To Have the Doctor's Baby

by Teresa Southwick

  “Handy?”

  “Yeah.”

  The expression in her friend’s eyes turned the tiniest bit wicked. “So you haven’t done it yet?”

  “No. Not quite the right time in my cycle.”

  “And I’m going to be Auntie Avery?”

  “With a little luck.”

  “And sex.” Her expression turned serious. “This is me and I’m there for you. Whatever you need. Count on it.”

  “I have no doubt about that.” Ryleigh knew there was more. “But?”

  “I saw what you went through when you and Nick fell apart. I held you when you cried. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t help you look at this whole thing from every angle?”

  “Just spit it out,” Ryleigh said.

  “Okay. I have to ask. Do you really think you can go through with this and come out unscathed?”

  “By ‘this,’ I’m assuming you mean sex without complications.” When her friend nodded she said, “Men do it all the time.”

  “If God wanted women to be like men, He’d have given us the same equipment. If you have sex with Nick, I’m pretty sure there will be feelings involved. On your part, anyway. I just don’t want you to get hurt again.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Famous last words.”

  “Don’t you see, Avery? From the time I was a little girl, I’ve wanted to be a mother. I want it more than I can put into words and it’s this close.” She held up her thumb and index fingers, a fraction of an inch apart. “Please don’t rain on my parade.”

  “That’s the last thing I’d do.” Avery finished the wine in her glass and set it on the table. She slid closer and leaned in for a hug before saying, “I love the idea of you having a baby, getting what you want. And I’m serious about having aunt status. I just want to make sure you know what you’re doing with Nick.”

  “I appreciate that and if it were you, I’d feel the same way.” Her friend’s eyes darkened for a moment, and she quickly added, “Don’t worry. I’ve thought this through.” Ryleigh met the other woman’s gaze. “I’ve been there, done that. Now I’m over him. Nick can’t hurt me, which makes him the perfect guy.”

  And by her calculations, the perfect time in her cycle was tomorrow.

  Chapter Four

  Today was Monday.

  Nick got out of the shower and dried himself off, then tied the towel around his waist while he shaved—a habit left over from when he was married.

  Normally Monday was his least favorite day, as it was for most people. But his schedule wasn’t like most people’s and he often saw patients seven days a week, blurring them all together.

  Except Monday.

  That’s when the paperwork, billing and loose ends from a busy weekend had to be managed and cleaned up. Between seeing sick kids in his office and the ones admitted to the hospital, the hours from nine to five were all spoken for. That left the evening to sort out everything else.

  At least this Monday would start out better than most. If the smell of coffee drifting to him was anything to go by, Ryleigh was in the kitchen. He’d missed her last night when she’d gone to see Avery. Stupid to miss her. He’d pushed the feeling away after she moved to the East Coast. Why would it get through now when she was back? But questioning the why of it didn’t make the reality any less true.

  She’d been living with him—correction: she’d been living under his roof—for two days, and one evening without her had felt lonelier than any he could remember since the divorce. In hindsight, asking her to move in was probably a bonehead move, but there was no way to undo it without looking like a complete ass. He wasn’t willing to go there.

  He combed his hair, spritzed cologne on his bare chest, then dressed in jeans and a cotton shirt. It was his belief that a suit and tie intimidated little kids, or maybe that was just rationalization. Either way he was comfortable.

  At least he was until walking into the kitchen. His body went hot and hard at the sight of Ryleigh. Her back was to him, but she had a pretty spectacular rear view. She was wearing a red suit and four-inch come-and-get-me heels. The skirt probably hit her just above the knee and left what seemed like a mile of leg showing. Her shiny brown hair teased the jacket collar and he ached to nudge the silky strands aside and kiss her neck.

  She used to moan and quiver, then rotate into his arms when he did that. This was one of those times that hindsight was twenty/twenty. He hadn’t kissed her neck often enough when he’d had the chance and the right.

