Harlequin American Romance May 2014 Bundle: One Night in TexasThe Cowboy's DestinyA Baby for the DoctorThe Bull Rider's Family

by Linda Warren

  Beside him, lean and fashionable in a hot-pink designer dress and jacket, Portia stood poised in her high heels. She must be about thirty-eight now, Jack figured, but already her unlined forehead and cheeks hinted at Botox injections. The bright red hair that Tiff had inherited had been tinted auburn and woven with strands of gold and honey-brown.

  He’d seen photos of the pair in a magazine, portrayed as a beautiful power couple. To Jack, they seemed hard, with an underlying cruelty that flickered like hellfire through the cracks in their veneer. But that was because he’d witnessed how they’d manipulated the legal system.

  Rod had no gift for disguising his emotions. Even from behind, his taut body language told Jack he was glowering.

  “Hang in there,” he murmured to his uncle.

  Judging by her uneasy expression, Portia had spotted them. So had Karen, although she betrayed only a flicker of recognition.

  When Vince turned, triumph distorted his features. He not only loved winning, but he also enjoyed grinding his opponent’s face into the dirt. Obviously, he and his wife had become suspicious about the girls’ behavior, which accounted for their visit to Safe Harbor. But why were they at the hospital?

  The administrator didn’t miss the tense, silent interchange. A furrow between the eyebrows was all the sign he gave, however, that it concerned him.

  “If it isn’t Dr. Vintner.” Vince just couldn’t let the moment pass, could he? “Good to see you again.” His sneering tone converted the pleasantry into an insult.

  “The pleasure’s all yours,” Rod growled.

  “I didn’t realize you were acquainted with members of my staff, Mr. Adams,” Mark said.

  “Rod is my ex-husband.” Portia blinked as if startled. “Jack? I had no idea you were back in Safe Harbor.”

  “Hello, Aunt Portia.” Jack strained for civility. “I’ve been here for two years now.”

  “Jack’s a fine surgeon,” Mark said. “The head of our fertility program, Dr. Owen Tartikoff, brought him on board.”

  “Does Jack work with Dr. Rattigan?” Vince addressed his question to the administrator.

  Cole Rattigan, Lucky’s boss, was a world-renowned specialist in male fertility. Did Vince, who reputedly was unable to father children, plan to consult him?

  “I’m an ob-gyn,” Jack said.

  “I take it that means no.” Vince kept his eyes on the administrator. “Now, what about those cutting-edge labs you mentioned?”

  “They’re on the next floor down,” Mark said. “Karen, thanks for reviewing our egg donor program.”

  “Glad to do it. Nice meeting you, Mr. and Mrs. Adams.” Karen shook their hands, then tossed off a quick, “Doctors,” with a nod to Jack and Rod, before vanishing into her suite.

  Since Rod remained frozen between the visitors and the elevators, Jack touched his arm to interrupt his fixation. “You owe me a sandwich.”

  Rod was vibrating with unspoken rage. But after a moment, he took a few steps to the side, no doubt in deference to the administrator.

  As the trio passed, Mark kept up a running narration to the visitors. “Our original plan called for acquiring the dental building across the plaza. When it fell into protracted bankruptcy proceedings, we had to improvise. That’s why our fertility offices are scattered across several floors. We installed the laboratories in our basement.”

  “Doesn’t a basement mean problems with dampness and mold?” Vince swaggered by as if Rod weren’t there. Portia spared a thoughtful glance for Jack.

  “We’ve installed advanced HEPA filtration systems.” The administrator pressed the down button. “The temperatures and sterility are strictly regulated. I’ll let Alec Denny, our director of laboratories, provide the details.”

  To Jack’s relief, the elevator arrived, and he was able to lead his uncle away at last. “That was a shock,” he said once the others were out of hearing range.

  Rod moved stiffly. “They’re here to spy on me.”

  “Surely they wouldn’t waste Dr. Rayburn’s time to do that,” Jack said.

  “Oh, but they love to gloat.” Unhappily his uncle added, “This means no more time with my daughters.”

  “Not for a while,” Jack agreed.

