by Sandra Paul
He wasn’t much of a conversationalist himself. Being unable to talk about his job for some reason made him more reticent about other things, as well. But with Libby, that hadn’t been a problem. She’d been fascinated by his stories about his family and how it had been growing up in a small town. Conversation between them had just flowed.
Del scowled. Hell, they hadn’t only been lovers during that snowstorm, they’d also become friends. He wanted to restore at least a little of the rapport they’d had on his last visit and this was one of the only opportunities he’d had to be alone with her without Christine hovering about somewhere.
Libby put down the magazine and he looked up hopefully. Without a word she stepped over his legs and headed into the rest room.
Del heaved a long-suffering sigh.
The man sitting across from him must have heard it. Pushing his glasses higher on his nose, he leaned closer, asking, “This your first?”
Del looked at him, then nodded.
“Ours, too,” the man said and thrust out a hand. “I’m Ken. Ken Patterson.”
Del accepted the proffered handshake as Ken indicated the blonde sitting demurely beside him. She nodded graciously at Del as her husband added dramatically, “And this is Barbie.”
Ken beamed expectantly. Del regarded him blankly, and the other man’s smile faded. “Don’t you get it? Ken and Barbie. You know. Like the dolls?”
“Oh, yeah. Cute,” Del said and then stared at the bathroom door. What the hell was taking Libby so long? Was she sick?
Ken started talking again, interrupting his train of thought. “Our baby is due in October.” Both Pattersons glowed with pride, as if, Del thought, they were the only ones who’d ever had a baby.
Barbie added, “So when is your-wife due, Mr.?”
“Delaney. Del Delaney,” he answered automatically, then paused. Strangely reluctant to admit Libby wasn’t his wife, Del compromised, saying, “Libby’s not due for another six weeks.”
Ken’s face sharpened with interest. “Hey, we’ll probably be in the same childbirth class. You have signed up, haven’t you?”
Had Libby signed up? “I’m not sure,” Del admitted. Ken looked surprised and Barbie’s perfectly plucked eyebrows rose. Del added a little defensively, “I just got back in town. I’ve been out of the country.”
The other man’s expression cleared and Barbie leaned forward, saying graciously, “I’m sure your wife is thankful to have you back.”
Not hardly, Del thought.
“What are you having?” Barbie asked. “A boy or a girl?”
“A girl,” Del said decisively.
“Oh. We’re having a boy,” Barbie said, the faintly superior note in her voice annoying Del no end. “We decided to have a boy first, and then maybe a little girl.”
Something in her tone made it sound as if having a girl first was entirely the wrong decision—as if their boy was somehow superior to his girl. Del stifled a snort. As if any child these two could produce would even come near to the superior offspring Libby was carrying.
He picked up a magazine, pretending to be engrossed in the article “Breast or Bottle: How to Decide” so that the Pattersons would leave him alone. The ruse worked.until Libby returned. No sooner had she sat down again than Barbie leaned forward to say commiseratingly, “It gets pretty tiring, doesn’t it? Running to the rest room all the time.”
“It sure does,” Libby agreed.
Encouraged by this response, Barbie added, “Your husband was just telling us your baby is due in October, too.”
“He’s not my husband,” Libby replied promptly—to Del’s vast annoyance. “This is my landlady’s brother. He just gave me a ride here.”
Del grimaced behind his magazine. Not only had she jumped to correct the “husband” mistake, she couldn’t even define him as a friend. “My landlady’s brother.” He sounded like some kind of second-rate taxi service, for God’s sake.
He lowered the magazine to glare at Libby and encountered the Pattersons’ stunned looks instead. Both were regarding him as if he’d falsely posed as the President of the United States or something. Disgusted with them—and even more with Libby—he retired back into his magazine as Barbie asked Libby which doctor she had.
“Dr. Cindy Kanuse.”