  Moving farther into the room, he cleared his throat. “Hey.”

  “Good morning.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Want coffee?”

  “Yeah. Thanks.”

  She poured some into two mugs, then brought one to him where he stood by the granite-topped center island. Her black leather Coach purse was there with her red cell phone beside it.

  “Here you go.”

  He took the cup and blew on the steaming liquid before taking a sip. “Good. Better than mine.”

  “That coffee maker hardly looks used. Do you even make any for yourself?”

  “Not much,” he admitted. “I usually have it at the office or the hospital.”

  But having it with her was so much better. Maybe the taste wasn’t so excellent as much as just looking at her sweet, fresh, beautiful face made it seem that way.

  “I picked up a few healthy food items from the grocery store.” Ryleigh set her mug beside her cell phone. “And I’m making oatmeal. Want some?”

  “Is that a trick question?”

  “No trick.” A laugh bubbled out as she pulled a pot from under the cupboard beneath the cooktop. “I’m fixing it anyway. I’ll double the amount if you’re interested.”

  He was interested all right, but not in dry oats hydrated with water. “I’d rather poke myself in the eye with a sharp stick.”

  “I bet if there was bacon, sausage, ham or steak involved your attitude would be different.”

  “You’d win that bet because none of the above have the taste and characteristics of wallpaper paste.”

  In a warning gesture, she shook a wooden spoon at him. “One of these days, Doctor, your cholesterol and triglycerides will go through the roof and you’ll be singing a different tune.”

  “I’m willing to risk it.”

  She shrugged. “Your body.”

  True enough, and it was much more interested in hers. The fitted jacket hugged her waist and hips like a lover’s hands. He’d seen her naked and some things you couldn’t un-see just because the marriage was over. Too many times to count, a vision of her in his bed wearing nothing but a sexy smile had haunted his thoughts, filled his dreams.

  But not once in the visions had she been standing in front of a stove stirring mush. Although he liked having her there, it would have been nicer if she’d been doing it minus the red suit and anything she was wearing underneath it.

  “If I can’t talk you into oatmeal, what about some fruit? An English muffin?”

  He barely heard the words. “That works for me.”

  “There are strawberries washed and cut up in the fridge,” she said. “I’ll put a muffin in the toaster.”

  “You don’t have to feed me,” he protested.

  “I know. Just my way of saying thanks for putting me up and putting up with me.”

  “Yeah. You’re really hard to take.”

  “I know. It’s a flaw I’m working on.”

  He wanted to tell her not to change on his account. From where he was standing, she was practically perfect. His flaws on the other hand, were flaws. Top of the list was letting people down. His stepbrother for one.

  The two of them had bonded over their disapproval when his father married Todd’s mother and couldn’t have been more different. Nick played football and basketball while cystic fibrosis made Todd frail and sickly. But he was smart and had a sharp wit and keen sense of humor. That made Nick’s part in losing him so much worse.

  Todd was just home from the
hospital and recovering from a lung infection. He said he was fine and Nick should go when the girl he’d been trying to hook up with finally agreed. While alone his brother had trouble breathing. By the time he got help, his heart gave out from the strain. CF got the blame, not Nick. But he would never forgive himself any more than he would lose control of his feelings.

  “Here you go.”

  Ryleigh put a bowl of strawberries and a plate holding a buttered English muffin in front of him. She spooned oatmeal for herself from the pot on the stove, then sat on a stool at the overhanging bar of the island. It took him a moment to pull himself back from the dark thoughts. If she noticed, she didn’t say anything.

  He took the bar stool beside hers, then bit into the circle of toasted muffin. “Good.”

  “It’s whole wheat.” She took a spoonful of her hot cereal and studied him for a reaction.

  “Still good.”

  “And good for you.”

  He narrowed his gaze on her. “When did you turn into the nutrition police?”

  “It was a Wednesday,” she said, looking completely serious. “I think it was raining.”

