by Linda Warren
“Everybody knows about that stuff.” Tiffany patted his arm. “Don’t worry, Daddy. I don’t have a boyfriend yet.”
“That’s one thing I approve of,” he said with mock gruffness.
Anya said her goodbyes. “Back in a sec,” Jack told the others, then followed her outside.
“We have something to discuss,” she began as they walked toward her car.
“Maybe tomorrow.”
She’d prefer to get this over with. “It’s important.”
He didn’t seem to hear her, though. “What was my aunt thinking, shutting Rod out of the girls’ lives? Rod’s their father in every sense that counts. You can’t sever a bond like that, no matter how many lawyers you hire.”
In this state, Jack wouldn’t take her news well, Anya conceded. “Tomorrow night, then. Let’s find a moment to talk, okay?”
“I remember flying home from college right after Tiffany was born,” he continued, oblivious. “Holding her in my arms... She was a little cutie with her red hair. I got this wild rush, like it was my job to protect her from the world. Isn’t that nuts? I was twenty years old.”
“Kind of a strong reaction.” In the glow of a streetlamp, Anya clicked open her car lock. “You’re only their uncle. Or cousin. Or whatever.”
“Yes, whatever,” he said dourly. “But it doesn’t matter that we aren’t genetically related. We’re family. And families mean more to me than to most people.”
She stopped. “Why?”
“Because for most of my childhood, I missed out on having one.” Jack dug his hands into his pockets.
He hardly struck Anya as the product of a deprived upbringing. “You grew up in foster homes?”
“Not exactly.”
“What does that mean?”
“My dad was a firefighter who died in a fire when I was three.” Jack stared down the dark street. “My mother wasn’t the domestic type, and after Dad died, she stopped trying to be. She adopted one cause after another and travels all over the world, saving the subjugated women of India and Africa. And South America. And Central America. And probably the South Pole.”
“Surely she took you along.” Anya had no idea how anyone could raise a child under those circumstances, but it might be exciting and educational.
“She dragged me here and there until I reached kindergarten. Then she dumped me on my grandparents.” Bitterness underscored his words.
At five years old, his mother had left him? That was harsh. With a shiver, Anya tried to relate his mother’s actions to her own situation. To her, it seemed an entirely different matter. But Jack might not see it that way.
“Grandparents are family, too,” she said.
“Mine weren’t even prepared to have Rod, a surprise midlife baby. He’s thirteen years younger than my mom, and they certainly weren’t eager to add a grandchild to the mix.” Jack seemed lost in his painful past. “Physically, they took care of me, but I grew up feeling as if I wasn’t wanted there. It was lonely.”
The opposite of me. Anya had often longed for less family. “Wasn’t your uncle like a brother?”
“A much older brother. He was a teenager when I was in grade school,” Jack said. “It was later that we got close.”
She shook her head. “I had no idea. Are your grandparents still around?”
“They died a few months apart while I was in high school.” A hurt look shadowed his face. “It felt like the end of the world to me. They may not have been perfect, but at least I had a home.”
“What about your mom?” Surely the woman had stepped up to the plate at such a critical point.
“After the funeral, she offered to fly me to Central America, where she was living in a jungle hut or something like that,” Jack said tightly. “She was vague about her circumstances, which I took to mean she’d rather I stayed here.”
“What did you do?” Anya wished she could soothe his sadness. She’d always pictured Jack as a secure person from a solid, supportive background.
“I moved in with Rod. He was in medical school by then and too busy to spend much time with me, but we got along. I received my father’s survivor benefits from Social Security, so that covered my share of expenses, and I did my best to be useful.”
“That’s why you learned to cook?”
“Along with other household skills.” He shrugged. “That’s how my childhood went. Better than for a lot of kids, but not exactly storybook.” Jack glanced toward the house. “That’s why it tears me apart to see Tiffany and Amber growing up like this. Being rich doesn’t compensate for feeling unloved and unvalued.”
“Surely their mother loves them.”
“Not enough to put their interests ahead of hers,” he said grimly.
