Against the uninspiring backdrop of the motel courtyard, Stacy’s flushed face glowed in the June twilight. Cole banged his shin against a chair in his hurry to open the door.
“Hi,” he said, not bothering to conceal his happiness at seeing her.
She held up an official-looking sheet of paper. “I need you to sign this.”
It couldn’t be divorce papers, since they weren’t married. Taking it, Cole moved back. “Come in.”
She edged past him, the vivid plum color of her blouse and the scent of lilies instantly making the room more congenial. As she gazed around, her expression softened. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be so abrupt.”
“That’s okay.” He scanned the document. Relinquish all rights... “Is this necessary?”
“Yes, according to Tony.” Stacy hovered close by.
Cole couldn’t bring himself to slash his signature on the bottom, no matter how much she obviously wanted him to. “I never sign legal papers without reviewing them carefully.” That was true, if incomplete. “Is there a rush?”
She drew herself up. “I want to get this over with.”
“You realize the adoption can’t be finalized until after the babies are born, anyway,” Cole pointed out. “I’m not saying you’ll change your mind...”
“How come everyone else thinks they know better than me how I should lead my life?” she snapped. When she turned away, he saw that her eyes were bright with tears.
Her father’s rejection must be haunting her. But this was a life-altering decision. It shouldn’t be reached in a burst of emotion.
“Stacy, I’d like for us to see a counselor.” Where had that come from? “Not Laird,” Cole added quickly.
“No.” She hugged herself.
“You’re making a choice that will affect your entire life,” he pointed out. “Mine, too. Don’t you want to be sure we’ve considered all the angles?”
Her breathing speeded up. As if afraid she might burst, she moved to the still-open door. “If you insist on reading the fine print, that’s up to you. Just leave it in my box at the hospital.”
Then she was gone. Swallowing the bitterness of regret, Cole forced himself to face the truth.
Even if, through some stratagem, he managed to skirt Stacy’s defenses and win her hand, she would never really love him. During the past few months, he’d come to acknowledge his limitations as well as his strengths. He was a straightforward guy, brilliant in his field and with previously unsuspected fatherly instincts, but he would never send Stacy’s heartbeat into overdrive by singing to her in front of a crowd. Nor would he astound her by presenting her the perfect gift at the perfect moment.
She had to love him for who he was and despite his flaws, the way he loved her. And that wasn’t going to happen.
Outside, kids rattled by on skateboards, calling to each other. On the laptop, a motionless image showed two actors pretending to flirt. If he touched a key, dialogue written by a screenwriter would flow from their mouths. They’d be witty and glib, and if they got hurt, the emotions would bounce right off them. Unlike the ache he felt.
Cole had never imagined falling in love and losing. Love meant too much. In a way, he’d been glad he was always the one who drifted away or, in Felicia’s case, acted like a jerk—her opinion, not his. He’d never wanted to vibrate with this hollow, lost sense the way he had on the airplane coming home from France.
He hadn’t even realized he was developing these feelings for Stacy. They’d grown undetected, day by day, as the two of them worked together. Then one night, not only had he made love to her almost by accident, he’d also tumbled over the edge between liking and adoring. Needing.
Hurting.
If only she would let him take care of her and the babies during the pregnancy. Cole clenched his fists as if to fight an unseen enemy.
To calm himself, he switched from the DVD to an online newscast. A couple of routine items rolled by, and he’d just risen to fix a bowl of ice cream when he heard his name.
Dourly, he turned toward the screen. There, against a backdrop of trees, walkways and tall buildings—almost certainly a college campus—a young woman with thick glasses and wispy hair stood perspiring as she faced a knot of reporters.
Eva’s daughter was getting a taste of what she’d unleashed. All the same, Cole felt sorry for her.
“Everything I know, I put in my blog,” Tammy was saying.
“Who did Dr. Rattigan impregnate, Miss Rogers?” a woman demanded. “Or did you invent the whole story?”
“I did not!”
“It clearly wasn’t his nurse,” said a man.
Behind them, a group of students gathered to watch. They reminded Cole of observers at a car wreck.
