“Luke Van Dam, and this is my daughter, Zoey.”
“I’d offer to shake hands but for some reason most folks aren’t crazy about getting dirt all over themselves.” The fellow grinned.
“Bart’s a horticulturalist. A plant expert,” Jane added for Zoey’s benefit. “Those petunias are beautiful, but why aren’t you waiting until Saturday?”
“Something special happening on Saturday?” Luke asked.
The gardener rocked back on his heels. “There’s five big holidays in Brea. Christmas, Thanksgiving, New Year’s, Fourth of July and Free Compost Day. This Saturday’s Free Compost Day.”
“What’s that?” Zoey plopped onto the grass, the dog at her side.
“That’s when we haul our empty containers down to the community center and fill them with compost,” Bart told her. “It’s a thank-you from the company that collects and recycles our lawn clippings all year.”
“What’s compost?”
“Old leaves and plants that break down into fresh soil,” Jane explained. “It’s great for our gardens. Bart’s kind enough to let me put my trash cans in his truck so I can get them filled along with his.”
“Want to come along?” Bart asked Luke. “I better warn you, hauling all that compost around is hard work.”
“I’ve got muscles,” Zoey informed him.
Bart’s smile widened. “You’re both welcome to join us. My truck seats four, and there’s extra room for your containers in back.”
That sounded like a fun outing for Zoey. “I don’t need the compost, but I’d be glad to help,” Luke said. “We’ll be there.”
“And by the way, the reason I’m not waiting till Saturday to plant these,” Bart added as he lowered a petunia into place, “is that the soil in this bed’s just fine already.”
“It does look fantastic,” Jane agreed.
When Stopgap butted his head against Zoey’s leg, she climbed to her feet. “He’s ready to go.”
“Nice to meet you,” Luke told the gardener.
“Same here. See you Saturday around eight.”
As they strolled farther along the curving street, people waved, and a few came over to chat. A veteran of apartment dwelling, Luke had rarely known his neighbors before. Maybe one of these days he’d buy a house in a place like this.
By the time the foursome returned to the cottage, his daughter was yawning. “She gets herself ready for bed,” he told Jane as Zoey headed for the bathroom. “In some ways, she’s very grown-up. Raked me over the coals this evening for not washing the silverware carefully enough.”
“I suspect she’s had to be fairly self-sufficient,” Jane ventured.
He decided the time was right to broach the topic that must be foremost on her mind. “How was your appointment at the clinic?”
“Well…”
A small figure emerged in the hall. “Read me a story, Daddy.”
Not the greatest timing. Too bad Zoey hadn’t dawdled in the bathroom the way she usually did.
“May Stopgap and I listen?” Jane asked.
“Sure.” Zoey gave an excited hop. She chose The Secret Garden, and listened sleepily as Luke read the classic tale of an orphan girl. After a few pages, she dozed off, one hand resting atop Stopgap’s head.
Luke and Jane tiptoed out. In the living room, he brought up the visit to the clinic again. “So, how did it go?”
She kicked off her shoes and sat on the couch. “It was weird.”
“How?”
“It’s hard to imagine carrying a child fathered by a stranger. You’d think I’d take a practical, scientific approach, but the reality of the whole thing hit me pretty hard.”
He relaxed into an armchair. “Jane, does this have anything to do with what I said at your house, about two parents being better than one?”
“Are you saying you don’t believe that?” she countered.
“Well, in an ideal world, that would be best, but I didn’t mean to put pressure on you.”
She bristled. “Do you think I’m a wimp? Honestly, Luke, why would I put so much store in your opinions?”
That stung. “Because I’m your friend and I care what happens to you.”
She poised as if ready to battle further, and then the fight went out of her. “I don’t know why I’m so touchy tonight,” she muttered.
“Tell me what happened.” Obviously, something had got to her today.
“I guess I hadn’t truly considered what it would mean if the father were anonymous.” She fiddled with a long strand of hair. “I’d have no idea where my child got its laugh, or its dimples, or its talents. Half the baby’s heritage would come from someone I’ve never met.”
