The Surgeon's Miracle / Dr Di Angelo's Baby Bombshell

by Caroline Anderson / Janice Lynn

  “I’ll be back in a few hours.” Her eyes didn’t meet his. “Don’t wait up.”

  Which of those silk numbers did she wear beneath her clothes?

  He swallowed, trying to dislodge the brick stuck in his throat. Granny panties, Blake. She’s wearing big, ugly granny panties. Just keep telling yourself that and eventually you’ll forget what you saw, what you want to see wrapped around Darby’s curvy body.

  “Blake?” Her forehead wrinkled with concern. “You okay?”

  Okay? No, he wasn’t okay. His imagination was working overtime. What she’d said registered in his lingerie intoxicated mind.

  “If you’re going out, I’m going with you.” Wherever she was going, she wasn’t leaving him in the hotel room. With her underwear and his over-active imagination. Hell, no.

  “No.” Her tone held full Darby bossiness. “You’re not.”

  “If you think I’m sitting in a hotel room alone while you go out, think again.” He closed the closet door, for once not appreciating her bossy attitude. “Where are you going anyway?”

  “To my parents’, and you’re not going. End of discussion. ”

  Her parents? Of course. Darby’s family lived here. Just because his mother made moving house a hobby that didn’t mean normal families changed addresses on an annual rotation. Why hadn’t he considered that she’d want to visit while in Armadillo Lake?

  “I’m coming with you,” he said matter-of-factly, knowing he’d win this argument, “and you should be grateful.”

  Bingo. She lifted confused eyes to his. “Huh?”

  He gave a smug smile. “How will it look if the man who is madly in love with you doesn’t go to meet your parents? Tsk, tsk, Darby,” he scolded, crossing his arms. “You’re the one who said you wanted this to appear real. Twiddling my thumbs in our hotel room while you visit with the family doesn’t work.”

  He watched the unhappy realization that he was right wash over her heart-shaped face, watched as she searched for a feasible argument, summarily dismissing each one.

  “I don’t want you to go.” She dropped onto the bed in an unladylike flounce that had visions of skimpy underwear flashing in his brain again. “My parents don’t know you’re with me. But they do know I’m here.” Her voice had taken on an unfamiliar whiny tone. “I have to go, but you can’t go with me.”

  “Did you plan to hide me away in the hotel while you snuck in the obligatory visit with the family?” The guilt on her face said that was exactly what she’d intended. “I’m an easygoing guy, Darby, you know that. But I’m not doing room service while you go to your parents.” He frowned. “We’ve been partners for almost a year and I’ve never met your family. Why is that?”

  She’d met his mother on the rare occasions Cecelia had dropped by Knoxville for a visit. But he hadn’t met a single person from Darby’s pre-Knoxville life. Not even at the grand opening of their clinic.

  “Fine. You can come.” She stood, eyed him as if she’d rather kiss a sewer rat than introduce him to her family. “But just remember you insisted upon going and that I was going to spare you the drama.” Then her eyes took on a delighted spark. “Oh, and by the way, City Boy, there are chicken barns. Four of them. Hope you’re real hungry for some of my momma’s chicken and dumplings. Mmm, chicken.”

  Darby winced. No, her mother hadn’t really just pulled up her shirt to ask Blake’s opinion on the “bug bites” on her abdomen. Not at the dining room table. Not with the entire family present. Not while they were eating dinner.

  Yep, Nellie Phillips had.

  To his credit, Blake was taking her family—all twenty-two of them present and accounted for, and sitting at various places throughout the farmhouse—in his stride. Actually, he seemed amused by the chaos that was a permanent fixture at the Phillips home.

  Standing there with her floral print shirt pulled up, her mother revealed a tiny sliver of thick white cotton and a wide expanse of pale white skin, marred only by the bright red vesicles clustered over her lower ribcage and wrapping around her trunk on her left side.

  Concern replacing her mortification, Darby squinted at the “bug bites”. “Are you sure something bit you?”

  Blake examined the rash. “Looks more like Herpes Zoster.”