  Rod rolled his shoulders, fighting the tension. “Don’t you have patients waiting?”

  “Yes, actually. See you later. Tuna on rye.” As he headed for the adjacent office building, Jack was glad they’d be having dinner with Karen. She might have insights to share.

  As for Tiff and Amber, he hated missing a chance to see them. But they were aware now that Rod and Jack loved them.

  Vince and Portia couldn’t keep them apart forever.

  * * *

  “THEY’VE RENTED A beach house a few miles from here, on the Balboa Peninsula,” Karen said that night over a serving of Jack’s peanut butter pasta. “Portia seemed genuinely worried about how much her mother misses her granddaughters.”

  “Worried or guilty?” Rod asked dourly.

  Even with seven of them around the table, Anya was keenly aware of the girls’ absence. She’d been looking forward to seeing them tonight or tomorrow, or both. Having grown up in a family of nine, sometimes she missed the joyous babble, the give-and-take of a group where interactions crisscrossed like global airline traffic lines on a grid.

  “It does reduce the risk that Tiff will run away again,” Jack ventured, although the situation had clearly put a damper on his mood, too.

  “Why were they at the hospital?” Anya asked. “Dr. Rayburn doesn’t give tours to the general public.”

  “They were dropping hints about some type of endowment,” Karen said.

  “It’s a ruse to spy on me,” Rod replied angrily.

  “Maybe Vince just wants to move to the head of the line for a consult with Cole Rattigan,” Jack said. “I understand he books up months in advance.”

  “Oh, he tries to work in any patient who’s in urgent need.” Lucky plucked a second dinner roll from a basket. “Of course, if they had come to the office, I couldn’t mention it.”

  “Is that a no-they-didn’t or are you obfuscating?” Zora asked.

  “Is he doing what?” In contrast to the generally downbeat mood, Melissa sounded amused. Her spirits had lifted since she’d begun receiving injections of estrogen and progesterone in preparation for receiving the embryos.

  “Confusing the issue,” Zora translated.

  “No one’s confused about anything except your weird word choice,” Lucky batted back.

  “I thought you two had stopped picking on each other. Just spare the rest of us, okay?” Karen promptly returned to the subject of the day. “When Portia mentioned her daughters, I suggested they might enjoy volunteering at the hospital. I said our program encourages an interest in science.”

  “How’d that go over?” Jack asked.

  “She seemed interested.”

  “And Vince?”

  “Not so much.”

  “It’ll never happen.” Agitated, Rod glared across the table at Anya. “I don’t understand why people fail to appreciate parenthood when it falls in their lap.”

  “Excuse me?” Jack asked.

  Anya was grateful for the sharp response. Her pregnancy was none of his uncle’s business.

  “You heard me.” For whatever reason, Rod continued to target his anger at her. “Why are you forcing my nephew to prove himself over and over? Just sign that waiver you considered such a minor detail when the shoe was on the other foot.”

  “Butt out,” Anya said, summing up her position.

  Around the table, the others regarded Rod with varying degrees of disapproval. Lucky’s face tightened, Melissa stopped smiling, Zora frowned and even Karen looked distressed.

  “You’re a fine one to talk,” Jack put in. “When I proposed bringing the baby to live with us, you brought up every obstacle in the book.”

  “I had to be sure you meant it,” retorted his uncle. “Obviously, you did. And to keep your own mot
her ignorant of it—”

  “What are you talking about?” Storm clouds darkened Jack’s eyes.

  “You hadn’t told Mamie you’re going to be a father.”

  “My absentee mom who didn’t even stick around to raise me?” he snapped. “Why should I?”

  “She’s older now, and she has regrets.”

  “Where is this coming from?” Jack regarded his uncle sternly. “I thought you and your sister communicated by exchanging Christmas cards.”

  “I gave her a call to catch up on things,” Rod said. “You should talk to her more often yourself.”

  Although pleased to no longer be the object of Rod’s tirade, Anya resented his criticism of Jack. Honestly, just because the man was upset didn’t give him the right to scattershot his anger at everyone else.

  “Wait a minute.” Jack’s jaw pushed forward belligerently. “You called to catch up, or to tell her Anya’s pregnant? That takes one hell of a nerve!”