Over the top edge of his magazine, Del could see Ken and Barbie exchange another glance. Barbie’s tone took on an even greater superiority as she stated, “I have Dr. Daniel Mitchell.” She giggled. The falsely coy sound made Del grit his teeth, as she elbowed her spouse. “Ken wasn’t too happy about that at first. Not only is Dr. Dan handsome, but he’s single. But I told Ken he’s the best.”
“And I want you to have the best,” Ken replied, patting her hand.
“I’ve met Dr. Dan. He seems very nice,” Libby said.
Nice, hmm? Del’s interest sharpened. Was this the doctor Christine had said was hanging around Libby?
If the guy wasn’t her doctor, why was he so interested in her?
His eyes narrowing, he was pondering the probable answer to the question when the nurse called Libby’s name. She stood and Del caught her wrist lightly to stop her before she left the room. “Don’t forget. I’ll be waiting to come in.”
Her lips tightened. Nodding curtly, she left.
Wide-eyed again, the Pattersons must have decided he was a depraved impostor. They made no more attempts at conversation. Del finished his article in peace, then turned to another about the treatment for sensitive nipples. After finishing that one, though, he put the magazine down, too keyed up to read. What on earth was the holdup? When they’d checked in, the nurse had said he’d be called in after the initial exam. None of the other women had been gone so long. Had they found something wrong with the baby? With Libby?
He shifted restlessly, then finally gave in to the compulsion to pace. After ten minutes of this fruitless exercise, he reached another decision and leaned into the receptionist’s window. The nurse inside glanced up. Aware of Ken and Barbie’s interest, Del lowered his voice, saying, “Excuse me, but my.fiancée wanted me to join her so I could ask the doctor some questions.”
The receptionist nodded. “Perhaps they’ve forgotten. Let me check.”
Ken and Barbie goggled at him, but Del ignored them, following the nurse uninvited. Reaching the door, she knocked briefly, then poked her head in to say, “Miss Sinclair’s fiancé wanted to ask you a couple of questions, Doctor.”
“Send him in,” Del heard the doctor reply.
The nurse stepped back, almost bumping into Del. She looked surprised to find him there, but smiled and stepped aside so he could enter.
Del walked in. Libby was lying on the examining table, an astonished look on her face. They’d put one of those flimsy hospital gowns on her, and draped a sheet across her lap. The gown gaped open a little, and Del caught a glimpse of the white curve of her belly before she yanked the garment closed and clutched it across the front, anger gathering on her face. Before she could protest his intrusion, Del said quickly to the doctor, “Hello, I’m Del Delaney—the baby’s father. I wanted to find out how Libby’s doing.”
The doctor—a small, attractive brunette in her midthirties with the figure of an eighteen-year-old—swiveled around on the stool upon which she was sitting and gave him a brisk smile. “Glad to meet you, Del. We encourage the fathers to be involved in all stages of the pregnancy. Your help will make things much easier on Libby.”
Turning around again, she waved a slender hand. “So grab a seat and sit down. I’m just locating the baby’s heartbeat.”
Del did as instructed, pulling a straight-backed chair from the wall and straddling it. A gentleman would leave at this point, he knew. It didn’t take a genius to realize by the horror in Libby’s expression and the shooing motions she kept making behind the doctor’s back that she didn’t want him to stay.
But he wasn’t about to budge. He couldn’t. Especially when the doctor parted the gown revealing Libby’s stomach
. It did look as if she’d swallowed a ball—a soccer ball, at least. He watched fascinated as the doctor spread lubricant on the lower curve of that round firm mound before pressing gently against it with a stethoscope.
She’d kill him, Libby decided, squirming as much from Del’s intent gaze as the cold metal feel of the stethoscope crawling along her skin. He knew—he had to know—that she hadn’t planned on him coming in during the physical exam, but rather much later, when Dr. Kanuse was finished. She felt as helpless and exposed as a beached whale.
Strange noises emerged from the amplifier attached to the scope.
“That’s her stomach growling,” the doctor explained.
“Sounds like a pack of lions quarreling over a piece of meat,” was Del’s observation.