Anya had no intention of discussing that subject. Instead, she sent forth a small feeler. “I don’t suppose you want children of your own, considering how unhappy you were.”
Deep green eyes bored into hers. “If I’m ever lucky enough to have them, I’ll be there for them one hundred percent. They’ll be the most important things in my life.”
What a devoted father he’d make, Anya thought, but how realistic was his promise? As a surgeon, he had to work long hours. The person who’d really be there morning, noon and night was the mother.
Still, seeing his hurt, feeling his unhappiness, Anya couldn’t help wanting to fix things for him. But she knew where that path led. She had the best of intentions but eventually her patience wore out, and she made dangerous mistakes.
She’d tried to be the perfect substitute for her mom with her younger siblings and to help at home as her mother’s rheumatoid arthritis grew progressively worse. Molly had put on a cheerful face for her husband and the triplets, but Anya had noticed the swollen joints and profound fatigue, the weight loss and the discouragement as one promising medication after another proved disappointing.
Anya had been exhausted by the extra work and—much as she regretted it—sometimes resentful. During her senior year in college, she was studying for exams one weekend and had decided to ignore her mother’s call for assistance from downstairs, just for a few minutes. Please, let someone else help her this once, Anya had thought. Unaware that everyone else had gone out, she’d concentrated on her textbook until she heard a sickening crash.
Trying to go to the bathroom alone, Molly had fallen and sprained her hip. Aching for her mother and filled with guilt, Anya had spent the next few days sleeping in her mother’s hospital room to make sure no such accident happened again. She’d also endured furious lectures from her father about failing those who relied on her yet again.
Then on the exams she’d received her lowest grades ever, losing a chance at a grant for a graduate program. Anya had given up her goal of becoming a nurse practitioner with her own practice. Instead, she’d taken a job at a hospital in Denver, continuing to make the hour-long commute from her small town until she’d gained enough experience and enough self-confidence to move out of state.
It was only two years later, and Anya wasn’t ready to tackle a lifelong commitment to a child or a man. Her baby would have as close to an ideal childhood as she could arrange, though—with an adoptive family. As for how Jack might react when he learned about her pregnancy, she’d rather not be there.
She’d learned the hard way that avoidance was often a wiser tactic than blunt honesty. She’d admitted to Dad what had happened that day with her mother and had received a tongue-lashing.
Yes, she’d let Jack calm down on his own rather than lash out at her out of shock. In fact, the more distance she put between them, the better. Suddenly, Karen’s house seemed like a haven.
“It was great meeting your niece,” she told him.
The tension eased from his body. “You were great. Thank you.”
“Glad to do it.” As she slid into the car, Anya added, “By the way, my roommate and I are moving.”
“Moving?” Dismay replaced his warmth. “What about your lease?”
; “It’s up for renewal, and this will be cheaper,” she said. “We’re only going a few miles, to Karen Wiggins’s house. See you at work!”
Quick escape: turn on the ignition, pull out from the curb, wave blithely and go! In the rearview mirror, she saw Jack staring after her, openmouthed.
As she drove home, Anya processed the fact that she’d just committed to living with four other people, including Lucky, who was annoyingly nosy. And she still had to deal with informing Jack about his impending fatherhood.
Look on the bright side. Literally. In Karen’s airy house, her African violet had a better shot at survival.
And so did Anya’s hard-won peace of mind.
Chapter Four
“Manager or police?” Jack asked.
His uncle studied the dented blue van blocking their carport spaces. “I’m guessing the driver hasn’t gone far. It’ll be faster if we wait.”
“I’d rather call someone, but you’re probably right.” At 11:00 a.m. on a Sunday morning, Jack’s stomach was growling for brunch at Waffle Heaven. “I figured now that you have your car back, we’d be bulletproof. If one doesn’t start, we could take the other. Then this jerk blocked us both.”
“Shall we punch him when he shows up?” Rod asked drily.
“You do the punching,” Jack said. “A surgeon’s hands have to be protected.”