Luke chuckled.
“You think that’s funny?” she challenged.
“No!” He lifted a hand apologetically. “It’s just that earlier today, I got irritated with Zoey for defying me, and I realized that her attitude reminded me of her mother. Of course, I love everything about her, whether it comes from Pauline or me or just from herself, but a child’s having half her heritage from an ex-spouse is a mixed blessing.”
Jane’s expression remained wistful. “Still, there’s a part of me that believes a child should be conceived in passion.”
Passion. Perhaps it was the word that made Luke keenly aware of the rise and fall of her breasts and the curve of her mouth. Without thinking, he moved to sit beside her. “I should have gone with you.”
“Why? So we could hold hands and pretend to be lovers?” She stopped, her cheeks coloring. “I don’t know why I said that.”
“Maybe this is why.” Luke cupped her chin, relishing the velvety texture of her skin against his palm, and brushed his lips against hers.
For an instant, they seemed suspended in space, and then Jane kissed him back, a long, sweet taste. Wanting more, Luke angled toward her, but she slid back.
“Don’t stop now.” His words came out hoarse.
“We shouldn’t do this,” Jane replied. “I’d rather keep you as a friend.”
“To hell with that. We’re both adults. We can be friends and more.” He traced his thumb across her cheekbone, and registered her sharp intake of breath. “Jane…”
She scrambled to her feet. “Someone ought to rip your clothes off, Luke Van Dam, but it isn’t going to be me.”
Disappointment arrowed through him. Breathing hard, Luke held himself tightly in place. Had he misjudged her response? No way in hell.
But he shouldn’t have let his instincts run away with him, especially with Zoey in the next room. Nor did he have any right to ignore Jane’s obvious reluctance.
“Still friends?” she asked.
“Of course.” Now that she’d brought up the subject, he had a question of his own. “I’ve always regretted that we stopped being close in med school. I never understood why we couldn’t go on hanging out together.”
“Did it really bother you?”
“It hurt,” he admitted.
“It did?” She seemed surprised. “Very much?”
He couldn’t believe she was grilling him. “What kind of question is that?”
“I just wondered.” Jane gave a low whistle and Stopgap padded into the room. She snapped the leash to the dog’s collar. “I’m sorry if I hurt you, Luke. I never pictured you as the vulnerable type.”
“I got over it,” he said drily.
“See you tomorrow,” she said.
“You bet.”
After she left, Luke checked on Zoey and he found her curled beneath the covers, a sigh escaping her little mouth. Dreaming? A happy dream, he hoped.
In the living room, he turned on the news and was dozing off when the phone rang. Failing to recognize the number on the display, Luke answered cautiously. “Yes?”
“Dr. Van Dam?” demanded a brisk female voice.
“Yes.”
“I’m Delilah Lincoln with Los Angeles County social services. I handle child welfare cases.”
As far as he knew, t
he county had never been involved with his daughter, and Luke now lived in Orange County, not L.A. Warily, he said, “Working kind of late, aren’t you?”
“Yes. This is an unusual situation,” Ms. Lincoln replied wearily. “Are you acquainted with a young woman named Annie Raft?”
Obviously this call didn’t concern Zoey. “I delivered her baby last fall, and we’ve stayed in touch. In fact, we spoke by phone about a week ago. I hope she’s all right.”
“I’m sorry to tell you she died in a motorcycle crash last weekend. She was riding behind her boyfriend when a truck hit them.”
His gut tightened. “I’m sorry. She was a wonderful young woman.” He couldn’t believe all that youth and promise had been wiped out. Annie had deserved better from life, and so had Brian. Then another thought occurred to him. “Who’s taking care of her little girl?”
“That’s the problem, Dr. Van Dam,” the woman said. “The birth father relinquished all rights, so Annie’s mother, Mrs. Brenda Raft, took the baby home with her. That seemed reasonable until this afternoon, when Annie’s roommate came to see me. She’d found a handwritten will.”
