Cole remembered his mother granting interviews to science and medical reporters, who’d always respected her boundaries. He decided to hope for the best. Tammy was Eva’s daughter, after all.
Besides, here came Mia with a squirming black-and-white kitten in her arms. “Hi, Dr. Rattigan. This is Po.”
“How’d you pick the name?”
“Like Kung Fu Panda,” she said. “He’s black-and-white, too.”
“He’s cute.” Cole reached out to pat the soft fur.
Through the rear sliding door, Harper announced, “The caterer’s here! Come eat dinner while it’s hot.”
Cole checked his watch. “It’s only four-thirty.”
“Does eating early break some universal law?” Adrienne teased.
“I guess I should go with the flow, huh?”
His companion patted his arm. “I’m starting to like you.” Then she called, “Wash your hands, Reggie!” and vanished into the interior, along with a rush of children.
Cole followed in their wake, not sure how to take Adrienne’s comment, and concluding that he might as well consider it a compliment.
Chapter Fifteen
Despite her intention of seeking a referral, Stacy kept putting off contacting the hospital attorney. The party had left her with a warm glow, and many images of children and their parents playing and joking and sharing a meal. Little Mia with the kitten sleeping in her lap. Reggie managing to smear goop on his face within minutes after washing. Zack’s daughters, Berry and Kimmie, singing “There’s No Place Like Home” as a sort of blessing over the food.
Several times Stacy got as far as pressing the elevator button for the fifth floor, where Tony had his office. But once she brought in other people, the babies wouldn’t be hers anymore. Considering how strongly she’d reacted to the news that Una was carrying her babies, how much worse would she feel about losing the little ones nestled inside her own body?
Common sense told Stacy to see a counselor. Yet even though Laird had muttered an apology for his drunken behavior at the club, she certainly couldn’t talk to him. Consulting a counselor outside the staff would be expensive. And pointless. Because ultimately, this was her decision. And she’d made it.
Stacy drew up a list of desirable characteristics for adoptive parents. Married for at least three years. Financially stable. Preferably home owners. Although she didn’t want an open adoption, she’d like for them to send her annual letters.
Yet when she tried to imagine her children with their adoptive—no, make that real—family, other scenarios kept sneaking in. Cole holding babies on his lap. Cole setting dinner on a table surrounded by children. Cole lining up three kids before school, inspecting their clothes and lunches.
He’d be a good father and he wanted to marry her, but just because it was Stacy’s nature to make others happy didn’t mean she should take the easy way out. Not that raising triplets would be easy, exactly, but it might seem that way at the start. Then, in a year or so, she’d wake up with a houseful of stubborn, messy toddlers, a politely distant husband and the realization that she’d never find the love she craved.
What she needed was a pep talk from her mom. Stacy had intended to call her, anyway, to tell her about the triplets. But did they have to continue keeping the pregnancy secret from her dad? Alastair might be a reserved and occasionally stern father, but he loved her.
So when her phone sounded as she was finishing dinner on Thursday, Stacy felt a rush of pleasure at seeing her father’s name on the screen. Mom must have broken down and told him. Even though the conversation might be prickly at first, she craved his reassurance.
“Dad!” she said.
His response curdled the food in her stomach and filled her with disbelief.
* * *
ON THURSDAYS, Cole didn’t perform surgery. Instead, he spent the mornings on administrative tasks. That involved coordinating with a team of reproductive endocrinologists, nurses and technicians, reviewing proposals for studies, overseeing applications for grants and tracking fertility success rates. He also served on the boards of several national fertility organizations and had to keep up with their activities.
After lunch he saw patients and performed office procedures. By late afternoon, he began to sense a stir around him—phones ringing more than usual and staff members murmuring to each other—but he refused to allow curiosity to interfere with his focus on patient care. At work, Cole left his cell phone on vibrate, even though he rarely felt the damn thing. If anything required his immediate attention, his nurse, Lucky, would inform him.
