“So, you’ll only be babysitting me for a few weeks?” She sighs and looks down at the sidewalk, biting the nail of her pinky finger.
“Three and a half more weeks, to be exact. I think you’ll more than likely deliver before I’m done with my rotation. Thirty-seven weeks is when we’ll schedule you for a C-section if it doesn’t happen before then.”
She rubs her belly protectively. “I hope it doesn’t happen before then. He or she needs more time in there.”
“He or she is getting the very best care possible, Elizabeth. Don’t you worry.”
I reach over and take the cups of Jell-O from her. “I believe it’s still my turn,” I say, handing her one of the spoons.
She looks at me wearily, with trepidation. I know she thinks I’m going to ask her the same question we ended on yesterday.
“So, Ms. Smith, never have I ever read a romance novel. And if you knew who my friends were, that might surprise you, because one of them is an author.”
Elizabeth picks up the purple container. “I’m only taking one bite, even though I’ve read about a thousand of them. What’s your friend’s name? Has she written anything good?”
“She’s pretty successful,” I say. “Some of her books have been made into movies. Her name is Baylor McBride, but she writes under the name Baylor Mitchell. My sister-in-law, Charlie, was practically raised with her and her two sisters.”
She swallows her Jell-O before her jaw hits her lap. “Shut up!” she says. “You know Baylor Mitchell?”
“You’ve heard of her?”
“Heard of her? I have several signed copies of her books.” She frowns. “Well, I used to. But, yes, she’s one of my favorite authors. Wait . . .” She looks at me all wide-eyed before bouncing around in her chair. “Don’t tell me she’s one of the sisters you were telling me about who you wanted to come visit me.”
I nod in amusement at her giddiness.
“No way.” She looks down at her robe, smoothing it onto her legs. “I mean, I don’t have any clothes. I can’t meet her. Oh, my God, Kyle. Really?”
I laugh. “Yes, really. And believe me when I tell you she won’t give a shit what you wear, Elizabeth.” I hold up my unused spoon. “Now, come on, it’s your turn.”
She tries to tamp down her ear-to-ear smile but doesn’t do a very good job of it. Damn, I love pleasing this woman.
“Um . . .” She bites down on her lower lip in thought. And, Christ Almighty, if watching her do that doesn’t do something to me. “Never have I ever written my name in the snow with pee,” she says.
I laugh, grabbing the purple Jell-O cup. “That was way too easy,” I say, before taking a bite. Then I take my turn. “Never have I ever eaten oysters.”
She looks like she swallowed a bug before she picks up the red cup and takes a bite.
“Not an oyster fan?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “I never developed a taste for them, not even after having them dozens of times.”
I cock my head to the side. “Then why keep punishing yourself by eating them?”
She shrugs. “Sometimes it just wasn’t worth an argument.”
I nod in understanding. “Parents torture you with slimy sea creatures?”
“Something like that,” she says with a sad smile. “Kyle, I’m kind of tired, would you mind taking me back up to my room?”
“Of course,” I say, gathering up the spoons and cups and tossing them into a nearby trashcan.
She’s silent the entire way back to her room, making me wonder if talking about her parents is a difficult subject. Maybe they’re dead which is one of the reasons she’s alone.
When I get her hooked back up to the fetal monitor, she looks up at the TV and then back at me. “Kyle?” she asks. “Would you watch a baseball game with me tomorrow night? I mean, since you’re required to babysit me and all?”
“I’m not on duty then, so—”
“It’s okay,” she cuts me off, trying her best not to look sad. “Never mind then.”
“Elizabeth, would you shut up for a second,” I say, my lips twitching in amusement. “I was going to say that since I’m not on duty, I can stay for the whole game without being interrupted by pages and scut work.”
“I would never ask you to stay here on your night off,” she says, looking guilty. “You probably work too much as it is.”
“Watching a baseball game with my favorite patient is hardly work, Elizabeth.”
“I thought I was your only patient,” she says.