“He has more than one nurse!” Tammy exclaimed. “Oh, who cares?”
“What’s her name?” the woman demanded.
Don’t you dare tell them. Cole held his breath.
“You people must be short on real news, or maybe you don’t know what real news is.”
“Do you?” someone asked. Then Cole realized he’d spoken aloud in the empty room.
Clearly on the verge of a meltdown, Tammy wavered. Any second, she might reveal Stacy’s name and transform a difficult situation into a disaster.
Then her back stiffened. “It’s none of your business,” she said. “And thanks to you guys, I’m changing my major. Maybe I’ll be a nurse like my mom. I sure don’t want to be like you—a pack of wolves. No, not wolves. Jackals.”
That stopped them long enough for Tammy to flee. Cole would have been tempted to send her a thank-you bouquet, except that she’d started this whole mess.
Her words didn’t seem to register. At least, not with the woman who spoke directly into the camera. “So Dr. Daddy Crisis has more than one nurse. Is it like a harem? We’ll get to the bottom of this. Reporting from Cal State Fullerton, this is...”
Cole had to defend Stacy. Even though he no longer deluded himself that he could devise a tactic to win her heart, he had to stop the gossipmongers in their tracks.
Fortunately, there were responsible reporters in the world. Not everyone lived from scandal to scandal.
And he had an idea how to enlist one of them.
* * *
ON SATURDAY MORNING, Stacy awoke to an eerie silence. It wasn’t really all that silent, since she could hear traffic from the street and music pouring from someone’s window. But in the apartment, she was alone.
Although Cole hadn’t yet removed his furniture, something vital was missing. She lay in bed wondering if Anya was assisting him in surgery this morning. Perhaps meaning to be kind, the nursing coordinator had promised Stacy no more Saturday shifts for the duration of her pregnancy. She wished Betsy wasn’t such a nice boss.
Finally Stacy dragged herself out of bed, showered and ate. She should take a walk, or go shopping. Maybe visit a museum.
Was Cole home yet? If she stopped by his place, she was afraid he’d think she was pressuring him about signing the paper. Back when he’d loomed as an intimidating, famous surgeon and she was simply his scrub nurse, she used to bake cookies or cupcakes to bring to work just to inspire a rare smile from him. She’d like to bring back that smile now.
What was wrong with her?
When the phone rang, she snatched it eagerly from the table. But the screen showed Harper’s name. “What’s up?”
“It’s Una,” Harper said. “She asked me to call you. She suffered a fall.”
“Is she okay?” Stacy felt guilty for wallowing in her own misery. Una might be seriously injured.
“Just bruised, but she’s afraid of miscarrying,” her friend responded. “Her husband’s here and we’re arranging an ultrasound at the office. She’d like your support.”
“I’ll be right there.” It occurred to Stacy that Harper didn’t normally work on Saturdays. “Dr. Franco asked you to come in on your day off? Who’s watching Mia?”
“I took her to Adrienne’s,” her
friend said. “She and Reggie are planting a vegetable garden.”
“Sounds like fun.” Stacy’s thoughts returned to Una. Please let her be okay. “I’ll be there as fast as I can.”
“See you.” Harper clicked off.
If Una lost the twins... Stacy refused to dwell on that idea.
Positive thoughts only.
A minute later, she was en route.
* * *
“I’M STILL NOT CONVINCED this is a good idea,” Jennifer Martin said as Cole took a seat behind the conference table. “But Dr. Rayburn gave the okay.”
Her husband, a blond man with an intense manner, angled one of the lights. The videographer, a young bearded fellow named Paul Gupta, studied the effect from behind his videocam. “That’s perfect. No shadows.”
Stepping away, Ian Martin assessed Cole with a glance. “Shift your chair a little to the left. Excellent.”
How strange to be deliberately subjecting himself to more publicity, Cole mused. “I appreciate your concern, Jennifer. But they’re not going to quit hounding me and I can’t let them go after Stacy.”