  Darby agreed. Those angry clusters were isolated to a single dermatome, and hadn’t been caused by an insect.

  “Herpes Zoster? Is that serious?” one of her brothers asked, leaning toward his mother for a closer look. “See, Mom, I told you to let me drive you into Pea Ridge to be checked.”

  Nellie gave Jim a silencing look. “Don’t be silly. Herpes Zoster is a fancy term for shingles.”

  “Shingles?” Darby’s dad spoke up from where he sat in his honored spot at the head of the table. He lowered his glass of iced tea and scratched his graying head. “Earl Johnson from down the road—you remember him, Darby? You used to clean house for him? He had shingles early in the spring. Had me kill my rooster for him.”

  Knowing Blake didn’t want to hear about old wives’ tale remedies for certain ailments, Darby scooted her chair closer to the table and reached for the bowl of fried potatoes. “Mom, how long have you had the rash? Are you taking anything to help dry it up?”

  “Tell Darby about those spells you’ve been having.”

  Darby’s gaze cut from her mother to her oldest brother and back again. “What spells?”

  Her mother waved her hand. “No big deal. Just a few twinges of pain. I thought from the bug bites.”

  Concern sparked in Darby’s chest. “What kind of pain? Haven’t you been feeling well?”

  “I’m fine. Fit as a fiddle.” Darby’s mother didn’t meet her eyes, but instead passed a bowl full of greens to Blake. “I remember my mother having shingles. She had a lot of pain even after the rash disappeared, complained with her side hurting for months.”

  “Pain is normal with shingles.” Blake accepted the bowl, staring at the contents with speculative eyes. He tentatively dipped out a small spoonful. “You should schedule an appointment with your doctor to get on an anti-viral and some pain medication.”

  “I don’t like pills. Never have.” Nellie smiled at Blake. “I’m like my mother that way.”

  Darby’s niece came running into the kitchen, squealing that her brother had spilled his juice. Rosy jumped up to check on the spill, but Nellie placed her hand on her daughter-in-law’s arm. “Let me.”

  Darby followed her mother into the living room and helped clean the juice puddle.

  Watching her mother, Darby noticed the dark circles beneath her eyes. Dark circles she hadn’t really noticed—probably because she’d been so distracted with worrying about Blake and his reaction to her family, worrying about her family’s reaction to Blake. She also noticed the fatigue plaguing her mother’s face, the deepening wrinkles, the slight tremble to her hand when she wiped the towel across the floor.

  Her mother had shingles. Not the end of the world, but how long had she been suffering, ignoring the pain? Why hadn’t she let Jim drive her to Pea Ridge to be checked? Why hadn’t she mentioned the rash to Darby when they’d talked on the phone earlier in the week? Even if her mother didn’t understand why she’d become a doctor, why she’d had to get away from Armadillo Lake, she knew she was a darn good one.

  When they’d wiped up the last of the juice from the scuffed hardwood floor, Darby met her mother’s gaze and felt as if she was five years old.

  “Mom,” she began, before they stepped back into the kitchen, “you didn’t have to ask Blake about your rash. I would have checked it for you.”

  “Nonsense.” Re-entering the kitchen, her mother waved her hand. “He’s a real doctor.” She shot an admiring glance toward where Blake sat talking with Darby’s father. “No sense in you having to worry yourself over some little rash.”

  A real doctor. What was she? A pretend one?

  Darby sighed.

  Might as well be, since she was faking everything else this weekend.
>
  Blake didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to see that Darby was irritated with most of her family.

  As the youngest of five children, and the only girl, her family treated her as if she were incapable of doing anything for herself. At each point Darby attempted to do something, even if it was only to refill her glass of tea, someone jumped in and did the task for her. Couldn’t they see what a talented young woman she’d grown into? How much their attitude annoyed her?

  Another part of him envied her the camaraderie, the loudness, the interactions that came with having a large family who so obviously adored her.