“You are. That makes you my favorite.” I wink at her.
She rolls her eyes just as my pager goes off.
“Get some rest,” I tell her. “I’ll be back to check on you later.”
“Doctor’s orders?” she asks.
“Doctor’s orders,” I say, walking out her door.
As I make my way to the nurses’ station to answer my page, I realize I’m excited about tomorrow night. And for the life of me, I can’t remember anything I’ve looked forward to as much as this.
Chapter Fourteen
I haven’t had time to check on Elizabeth since I did her daily ultrasound this morning. I’ve been slammed with patients because one of the other residents went down with a stomach bug and I had to take over all her cases. But I take a minute to stop by the nurses’ station to look at her chart.
“She’s doing great,” Abby says. “Still some minor bleeding today, but her BP is good and fetal heart tones are normal.”
“Good,” I mumble, perusing the chart. I flip to the back of the file and look at the pictures from her first ultrasound in the ER a few weeks ago. It was an extensive one. One that clearly shows the baby’s gender.
Elizabeth doesn’t know it, but she’s having a girl. I’ve had to catch myself sometimes when referring to the baby, and of course there is that note I wrote on the inner flap of her chart to alert staff that she doesn’t want to be told.
I try to picture her as a mom. My gut tells me she’ll be a good one. She’s calm, collected, and funny. And she loves sports, well baseball anyway. But she never talks about becoming a mother. She’s only ever mentioned the one time that this was unexpected. Maybe it’s because I’m a guy. Perhaps she’ll talk about it more when the girls come to keep her company.
“Someone special finally coming to visit her?” Abby asks, nodding down the corridor.
“What?” I ask, closing the chart and putting it away.
“Elizabeth,” she says. “She’s seemed giddy all afternoon, and she put on makeup and fixed her hair. Figured someone was coming to see her. The baby daddy maybe.”
I look down the hallway, not able to help the smile that overtakes my face. Elizabeth’s room is right at the end of the hall, so I have a clear view into it. I can see her sitting on the bed reading one of the pregnancy books Mallory brought her.
Abby must follow my gaze. “That girl is a strange breed,” she says, narrowing her eyes as she studies Elizabeth. “Every other patient spends hours a day on their phone or laptop. I’m not even sure Elizabeth has a phone. And the girl never complains. Not when I wake her up at six in the morning to take her vitals. Not even when she gets served crappy hospital food.” She laughs. “Oh, Lord, today is meatloaf day—bless her heart if she doesn’t complain about that.”
Abby gets called away and I’m left staring down the hallway.
I’m pretty sure Elizabeth has a phone. She called me once. But maybe she borrowed one. I pull mine out and scroll back to the day she called me. I find the number and tap on it to place a call.
Elizabeth looks up from her book. She looks scared. Shit, I didn’t mean to scare her. I guess she’s not used to hearing her phone ring. She lets it ring a few times, then she puts down her book and reaches over into her side table drawer.
She pulls out something that looks like a discount store phone, definitely not a smartphone, but one that probably only calls and texts. She closes her eyes briefly before answering. Maybe she’s saying a
prayer. Maybe she wants it to be the baby’s father. Maybe she’s about to be heartbroken that it’s just me calling.
I see her bring the phone up to her ear. “Hello?” she answers tentatively.
“I forgot to tell you not to eat dinner,” I say.
“What?” She looks anxious as her pinky finger finds her mouth.
“Elizabeth, it’s Kyle. I wanted to make sure you didn’t eat the meatloaf. It’s horrendous. I’ll take care of dinner, okay?”
“Kyle,” she says my name in a rush of air that sounds an awful lot like a relieved sigh.
Then she looks at the ceiling and smiles. She smiles big.
Lucky fucking ceiling.
“The game starts at seven,” she says. “I’ll be starving by then. I might have to break out some Jell-O.”
I laugh. “Don’t you dare. We’re going to finish what we started. No cheating and doing it without me.”
