by Linda Warren
“Being on this floor with three other women must be like living in a dorm,” Jack mused.
It isn’t all women right now. Ignoring her mental digression, she said, “I never lived on campus. I’ll bet it’s fun.”
“It is. Almost everyone lives on campus at Vanderbilt.”
He’d mentioned before how much he’d enjoyed the excellent premed and medical training in Nashville. However, there was one question he hadn’t answered. “Why did you decide to become a doctor?” Anya asked. “Was it Rod’s influence?”
“Partly. If not for him, I’m not sure I’d have believed it was possible. But that wasn’t the main reason.” Jack’s expression grew thoughtful. “My mother told me once that my dad had longed to be a doctor but couldn’t afford medical school. He turned to firefighting instead as another way to help people. He died after re-entering a burning apartment building to find an elderly woman who was still missing. The roof collapsed on him.”
Anya touched his arm. “What a terrible loss.”
“That’s the risk firefighters accept.”
“What happened to the woman?”
Jack shook his head ruefully. “Turned out she wasn’t even there.”
She searched for a more pleasant subject. “Why’d you go so far away to medical school? I mean, being a California resident, it would have been cheaper to go to a UC campus, and they’re world-class.”
“I wanted to experience a different part of the country and a different climate.” Jack stroked the back of her hand, which still rested on his arm. “Since I won a partial scholarship, the cost was comparable to in-state tuition, and Vanderbilt has an outstanding program.”
“Lucky you.” His caress quivered through her. “I’d hoped to pursue a master’s degree to become a nurse practitioner.” In rural communities and inner-city areas that lacked doctors, nurse practitioners often provided vital primary care to infants, children, adults and the elderly, which had originally been her plan. “But without a grant, I had to stop at my RN.”
“Why’d you decide to become a scrub nurse?” He watched her with keen interest. Not just making idle conversation, Anya realized.
Being the center of his attention felt wonderful; it showed that she mattered to him. “I got a job at a hospital and started helping in the O.R. The more surgeries I assisted with, the more I loved it. I developed my skills on the job.”
“So you found your true calling more or less by chance,” Jack said. “Maybe not getting a grant was a lucky break.”
Anya laughed. “I never thought of it that way.”
He indicated the three bedroom doorways. “Which one’s yours?”
“Back corner.”
“I’ll bet it has a great view.”
Taking the hint, she led him into the room. “Ignore the mess, okay?” She’d left a stack of clean laundry on the bed to be folded.
“You consider this a mess? I like what you’ve done with the room. It’s nice.” Hardly high praise, but then, her plain, inexpensive furnishings didn’t merit compliments.
She found Jack’s nearness even more enticing in these intimate quarters. Everything about him appealed to her, from the chest-hugging T-shirt to the light in his green eyes.
Longing shimmered through Anya. As a diversion, she hurried to the window. “It’s especially pretty at sunset.”
“It sure is.” Jack came to stand close to her, not quite touching, and the air heated between them. His arm circled her waist, drawing her close.
Anya relaxed against him. Jack turned her toward him and touched his lips to hers, and the longing that rushed through her underscored how much she’d missed him.
Pleasure tingled through Anya as she stroked his thick dark hair. New Year’s Eve hadn’t been a tipsy aberration. She’d longed for him from the moment they met. And now she longed for more.
As they eased away from the window, they bumped into a small table. Wrenched from her reverie, Anya grabbed the small plant rocking on its drip plate. “Oh, no!”
Jack barely glanced at the African violet. “No harm done. It was nearly dead anyway.”
“That’s what’s so awful.” She stared in dismay at Paula. Robust and blooming a week ago, the plant now drooped in its pot. “I can’t believe it’s in such bad shape. I didn’t even notice.”
“You said you expected to kill it,” he reminded her, his cheek against her hair.
Anya tried to figure out what she’d done wrong. “I must have overwatered it. I was afraid it would dry out, away from the bathroom.”
“It’ll recover.”