“Just doing their jobs, in an obnoxious way.” Ian had worked for an international news agency before meeting Jennifer and moving to Safe Harbor. “I’m glad to be out of that rat race.” He wrote nonfiction books on medical topics now, in addition to producing a weekly online news program.
The public relations director, wearing a blouse and dress pants instead of her usual suit, began to pace. After receiving Cole’s call last night, she’d moved swiftly. She’d secured the administrator’s approval, cleared it with her husband and arranged for them to use this conference room at the hospital.
Everyone involved was trustworthy, she’d assured Cole. The shooting and editing would be fair and professional. Even the videographer belonged to the Safe Harbor Medical family. Paul’s mother, Devina, was the office nurse for pediatrician Samantha Forrest. While his older brother had gone to medical school, he was pursuing his dream of becoming a filmmaker.
“I’d be more comfortable if you’d tell me exactly what you plan to say,” Jennifer fretted.
“This isn’t a scripted show.” Ian took his place beside Cole at the table.
“You have notes,” she pointed out.
Her husband glanced at his cards. “Questions, not answers.”
“If I say something stupid, you can edit it out, right?” Cole said.
“Sure, but we may disagree on what’s stupid,” Ian replied.
Hold on. Seized by a fierce desire to ride into battle, Cole had plunged into the fray, assuming that being interviewed by the PR director’s husband was safe. He hadn’t prepared an outline, although he did have general ideas.
He planned to put the issues into perspective for the public, to counteract the exaggerations in the press. Maybe then everyone would leave him and his nurse alone. “You won’t use Stacy’s name.”
“I already promised not to,” Ian confirmed.
“Maybe I should concentrate on sperm rates and how the future of mankind is not on the chopping block,” Cole fretted. “After all, I’m a scientist.”
“I thought you wanted to scoop the media,” Ian answered coolly. “You can’t do that unless people watch this.”
“Which means, uh, what?” Cole asked.
Jennifer was pacing across the room. “It means you have to give them human interest stuff.”
“Such as getting she-who-shall-not-be-named pregnant,” Ian clarified. “The personal angle.”
No wonder Jennifer wished he’d written a script. No wonder she had reservations about the whole idea.
Nevertheless, Cole refused to back down. He’d accepted that he and Stacy had no future together. It didn’t matter if he made himself look foolish, as long as he kept her safe.
“Ready?” Paul asked.
Cole took a deep breath.
“This won’t hurt,” Ian assured him. “Much. Okay, let’s do it.”
It was too late to change his mind.
Chapter Seventeen
When she’d missed Una’s first ultrasound, Stacy had never imagined they’d be back for a repeat so soon. She only wished the circumstances were better.
Zora was setting up the ultrasound equipment when Harper ushered Stacy into the examining room. On the table, Una lay biting her lip, while James held her hand. Dr. Franco, who’d thrown a white coat over her jeans and T-shirt, observed from beside the counter.
Stacy paused near the entrance. “What happened?”
“You’re here!” Una reached toward her, and James tactfully stepped aside. But why was this woman reaching for Stacy instead of her husband?
“Harper called.” Stacy drew closer, and felt Una’s hand close over hers.
“I can’t believe I was so careless!” Una flinched as Zora applied gel to her bare stomach, which was visibly enlarged already, at nine weeks. “I was in the backyard when the phone rang inside. I slipped on the back steps and my tummy hit the concrete.”
Stacy could see a purpling bruise near Una’s exposed hip. “Did you suffer any internal bleeding?”
“No,” Una said. “But...Stacy, promise me something.” Her grip tightened.
Although tempted to agree regardless of what the favor might be, Stacy merely asked, “What can I do?”
“Promise that if I lose the twins, you’ll let me adopt the triplets,” she begged. “You’re giving them up anyway, right?”
It was a reasonable request. Her friend’s previous demand would have left the Barkers raising five babies and a toddler, which wasn’t fair to the children. But if the twins were gone...
“You aren’t going to miscarry,” Stacy said. “If the mother isn’t seriously injured in a fall, it’s rare for it to harm the baby.”
“And we’re about to find out,” Dr. Franco interjected. “Look.”