“Okay. See you at seven,” she says.
“See you then.”
I disconnect the call and watch her stare at her phone. She runs her fingers across the keys longingly. Lovingly. Maybe she’s hoping someone else will call.
But that smile. That sigh. Could it be mine was the call she wanted?
“Kyle?”
I look up from my trance to see Gina trying to get my attention. She looks down the hall to where I was staring. “That your homeless patient?” she asks.
“She’s not homeless, Gina,” I say defensively. Maybe a little too defensively based on the look on Gina’s face.
“Is that so?” she asks, studying me.
“Hey, have you seen Cameron today?” I ask, trying to distract her. “I heard he was going to assist on a reconstructive surgery.”
“I think he’s doing it right now,” she says. “Hey, maybe the three of us should go celebrate his accomplishment later. I mean, I’m on call tonight, but I could sneak across the street to Happy’s and toast him with a Diet Coke or something.”
She wants to see me outside the hospital? Well, not just me, me and Cam, but still . . . me.
I peek down the hallway to see Elizabeth reading her book again. “Uh, can’t tonight. But yeah, some other time maybe. That could be fun.”
She smiles at the prospect. Then she looks around to make sure we’re alone. “Room 1320?” she asks with a raised brow.
I can’t help but steal another quick glance towards the room at the end of the hall. What is wrong with me? I’ve got all kinds of shit going through my head right now. I can’t think straight. My thoughts are all over the place. I’m thinking of blurred lines that have already been crossed. Vows I’ve made to help those I can. Unspoken promises between Gina and me.
“Sorry, I’m swamped,” I say. “With Morgan out sick, I’ve got a lot on my plate. Rain check?”
She studies me again. Then she looks down the hall. “Yeah, I can see how busy you are, Dr. Stone. I guess I’ll catch you later.”
As she walks away, my eyes ping-pong between her and Elizabeth’s room.
Fuck.
My uncomplicated life just got a lot more complicated.
Chapter Fifteen
I step into the elevator and turn around to watch the doors close. Then I study myself in the reflective chrome.
Shit.
What I see looks an awful lot like a guy going to a girl’s house for a date.
I showered. Shaved even. I used cologne for Christ’s sake. I can’t even remember the last time I did that. I have a bag full of Sal’s Chinese takeout that could feed an army.
Yeah, definitely crossing a line.
But is it a line I want to cross? I know nothing about Elizabeth. Except that she has three scars, hates oysters and has never been out of the country.
She could be anyone. A girl on the run. A criminal.
No. No way.
I can see it in her eyes. She’s no criminal. But she’s . . . something. A closed book, that’s for sure. I’ve never seen someone so strong yet so helpless at the same time.
And she’s not even my type. Gina—she’s my type. Elizabeth is so far removed from my type, she’s not even in the same damn ballpark. My girlfriends have all been scholars. Glass-ceiling types who won’t take shit from anyone.
But then again, Elizabeth doesn’t take shit from me. Every time I try to pry, she puts me in my place.
And she’s pregnant. Soooo not my type. I need a family as much as I need a hole in my head. And what the hell has she done to make me even think she’s the least bit interested?
Okay, so she smiled when I called her. Maybe she was just so glad it wasn’t her landlord or a bill collector that she had no choice but to crack her face in two with a smile that could brighten a room at midnight.
She’s not a brunette. There, that proves it. I’m only attracted to brunettes.
This is just a friendly dinner with a patient who needs friends. And by the time I reach her room, I’ve all but convinced myself of it. But then I stop in the doorway, my breath hitching when I see her.
I was wrong. Green isn’t her color, either. It’s pink. Definitely pink. But hell, she looks good in anything. Maybe every color is her color.
She’s talking to someone, but I don’t see anyone in the room. Then I see her rub her belly and it dawns on me that she’s talking to the baby. I’ve never wanted to hear a conversation as much as I want to hear this one. And then, Holy God, I realize she’s not talking at all. She’s singing.