“Are you kidding? It’s a goner.” Guilt flooded Anya as she fingered a wilted leaf. If she couldn’t care for a plant, how could anyone expect her to raise a child? Not that she planned to. “I hope it isn’t suffering.”
Jack released her with a sigh. “I’m sorry the plant is so upsetting. I should have given you a silk one.”
“Would you throw her away for me?” She couldn’t bear to dump poor little Paula in the trash.
“No problem.” Lifting the plant and drip pan, he bore them from the room and she followed.
Belatedly, Anya reflected that she’d spoiled their tender moment. But that was just as well. What if someone had walked in on them? Worse, what if someone hadn’t walked in on them?
In the hall, Rod and Karen were talking earnestly on the couch. They broke off as Anya and Jack approached. “Good tour?” Rod asked Jack.
“The best.”
His uncle studied the plant. “You have quite an effect on growing things.”
“One scowl and it withered away,” Jack said cheerfully.
As they descended the stairs, Anya heard Karen and Rod’s conversation shift to next weekend’s housewarming party. Karen was bubbling with enthusiasm about meeting Rod’s daughters, and he had a new lilt to his voice.
If she hadn’t insisted that Jack wait on her, he and Rod wouldn’t have been here tonight, Anya thought. For Karen’s sake, she was glad they’d come. But talking about her dreams and witnessing Jack’s sadness about his father had made her even more vulnerable to him. She’d nearly welcomed him into her bed all over again.
If not for the baby, she’d love to spend more time with Jack. But she remembered she’d too often acquiesced to her family even as an inner voice warned that it was a mistake. She had to listen to that voice this time. She wasn’t ready to be a mother. Her spirit rebelled at the prospect of taking on the responsibilities—the fears, the worries, the inadequacies—she’d only recently escaped. And with that frame of mind, she’d be a poor mother anyway.
As she reached the ground floor ahead of Jack, Anya’s hand drifted to her abdomen. Startled, she snatched it away.
She couldn’t do anything about work or next weekend’s party, but aside from that, she would stop requesting Jack’s assistance. The less time they spent alone together, the safer she’d be.
Chapter Nine
Jack hefted his tray and surveyed the nearly full hospital cafeteria. Tables outside on the patio, warmed by heat lamps in the brisk February afternoon, sat empty. Inside, he spotted several tables occupied by his fellow surgeons and other specialists, including Rod.
So he couldn’t claim that there was nowhere else to sit, but then, he didn’t require an excuse. Just march over there and plunk yourself down.
Aware that he was breaching an unwritten rule of cafeteria etiquette, he navigated the maze of tables to join Anya and three of her housemates. “Hope this chair isn’t taken,” he said and sat beside her.
Whatever she’d been discussing with Lucky, Melissa and Karen, the conversation died. No sign of Zora. Probably had an ultrasound to perform.
From his tray, Jack handed Anya a small salad. “That’s yours.”
“I didn’t ask for anything,” she said rather ungraciously.
It was Thursday and she hadn’t made a single request since last weekend. “It’s my job to take care of you. You should eat more vegetables.”
> Melissa nodded wordlessly. He’d scored points with someone.
“Well, thanks.” Anya poked a cherry tomato with her fork. “How’d you know I like ranch dressing?”
“Who doesn’t?” Jack responded.
“I had you figured wrong,” Lucky observed.
“Oh?” While Jack wasn’t keen on conversing with the fellow, he could hardly avoid it. Especially because he’d invited himself to their table.
“I took you for a stuck-up talks-only-to-God surgeon,” the tattooed nurse responded.
Jack didn’t bother to ask what he’d done to deserve such an assessment. “I condescend to mingle with the masses occasionally.”
Karen brushed crumbs from her blouse. “You have to drop this reverse snobbery if you plan to be an administrator, Lucky.”
“Is that your goal?” Jack tackled his teriyaki chicken with an appetite stoked by a long morning in the O.R.
“He’s earning a master’s in administration,” Melissa explained.
“I graduate this summer.”