  As a little boy he’d heard his grandfather talk about huge family gatherings back in Malta, but only Vic Di Angelo had come to the States to make his fortune. He’d met a lovely young New Yorker who’d died giving birth to their only child—Blake’s mother. Victoria Di Angelo had gotten pregnant while a teenager and, although she’d married numerous times, she had never had more children, leaving Blake an only child. Since his grandfather’s death family dinners had consisted of Blake and his mother in a nice restaurant in whatever city she currently lived in, making small talk while sipping on wine and pretending they had something in common other than memories of the gruff old man they’d both loved.

  “More banana pudding, Dr. Di Angelo?” asked one of Darby’s sisters-in-law. He couldn’t recall which one of her brothers the tall redhead was married to, but she was obviously the mother of the three red-headed kids who ran in and out of the dining room every so often.

  He was a tad jealous of the freedom the Phillips kids enjoyed. How exciting growing up in a place like this must be when compared to the fancy downtown apartments and condos he’d always lived in.

  “Call me Blake—and no thanks on the pudding.” He patted his flat stomach, thinking perhaps French fries had been knocked down a notch from the top of his food chain. “Wish I could, but I’m stuffed.”

  “Did he just say he’s buff?” Another sister-in-law, giggled from across the table, fanning her face.

  Blake grinned. Yeah, he liked Darby’s family. A lot.

  “I’d second that,” another said, cradling her three-month-old daughter in her arms so she could nurse her.

  When at the last minute she threw a baby blanket over her shoulder and soon-to-be-exposed breast, Blake felt Darby’s relief much louder than he heard the soft sigh. Hoping to reassure her, he caught her eye, winked.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, leaning close to his ear.

  Her warm breath tickled his ear, goosebumping his flesh, hyper-driving his heart rate.

  “What for?” he asked, wondering if she’d apologized for making him so aware of her, for the fact that despite the table still being laden with delicious food all he could smell was her delicate floral scent. Or the fact that every time he looked at her he wanted to peel away her clothes to see what she wore beneath. And then he wanted to peel those away, too.

  “For making you eat chicken, of course,” she teased, but he read the truth in her eyes. Her worries centered around her assumption that he was enduring her family for her and was barely able to do so.

  He would endure any unpleasantness for Darby—after all, they were business partners. But he was enjoying her family.

  Well, except for the way her brothers kept glaring and asking leading questions about his intentions regarding their little sister.

  That he could have lived without.

  Then again, he’d never had a sister. If he had, he’d have been just as tough on any guy she brought home. Actually, knowing what he usually did with women, he’d have been tougher. If they knew what he wanted to do to Darby, her brothers should take him out behind one of those long barns.

  “I think it’s so romantic, you two working together and falling in love,” the redheaded sister-in-law sighed dreamily, pulling a carrot-topped toddler into her lap.

  “We worked together at the Co-Op during high school. I don’t hear you calling that romantic,” her husband pointed out, reminding Blake which brother she belonged with. Best as Blake could recall, Jim was Darby’s oldest brother, and the only one to share his sister’s deep blue eyes.

  “’Cause folks fall in love down at the Co-Op all the time. I think it’s the hormones they put in the feed. You just don’t hear about two doctors falling in love.” She sighed again, accepting wet kisses from the little boy who had his palms smashed against her cheeks. She laughed at her son’s antics, then said to no one in particular, “It’s like something you’d see on television.”

  “What she means,” explained the brunette sister-in-law nursing her baby, “is that Armadillo Lake doesn’t have a doctor, much less two. That’s why they haven’t heard of doctors falling in love except on T.V.”

  Blake blinked. “Armadillo Lake doesn’t have a doctor?”

  “Closest one is in Pea Ridge, a clear thirty miles away. That’s the closest hospital, too.” She gestured to the blanket covering her nursing baby. “I thought I was going to have to deliver this one here in the calfing barn.”

  The calfing barn? Did he really want to know? He turned to Darby, who conspicuously stared at her empty plate.

  “I’m surprised you didn’t set up a clinic here.”

  A wince crinkled Darby’s forehead.

