—THE DOCTOR + FOUR‡
1149—THE DOCTOR’S LITTLE SECRET
1163—DADDY PROTECTOR
1177—TWIN SURPRISE
1209—THE FAMILY NEXT DOOR*
1223—BABY IN WAITING*
1242—MILLION-DOLLAR NANNY*
1273—DOCTOR DADDY
1295—THE WOULD-BE MOMMY**
1320—HIS HIRED BABY**
1335—THE HOLIDAY TRIPLETS**
1344—OFFICER DADDY**
1358—FALLING FOR THE NANNY **
1375—THE SURGEON’S SURPRISE TWINS**
1392—THE DETECTIVE’S ACCIDENTAL BABY**
1400—THE BABY DILEMMA**
1420—THE M.D.’S SECRET DAUGHTER**
‡Downhome Doctors
*Harmony Circle
**Safe Harbor Medical
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Excerpt
Chapter One
Nurse Stacy Layne almost didn’t hear the anesthesiologist’s question. She disliked chitchat in the operating room, especially when she was assisting Dr. Cole Rattigan, head of the Safe Harbor Medical Center men’s fertility program. His intense concentration and focused skill transformed microsurgery into an event more exciting than any Olympic competition.
Above the white mask, Cole’s clear brown eyes fixed on the surgical microscope. Yet she got the sense he was seeing not only the incision but the whole patient, a man desperately hoping to reverse a vasectomy so he and his wife could have the children they longed for.
“Isn’t today your birthday, Stacy?” anesthesiologist Rod Vintner repeated, while keeping one eye on the computer that monitored the patient’s vital signs.
“Yes,” she said tersely, staying alert for Dr. Rattigan’s next move. It was her job, and her privilege, to provide him with whatever instrument he might require almost before he asked for it, so he didn’t break concentration. To forestall further inquiries, she added, “I’m twenty-eight.”
“Congratulations, Stacy,” Dr. Rattigan said.
“Thanks.” She beamed.
“Doing anything to celebrate?” Rod asked.
“I’ll see,” she returned noncommittally. Earlier, one of the nurses had invited a group to join him at a club tonight, but Stacy wasn’t sure she felt like it. Her birthday didn’t seem important, anyway, compared to the news she was anticipating. Possibly the most important news of her life.
“The egg bank should be sending flowers and chocolates.” Amazingly, those words came from Cole Rattigan. Since joining the staff eight months earlier, the surgeon had maintained a pleasant but impersonal tone with her and, as far as she could tell, with everyone else. “I hear you’re one of their first donors. How’s that going?”
She gave a start, her hand nearly bumping the instrument tray. He’d noticed? Incredible.
“My couple...” She stopped to swallow, her throat suddenly dry. “The Barkers should be in Dr. Franco’s office right now, waiting to find out if they’re pregnant.”
“Isn’t that a first for the program?” Cole inquired.
“Yes. But we aren’t sure yet.”
Oh, please, please, please let Una be pregnant.
It was hard to explain Stacy’s intense drive to bring babies into the world, even though they would belong to a couple she’d met only a few months ago. During Stacy’s five years at Safe Harbor, she’d loved being part of the excitement as the hospital launched its programs for wom
en’s and men’s fertility. At first, she’d expected that someday she’d be having her own babies here, but after her marriage shattered—detonated might be a better word—that hope had yielded to hardheaded reality.
It had taken time to get her bearings. Only late last year had Stacy finally shed her married name, Raditch, for her maiden name, Layne. Then, at the beginning of this year, when the newly established egg bank began seeking donors, her purpose in life had fallen into place.
“Hold on.” The surgeon peered through the microscope. “Too much scar tissue for a vasovasostomy. We’ll just have to work a little harder.”
Fortunately, the more complex alternative procedure, called a vasoepididymostomy, stood a good chance of succeeding in Dr. Rattigan’s hands. As he revised his plans, his willpower filled the room with energy.
The rest of the operation flew by with little conversation. Stacy managed to avoid thinking about Una until the surgery was successfully concluded, sterile dressings applied, sponges, needles and instruments counted and disposed of, and her cap, mask and gown removed. Then, finally, she checked her phone’s screen.