Lucky’s air of pride was deserved, Jack acknowledged. “Then what?”
“Then I hope a suitable position opens up here at Safe Harbor.”
“Otherwise he might have to move,” Karen noted.
“Good luck.” Enough about him. Jack turned to Anya. “While we’re on the subject of Saturday’s housewarming party...”
“We aren’t.” She started eating the salad.
“Give Jack a break,” Karen said.
Had Karen always been a sympathetic soul or only since her new friendship with Rod? In any case, Jack appreciated the support.
Anya waved her fork. “You’re right. Jack, what were you about to say?”
He dredged up the excuse for barging in he’d decided on earlier. “That was a great idea you had about the girls acting as servers, Anya. I heard the thrift store rents costumes, so I swung by there and reserved two cute waitress outfits. I can pick them up tomorrow.”
Anya’s nose scrunched. “Might be awkward.”
“Why?”
“Didn’t Rod tell you?” Karen asked. “Our boss, Jan, and her husband are bringing their daughters, too.”
“They’re nine and ten,” Melissa put in.
Jack adjusted his plans in a flash. “I’ll rent extra costumes. They had more, and as for the sizes, it shouldn’t matter if they’re a bit loose.”
“Especially if there are apron strings we can tighten,” Karen said.
“I’ll make sure of it.”
“You’d be a great dad,” Melissa said. Catching the dismay on Anya’s face, Melissa raised her hands apologetically. “I just find Jack’s attitude refreshing. My ex-husband hated the idea of parenthood. I wasn’t keen on it, either, at first, but working in the fertility field, being around babies, I developed this intense desire. More than a desire—a conviction that having children is why I was put on this earth.”
“And he didn’t stand by you?” Jack found it hard to imagine a man abandoning his wife on such a fundamental level.
“He went out and had a vasectomy without telling me.” Melissa’s classic features tightened into an angry mask.
Abruptly, Jack made the connection: the attorney who’d brought the waiver to him was Edmond Everhart—same last name. He’d seemed a decent enough guy, but to Melissa, an action like that must have been tantamount to a betrayal. And once a person betrayed your trust, Jack didn’t see how they could regain it.
“When I was in my twenties, I’d have liked to have been a mother,” Karen said wistfully. “Then my ex’s drinking got out of control. Even if you divorce, children bring all kinds of legal and emotional ties to the other person. I couldn’t bear being yoked to that man for life.”
“Wow, this is a heavy discussion,” Lucky said.
“Does it make you uncomfortable?” Jack teased.
“What are you, a psychologist?”
“He sounds like one sometimes,” Anya said. “In a good way.”
Jack chuckled, surprised by her response. “Glad you think so.”
“Well, you deserve a compliment now and then.” She indicated her empty salad plate. “It was kind of you to bring this.”
“Uh-oh, better watch out for knives in your back, Anya.” Melissa indicated a nearby table where a couple of young nurses were glaring in their direction.
“What’s their problem?” Jack asked.
“You didn’t see them eyeing you and toying with their hair?” Karen asked. “I was afraid that leggy one was going to trip you when you walked by her.”
Jack frowned. Why would a nurse trip him?
“She means they were flirting.” Lucky blew out his frustration. “Man, the rest of us guys kill ourselves trying to get that kind of response, and you don’t even notice.”
“I have more important things on my mind.”
Lucky turned to Melissa. “Speaking of more important things, what’s on Saturday’s menu?”
“It’s my week to cook, which puts me in charge of the meal planning,” she explained to Jack. “We’re barbecuing burgers and hot dogs. Veggie burgers, too, for Lucky. You guys are fixing the side dishes.”
“Pasta salad,” Karen volunteered.
“Fruit.” Anya left it at that.
“Green salad.” Lucky gazed around the table. “We’re short one person. What’s Zora bringing?”
“Something,” Anya said.
Jack laughed. Now that he was growing accustomed to her terseness, he rather liked it. Especially when it came at someone else’s expense.
