The Baby Mission

by Vivian Wood

  Girls throwing themselves at him. Girls like Rosalie, the superwoman-supermodel-superdoctor. She couldn’t blame Jack for trying the other night, and she wouldn’t have blamed him if they’d taken it farther.

  But Addy had to admit to herself that she’d started to develop a serious crush on him. It was manageable if she kept her distance. But if they had sex?

  If they’d had sex and then he ended up dumping her for Rosalie in a few weeks when the jealousy scheme worked? It would totally crush her, she knew it.

  Isn’t that what we’re doing this for? So Rosalie will go crawling back to him and Jeremy to me? Is it—is that really what I want?

  For the first time, she began to consider that maybe she didn’t want Jeremy back. He really was a douche. Maybe it was just her ego that was hurt.

  Did I seriously get and stay married because of some bruised ego?

  Addy opened up the text as she slid into the driver’s seat.

  Stop by my work if you have a minute. I have a surprise for you.

  A surprise?

  She swiftly texted back.

  Heading over now, just leaving the restaurant.

  It only took ten minutes to reach the hospital.

  The benefits of a small town. As soon as she stepped through the doors, she was bombarded with greetings.

  “Hi, Mrs. Stratton!”

  She blushed every time it was said. She thought she’d get used to it, but it still sounded strange.

  Fake. Like everyone was in on it and was just playing along to appease them.

  Addy headed back to the ER and immediately spotted Jack as he chatted with a patient who was perched on a table. He caught her eye and nodded.

  “Give me a minute,” his eyes read.

  She smiled. He was absolutely stunning. Beneath the blue scrub bottoms and white coat, it was still easy to make out the perfect physique.

  How did he do it? Look so effortlessly gorgeous while working these hours?

  She watched as he raked his hand through his hair, perfectly mussed though she knew he put in zero efforts to primping.

  “Addy, hi!”

  “Hi, Philip,” she said. She greeted him with a warm smile.

  “How’s it going? Here to see the husband?”

  “Yeah, I guess so,” she said. “How are you? They keeping you busy around here?”

  “You have no idea. Well, actually you probably do. Both of our jobs are brutal, huh?”

  “I think yours is a little more demanding than mine,” she said with a laugh.

  Over Philip’s shoulder, she caught sight of Rosalie. The glamazon was impossible to miss, especially in an atmosphere like this.

  She glided like she was on a runway, a perfect French twist holding her flaxen hair in place. Rosalie chatted with a nurse, the red bud of her mouth plump and full.

  Like a French woman, Addy thought. Effortlessly glamorous with a bun and red lipstick.

  Rosalie must have felt Addy’s eyes on her. Her own steel gray eyes snapped up and held Addy’s tight. The blonde squinted and slightly frowned.

  Addy looked away quickly, back to the warmth of Philip’s friendly gaze. Clearly, Rosalie still struggled with the idea of her being with Jack. Married to Jack.

  I guess that’s a good thing. That’s the goal, right?

  “Addy? You okay?” Philip asked.

  “Yeah. Sorry! It’s been a long day. What were you—”

  “Hi, Addison. Good to see you.”

  Rosalie was suddenly at her side, silent as a cat. She offered up a smile, but it didn’t extend all the way to her eyes.

  “Rosalie, hi. I was going to come say hello—”

  “Oh, it’s fine,” Rosalie said. “This one is a talker, you’d never get away.” She laughed as she nodded at Philip, and he joined in. “Is this your day off? And choosing to spend it in the ER. That’s dedication.”

  “Dedication?”

  Before Addy could say anything more, Jack had joined them. He swooped in and greeted Addy with a long kiss.

  She kept expecting him to break away, but when he didn’t and stretched it out longer, she put her hand on his chest. Jack pulled away and grinned at her, a smile so bright that it melted her insides.

  “Hey, love,” he said. “Sorry about that. I was just talking to a patient, and guess what?”

  “What’s that?”

  “He said that a restaurant in town is closing, but it’s not really public knowledge yet.”

  “A restaurant? So?” She searched his eyes.

  What was he up to now?

  “So… they’re selling all the furnishings and appliances—”

  “Like a dishwasher? Freezer?”

  “Yep, just like that. And apparently the owner was friendly with your dad. Rumor has it you can get them both for a song. A Mr. Stills, I think it was?”

  “The Stills, yeah, they own that old-fashioned burger joint on the outskirts of town. I can’t believe it’s closing! But… like, did he say a number?”

  “He said around a thousand, give or take.”

  “A thousand? As in one thousand dollars? That’s it? Really?”

  Both Rosalie and Philip had disappeared.

  “That’s right.”

  Addy launched herself into his arms and hugged him tight. She rested her head on his chest. It felt right, good, like she was home. She hadn’t realized how much she’d forced the affection up until this point.

  “Hey!” he said with a laugh. “It was no big deal. Just a touch of kismet.”

  Addy pulled back slightly.

  “It is a big deal,” she said.