  “We all hoped she’d settle down near Armadillo Lake—the actual lake and not just in town. She always loved that old plantation house down there,” another sister-in-law explained. “Course that was before the mess with Trey.”

  Although she’d been sitting quietly, toying with her shirt hem, Darby’s head shot up. She made a slashing motion across her throat to the pretty brunette who was ignoring her.

  “He’s single again, you know. That girl from up near Gadsden and him got divorced last fall,” another added. “He moved back earlier this year and opened a plumbing repair shop. Business has been real good, I hear. He bought the old Jenson farm and is considered quite the catch.”

  “What mess?” Blake asked, wondering why a knot had formed in his stomach at the news Trey Nix was single and “quite the catch”. Wondering why Darby’s family waved Trey in front of Darby like a carrot. Was she supposed to be lured home?

  She had a home. In Knoxville. With him.

  “When Trey broke her heart, of course. High school quarterbacks are notorious for stealing girls’ hearts around these parts.” The brunette looked at her husband, who grinned back at her. Obviously Darby’s youngest brother had been a quarterback who’d stolen her heart.

  “Hello? I’m sitting right here,” Darby reminded them, clanging her silverware against her plate. “Blake does not want to hear about Trey.”

  Actually, he did. But he took pity on the desperation in her eyes, knowing that before the weekend was over he’d learn what had transpired between his lovely partner and her high school quarterback.

  But for now he’d play his role.

  “Darby’s right. I don’t want to hear about men from her past, because they don’t matter.” He took her hand in his, laced their fingers for all to see. “She’s mine now, and I plan to keep her.”

  Darby’s mother beamed. A collective sigh came from the sisters-in-law. Her brothers exchanged looks. Her father shrugged.

  Blake smothered a grin. He liked Darby’s family. All of them. Why hadn’t she introduced them in the past?

  Next to him, she audibly caught her breath, and her eyes flashed with question. “Are you sure you don’t want more dessert?”

  He winked, letting her know he had this under control. She could thank him later for rescuing her from conversations about old heartbreaks.

  Turning to Darby’s mother, he flashed his most brilliant smile. “What I’d really like is to see Darby’s baby photos. Got any you’d just love to show me?”

  Darby tried to ignore the fact that Blake’s arm was around her, his hand pressing possessively into her lower back. She tried to ignore the fact that her sisters-in-law kept smiling at each other, that her brothers kept
sizing Blake up, not quite sure what to make of him, that her parents were falling over themselves in hopes that he would save their baby girl from the follies of her youth by choosing medicine over marriage and children.

  She was failing miserably, of course, and couldn’t ignore any of those things, much less all of them.

  No wonder. She and Blake sat squished next to each other on the same sofa she’d sat on when she’d still worn diapers. Her mother was on the opposite side of Blake, flipping through a family photo album and ecstatically pointing out various embarrassing pictures from Darby’s youth.

  She shook her head as Blake enthused over shot after shot—especially her “Dilly” photos.

  Had he really asked to see her baby pictures? Had her family really not had an aha! moment and seen that this couldn’t possibly be real? What man asked to see a woman’s baby photos?

  “The boys just hauled her with them wherever they went. She drove the tractor, helped haul hay—whatever they were doing, she was right in the middle. It’s no wonder she was such a tomboy.”

  Dimples dug into Blake’s cheeks, his eyes dancing with interest when he glanced toward Darby. “You were a tomboy?”

  She shrugged. “For a while.”

  “Then she discovered books, and would hide in her room reading instead of doing her chores,” Jim said.

  “I think she read every book in the Armadillo Lake library. Never did see someone who liked to read so much.” Darby’s mother shook her head in confusion. “I kept telling her that reading books didn’t put food on the table.”

  “Guess all that book-reading paid off in the long run. Look at her now—a doctor,” Rosy said, smiling at Darby. “We’re all so proud of her accomplishments, aren’t we?”

  “Sure thing,” Jim grunted, at his wife’s elbow jabbing his ribs.