by Linda Warren
While the girls finished dressing, she read the post on the site. It was from her sister Ruth. Grandma Rachel would be celebrating her 80th birthday in April. The whole Meeks family was invited—or rather, commanded—to gather in their Colorado town for a big blowout.
A string of responses bore the names of Anya’s siblings, aunts, uncles and cousins. Many offered suggestions and hardly anyone had demurred. It would be a shame to miss this event, Anya conceded, but she’d been planning to avoid her family until next Christmas because she didn’t want them to know about the pregnancy. Now what was she going to do?
Downstairs, she found Jack in the kitchen, arranging hors d’oeuvres on trays that Karen had produced. “Young ladies!” he commanded the four little waitresses, who quit poking each other. “Who wants to serve outdoors?”
“What if someone hits us with a croquet ball?” Berry asked.
Jack peered out the window. “I don’t see anyone playing right now. As for the badminton game, those plastic shuttlecocks wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
“Berry and I can go outside,” Kimmie said. “That’s more fun and we don’t mind the smell.”
“Speak for yourself!” Kimmie’s sister scrunched her face.
“Put a drop of perfume on your upper lip,” Tiffany advised.
“I’d rather stay in.”
“I’d rather be outside,” Amber piped up.
Hearing the girls’ preferences, Anya took charge. “Here’s how we’re doing it. Berry, you show everyone how to carry a tray. Then you and Tiffany can stay in the house because you’re taller and it’ll be easier for you to avoid smacking into everybody. Amber and Kimmie, you’ll be the outdoor team.”
Heads nodded. Soon they were balancing the trays, following Berry’s example.
After they marched out to perform their duties, Jack gave Anya a thumbs-up. “I’m impressed. You had them all figured out.”
“It’s best to pair them by age, anyway,” Anya told him. “This way they can make new friends. And it’s important to take what they want into consideration.”
He lounged against the counter, his gaze lingering on her until heat rushed through her body. “You make a sexy waitress.”
“And you’re a smashing head waiter.” Her fingers itched to loosen that tie and undo the buttons on his starched shirt.
He was moving toward her when a small throat clearing from the corner drew their gazes to Helen Pepper, who’d been dozing on a chair. Jack paused, and Anya eased away.
“You’re both wonderful with children,” Helen said as if she hadn’t noticed the vibrations between them. “Today you’ve brought the sparkle back to Amber’s face. She’s been much too quiet since she arrived.”
“Anya’s the one who understands kids,” Jack told her.
“It’s self-defense.” Anya took a chair across from the older woman rather than talk down at her. “I practically raised my three younger sisters after my mom became disabled. But as for my maternal instincts, they’re pathetic. I even managed to kill an African violet.”
Helen chuckled. “They’re delicate plants. I murdered an entire bed of begonias and that practically requires a blow torch.”
“Overwatering?” Anya asked.
“Taking a vacation and forgetting to arrange for any watering at all.” With an indulgent air, Helen patted Anya’s hand. “Don’t worry. You would never mistreat a child, even by accident. You’re a natural mother.”
Anya was eager to skip that subject. “Can I get you something to eat or drink?”
“Those little sandwiches look delicious.”
Jack presented a platter with a low bow. “At your service, madam.”
“You’re so handsome—all the girls must adore you.” She patted his cheek before selecting a couple of sandwiches. “But take my advice and stick with Anya.”
“I agree,” he said. “There’s no one like her.”
A spurt of joy caught Anya by surprise. Did Jack really want her for who she was, rather than just because she was pregnant with his child? At unguarded moments, he still had the power to melt her with his tenderness and sensitivity, and as for this buzz tingling through her...
Embarrassed, she realized Helen was observing her reaction. “I’d better go check on my waitstaff.”
“I’ll come with you.” Jack set the platter aside.
To Anya’s relief, Rod popped in to speak to Helen about the girls, distracting Jack. Rod had a store of questions, which the older woman seemed more than willing to answer.
