Also, Cole had been so absorbed in the medical details of delivering babies and attending to the mothers that he’d paid little attention to the infants. Yes, there’d been a rush of appreciation every time he held a newborn, but he’d also been sharply aware of their fragility, and was happy to transfer them into someone else’s capable hands. Once they were safely delivered, they belonged to the nurses, pediatricians and, of course, the parents.
He followed the signs to the viewing window at the nursery. Prepared for a vista of tiny people, Cole stared in dismay at the mostly empty bassinets. Only a few little ones lay sleeping beneath the attentive eye of a nurse, and they weren’t close enough to the window for him to see well.
A passing doctor, dark-haired with a short mustache, paused to ask, “What brings you here, Cole?” His name tag read Jared Sellers, M.D., Neonatologist.
Cole had no intention of explaining his reasons, especially to someone he only vaguely recognized. Still, he appreciated the other doctor’s courtesy. “Are all the babies in the patients’ rooms?”
Jared nodded. “You’ll see more of them in intermediate care, just around the corner.”
“Thanks.”
“Not too many urologists drop by to visit the babies.”
Was the staff always this curious? “Maybe they should.” Impulsively, Cole added, “Do you have kids?”
Out came the cell phone, and an image of a baby appeared, a pink bow decorating her reddish-brown curls. “That’s my daughter, Bonnie. She’s two months old,” the neonatologist said. “My wife, Lori, is on leave from her job as Dr. Rayburn’s nurse. I’m not sure if she can bear to go back to work in another month and put our little girl in day care.”
This was more information than Cole wanted. “She’s adorable.” That seemed like the right thing to say.
“And supersmart,” Jared enthused. “She’s curious about everything. For her age, she has great head and neck control.”
Cole had never considered babies interesting until they achieved such milestones as sitting up, standing or talking. Obviously, parents noted small markers that he’d never considered.
Will I be like that?
What was he thinking? He wasn’t going to be around. No photos in his cell phone. No idea how his son or daughter was developing.
He’d better get moving before the other doctor repeated the question about what he was doing there. “I’d better be off,” he said. “Congratulations on your daughter.”
“Thanks.” Jared was too busy reviewing images—quite a few, apparently—to glance up from his phone.
Cole debated stopping by the intermediate care facility, but his initial impulse to view babies now seemed ill-considered. Instead, he went outside to his bike. He’d resumed cycling to work once his knee recovered, and he was glad now for the exercise. It helped settle his thoughts.
As he pumped along Hospital Way, one theme emerged. He had to talk to Stacy about how they were going to manage this pregnancy. That was his baby in there, and while he respected her right to give it up for adoption, he intended to be involved until it was delivered.
* * *
STACY STAYED IN BED most of Saturday morning, sipping orange-flavored herbal tea. Her troublesome stomach had gone into overdrive, leaving her perpetually queasy and sleepy.
If only her mother were here to fix toast and fuss over her. Several times, Stacy reached for the phone to call her, but she didn’t feel up to explaining everything. Besides, Ellen Layne led a busy life, running a shop, making stuffed animals and helping her namesake, Stacy’s older sister Ellie, care for her four children.
Then there was Dad’s reaction to consider. Alastair Layne had always been meticulous both in his work as a pharmacist and in raising his daughters. Other girls were allowed to wear skimpy clothing and have multiple piercings, but not Stacy or Ellie. After learning about Andrew’s infidelity, he’d backed Stacy in the divorce, but had remained noncommittal on the subject of egg donation, apparently unsure where that fit into his moral continuum.
Out-of-marriage pregnancy was unquestionably on the low end. He’d be terribly disappointed in her. Stacy had no idea how he’d feel about her giving up the baby for adoption versus keeping it, and she wasn’t eager to find out.
Maybe she could avoid telling them altogether. That would require avoiding them for the next eight months and lying about it, though. She decided against dealing with the issue while she felt lousy.