The text said: We’re mommies!
Mommies.
Standing outside the surgical suite, Stacy felt blood rush to her head.
Too soon 2 no how many, the text continued. Several weeks ago, Una had been implanted with five of Stacy’s eggs.
Yay! Stacy texted back, and tried to think of something to add. Maybe she should call. Yes, she ought to. Since the day she’d decided to donate eggs, Stacy had dreamed of this moment.
When she met Una and her husband—which was optional for donors as well as recipients—Stacy had felt an immediate bond with the heavyset woman. It had strengthened as they’d coordinated their cycles with hormones and underwent the egg retrieval and implantation procedures.
It was miraculous that Una had conceived on the first try.
I should call her.
The phone trembled in Stacy’s hand.
Babies.
My babies. But they don’t belong to me.
Abruptly, she felt as if her bones had gone hollow with longing, and her head began to spin.
“Are you all right?” A firm hand gripped her elbow. She caught the mingled scents of antiseptic soap and Cole’s cologne, a blend of citrus and cedar. How embarrassing to have him see her this way.
“Just, um...” She managed to swallow, but no further words emerged. Her knees liquefying, she swayed toward Cole. When her cheek grazed his broad shoulder, she registered the smooth texture of his white coat, and felt his breath lightly ruffle her hair.
Stacy rocked onto her own feet. “Skipped lunch.” A credible excuse, even though it wasn’t true.
“You sure that’s all it is?” His slightly shaggy eyebrows drew together in concern. “Might be flu going around.”
“In May?”
His chuckle rumbled reassuringly. “Being from Minnesota, I’m still waiting for winter to hit. Seems like it’s overdue. I’m sure I’ll get used to Southern California’s seasons eventually.”
“I’d never risk exposing a patient if I felt ill,” Stacy told him earnestly. “I’m fine.”
That should have been his cue to stride off in his usual brisk, distracted manner. Instead, Cole stood regarding her with his head cocked and his brown hair rumpled from the recently removed surgical cap.
Impulsively, Stacy reached up and tweaked an errant tuft into place. Realizing how inappropriate that was, she drew her hand back. If he resented the impertinence, though, Cole gave no sign of it.
“I’d better make sure you get to the cafeteria safely.” His mouth quirked. “Can’t have my favorite scrub nurse falling and cracking her head.”
She was his favorite surgical nurse? A velvety awareness tingled through Stacy. “I’m finished for the day.”
“So I shouldn’t care if you fall and crack your head?”
She ought to tease back, to prove that she’d recovered from her momentary weakness. Instead, she said, “Well, I do need a bite to eat. If you’re headed to the cafeteria...”
“Cole! Got a minute?” The masculine demand wasn’t really a request. Dr. Owen Tartikoff, chief of the fertility department and Cole’s superior, had a way of appearing out of nowhere and startling everyone. Especially Stacy. If she found Dr. Rattigan a little intimidating, Dr. Tartikoff was downright terrifying. From his fiery hair to his piercing eyes, he seemed to threaten imminent career destruction to anyone who got in his way.
“I’m occupied,” Cole responded calmly.
“I was just leaving.” With a quivery smile, Stacy darted toward the elevators, leaving the men behind. The last thing she needed was to get caught in the crossfire between those two titans.
As the doors slid open, she wondered what her problem was. Not the flu; she didn’t feel sick. Just off-kilter.
She ought to phone Una and invite her out for a nonalcoholic drink, Stacy mused as she headed toward the nurses’ locker room. But that unexpected, unwanted, fierce longing to hold her babies in her own arms, to shelter and nurture them herself, had left her ill at ease.
She leaned against the locker room wall, missing Cole’s support. Why did Dr. Tartikoff have to come barging in, interrupting their conversation and acting as if she were invisible? She ought to give him a piece of her mind.
The ridiculous notion of scolding Dr. Tartikoff restored Stacy’s sense of humor as she changed into street clothes and collected her purse. Yet when she reached the ground floor, her footsteps carried her away from her usual route to the parking garage.