  “You’re mocking me.”

  “Yes. And it’s for your own good. Keeps you humble. Someone needs to remind you you’re human.”

  He was all too aware of that, but had to ask, “Why?”

  “Because.” She scraped her bowl and ate the last of the cereal. “You’re a doctor. A pediatric pulmonologist. By definition you save sick children from serious lung diseases. Grateful parents bow and scrape. Don’t get me wrong. What you do is pretty darn awesome. But that kind of reverence day in and day out can tend to make you forget you put your pants on one leg at a time.”

  His lips twitched, but he managed a serious tone when he asked, “And you’ve made it your mission to remind me?”

  “A dirty job, but someone has to do it.”

  He noted the arch of her brow, the gleam in her brown eyes, an amused curve to her full lips. This sassy side was new. He liked it.

  “You used to have more respect,” he said.

  For just a second, shadows blocked out the gleam in her eyes. When it disappeared, she tilted her head to the side and sent him a saucy look. “I still do. But now I’m not trying to impress you.”

  “Clearly.” He finished the muffin while admiring looking her over. “But you’re trying to make an impression on someone. Nice power suit.”

  “Thanks.” She smoothed a hand over the skirt on her thighs. “I’ve got a lunch meeting with a local business group to make a pitch for Children’s Medical Charities. Keep your fingers crossed.”

  “They won’t be able to resist you, Ry.”

  He should know. She was the only woman who’d ever made him want to lose control, but years of practice had enabled him to resist the urge to go all in. He’d watched his rock of a father implode after his mother walked out. Nick would never allow himself to feel something so strong that it could fundamentally change him if it was yanked away. He was definitely a product of his formative years. No one would get through his defenses and he wouldn’t let down somebody who was counting on him.

  With Ryleigh, he’d messed up on both counts. And she was here now, so he could make it up to her.

  “I hope you’re right.” She crossed her middle and index fingers for luck. “Because it takes money to make it. I’m going to hit them up for donations to put on the fundraising gala. Auction items like spa and golf weekends. Hotel getaway packages including fabulous dinners. Art items. But also services for the event itself. Food from celebrity chefs. Flowers. Entertainment. It’s the biggest fundraiser of the year and my work on this will be closely watched.”

  “I can personally vouch for your powers of persuasion. If you can get me to chow down a whole-wheat muffin, you’ll have them eating out of your hand.”

  “We’ll see.” She slid off the stool and picked up their dirty dishes and silverware. “I’ll put these in the dishwasher.” Her cell phone beeped just as she turned on the water at the sink. “Can you get that? I hope they haven’t cancelled the meeting on me.”

  Nick picked up her phone and read the text. The words had his body reacting even before the significance of the message got through to his brain. “You’re ovulating.”

  She straightened with a dripping plate in her hand and looked at him. “What?”

  “Your ovary is releasing an egg.”

  “Right this minute? How do you know?”

  He held up the phone. “It didn’t turn purple or anything but, and I quote, ‘Your fertile window opens today and lasts five more days. Stress can get in the way of conception so relax and get a massage, meditate or do yoga.’”

  “I guess I should explain.” She laughed, but it wasn’t sassy and brash like her relaxed amusement while eating breakfast together. Now she was knee-deep in nerves. “In my research, one of the things I found was an alert system. You put in the pertinent personal data and when it’s that time, you’ll get a text message.”

  “So, now what?” Blood pounded in his ears and his body was humming like a tuned up Ferrari.

  She closed the dishwasher door and stood on the other side of the island, her gaze never leaving his. “Now you help me to have a baby.”

  “Okay. Tonight will be—”

  “Wait. It’s Monday. You always get home late. Tomorrow will be okay.”

  “Carlton can handle things.” It was one night. Whether or not Carlton Gallagher worked into the practice, for one or two nights—just hours really—Nick could take the time. “I’ll be home.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Absolutely. Unless you changed your mind?” Part of him wished she had. The other part had his fingers crossed.