“Annie left a will?” Unusual for an eighteen-year-old. “Are you sure it’s authentic?”
“I assure you, I do take my responsibilities seriously,” the woman snapped.
He’d apparently hit a sore spot. “I didn’t mean to imply otherwise.”
“We compared the handwriting to other things she wrote, and it checked out,” Ms. Lincoln continued more calmly. “In California, a handwritten will is legally valid.”
“What does it say?” Annie must have had an important reason for drawing up such a document.
“She states that her mother abused her throughout her childhood, even though the matter was never reported to police. She calls Mrs. Raft unfit and insists that under no circumstances should she gain control of Tina.”
That shook Luke. “I had no idea things were that bad. What will you do?”
“Until and unless a judge directs me otherwise, I will abide by the terms of the will,” Ms. Lincoln said. “I will place six-month-old Tina Raft with the guardian her mother named.”
Still trying to absorb the shock of Annie’s death, Luke asked distractedly, “And who would that be?”
“That would be you, Dr. Van Dam,” said Ms. Lincoln.
Chapter Nine
The medical profession demanded flexibility, Jane had learned. Patients canceled appointments, or rescheduled them so they had to be worked into an already packed day. And while general practices could refer overflow patients to a walk-in clinic for routine illnesses, pregnant women had to be seen by an obstetrician.
Such was the case with Olivia Riley, a forty-year-old executive in her sixth month. Although she was Luke’s patient, he’d canceled his Thursday-morning appointments—only two, and both arranged on short notice—citing a personal emergency. Jane tried to put the possibilities out of her mind and focused instead on Olivia’s chart.
“As the nurse explained when she called with your test results, your blood sugar levels are higher than we’d like,” Jane told the woman seated in her office, which she’d chosen over an examining room for this discussion. “They put you on the borderline of gestational diabetes. While there’s no immediate danger, we’d like to lower those levels.”
Olivia, a tall brunette in an elegant maternity dress, clutched the hand of her husband, Fred, who scowled. “I don’t understand how this could happen. My wife takes excellent care of herself.”
“There’s nothing she could have done to prevent this,” Jane assured them. “Both genetics and age may be factors. The good news is that gestational diabetes can be managed.”
Olivia studied her uncertainly. “Will this harm the baby?”
“Not necessarily.” Jane outlined the course of treatment, starting with a customized meal plan drawn up by a dietician. “Let’s see if a special diet plus exercise will bring your blood sugars under control.”
“And if not?” grumbled Fred. “What are you going to do then, Doctor?”
Obviously, his wife’s condition aroused a strong protective instinct, Jane reflected. She admired him for that. “Then we’ll begin insulin therapy. That should bring those glucose levels down fast.”
As she answered their questions, the pair swayed toward each other, drawing strength from their partnership. Gradually, their tensions eased as they accepted that, despite this new issue, their baby was fine.
As they were leaving, Fred Riley shook Jane’s hand. “Whatever I can do, just say the word. I’m here for my wife.”
“Encourage her to eat right and exercise,” Jane told him. “Other than that, your love is the most important thing.”
As she watched them go, it hit her that, if she got pregnant and developed a complication, she’d have no husband to watch over her. Even in a normal pregnancy, she’d miss that sense of shared commitment.
Maybe she should take Linda’s advice and become a foster or adoptive mom. But that wasn’t an easy option, either.
From the hall, an infant’s babbling caught her attention. One of the delights of working in this office was seeing the babies who sometimes accompanied their mothers to postpartum checkups.
Hurrying out, Jane spotted Luke surrounded by a knot of women. In his arms wriggled a small girl about five or six months old, a pink bow bobbing in her blond hair as she waved a stuffed bear.
“Ba-ba-ba!” she announced proudly, and smacked him in the face with it.
“Whose little charmer is this?” Jane asked.
“Mine.” Luke gave her a guarded smile. “Jane, I’d like you to meet Tina Raft. Soon to become Tina Van Dam.”
Surely he hadn’t forgotten to mention another daughter. But where…?