“It takes dexterity to insert my tubes and syringes,” his uncle replied. “How about I sit on him while you administer the beating?”
“What if he is a she?” Jack asked.
“Let’s do rock paper scissors,” his uncle proposed.
“To decide whether we call the police or to decide which of us messes up our hands?”
They broke off their nonsensical discussion when they heard voices from around the corner of the nearest apartment unit.
“Angle it to your left! No, your other left,” a man ordered.
“It’s tilting!” squawked a woman.
“Hang in there, Anya. Zora, get over here!”
Shoes shuffled on the sidewalk. “Okay, I have it.”
They came into view on the walkway, navigating the narrow path between low-growing palms and bushes. With Anya and Zora was the male nurse Jack had met a few days earlier. Even though the temperature had barely reached the low sixties, he was wearing a sleeveless undershirt, displaying his expansive tattoos.
Behind him, Anya helped her roommate support the other end of a faded purple couch. She’d tied back her dark hair and donned an oversize T-shirt that ought to be shapeless. But on her, every movement reminded Jack of the tempting curves underneath.
“That,” announced Rod to the group, “is a truly ugly sofa. Dare I hope you’re taking that purple monstrosity to the Dumpster?”
“It isn’t purple,” said Anya. “It’s orchid.”
Her roommate’s thin face poked out from behind the couch. “It’s for the second-floor landing.” She blew a curl of reddish-brown hair off her temple. “Nobody has to see it but us.”
“Hauling it upstairs is going to be a fun job,” Lucky muttered. Served him right for playing rooster in the henhouse, in Jack’s opinion. “Are we blocking you doctors?”
“Yes, and we’re hungry,” Rod answered.
Show no weakness in front of Anya. Especially not while this guy was hefting furniture and rippling his muscles. “I’m not that hungry. We can pitch in.” As if to defy his speech, Jack’s stomach rumbled. Hoping no one had heard, he marched over to boost the women’s end of the couch. They released it willingly.
Reaching the van, the men maneuvered it inside. A few minutes of grunting and shifting later, they’d fitted it in place. By then, Anya and Zora had disappeared between the buildings.
As Jack jumped down, the male nurse said, “I’ll get the van out of your way. We don’t want to inconvenience you lords of the realm.”
Did the man resent all physicians or just the two of them specifically? Jack had learned—more or less by chance—that Lucky worked for the distinguished head of the men’s fertility program. He doubted the fellow leveled snide remarks at the famed Dr. Cole Rattigan. But apparently an anesthesiologist and an ordinary ob-gyn were fair game.
“Don’t bother,” Jack said. “We’re fine.”
Rod rolled his eyes. “What if they run out of waffles?”
“Honestly!” Jack growled.
“Go ahead. I can handle this,” Lucky assured them.
Jack refused to let Anya see him as a lazy slug who whisked off for a leisurely meal while others, especially her, labored. “With a few more hands, you’ll finish faster.”
Lucky rolled his shoulders, producing loud cracks. “Suit yourself.”
The women reappeared, arms full of mismatched towels and sheets wrapped in clear plastic bags. “Amazing. The ladies copied our color scheme,” Rod said.
Zora peered dubiously at the linens in hues ranging from pink to purple to olive-green. “This is a color scheme?”
“Dr. Vintner has a dry sense of humor.” Anya lugged her towels to the open van.
On the upper level, Lucky took them from her arms. “Didn’t I mention we should bring out the chairs and table before the small stuff?”
The women exchanged glances. “Huh,” said Anya. “Did he?”
“Maybe, but these were on top of them,” Zora responded.
“And you couldn’t put them on the floor?” Lucky asked.
The guy was blowing his opportunity to appear heroic, Jack thought. And although the man’s peevishness appeared to be aimed at the redhead, Anya was the one who spoke up. “Don’t make a federal case out of it. Pile them on the couch.”
With an annoyed click of the tongue, Lucky obeyed.
Rod, still planted on the sidewalk, smiled pleasantly and said to him, “It’s nice when roommates get along so well.”