  “After what happened today...” Rod seemed, for the first time, to notice the negative reactions from the others. Stubbornly, he persisted. “It struck me that Mamie might never have another chance to be a grandmother. She deserves to be in the loop.”

  “No,” Jack said. “She doesn’t.”

  “Well, too late.” His uncle swallowed. “We hadn’t been in touch for a while, so I called her.”

  Fury radiated from Jack. “This is Anya’s and my concern. Not yours, and not my mother’s.”

  “It is now.” Rod cleared his throat. “She was deciding whether to attend a conference in LA next week and this tipped the scale.”

  Next week? That was when they’d scheduled the ultrasound, Anya recalled. Just what they needed, another form of pressure at a key moment. How typical of families—even from far away, they had a gift for meddling.

  “Call her back and tell her she’s not welcome,” Jack snapped.

  “You call her,” Rod said.

  “I want her as far from Anya and me as possible.”

  To the best of Anya’s knowledge, Jack had never openly rejected his mother before. “Are you sure?” she asked him. “I mean, she’s your mom, so of course I’ll leave it up to you.”

  He gave her a nod of acknowledgment, then resumed glaring at his uncle. “Why can’t you grasp the fact that my mother doesn’t give a damn?”

  “If she’s so indifferent, what’s the big deal if she stops by?” Rod asked with an attempt at his usual flippancy.

  “The big deal is that I should have the right to break the news to her when and if I want to.” Jack’s hand tightened around his fork. “If we choose to put this baby up for adoption, there’s no reason for her to know. Ever.”

  “You’re wrong.” Rod straightened, regrouping. “She does care, more than you think.”

  A flicker of uncertainty pierced Jack’s fury. “She said that?”

  “I heard it in her voice.”

  Noting the conflict in Jack’s expression, Anya wished she were sitting close enough to touch his arm and offer silent comfort. Stay out of it, you idiot, she warned herself.

  “I’ll talk to her,” Jack said tightly.

  “And tell her not to come?” his uncle queried.

  “And tell her whatever I damn please.” Jack stood up. “There’s ice cream in the freezer.”

  “On my way.” Lucky hurried out, escaping the tension.

  “I’ll help.” Melissa rose gracefully, and the others began clearing the table.

  “Anya?” Jack swung toward her. “A moment alone?”

  “Sure.” She’d hated saying no to him about the bird-watching last night. They’d had fun, peering into the twilight, listening to the chirps and trying to identify the various species. And tonight, he’d defended her to his uncle. As if they were in this together. Which, until the baby’s birth, she supposed they were.

  Conscious of the others watching—despite their attempts to pretend otherwise—she kept her gaze straight ahead and her pace moderate as they climbed the stairs. Once on the second floor, they hurried to her room. The sunset cast a scarlet glow across the bed and bookcase. Anya switched on the lamp. “Shoot.”

  Jack paced the floor.

  Funny how a man’s presence changed everything, emphasizing the smallness of the room and filling the air with subtle allure that reminded Anya that she’d tossed her comforter over invitingly rumpled sheets.

  Stop, now. That’s how you got into this mess.

  He halted. “I apologize for my uncle’s behavior.”

  She waved away the apology. “Not your fault.”

  “Would you mind...” He broke off.

  To her, the glitter in his eyes spoke of old wounds reopened—and old hopes springing to life. “Meeting your mom?” Anya guessed.

  “Or even...” Jack hesitated again, uncharacteristically. Then he said, “If she does care, it shouldn’t be in an abstract sense. I need to be sure.”

  She hazarded a guess. “You want to invite her to the ultrasound. That’s quite a switch.” Moments before, he’d been prepared to boot her all the way back to whatever third world country she was currently aiding.

  “It hit me all of a sudden, but I didn’t want to mention it in front of my uncle,” Jack explained. “What do you think?”

  Having his mother present might be like tossing a lighted match onto dried-out California underbrush during fire season. Yet it meant a lot to Jack, and thus far, he’d been willing to meet Anya halfway.