A clatter of dishes signified the departure of the nurses at the other table. One rolled her eyes at him, as if questioning his judgment. The leggy one pointedly ignored him.
He hoped none of them were invited to the party. It would be a lot more fun without their ridiculous tactics.
Too bad he couldn’t get the same kind of attention from the one person he really wanted to receive it from.
* * *
“THEY’RE SO CUTE!”
“How darling!”
“I want to put it on right now!”
Four little girls swirled around Anya in the den, holding up lacy white aprons and caps, shiny black under dresses and frilly white socks. Tiffany, the oldest, seemed as entranced by the notion of playing dress-up as did her ten-year-old sister, Amber. With their red braids and freckles, the two were a matched set, save for height.
No such hesitancy came from stepsisters Kimmie and Berry Sargent. They looked nothing alike—nine-year-old Kimmie had elfin features, whereas Berry was tall for her ten years, with a smooth dark complexion inherited from her late mother. Anya had heard that Berry’s stepfather, Zack Sargent, had been raising her as a single dad when he re-encountered his first love, Jan, and they’d blended their families.
The girlish chatter reminded Anya of the special moments when her triplet sisters used to rush to her with their joys and concerns. Supervising them hadn’t been all hard work and feeling trapped. She was proud to think of them graduating from college this spring. Could they really be that old?
“My friend showed me how to carry a tray like a real waitress,” said Berry, the tallest of the young group. “You hold it to the side with your hand open underneath. Oh, she said to load the heavy stuff in the middle so it doesn’t tip.”
The other girls looked impressed, all except for Kimmie, who was hopping up and down with excitement. “Where can we change?”
“In my room,” Anya said. “Berry, after we change, I’d love for you to show us all how to carry the trays.”
“Me, too?” teased Jack, who’d arrived in a black vest and slacks and a crisp white shirt. The man could easily pass for the maître d’ at a five-star restaurant, where that devilish grin would net him plenty of tips. If the surgery business ever dried up, at least he had a fallback, Anya mused.
She straightened his rakish bow tie. “There you go.”
“Thanks.” His gaze caught hers for a shimmering moment.
“We love the clothes, Uncle Jack,” Tiffany said.
“I’m glad.” He beamed at his nieces.
Anya draped her waitress outfit over her arm. She hadn’t expected him to bring one for her, too, but was glad he’d thought of it. “Girls! Follow me upstairs, and hold on to the railing. No shoving.”
They snaked through the crowded house, the girls dodging under grownups’ arms and bumping their elbows. It was a miracle they didn’t leave a trail of spilled drinks.
In Anya’s room, the girls dived into their outfits. Their high spirits were infectious; even quiet Amber giggled when Kimmie tied her apron around her head so it flowed down the back, saying, “Don’t you guys just love this cool hat?”
Seeing Tiffany about to follow suit, Anya waggled her hand for attention. “Aprons around the waist, please. Hats on heads. Socks on feet.” Her no-nonsense tone did the trick.
As she donned her black dress and apron, Anya saw that she’d left her laptop sitting on the low table, open to her social media page. She was about to click it off when she noticed her grandmother’s stern, beloved face on the screen. Grandma Meeks had never been the cuddly, brownie-baking type of grandmother, but it had been she who’d recognized Anya’s aptitude for nursing.
“It’s not all bedpans and massages,” she’d declared when her granddaughter initially dismissed the suggestion. “In my day, nursing was considered a challenging career, and it still is. And you can save lives while you’re at it. Can’t beat that!”
Her grandmother’s enthusiasm had inspired Anya to volunteer at a nearby hospital. She’d been surprised how much she enjoyed the setting, and after talking to some of the nurses, she’d realized Grandma had been right. Then she had the idea to become a nurse practitioner and run her own practice, which had excited her even more. In retrospect, it would probably have been a tougher path than she’d imagined, but at the time, the prospect of gaining her independence while filling an important medical need had fired her with purpose.
But as Jack had pointed out, it had all worked out in the end.