I lean in further and catch a few words, just enough to recognize the tune.
“Blackbird singing in the dead of night . . .” she sings sweetly.
Damn it if my dick didn’t just swell in my pants.
This is wrong, Kyle. You should turn around and go find Gina. Page her and meet her in the on-call room and fuck her brains out. Fuck all this . . . whatever this is . . . out of your system. She’s your goddamn patient. And she’s pregnant. She’s off limits.
But my feet are cemented to the floor and I strain to hear her soft voice sing that sweet melody.
Turn around, Kyle. Walk away.
I will my feet to shuffle backwards, inch by slow inch until I’ve backed up a few feet from her room. Far enough so I can’t hear her sing. I close my eyes and breathe. I can breathe better if I’m not hearing her sing. I convince myself to walk away. I can do this. I’m a doctor. I get called into emergencies all the time. Hell, maybe I can go downstairs and find a case to work on. Then it wouldn’t even be a lie when I tell Elizabeth I was working.
“Dr. Stone, you’re still here?”
Shit.
I see Elizabeth’s head snap towards the door as I look behind me to see Abby questioning me. Too late to get out of this now.
“Hi, Abby. I thought I’d save our patient from meatloaf night,” I say, holding up the bag of food.
“Is that so?” she says, giving me a look. A look of disapproval. A look that says I should be home sleeping. Or hanging out with the guys. Or paging Gina.
A look that says I’m crossing the line.
“I think I went a little overboard,” I tell her, nodding to the large Sal’s bag. “You want to join us?”
“No, thank you,” she says. “In my experience, three’s a crowd.” Then she looks into Elizabeth’s room with raised brows. “And with those two in there, things are already looking a bit crowded, don’t you think, Dr. Stone?”
I lower my eyes to the floor and nod like a dog with my tail between my legs. What the hell was I thinking?
“Dr. Stone?” Elizabeth calls out from behind me.
I could pull out my pager and fake a 911 call. I could just walk over to her and hand her the food and walk back out. No harm. No foul. I could man up and tell her this was a mistake and doctors shouldn’t be bringing dinner to their patients. I could do all that.
But I don’t.
“See you tomorrow, Abby,” I say, crossing into Elizabeth’s room.
“That you will, Dr. Stone,” Abby says, before I close t
he door on her.
I don’t need anyone else looking in on me and judging me. I’m only helping out a patient. I’ve done that dozens of times before. I’ve even brought food to some. It’s not uncommon for interns or even second-years to sit and socialize with patients. It’s all part of the job. Just because this one patient happens to be my age, young and attractive, and, I don’t know, mysterious . . . just because she’s all those things doesn’t mean I can’t sit with her like I have some others. Right?
“Oh, my gosh. Is that what I think it is?” Elizabeth squeals.
I smile at her as I walk across the room. She holds out her arms, her hands beckoning me closer. Or beckoning the food closer.
I laugh. “Patience,” I say.
“Screw patience,” she says with a giggle. “I’m starving. And maybe salivating.”
I roll her tray table over to the side of her bed and unload the bag, her eyes going wide at the smorgasbord I’ve brought her. I have Lo Mein, Chow Mein, Kung Pao chicken, shrimp and broccoli, white rice, fried rice, and of course, egg rolls.
She leans over as far as she can with a thirty-four-week belly and inhales the aromas coming from the little white boxes.
“Oh my God, I love you,” she says. “You are my favorite human being that is not currently residing inside my body.”
I laugh, mesmerized by her sheer joy over Chinese food.
I reach inside to pull something else from the bag. I get all serious. “I have a question to ask you,” I say. “And your answer will tell me a lot about you as a person.”
She sits upright and looks taken aback. It’s the same look she gave me when I brought up marriage in the ‘never’ game. I hold up some forks in one hand and chopsticks in the other. “Which do you want?”
The Stone Brothers: A Complete Romance Series (3-Book Box Set) Page 68