  She shook her head. “I’ll be here, too.”

  He wanted to pump his arm and holler hallelujah. Then reality smacked him like a bug on a windshield. Being her buddy was better than being nothing to her. What if this plan destroyed the friendship?

  He had to chance it. The marriage fell apart because of him. He’d disappointed her then and wouldn’t do it now, especially after giving his word. Backing out wasn’t an option.

  So a Monday that started out great now had the potential to end up in awesome territory.

  He had a sex date with Ryleigh.

  After work, Ryleigh pulled into the driveway. It was nearly seven, but Nick wasn’t home yet, which was kind of a relief. She had a chance to catch her breath and calm down. Although why she thought calming down was a possibility was anyone’s guess. Her nerves had been on high alert all day because every second that ticked by brought her closer to sex with her ex.

  She unlocked the door and walked inside, turning on lights everywhere on her way upstairs to the guest room to change. Nick had complimented her on the red suit, but somehow it didn’t seem appropriate. After dropping her purse on the dresser, she slipped off her heels and out of the skirt and jacket before hanging them in the closet. Standing there in her panties and bra, she wondered what to put on. A bolder, braver woman might wait for him naked, but Ryleigh wasn’t feeling especially bold or brave.

  Maybe some sexy lingerie. Something flirtatious. Except flirting wasn’t necessary because they were in agreement about what was going to happen. So that was a bad idea even if she had a qualifying outfit. Which she didn’t. There hadn’t been a flirtatious or lingerie-worthy man since Nick.

  That left her two choices: the frumpy robe over her underwear or a T-shirt and sweatpants. The former would be convenient, but she opted for number two. Practical reasons. Eleven hours had passed since he’d read her ovulation alert and he might have changed his mind. If so, being dressed was far less humiliating.

  After pulling a red and white Runnin’ Rebels shirt over her head and slipping on a pair of black sweatpants, she checked her hair, brushed her teeth and dabbed perfume behind her ears and on her wrists.

  “Break a leg,” she said to her reflection in the mirror.

  Just as s
he hit the bottom stair, the front door opened and there was Nick. He had a bouquet of flowers in one hand, a bag and bottle of wine in the other. Just a guess, but it didn’t look like he’d changed his mind.

  “Hi,” she said, heart thumping as she met him in the entryway.

  He held out the flowers. “For you.”

  “Thanks. You really didn’t have to.”

  “I know. It’s nothing fancy.” He put the pink carnations wrapped in green cellophane in her arms.

  Her heart thumped a little harder and she went all gooey inside. How sweet was this? If only he’d made a single similar gesture when they were married, the marriage might have survived. Leaving had been the hardest thing she’d ever done and one look at Nick reminded her why.

  In his old brown leather jacket, cotton shirt and jeans, he couldn’t possibly look more dashing, more masculine, more handsome. That attitude and his smile had swept her off her feet before, but this time she was in full control of her heart.

  “You’re very sweet,” she said, burying her nose in the fragrant flowers.

  “Remember that when you’re poring over project proposals and trying to decide which kids program to fund.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “So, this is a bribe?”

  “Actually I just thought of it. But, all causes being equal, how can you turn down the guy who brought you flowers?”

  “I’ll take that under advisement.” She looked at him and wished she could get a grip on her nerves. Facing down billionaire Las Vegas businessmen hadn’t rattled her like this. “Right now I’m going to put these in water. Do you have a vase?”

  “Not that I know of.” He went to the kitchen cupboard and pulled out a white plastic pitcher from the top shelf, a place way beyond her reach. “How about this?”

  “That will work.” Grateful to have something to keep her hands busy, she filled it with water, then unwrapped the flowers and put them in. She moved the arrangement to the center of the island and said, “Pretty.”

  Nick set down the bag and pulled out “to go” boxes. “I stopped at Peretti’s for a bottle of wine and appetizers.”