Thanks to a couple of cancellations, he finished earlier than expected, at around six-thirty. After inputting his notes on the last patient, Cole ran into Eva, who was hovering nervously outside his office. Lucky stood nearby glowering at her.
“Is something wrong?” he asked, unsure which of them to address.
“I want to apologize.” Eva sounded breathless.
“For what?”
“Have you looked out the window lately?” she asked.
He hadn’t. When he moved onto the fourth floor, Cole had been disappointed to discover he had a boring northern view that included the parking area and adjacent street, rather than the ocean to the south. Owen had explained apologetically that this was the only available suite large enough to accommodate Cole’s practice.
“Don’t let them see you,” Lucky warned, as Cole reached for the rod to adjust his blinds.
That didn’t sound good.
Below, in the lingering June sunlight, a crowd milled between TV vans and portable spotlights. While a few members of the press had staked out the hospital’s entrance, most faced the office building, no doubt aware that he was in there.
“What the hell?” Cole said.
“I’ll show you.” At the computer, Lucky brought up a live image of the same scene from ground level. A reporter Cole recognized from the day of his speech faced the camera, talking excitedly.
“We’re waiting to chat with Dr. Cole Rattigan, aka Dr. Daddy Crisis,” the man intoned. “A journalism student’s report that’s gone viral on the internet contends that the doctor has impregnated his nurse with triplets. Famous for predicting that birthrates will plummet due to degenerated sperm, Dr. Rattigan appears to have no trouble with his own reproductive prowess.”
Cole suddenly wished he’d developed a more colorful vocabulary of swear words. He’d never felt the need for them, until now.
“I’m sorry.” Concern laced Eva’s voice. “I had no idea she’d pull this.”
Cole took out his phone. It showed text and voice messages from Jennifer and Owen. Nothing from Stacy. Had she heard about this?
He was glad he hadn’t given his old landlady the new address, preferring to forward his mail via the post office.
“Now what?” he asked aloud. Experience taught that confronting reporters would only make matters worse. They’d twist his words, and might even follow him home.
“I’ll get rid of them,” Lucky announced.
Cole regarded his nurse dubiously. Prior to attending nursing school, Lucky had driven an ambulance and worked as a paramedic. He’d also been a bouncer in a bar, drawing on his background growing up in a rough part of L.A. “I don’t want you to get in trouble.”
“No trouble.” Lucky flashed a confident grin. “This should be fun.”
Eva’s eyes widened. “Are you sure?”
“Trust me.” Adjusting the bar pin that proclaimed him Luke Mendez, R.N., he added, “Keep watching that screen.” And out he went.
Eva clasped her hands in front of her. “Tammy had no right to post personal medical information about Stacy. She could get me fired. I swear, I didn’t mention anything in front of her.”
“This is my fault,” Cole conceded. “I was talking to Adrienne at the party and it didn’t occur to me that anyone might be listening.”
“She shouldn’t have repeated a private conversation.” Eva shook her head angrily. “My husband
and I raised our kids to have more integrity than that. Our son’s in the air force. He would never pull a stunt like this for his own advancement. I didn’t think Tammy would, either.”
On the screen, the reporter was informing any new viewers that Dr. Daddy Crisis was about to become the unmarried father of triplets. At the lobby entrance, patients and staff members blinked in surprise as they emerged, some stopping to ask questions, others ducking past the crowd.
He ought to call Jennifer or Owen, Cole reflected. He’d jumped the gun by authorizing his nurse to intervene.
Too late now. The lobby doors disgorged a familiar muscular fellow in a navy nurse’s uniform. Lucky had rolled up his sleeves to reveal his tattoos, which included a colorful dragon on one side and a sexy cartoon woman wearing skimpy armor and wielding a sword on the other. Raising his arms, he gestured the throng to silence.
“Who’re you?” demanded a reporter, thrusting out his microphone. Others followed suit.
“My name is Luke Mendez, R.N.,” he replied in a voice loud enough to carry to the far reaches of the parking lot. “I’m Dr. Cole Rattigan’s nurse, and I can assure you that I am not pregnant.”