Anya lingered with the trio just long enough to confirm what Tiffany had said during her previous visit—that the girls were unhappy but not suffering from physical abuse. Then she slipped away to check on her outdoor team.
The smell from the marsh didn’t bother her today thanks to the appetizing scents wafting from the barbecue where Melissa was grilling burgers. The aromatic smoke also mitigated the queasiness that occurred whenever Anya went more than an hour without eating.
Or without inhaling Jack’s aftershave lotion. No, it must be something about male pheromones, she corrected herself.
The crack of a mallet against a wooden ball warned Anya to move off the lawn or risk having her ankles smacked by a croquet ball. She stepped into the drift of the game’s onlookers, where the girls were circulating.
Anya was glad to see that Kimmie’s bouncy manner had rubbed off on Amber, who laughed readily at her new friend’s antics. The girl deserved a family that brought out her happy side, Anya thought.
Though things might be getting a little too high-spirited, Anya realized as Kimmie tripped over a rough patch of lawn and was forced to put a hand down to break her fall. The remaining hors d’oeuvres on her tray went flying.
“I’m sorry.” Kimmie was crestfallen.
“Don’t worry about it,” she soothed the girl. Anya took both their trays, while other guests disposed of the dropped food in a nearby trash can. “Dinner will be ready soon. You guys go have fun.”
With a squeal of glee, Kimmie led Amber on a dash into the house. How cute they were, Anya mused.
An image of a little girl with dark hair and green eyes toddling across a lawn flashed through her mind. My daughter. Jack’s daughter.
This little person was growing inside her right now. Anya’s chest tightened. A sweet moment, a baby kiss, the feel of chubby arms around her neck—those were precious, but, she reminded herself sharply, a real mother had to be prepared for the sleepless nights, the anxieties and irritations, the loss of privacy, the weight of unending chores and that sense that your best was never good enough.
If more women had Anya’s experiences growing up, world population growth would cease to be a problem, she mused as she toted the trays through the sliding doors into the den. And adoption would be far more common.
Pausing to let her eyes adjust to the dimness, Anya noticed Zora in a corner, holding up a square of mangled crocheting. Betsy Raditch, short caramel-brown hair fluffed around her head and half-glasses perched on her nose, examined Zora’s work and made a comment that Anya couldn’t hear. Her friend mouthed a grateful thank-you for the advice.
Anya had always liked the nursing director, who brought calm efficiency to her job. She always seemed approachable despite a long list of duties.
Too bad the woman had, in a sense, lost two daughters-in-law, Stacy and Zora, of whom she’d grown fond. Now Andrew had announced his engagement to a woman he’d met on a business trip to Hong Kong. Maybe three times would be the charm, but Anya doubted it.
“I can’t imagine why he hasn’t signed those divorce papers.” Anya heard Betsy’s words through a lull in the ambient chatter. “It’s unfair for him to keep you dangling like this.”
“Maybe he’s changed his mind about marrying that, that...woman.” Zora’s voice trembled. Anya hoped her friend wasn’t clinging to the absurd notion that Andrew still had feelings for her. The man cared about nobody but himself.
“I have no idea what my son is th
inking,” Betsy said. “He’s got too much of his father in him, but I shouldn’t be talking about that.”
And I shouldn’t be eavesdropping. Anya scurried off before anyone caught her.
As she entered the kitchen, she halted, her path to the counter blocked by Lucky’s muscular shape. He was removing a bowl of salad from the fridge, too intent on his task to notice her.
Beyond him, Jack remained clustered with his uncle, Karen and Helen. “I’ve done everything I can think of,” Jack was saying. “Why can’t she see the obvious? You were right, Helen. She’s a natural mother. She’d be perfect with this baby.”
Resentment flamed through Anya. Never mind that she was eavesdropping again; anybody could overhear Jack discussing her future as if she was common property and he had the right to make decisions for her.
Lucky closed the refrigerator door. His eye roll made it clear he hadn’t missed what was being said, nor her infuriated expression. “I’ll get out of the line of fire.”