Instead, she followed a walkway that led to a set of bluffside steps. A late-afternoon stroll on the beach ought to clear her head.
The fact that she also avoided any chance of running into Una was merely a coincidence.
* * *
COLE KEPT A CLOSE WATCH on Stacy until the elevator doors closed behind her. Standing for hours in the operating room required serious stamina. If a surgeon felt his or her blood sugar dropping, he could call for an assistant to fetch a sandwich or coffee. Other personnel didn’t have that option.
None of which explained his concern when he saw Stacy start to crumple in the hallway. Or the fact that he’d so enjoyed holding her steady.
He could still smell the perfume of her hair. It reminded him of a stroll through the daylily garden in Arneson Acres Park back in Minnesota.
“...decided to turn it into a lecture series,” Owen Tartikoff was intoning. “I’ve scheduled you for two weeks from tomorrow.”
As Cole checked the calendar in his phone, his mind filled in the blanks in what Owen had said. Lecture—that was a clue. A couple of weeks ago Dr. T. had delivered an outreach talk entitled “Why Is There a Robot in My Operating Room?” To everyone’s surprise, so many members of the public and press had showed up that the venue had to be switched from a small lecture hall to the hospital’s main auditorium.
“What time?” he asked.
“Two o’clock.”
Although Cole preferred presenting papers at medical conferences to addressing the public, he didn’t object to speaking about his specialty. “I doubt that advances in men’s fertility surgery will be a big draw, but...”
“We’re calling it ‘What’s Killing Your Sperm?’” the fertility chief announced.
“That’s an incendiary title.”
“Exactly.” A grin animated Owen’s lean face. “Men’s fertility rates are dropping. Hot stuff.” He clapped Cole on the arm. “Glad you’re free.”
Steamrollered.
Usually Cole marched a step or two ahead of everyone around him. Not with Owen. Fortunately, Cole had nothing scheduled on the Saturday afternoon two weeks from tomorrow. If there’d been a conflict, he suspected he’d have had to cancel it.
He could refuse, of course. Owen’s disapproval wouldn’t bother him. However, now that he’d begun settling into his new position, a little publicity wouldn’t hurt. He also hoped to become more involved in th
e hospital community. While schmoozing had never been his style, he didn’t like to seem standoffish, either.
As Dr. T. swung off jauntily, Cole glanced at his watch. Nearly four o’clock. On the way to his office to deal with the usual accumulation of email, he decided to stop by the cafeteria and reassure himself that Stacy had arrived there in one piece.
He took the stairs down from the same-day surgery unit. During his first few weeks at Safe Harbor, sorting out the locations of various offices, operating suites, labs and other facilities had been quite a challenge. The odd layout, Cole had learned, was due to the way the hospital had been remodeled.
A few years earlier, plans to acquire a nearby dental office building and convert it into a high-tech fertility wing had fallen through. Rather than delay establishing its ambitious new programs, the corporation that owned Safe Harbor had stayed on schedule by converting facilities throughout the hospital, situating offices, labs and operating suites all over the six-story structure as well as the medical building next door.
Cole had found it awkward to have to ask directions from the nearest passing orderly or volunteer. Luckily, the practice of men’s fertility rarely involved emergencies, so he’d taken the time to study the floor plans posted on each level. Now not only could he navigate, he often directed other staffers and visitors.
On the ground level, Cole followed the hallway to the gleaming cafeteria. The tantalizing scents of barbecue and spices greeted him from the hot-food station, evidence that the on-site chefs were preparing an early dinner. A fair number of nurses, orderlies and on-call doctors, including an obstetrician who worked a regular night shift, remained after most of the staff went home. No doubt they’d be trickling in soon prior to their evening assignments.
Cole scanned the expanse of nearly empty tables. No glimpse of Stacy’s soft brown hair and full mouth. Perhaps she’d picked up her food and taken it to the patio.
At that moment, a compactly built man finished paying for a cup of coffee, and turned toward him. It was psychologist Laird Maclaine, a specialist in fertility-related counseling to whom Cole sometimes referred patients. When it came to emotional drama, he preferred to let an expert do the hand-holding.