“She just fell into his lap!” cried Edda, tracing the baby’s cheek with her finger. “Her mom died and left her to Dr. Van Dam in her will. I mean, it’s sad and everything, but isn’t that cool?”
“Well,” Jane said, and discovered she’d run completely out of words.
LUKE COULDN’T SHAKE the smell of unwashed sheets and spoiled food from Mrs. Raft’s apartment. Plus, although Annie’s mother had insisted she lived alone, a dirty man-size sneaker had protruded from beneath the couch.
“You can’t just hand my granddaughter to this man!” Brenda had raged at the social worker.
Delilah Lincoln, a no-nonsense, clipboard-toting black woman who’d met him in front of the building, hadn’t retreated. “You are entitled to hire an attorney,” she’d responded. “In the meantime, we’re abiding by your daughter’s will.”
Luke had crossed the cluttered living room to the crib. Since he last saw Tina, she’d gained a healthy amount of weight and learned to sit unaided. “You’re growing up fast,” he’d said. “Remember me?”
“Ba-ba.” She’d shot him a winning smile.
“Do you know anything about children?” Brenda had challenged. “My daughter probably had a crush on you. What’re you, some playboy?”
“I was her doctor, not her boyfriend, and I have a seven-year-old daughter who lives with me. I share custody with my ex-wife,” Luke had responded while registering Tina’s striking resemblance to Annie.
“You’re willing to raise Tina as your own?” Ms. Lincoln had asked.
“Absolutely.” He knew it wouldn’t be easy adding another child to his household, but he’d promised Annie she could count on him. She’d trusted him with her precious daughter, and he intended to honor that trust.
“This isn’t fair. You’re pushing me aside because he’s a big shot,” Brenda had snarled.
“Your daughter felt very strongly about this,” the social worker had replied. To Luke, she’d added, “You can take her with you today. We’ll conduct the home study shortly.” She’d explained earlier that her department would need to do a formal interview, a background check, a financial review and an inspection of his residence.
Now here he stood, his car stuffed w
ith child-care equipment and the baby curling against his shoulder. He’d phoned Maryam, who’d agreed to start watching Tina this afternoon. Zoey had been delighted by the news that she was going to have a sister, and could hardly wait to show her off to the Little Foxes.
A pucker formed between Jane’s eyebrows. “How exactly did this miracle occur?”
He sketched his friendship with Annie, her sudden death and her allegations about her mother. “She relied on me to protect her child. So here we are, getting better acquainted.”
“The poor little thing.” Jane touched the baby’s curly hair. “You seriously intend to keep her?”
“I do.” He refused to worry about the challenges ahead. “I know raising two daughters will be harder than raising one, but…”
“About four times harder,” remarked Pam.
“I appreciate the warning.” With proper organization and prioritizing, and a lot of love, he’d manage. Plenty of other parents did. “Can we talk in my office?” he asked Jane.
“Sure. Mind if I hold the baby?”
“Please do.” He handed over the squirming infant.
As they walked, a small hand tightened on a strand of Jane’s brown hair. Barely flinching despite what appeared to be a hard tug, she cooed to the little one soothingly.
“You’re a natural,” Luke said.
Jane gave him a rather sad smile. Was she still troubled about her visit to the clinic? Before he could ask, she said, “By the way, I suggest you phone Tess Phipps.”
“I’m sorry—who?”
“She’s an attorney who lives on our street and handles adoptions.” She provided the firm’s name. “She’ll be especially helpful if the grandmother sues for custody.”
“That’s a great idea.” He hadn’t had time to think that far ahead.
As they stood in his office, Tina yawned, ready for a nap. He had to get her settled and see to a swarm of other details, but first he wanted advice on a matter that had been bugging him as he tried to come to terms with Annie’s death.
“As I mentioned, I met Tina’s mom at a maternity clinic for teens in L.A.,” he told Jane. “She deserves a memorial, not just a bunch of flowers at the accident scene but something that will live on. Do you think Brea could use a similar clinic?”
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