Libby shut her eyes. Could she be any more embarrassed? The growling grew fiercer as the stethoscope rolled over her lower belly toward her sheetdraped—thank goodness!—bikini line. Libby flinched.
“Did I hurt you?” the doctor asked.
“She’s ticklish there,” Del said before she could reply.
Libby flushed at the unbidden memory of him drawing a teasing finger across that sensitive spot. Go away, she mouthed desperately in his direction, but he wasn’t looking at her face. His absorbed stare was fastened on the stethoscope as the doctor patiently searched for the baby’s heartbeat. Libby had just decided to repeat the demand aloud when a squishy, rhythmic beating echoed into the room.
“That’s it,” the doctor said in satisfaction.
Wonder filled Libby’s heart as it always did when she heard the baby’s heartbeat. Involuntarily, she glanced at Del. For a fleeting moment the same awe she felt was evident in his startled eyes.
She smiled. “My son,” she said softly.
At her words, his usual unreadable expression masked his face again. “Daughter,” he corrected. Then his brows drew together. “Isn’t it rather rapid?”
“Perfectly normal,” the doctor said as the baby rolled over and growling sounds filled the room again. Briskly she removed the stethoscope and handed Libby a towelette to wipe off the lubricant. Walking over to the sink, the doctor washed her hands, saying over her shoulder. “Keep taking your vitamins, Libby. Walk every day. Sexual intercourse is fine at this point…”
Del raised a brow. Libby flushed.
“Is your dizziness easing up?” the doctor asked, wiping her hands on a paper towel.
Libby nodded.
“Good. Let me know if you start getting headaches.” The doctor picked up her chart and glanced over it. “The baby is doing just great. However, we still need to work on your weight.”
“What’s wrong with her weight?” Del asked sharply.
The doctor smiled reassuringly. “She’s a bit underweight for her third trimester. Nothing much to worry about, but I want her to gain a few more pounds…”
Del glared in Libby’s direction, but fearing what he might say, she pretended not to notice as she carefully wiped off the lubricant. The last thing she wanted was Del to become involved.
“Also,” the doctor continued, “I want her to rest more. Studies have found that standing on her feet all day—as Libby does in her job—increases a woman’s risk of having a premature baby.”
“It sounds as if you think she should quit working,” Del said.
The doctor met his gaze. “It wouldn’t hurt if she could quit working, but she tells me that isn’t possible.”
“It is possible, if it will help the baby,” Del stated unequivocally. “Isn’t it, Libby?”
Angry at his assumption, she tossed the towelette into the trash and wrapped the gown more firmly around her. “We’ll talk about it later,” she said repressively.
The doctor patted her shoulder. “That’s a good idea. Talk it over. I’m sure you’ll see that your fiancé is right. After all, Libby, you don’t want to endanger yourself or the baby.”
The doctor left the room. Barely waiting until the door closed after her, Del said, “What’s there to discuss? You need to quit working. If you need financial help, I’m willing to provide it.”
Libby sat on the edge of the table, one hand clasping the sheet draped across her lap, the other clutching the front of the gown closed. “I don’t want to talk about this now.”
“Tough. I do.”
“I need to get dressed.”
“We need to settle this first.”
He stood and her heart jumped. He wasn’t playing fair. He seemed so big in the small room. He knew she felt vulnerable and helpless without her clothes on, but he didn’t care. He wanted this settled—and, as usual, he wanted it settled his way.
She lifted her chin, knowing if she didn’t stand her ground now, he’d trample all over her. “You can talk all you want, but I’m not discussing anything until I get dressed.”
He didn’t like that; she could tell by the frustration on his face. But he obviously knew better than to try to argue. With a sound of disgust, he strode out of the room.
Only waiting long enough to make sure he wasn’t going to return, Libby climbed down from the table and hastily pulled on her blouse and jumper. She stepped into her shoes and sat down to tie the laces—a feat that grew harder every day due to her increasing girth. How could the doctor think she was underweight? There had to be some mistake. Surely she couldn’t get much bigger.