After a light lunch, she dragged herself to the supermarket, then came home and put the food away. A note from Harper indicated she’d taken Mia to a birthday party for her friend Fiona, the daughter of the hospital’s embryologist.
After surfing the internet for a bit, Stacy lay down on the couch. She hoped her roommate would come back soon so they could talk. This pregnancy was going to affect Harper, so she had a right to hear about it from Stacy before word got out, or Harper picked up early signs of pregnancy on her own.
Stacy must have drifted off, because a ringing sound dragged her from the depths. Disoriented, she groped for her phone. How long had she slept?
Two hours, according to her watch. It was nearly 5:00 p.m. Harper must have stayed at the party, which, Stacy recalled from the invitation posted on the refrigerator, ran from 4:00 to 7:00 p.m.
“Stacy?” It was Cole.
“Is something wrong?” she asked sleepily.
“Wrong?”
“Am I late for surgery?” No, wait, it was Saturday. Besides, if she were late for work, a supervisor would be calling, not the doctor. “What’s up?”
“I thought I’d bring dinner.” Determination underscored his words. “I’m partial to pesto ravioli from Papa Giovanni’s but, if you’re craving something else, just say so.”
She should refuse, but her stomach was crying out for food, and she missed Cole. That melting expression, that special smile... Harper wouldn’t be back for another hour and a half, so they could enjoy some privacy. “I’d love that.” She gave him her address.
“Great!” he exclaimed, as if she’d done him a huge favor. “See you in a few minutes.”
Stacy noted the toys and papers scattered around the room. What a contrast to Cole’s scrupulously neat place. As if to compensate for the day’s languor, a surge of energy sent her flying around the apartment to put away the mess.
Then she caught a frightening glimpse of herself in a mirror, hair bristling like a porcupine’s, eyebrows askew, lips pale. She charged into the bedroom to fix her hair and makeup.
She was almost ready when she heard the scrape of a key in the front door. Her roommate was back early. How was Stacy going to explain Cole’s visit?
With the truth, she supposed.
Willing herself to be calm, she strolled into the front room. Harper had dumped a sheaf of papers on top of the coffee table, which Stacy had cleared only minutes earlier. The dark-haired nurse regarded her with excitement and a touch of apprehension.
There was no sign of Mia, who must still be at the party. “What’s all this?” Stacy asked.
“You’re going to kill me.” Her friend clasped her hands together. “Don’t be mad, okay?”
“Why would I be mad?”
“Well, you know how Mia’s been longing for a kitten,” Harper began.
“You got a kitten?” Stacy glanced around. No furry little animal. No bags of cat food or kitty litter, either.
“That would violate our lease.”
“Yes. So?” She didn’t understand why her normally forthright roommate was beating around the bush.
“Last night at the reception for Una—where did you go, anyway?”
“Never mind.” Stacy refused to be distracted. “Talk.”
Harper waved her hands. “I told you I’m planning to donate eggs, right?”
“You said you were considering it.”
“It didn’t seem fair to Mia to get involved in something so complicated and stressful,” Harper went on. “Especially when I won’t ev
en let her have a pet.”
Stacy sat on the couch. “I don’t see how the two things are related.”
“Give me a minute to connect the dots.” Harper fingered her hoop earring. “At the party, I was talking to Caroline Carter—you know, the fertility department secretary—and she mentioned a house for rent in her neighborhood. They allow pets. It’s been off the market because of some major plumbing work. Once they start advertising, it’ll get snapped up fast.”
Dismay swept over Stacy. The papers on the coffee table must be a lease. “You’re moving?”
How could she bring a stranger into this situation? Still, it wasn’t Harper’s job to serve as her caretaker.
“I know this is sudden.” Her roommate studied her worriedly. “But we always said this was a temporary arrangement. I’m earning more now that I’m working for Dr. Franco. I guess the whole business with Una made me realize how I’ve put my life on hold since Sean died. My life and Mia’s, too. This house becoming available seems like, well, like a sign.”