A stunned silence was broken moments later by a scattering of embarrassed questions. It didn’t seem to occur to anyone that Cole also had a scrub nurse. No doubt they’d figure it out soon enough, but for now, the announcement had knocked the wind out of everyone’s sails.
The newscast cut to an anchorwoman at a desk, who hurriedly changed the subject. “In Sacramento today, the state legislature failed once again to agree on a balanced budget despite the approaching deadline....”
Cole closed the internet site. “That was brilliant.”
“It won’t last,” Eva said, “but maybe they’ll be more cautious next time. I hope Tammy’s ashamed. She should to be.”
“Any idea what Lucky’s drinking these days?” Cole asked. “I’ll send him a case.”
“Fruit juice,” Eva said. “I’ve seen him shopping at the health food store.”
“Good to know.” Cole decided to buy him a gift certificate.
This wasn’t over, not by a long shot. But he appreciated the breather.
A short while later, having thanked Lucky, spoken to Jennifer and Owen and ordered the gift certificate, Cole ventured into the now-empty lot and cycled home. How wonderful to travel undisturbed, filling his lungs with the sea breeze.
At the apartment, he found Stacy’s dinner dishes still on the table. He went in search of her.
She lay on her bed, her face blotchy with tears. Although he’d seen her cry before, Cole had never witnessed this look of utter devastation.
“I’m so sorry.” Gingerly, he sat on the edge of her bed. “Tammy heard me talking to Adrienne at the party. I had no idea she’d broadcast our personal news.”
“My father called.” The misery in her eyes tore at his heart. “He’s disgusted with me. He’s angry with my mom, too, because he figures I must have told her I was pregnant. I did, although not about the triplets.”
“He’ll get over it.” Cole might have little experience with fathers, but he knew how he’d react if this happened in his family.
Stacy’s mouth quivered. “He said I’ve humiliated him and the whole family. My sister won’t be able to hold her head up in church because of me.”
“It can’t be much of a church if they blame her for her sister’s actions.” Cole’s logical response didn’t seem to make a dent in Stacy’s unhappiness, though.
“He says the only way he’ll forgive me is if I get married,” Stacy went on.
“That’s wrong,” Cole blurted. “Love shouldn’t be conditional.”
“Is this what you wanted? To pressure me into marrying you? Is this why you mentioned the triplets in front of Tammy?”
“Of course not!” Surely she didn’t believe that. But Cole was beginning to learn that, with Stacy, emotions sometimes overrode reason.
She folded her arms, anger yielding to steely determination. “You have to leave.”
“Okay.” Best to wait till she was calmer. “We can talk tomorrow.”
Stacy shook her head. “I mean leave the apartment.”
He stared at her. After all they’d been through, she was throwing him out when she needed him most?
“It’s not safe for you to be alone.” Her pregnancy grew more complicated by the day, as the triplets put extra demands on her body. “Please think this over.”
“And wait until the press finds out we’re living together?” Stacy demanded. “Oh, that’ll be lovely! Dr. Daddy Crisis cohabiting with his trashy, pregnant nurse.”
“You are not trashy,” Cole said.
“My father thinks I am.”
If these were the old days, Cole would have challenged her father to a duel. Mr. Layne had no business hurting Stacy this way. “Let me take care of you.”
“Pack your stuff and move out,” she answered, ignoring the tears coursing down her cheeks. “Now!”
He bit back the arguments that sprang to mind. She did have a point about the press. If it meant this much to her, he’d go.
For now.
* * *
ON FRIDAY MORNING at the hospital, Cole was all business. Not that Stacy expected anything else, but without realizing it, she’d come to relish those sideways glances that spoke louder than words. Instead, he greeted her with a distant nod when he spotted her in the hall, and went to scrub.
When she discovered he had asked another nurse to assist him with gowning, she nearly pushed the woman aside before getting a grip on herself. The discovery that it was Anya—twenty-five-year-old, bubbly Anya, who gazed at him adoringly—only made Stacy angrier.