She stepped out into the hall and found Del waiting for her. She didn’t protest as he grasped her arm to lead her out of the back rooms, but when they reached the reception area, she pulled up short. “Wait a minute. I need to pay my bill.”
“I’ll get it.”
“No! I’ll pay for it myself.”
His jaw tightened. “Don’t push me on this, Libby. I’m losing patience.”
So was she, Libby decided. “Fine. Pay it,” she said. Why argue? She’d simply write him a check and make sure Christine deposited it in his account. She flounced out of the doctor’s office without waiting for him, anger blinding her so that she almost bumped into the white-coated figure just entering the building.
“Whoa, there!” Strong hands caught her shoulders to steady her, and Libby looked up from the white coat her nose was pressed against to meet Dr. Dan’s smiling gaze. “Are you all right?”
“Fine,” she said, forcing a smile. “Sorry to almost mow you down like that.”
“No problem. I’ve never been one to object to pretty women running into me,” he said with a wink.
Dr. Dan was a handsome man, tall and lean with pleasant gray eyes. Very easy to talk to, Libby had discovered from the few times he’d come into the store where she worked. Right now his teasing grin was wide and white and Libby couldn’t resist smiling back. She stepped away and the doctor reluctantly released her, saying, “And why are you in such a hurry to leave, Elizabeth? Do you have to get back to work?”
She shook her head, but before she could explain that Del was with her, Dan asked smoothly, “Then how about lunch? There’s a little place down the street—”
“Libby and I were just on our way there,” a deep voice said from behind her. Del wrapped a hand around the back of Libby’s neck, saying casually, “Would you care to join us?”
A growing heat burned in Libby’s cheeks as the doctor’s gaze rested speculatively on that proprietary hold on her sensitive nape, before returning to scan Libby’s face. He said slowly, “Not this time, thanks. Take care, Elizabeth.”
With a nod he moved on.
Del stared after him, his eyes narrowing. So that was the wonderful Dr. Dan, was it? He didn’t look so wonderful to him. Couldn’t Libby see the guy’s hair was thinning on top? And just where did the guy get off, flirting with a pregnant woman like that. His hold tightened a little as he glanced down at her. “So are you ready to get something to eat?”
“I’m not hungry.” Breaking away from him, she marched toward the parking lot.
Keeping up with her easily, Del caught her arm to steady her as she stumbled on the uneven a
sphalt, and Libby turned on him, demanding angrily, “What is it with you, acting like that?”
“Like what?” he drawled. She stood without answering, her brown eyes snapping, her hands on her hips. She’d buttoned her blouse crookedly, he noticed, and he reached out to fix it.
Libby slapped his hand away. “Like that! Precisely like that! Like you have the right to tell me what to do—or when to quit work—or even to rebutton my blouse. Despite what you told that nurse in there, you’re not really my fiancé, Del, so quit acting like one!”
His brows rose. “Okay, I will—when you quit acting like some kind of pregnant superwoman.”
“Oh!” She yanked at the truck door handle, forgetting it was locked. Fuming, she waited with tapping foot until Del calmly unlocked it and then she clambered ungracefully up into the seat. “Take me home.”
Walking around to the other side, he climbed in and started the engine. “First we’ll get something to eat.”
She had no intention of accompanying him to the restaurant. “I’m not hungry,” she said firmly.
He made a tsking sound with his tongue against his teeth as he pulled into the parking lot. “Don’t lie, Libby. I heard your stomach growling in that examining room.”
That shut her up long enough for him to usher her into the coffee shop and ensconce her in a booth. Libby hid behind the plastic-coated menu for another few minutes as her cheeks cooled and the old-fashioned atmosphere of the family restaurant exercised a soothing effect.
When the waitress came to take their orders, she managed to say with creditable dignity, “Just a salad, please.”
“And chicken soup, too, for the lady,” Del tacked on. When the waitress left he met Libby’s annoyed look with a bland one. “I’ve heard chicken soup is good for you.”
“If you have a cold,” she said haughtily. “I don’t think it’s going to cure my pregnancy.”