Stacy didn’t want to put a guilt trip on her friend. Harper had no idea about her pregnancy, and Stacy decided not to lay that on her right now. “When?”
“Next weekend,” Harper said apologetically.
“That soon?” How was she going to find a roommate by then?
Her friend produced a sheet of paper. “I made a list of hospital personnel who might want to share an apartment. Think of the advantages. No more kid stuff everywhere, and you can bring the rest of your furniture out of storage.”
Stacy did miss the sofa and end tables that hadn’t fit in the living room, plus she’d save money not having to pay for storage. But that was a small consolation.
I was counting on you.
Gazing into the apologetic face of the woman who’d been one of her best friends since middle school, Stacy bit back the words. The two of them had shared grief over Sean’s and Vicki’s deaths and the demise of Stacy’s marriage. The rotten timing wasn’t Harper’s fault.
“I’ll throw you and Mia a housewarming party once you’ve settled in.” Stacy glanced at the list of potential roommates. “Meanwhile, I’ll start calling some of these people.”
“I’ll help. Thanks for understanding, Stace.”
“Of course I do.”
The bell buzzed. Harper started for the door. “Who do you suppose that is?”
In the shock of her roommate’s news, Stacy had almost forgotten about Cole’s visit. “Wait! I’ll get that,” she said.
Too late. The door was already open, and the pair of them were face-to-face. Unless Stacy intervened, they were likely to tell each other things she wasn’t ready for them to share.
Chapter Eight
“Dr. Rattigan?” Harper sounded confused.
“Is...? Oh, there she is.” Cole’s expression warmed. As she approached the door, Stacy caught the enticing scents of basil and garlic from the sacks he carried.
She yearned to hug him and snatch the food from his hands.
Must be my crazy, mixed-up hormones.
“Hi, Cole,” she managed to say. “This is Harper.”
Still in the doorway, he returned his gaze to her roommate. “I’ve seen you at the hospital, haven’t I?”
“Yes. What are you...?” Perhaps realizing that she had no business cross-examining Stacy’s guest, Harper backed off. “Come in.”
This was growing more awkward by the moment. “Don’t you have to go pick up Mia?” Stacy asked.
“Not for fifteen minutes.”
“Well, don’t you have to go somewhere?” If Harper found out about the pregnancy, she’d be racked by guilt about leaving. And if Cole learned that Stacy was being left alone...
He’d do what? Renew his offer of a marriage of convenience? Seriously, nobody did that sort of thing.
Or he might suggest moving in.
The scary part was, she kind of liked the idea. Having him around felt safe and comforting. And sexy, too, now that her earlier queasiness had subsided.
The two of them, living together as she ballooned with his baby? So much for keeping his paternity secret. Stacy cringed at the prospect of them becoming the butt of everyone’s jokes. More important, they weren’t in love. No matter how impractical her attitude might seem to others, Stacy meant to hold out for the real thing, an all-encompassing, everlasting love like her parents shared.
“You brought supper?” Harper was asking. “That smells wonderful. Are you two, uh, dating? Not that I’m trying to be nosy, but Stacy didn’t mention it.”
This conversation felt like a runaway train. Stacy’s mind scrabbled frantically, trying to figure out how to throw the switch. “He’s only being, uh...”
“Supportive, although I’m glad she has such a close friend to help her through her pregnancy,” Cole said.
Crash. Train derailed. Or, more accurately, smashing right through the station, littering the ground with casualties.
“Pregnancy?” Harper turned to Stacy. “What pregnancy?”
“I just found out,” she answered weakly.
“When were you planning to tell me?” her friend demanded. “Before or after I moved?”
Noting Cole’s startled look, Stacy sank onto the couch. Why had she imagined she could keep secrets from the two people closest to her?
“I’m surprised to hear you’re leaving,” Cole said to Harper.
Stacy held up both hands. “Stop.” Two pairs of eyes fixed on her. “I’m not your responsibility. Either of you.”
Harper’s head swiveled as she made the connection between her and Cole. “He’s the father?”