Ignoring him, Anya dumped the trays into the sink with a clatter. When Jack looked up, she didn’t bother to hide her scowl.
“Anya.” He paled. “Sorry. That was tactless. But...”
“You made a promise to sign away your rights.” Having to confront him in front of Rod and Helen and Karen added to her fury.
“Only if you’re still as determined...” he began.
“I’ll take the DNA test next week. The lab will need a specimen from you, too.” Though he probably knew that, being an ob-gyn. “Once I’ve kept my part of the bargain, a deal is a deal.”
Without waiting for a response, she stalked out of the kitchen.
Chapter Ten
By the following Friday, the entire hospital staff knew about Anya’s pregnancy and Jack’s paternity, a situation for which Jack blamed himself. Sitting with her in the cafeteria, although he’d only done it once, had attracted plenty of attention, and his big mouth at the party hadn’t helped either.
Everywhere he went, conversations stopped, then resumed behind his back. And his uncle’s moodiness about the girls’ departure prevented him from running interference with his usual acid rejoinders. Not that he’d been around much anyway.
In Jack’s opinion, it was a good thing Rod had taken to spending his spare time with Karen. She had far more patience than Jack to listen to Rod’s concerns about Tiffany and Amber and his frustration that he couldn’t count on future visits.
Despite Anya’s annoyance with Jack over his comments at the party, she had kept her share of the bargain. They had both submitted blood samples, with the DNA results due next week. By mutual consent, they would receive the news together at Adrienne Cavill-Hunter’s office. Having an objective third party would hopefully help them figure out their next step.
Anya gave no indication that she’d changed her mind about adoption, not that they’d had much chance to discuss the matter. Before the party, Jack could have sworn she was mellowing toward him, and observing her shepherding the flock of little girls had been a treat. If only he’d clamped down on his opinions and avoided that painful moment in Karen’s kitchen, maybe she’d have begun to see for herself how wonderful she was with children.
Sensitive to the undercurrents, the nursing supervisor had taken to assigning other staff to assist at Jack’s operations. He supposed that was wise. But he missed Anya’s tart comments and rare, endearing smiles.
The closer they came to learning the DNA results, the more powerfully he felt drawn to babies. He gazed in fascination at the tiny people he helped bring into the world. Their arrival had always been a miracle, but now he understood how his patients could love a child from the moment of conception, putting its well-being first even when complications endangered their own lives.
And the day of reckoning was fast approaching. How could Jack go back on his word—yet how could he sign away his rights to an infant he already loved?
The questions plagued him even into surgery, though once he got under way, he was able to focus on the procedure. Today, his scrub nurse was the always-reliable Erica Benford Vaughn, who usually assisted Dr. Tartikoff. Short and deft, she was quick to anticipate Jack’s needs as he performed a laparoscopic myomectomy. This microsurgical operation removed uterine fibroids—noncancerous tumors that could cause significant pain—while preserving the patient’s uterus for future childbearing.
Jack loved working with the Da Vinci robotic system. Seated at a console with a 3D high-definition camera providing an on-screen view inside the patient’s body, he manipulated the master controls. The system transmitted each careful movement to the tiny instruments with precision, allowing him to operate with the smallest possible impact on the patient.
Despite the equipment’s invaluable aid, the surgery still depended primarily on the surgeon’s skill as well as that of his support team. He stayed alert for any complications.
As always, the surgery involved the assistance of numerous other staff, but Jack paid little attention to the conversational remarks swirling around him, mostly concerning the staff members’ young children and their fun-but-sometimes-maddening extracurricular activities.
Erica, while focusing on Jack’s requirements, shared insights about her lively year-old son, who’d begun refusing to use his high chair. “Jordan would rather stand on a regular chair, which means spilling food everywhere. He’s driving Lock crazy.” Lock was her husband, a private investigator.
“He isn’t driving you crazy?” Rod asked from nearby, where he was monitoring the patient’s vital signs on his equipment.