Cole had moved out last night. She hadn’t expected it to happen so fast. With his customary efficiency, he’d rented rooms at Harbor Suites, a motel near the medical center that leased rooms by the week. The place catered to families of patients who didn’t want to make a long daily drive.
He’d apologized for leaving his bed and large TV, promising to fetch them when he found an apartment. Since he’d paid half her rent for the entire month, Stacy could hardly object.
She didn’t want to object. In fact, she’d sneaked into his room late at night and lain down, just for a minute, to breathe in the reassuring scent clinging to the mattress. And to wish that for once he hadn’t been so darned agreeable.
If he really loved me... He’d do what? Disregard her wishes? Dragging herself back to her room, Stacy had wished she could think straight.
By Friday afternoon, she didn’t feel any better. Cole had remained coolly polite through two surgeries, and then adjourned to his office without a word.
Mercifully, there were no reporters dogging the hospital grounds. All the same, Stacy could feel her father’s outraged disappointment vibrating all the way from Utah.
That only stiffened her resolve. Nobody was going to push her into a foolish marriage. The sooner she settled matters, the better.
After her shift, she called Tony Franco, who agreed to talk to her right away. The attorney was an enthusiastic supporter of the fertility program. He’d met his wife when, as a surrogate, she’d become pregnant with his daughter, now a preschooler.
In the fifth floor administrative suite, a secretary ushered Stacy into his large, book-lined office. Behind the broad desk, a window overlooked the Pacific Ocean a few blocks away.
A calm man with rust-brown hair, Tony sprang up to shake hands. He directed Stacy into an upholstered chair and, after an inquiry about how she was feeling, provided her with a list of adoption agencies and attorneys.
“It’s rather early in the pregnancy to make a decision like this,” he noted.
Stacy squirmed, feeling achy despite the comfortable chair. “I don’t want to put it off.”
Tony handed her a legal-looking document. “The father will need to sign this relinquishment paper.”
“What?” Stacy bristled.
“He has to agree to
the adoption.”
“That’s not fair!” This was her body and her decision.
Tony regarded her sympathetically. “You’re not the first woman to whom this has come as a shock, believe me. If you prefer, I could give this to Cole.”
And let someone else, even a well-intentioned man like Tony, meddle in her affairs? “I’ll handle this. But thank you.” After putting the paper atop the list of agencies, she shook hands again and departed.
Cole was no more responsible for the laws than Tony was, yet having to get his permission rankled. Stacy decided to get this over with tonight.
Chapter Sixteen
Until now, Cole had never cared much about his surroundings. A plain apartment with serviceable furnishings suited him fine. So did a tiny kitchenette with a couple of burners and a microwave. So what if you couldn’t bake brownies or a Boston cream pie?
But arriving at his tiny suite shortly before seven, he felt his spirits plummet. In the past few weeks, he’d grown accustomed to Stacy’s delicate furniture and to the lingering scents of baking. Mostly, he missed knowing she was there, even if she might be in a grumpy mood. Since she hadn’t acted this way before she got pregnant, he blamed her condition. Besides, he enjoyed teasing her into a better frame of mind.
Over a frozen dinner, he put a DVD into his laptop and sat at the chipped table to watch it. Usually, the comedic tension of two people falling in love while denying it amused him. Tonight, he found himself picking apart the movie’s shallow concepts.
If he’d learned anything from his clumsy attempts to analyze his colleagues’ marriages, it was that lovers also had to be friends. They and their spouses formed partnerships that nurtured each other as well as their children. It added to the fun when people surprised each other with loving gestures and gifts, but day by day, it was the little things that counted. Or was he deluding himself because he didn’t seem capable of sweeping Stacy off her feet?
Hearing a knock on the door, Cole paused the movie. Cautiously, he went to the front window. Although the press had backed off, some pushy reporter might have tracked him here.
The Baby Jackpot Page 14