On screen, moving shadows formed into two distinct shapes. The hearts were beating and the little creatures wiggling.
“Oh, thank God!” Una breathed. “I can see a tiny leg. Are those toes?”
“I doubt you can make them out yet, but they are formed,” Dr. Franco told her.
Zora kept her head down, concentrating on her work. Even at an angle, it was obvious the technician had red-rimmed eyes. She must have partied too hard last night. Stacy pictured Andrew tossing back beers at a party, one arm encircling Zora’s waist, teeth gleaming as he laughed.
Something was missing from her mental movie. It took a moment for her to figure out what.
No pain.
Stacy didn’t care that he’d been with Zora and not her. Whatever grip Andrew had retained on her emotions had vanished, like an old injury that had unexpectedly healed.
“You’re right—they’re fine.” Una beamed at the doctor. “Can we tell the sex yet?”
“It’s a bit early,” Zora replied. “Are you in a hurry?”
Una and James shook their heads at almost the same instant. “We’re just glad they’re okay,” he said, reclaiming his wife’s hand.
No one commented on the fact that Stacy hadn’t agreed to let them adopt the triplets. As things had turned out, it didn’t matter. But why hadn’t she said yes?
With a congratulatory farewell, Stacy retreated. Harper and the obstetrician remained, but after negotiating her cart through the cramped space, Zora exited behind her. Politely, Stacy held the door.
At close range, Zora didn’t look hungover. She’d been crying.
“Are you okay?” For nearly three years, Stacy had harbored resentment toward this woman. Today, she felt only concern.
Zora pushed the cart jerkily along the hall. “I could tell how much you love the triplets.”
The comment startled Stacy, but she had no time to reflect on it. “Is this about babies?”
“In a sense.” She took a deep breath. “You were right. Andrew lied to me. About you not wanting kids and about a lot of things. He isn’t the man I thought he was.”
“You knew he was c
heating on me when you took up with him,” Stacy pointed out.
“I told myself he’d been mine all along.” Zora opened the door to a storage room. “In high school, when he dumped me, I couldn’t believe it was over. So when I ran into him again and he said I’d always been his true love, I fell for it.”
He said I was the love of his life. Stacy braced instinctively for the familiar twist of pain, but it was gone. She felt only regret for wasted years and broken trust. “Now what will you do?”
“I left him.” Zora angled the sonogram equipment into a space. “After finding out he lied, I started snooping through his email and discovered he’s been fooling around when he travels. He tried to deny it, but after a while he shrugged and said that’s the way guys are. That I shouldn’t make a big deal of it.”
A memory surfaced. Stacy had caught a whiff of unfamiliar perfume on Andrew’s clothes when he’d returned from a business trip. Afraid of overreacting, she’d called her mother, who’d advised her to trust him. Nothing drove a man away faster than suspicion and nagging, Ellen had said. Stacy had followed her advice, but he’d dropped her, anyway. Most likely he’d been cheating all along.
“You’re lucky to have a straight shooter like Dr. Rattigan,” Zora added.
“I don’t have—” Stacy broke off when she saw people leaving the examining room. Just as well. Because she didn’t care to finish that sentence.
She no longer knew whether she had him or not. Or what any of this meant, except that some of her biggest assumptions had been wrong.
* * *
“I APPRECIATE THE HELP,” Adrienne Cavill said on Sunday as Cole, dressed in his oldest jeans and a worn shirt, turned a shovelful of soil in a corner of her garden. “I got so inspired working at Harper’s house, I went overboard.”
Feeling confined in his rooms, and tired of searching for rentals on the internet, Cole had called the obstetrician. He’d only meant to accept her offer of showing him her garden, but when he learned she was embarked on a major vegetable-planting project, he’d volunteered to help.
The two-story Craftsman-style house in the northern part of Safe Harbor had a large rear yard. There was space for a garden, lawn, covered patio and several pathways with hard surfaces for Reggie’s tricycle. The little boy alternately zoomed around and raced across the lawn to climb on the play equipment.
The Baby Jackpot Page 15