“I’m sure they’ll work it out,” Jack told him. “Once they’ve moved in and all.”
“They might end up with blood on the sofa,” his uncle answered. “Which would be an improvement.”
Another tenant, backing out of the opposite carport, glared at them while maneuvering around the van. Lucky waved in a friendly manner, and the man tilted his head in grudging acknowledgment.
“Out of curiosity, how many bathrooms does this house have?” Rod inquired, eyeing the towels.
“Three and a half,” said Zora.
“For how many people?”
“Five.” Lucky jumped down from the van.
“That’s not bad, but you’ll have a traffic jam if you work the same hours.” Rod adjusted his fedora to block the sunlight.
Anya sighed. “I’d have killed for that many bathrooms when I was growing up. We had two for nine people.”
“One of our bathrooms is in my suite downstairs,” Lucky said. “You’re welcome to use it whenever you want.”
“Thanks.” She gave the nurse a vague smile.
Jack tried not to scowl. “Why don’t we bring down the rest of the furniture?”
“Sounds like a plan.” Anya gave Jack a vague smile, too.
Half an hour later his muscles were throbbing, but he would have rather worked to the point of collapse than admit defeat.
Fortunately, he was in the right place when Anya, approaching the parking lot with a box marked Dishes, halted abruptly, the color draining from her face.
“Are you okay?” Jack rushed to relieve her of the box but had to dodge a near-collision with Lucky.
“I’ve got it.” The male nurse snatched the container from Anya’s shaky grasp.
Zora approached, struggling antlike with a crate much too large for her. “Anya? Are you sick?”
“Go on,” her roommate told her. “I’m fine.”
“Well, okay.” Zora staggered toward the truck. Lucky ignored her.
“Sit down.” Jack took Anya’s elbow. “I’m speaking as a doctor.”
“Yes, a nurse couldn’t possibly figure out what she should do.” Lucky sent him a pois
onous glare and carted off the dishes.
“I can manage.” All the same, Anya leaned on Jack as he escorted her to a wrought-iron bench bordered by flowering bushes.
From around the corner, Rod appeared, carrying a toilet plunger and a pack of bath tissue. “Doing my bit,” he announced, waving the lightweight items in the air and strolling on his way.
Jack gladly refocused his attention on Anya. How vulnerable she looked, sitting there twisting the hem of that huge T-shirt. “Can I get you some water?”
“No, thanks. I just drank half a glass.” She sucked in a breath, as if gathering strength from the fragrance of the flowers. Despite the cool air, she must have overheated from her exertion.
To distract her, Jack said, “I’ve been meaning to tell you how terrific you were with Tiffany.” They hadn’t had a chance to talk privately since Thursday.
“How’d things work out for her?”
His niece’s freckled face popped into his head. He’d been thinking about Tiff a lot these past few days. “When her parents learned she was safe, they were relieved for about thirty seconds before they became furious.”
“Understandable, I suppose,” Anya said. “They must have been worried sick.”
“Helen said they blistered the phone. She refused to let them talk to Tiffany until they calmed down.”
“Good for her.” Anya tucked a wedge of dark hair behind her ear. She’d lost her clip, he noticed. “Did they drive up?”
“They flew into Orange County in their private jet.” John Wayne Airport, the closest to Safe Harbor, accommodated both commercial and private aircraft.
“That’s a short hop.” Anya swallowed, still struggling with whatever was bothering her.
“Twenty minutes in the air, I gather.” Judging by how tense she’d become when he’d just sat beside her, touching her wouldn’t be welcomed, so Jack folded his arms and went on talking. “However, with all the arrangements, it took them about two hours, roughly the same as if they drove. But that wouldn’t have satisfied Vince’s sense of importance. That gave us time to order pizza and play a round of Monopoly.”
“Who won?” Anya asked.
“Rod.” Jack smiled at the memory of his uncle battling for turf with Tiffany, both of them relishing each small victory and flourishing every Get Out of Jail Free card. “He’s a tough customer.”