Stacy had forgotten that other confidential matter. Blam went the caboose, toppling what little remained of the train station. The only course left was to run damage control. “Don’t blame him. I could have taken a morning-after pill.”
Neither of them responded. They were too busy staring each other down. “Yes, I am,” Cole announced. “And I’m prepared to do my share.”
That had to be the most unromantic statement Stacy had ever heard. She felt like crying, which was ridiculous. Why did she keep hoping for more than the man was capable of giving?
“I can’t unsign the lease, so Stace, you’re moving with us,” Harper said. “It’s a three-bedroom house.”
“I’d prefer to move here,” Cole said, as calmly as if they were discussing dinner plans. “But it’s up to Stacy.”
Her decision became sparkling clear. “No to both of you,” she answered. “I’ll look for a new roommate, and if I can’t find one, I’ll get a smaller apartment.”
“You can’t live alone.” Setting aside the take-out sack, Cole joined her on the couch. Earnest, concerned. Doing his share.
“He’s right. And afterward, how are you going to manage the baby?” Harper asked. “Does Adrienne know?”
“I’m giving it up for adoption, and yes, I saw Adrienne yesterday,” Stacy replied. “I’ll be fine.”
She wished Cole would do something other than gaze at her in a faintly baffled way. Take her hands. Get down on his knees. Tell her he couldn’t live without her.
But he wasn’t that kind of man. And the sooner she dispensed with such childish fantasies, the better.
* * *
COLE ADMIRED THE RATIONAL way Stacy was handling all this. Having her roommate jump ship must have come as a shock, yet she hadn’t grabbed at either of the alternatives they’d proposed.
“I’ll help you find a roommate, if that’s what you want,” he told her. “And if you can’t, I’ll pay half the rent, regardless of whether you let me move in.”
“That won’t be necessary,” she replied tautly.
“I want to.” From her frown, he sensed that he was missing the point. This was more difficult than he’d expected.
Cole had done a search on the internet before coming over. He’d typed in, “What should a man do if he gets his girlfriend pregnant?” Up had popped a site labeled “What to do if your girlfriend get
s pregnant: ten practical ideas.” Now there, Cole had figured, was the kind of information every guy ought to have.
The suggestions had included “Act like you care,” which wasn’t hard, because he did. Also “listen to her” and “be honest about how you feel.” But what if he wasn’t sure how he felt—or rather, what if his emotions about babies were evolving, possibly in a direction that she wasn’t going to like?
“Help her decide what to do”—she’d already decided that on her own. “Be there for her.” He was trying, damn it. The other topics had been equally useless.
He hated seeing tears darken Stacy’s eyelashes. He’d done this to her in a moment of selfishness. Why wouldn’t she let him put it right?
If only she’d melt into his arms. He’d pull her onto his lap, stroke her hair and soothe away those worry lines.
Except, he admitted silently, this situation was no longer solely about him and Stacy. They had a child on the way. A little boy or girl who was going to star in somebody’s cell phone pictures and fill someone’s home with teddy bears and picture books.
Harper checked her watch. “I have to go. I won’t be long.”
“Regardless, this is not a discussion suitable for a six-year-old to hear,” Stacy said. “Does she know you’re moving yet?”
“Not yet,” Harper admitted. “If I hadn’t signed the lease and paid the first month’s rent...”
“Go.”
“As I said, I signed already.”
“I meant, go get your daughter.”
“Oh, that.” Harper grabbed her purse. “See you.”
When they were alone, Cole helped Stacy set the food out on the table. He’d brought several entrées, as well as salad and garlic bread, and she ate hungrily.
During dinner, he told her about the afternoon’s speech and the audience reaction. She beamed at him. “You made quite an impression. Well, of course! You’re one of the world’s foremost experts.”
“Not on reduced sperm counts,” he said. “That was Dr. Tartikoff’s idea.”
“But you’re a leader in your field.” Stacy swallowed some milk before adding, “That’s why people listen to you and respect you.”
The Baby Jackpot Page 7