“Oh, I sit back and enjoy the show.” She chuckled. “Lock was so keen on being a dad that after I got pregnant, he was ready to raise Jordan by himself if I refused to marry him. As if he had any idea how hard it would be!”
“It wasn’t a planned pregnancy?” Jack wouldn’t normally ask such a personal question, but she’d raised the topic herself.
“Definitely not. Initially, I insisted on adoption.” She cut him an embarrassed glance, which meant she’d heard about his situation.
“Your husband must have had experience with children,” commented the circulating nurse. “Had he taken care of a younger sibling?”
“Not at all.” Erica double-checked her tray, where she’d readied the tools to attach to the robot’s arms. “He was kicked around foster homes until he finally landed in a good one. His younger foster brother helped whip him into shape, from the way they tell the story.”
“So why would he want to be a single dad?” That didn’t sound logical to Jack. Surely the man had grasped what a major challenge he’d be facing.
“His birth mom entrusted him to the wrong adoptive couple,” Erica explained. “They got hooked on drugs, which is how he ended up in foster care. That’s why Lock has such a low opinion of adoption.”
The circulating nurse bristled. “I’m sorry for him, but that’s unfair. My husband and I adopted our children, and we love those little guys more than anything.”
“I’m sure that’s more typical,” Erica agreed.
Jack fell silent, concentrating on his work. In the back of his mind, though, her comments presented a tantalizing possibility. Could he raise the child himself? He’d dismissed the idea previously, assuming it was unrealistic.
He had a tendency toward perfectionism. That was essential for a surgeon, but it had drawbacks in relationships and especially in parenting.
The idea jolted him. Had he been demanding too much of himself? Maybe he could succeed as a single dad. Kids needed a lot of love and careful supervision, and he would certainly provide those.
“If you and Lock hadn’t married, would he have raised Jordan alone?” Jack asked Erica.
“I doubt it,” she said. “Not after I insisted he go through some hands-on training.”
“How did he do that?” If there was a boot camp for daddies, Jack might give it a try.
“I arranged for us to babysit Dr. Tartikoff’s twins.” Her words glimmered with amusemen
t. “Two little tykes at once. It was very demanding. That convinced Lock he couldn’t raise a child without backup, especially considering his odd hours as an investigator.”
“Then you fell in love and decided being a mom isn’t so terrible?” the circulating nurse teased.
“That was part of it. Also, we both had to face up to some personal issues.” Erica didn’t specify what those were.
Her words echoed in Jack’s mind. He, too, worked occasional odd shifts, but most of them were regularly scheduled. Although he knew childcare was no simple matter, several women on the staff juggled medical careers with single parenthood. Plus, if he required emergency help, Rod had experience with diapers and that sort of thing.
He’d probably be willing to fill in, especially once he fell in love with the baby.
So it might be possible for him and Rod to create a loving home that met a child’s needs. Jack would never want his little one to grow up as lonely as he had been. But plenty of single mothers raised children successfully despite busy work schedules and financial pressures. And he had the most important quality: a heart full of love for his child.
Before he suggested any such thing, however, Jack would need to learn more about single fatherhood—talk to other parents, do research on the web—and draw up a plan to persuade Anya to give him custody. Or, if upon further investigation he found he wouldn’t be able to give the child what he or she needed, then he had no business urging Anya to be a single mom either.
* * *
ANYA DIDN’T UNDERSTAND why she’d been so distracted—next week’s meeting with Dr. Cavill-Hunter was unlikely to bring any revelations. She knew Jack was the father of her baby, so the only question the DNA test would answer was the baby’s gender. And ultimately, that changed nothing.
Jack had promised to sign the papers. So why did she have this nagging worry that he might spring a surprise on her? Surely he wouldn’t go back on his word.
Sitting at the breakfast table, she set down the Sunday entertainment section of the Orange County Register and stared out the glass doors at the misty March morning. The fog lay so thick, she could barely see past the fence that marked the border of Karen’s yard.