  But if his mother did take a stand against her, what then? Though Mamie wasn’t likely to volunteer to help raise her granddaughter, considering she’d ducked out on her own son. And she’d have to possess incredible chutzpah to pressure another woman to take on the duties she herself had shirked.

  And so far, Jack had respected Anya’s feelings. It was time to trust him.

  With the sense of taking a dive off a cliff, Anya said, “Okay.”

  He waited, as if expecting more. Then he noted, “I’m not even sure she’ll be able to come. I suppose it depends on her conference schedule.”

  It would be inconvenient but not impossible to change the sonogram appointment. Anya saw no need to bring that up yet, though. “Whatever.”

  Jack ran his hands over her shoulders, massaging them lightly. “Will I ever figure you out?”

  “I hope not.” In her view, keeping him off-balance promoted equal power in the relationship. But right now, she was content to relax and enjoy the magic sensations his fingers inspired. “You could do more of that.”

  “Happy to comply, ma’am,” he responded with a heart-stopping smile.

  Anya leaned closer. His chest materialized beneath her cheek. “Mmm.”

  Strong arms closed around her, and she nestled there. Would it really be so bad if, together, they...?

  Stop right there. She’d already taken a step in his direction, figuratively speaking, by agreeing to allow his mother to come to the ultrasound. That meant, she conceded, that if Mamie unexpectedly offered her son the nurturing he’d been denied all these years, Anya could hardly refuse to give him—them—the baby.

  That might mean having to leave Safe Harbor afterward for her own emotional safety. Freedom could be a lonely place, but for now, they’d reached a welcome accord.

  All the same, she ducked away before their embrace could lead to more.

  Chapter Fourteen

  On Saturday, Jack reported that Mamie had cheerfully agreed to attend next Thursday’s ultrasound, scheduled for 7:30 p.m. at Dr. Cavill-Hunter’s office. “She seemed upbeat about the whole situation,” Jack said as he set out the ingredients for his planned dinner of angel-hair pasta with wine and onions.

  “She isn’t upset that Rod broke the news about the baby, rather than you?” Anya asked.

  She felt a little guilty that Jack had spent more than he intended on these large meals, and was glad he’d decided to fix a low-cost entrée tonight. His explanation that the alcohol in the wine would evaporate during cooking hadn’t
been necessary, but she appreciated it.

  “I’m not sure it’s sunk in that she’s about to become a grandmother.” He placed the cutting board on the stove top to chop onions, turning on the fan to draw off eye-burning fumes.

  “Every woman reacts differently, I guess.” Anya was slicing tomatoes on a second cutting board. She’d volunteered to assist, having discovered that conversations with Jack flowed more naturally when they worked side by side. Perhaps due to their shared experiences in the O.R., they moved easily around each other without colliding.

  “What about your mother?” Jack scraped the onions into a large pot and set to dicing garlic cloves. “You’ve hardly mentioned her.”

  With a start, Anya admitted she hadn’t thought about how her mother might react to the baby. Molly Meeks’s name suited her retiring personality. Even before arthritis had sidelined her, she’d been almost a background player in the household, relying first on Ruth to help raise her second and third children and then on Anya to supervise the triplets.

  “Mom’s always been overshadowed by my grandma—my father’s mother,” she said. “Not that Grandma was underfoot. She lived around the corner from us and values her independence. But on important issues, her views tended to prevail.”

  “She’s the one who’s turning eighty next month?”

  “That’s her.” Anya hoped he’d refrain from inquiring about the gathering. It was awkward that she hadn’t responded yet. But Ruth had stopped tallying childcare requests on social media, and although that didn’t amount to an acknowledgment that Anya might not show up, it implied her sister might be facing reality.

  Or preparing another line of attack. Anya sighed.

  “If you’re tired, you should sit down.” Jack moved his cutting board to the counter. “I can finish the salad.”

  “No, I just...” Don’t want to discuss my family issues. “You’re being wonderful,” she said.

  He flashed a grin. “I am, aren’t I?”

  The meal turned out to be another of his triumphs, though she couldn’t get the conversation about their mothers out of her head. She had enough issues from her own family. Was she prepared to take on his issues, too?