  In that moment, with just a few inches of space between them, she felt that flicker again. She felt her eyes begin to droop.

  “Again? Get a room!”

  One of the nurses walked by and chided them good-naturedly, but it was enough to make Addy remember where they were. And who they were supposed to be.

  Jack cleared his throat.

  “I’ll text you the number he gave me on my next break,” he said. “Duty calls. Time to keep up the image of Professional Doctor for a few more hours.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “Seriously. I… I don’t know what to say, or how I can repay you.”

  “I have a few ideas,” he said, and wiggled his brows at her.

  “Stop it!” she said, and slapped him on the chest.

  Part of her was grateful to get back to their normal routine, but another part of her ached for those glimpses of what could be.

  “I know. Do you want anything particular for dinner? I have the rest of the day off, so it’s doctor’s choice. Whatever you want.”

  “Why don’t you surprise me?”

  Addy rushed out of the ER, feeling light and giddy. Still, the memory of Jack’s touch stayed with her, and she was flushed all the way to the car.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Uh huh,” Jack said.

  He nodded as his patient, a seventy-two-year-old local woman “born and bred in Genoa” continued to ramble during the assessment.

  “And, good heavens, that girl he married? Wouldn’t know how to marinate a turkey if her—”

  “Mrs. Miller, if we could get back to your symptoms. Where, exactly, does it hurt?”

  “Oh, somewhere around here,” she said, and gestured loosely at her hip, pelvic, and abdominal area.

  “Would you say it’s chronic? Acute?”

  “Once you get to be my age, it’s just normal. You know, when I was younger, I could…”

  Jack went about the cursory examination using her physical responses to gauge the problem. He started to zone out and thought about Addy as his years of training took over. She’d surprised him last night with dinner.

  The aroma had hit him even before he’d opened the front door. A succulent meat, roasted vegetables, and a hint of something sweet in the oven.

  “What did you make?” he asked, and stopped in the doorway when he walked in.

  She’d picked up a small
dining table and had draped a cream-colored linen tablecloth over it. A bottle of wine chilled in a silver bucket. From across the pony wall bar that separated the living room and kitchen, he’d watched her bustle about with her work face on.

  “Lahontan cutthroat trout,” she said with a smile. “It’s a local fish, recently restocked after commercial fishing almost decimated the population starting in the thirties.”

  “It smells amazing,” he said.

  “I hope it tastes as good. Go ahead, sit,” she said. “Open the wine, dinner will be ready in ten.”

  “Can I help with—”

  “No, seriously, I got this. I do this all day. You have to be tired. If you want to help, you can pour me a glass, too.”

  He opened the bottle, poured two glasses, and leaned over the bar to watch her work. Addy had been barefoot, and her curvy thighs shot out of worn khaki shorts she’d rolled up to nearly the crest of her legs.

  The kitchen was hot, and the baby hairs that framed her face clung to her dewy skin.

  Curves for days, he thought. The tan skin of the tops of her feet were in stark contrast to the pearly white of her at-home pedicure.

  He watched as she expertly pulled the seasoned vegetables out of the oven and moved a homemade pie to a rack for cooling. The fish came out last with a gust of rich, buttery aroma.

  As she plated their dishes, the steam rose to her face. She whipped out a kitchen towel and cleaned up the plates.

  “They don’t need to look pretty,” he said.

  She glanced up at him. “Why not?”

  “I guess you’re right.”

  They toasted as they sat across from each other. His mouth had watered as he cut into the flaky, moist fish.

  “That’s a good sign,” she said.

  “What?”

  “Silence at the dinner table.”

  “Sorry,” he said, his mouth full of the melting fish.

  “No, I mean it. It means the food’s good.”

  “It’s amazing,” he said. “I have to admit I’m surprised.”

  “Why? I told you I liked cooking.”

  “Yeah, but a lot of people say that. Doesn’t mean they’re good at it.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” she said, but there was a sparkle in her eye.

  Jack had looked down and realized his plate was wiped clean.

  “More?” she asked. “There are some vegetables left. Or dessert.”

  “If you’re asking me if I want vegetables—which were great, by the way—or that pie you baked, I’m going to have to go with the latter.”

  She’d smiled, pushed her chair back, picked up both their plates and went into the kitchen. He listened as she pulled out the plates that had appeared in their cupboards the day before and cut into the pie.

  “Whipped cream or no?” she’d asked, and leaned against the frame between the kitchen and living room.

  A wicked smile played at her face. She held out a bowl of homemade whipped cream, put a finger into the thick cloud of it, and tasted it while she held his gaze.

  “Wanna try? Tell me if it’s sweet enough.”

  Okay, maybe that part didn’t happen. But if it did—

  “Dr. Stratton?” Mrs. Wood’s milky blue eyes probed his.

  “Oh, uh, sorry,” he said. “What did you say?”

  “I—”

  She suddenly leaned over and vomited blood all over his shoes.

  “Don’t worry,” he said, and his training kicked into overdrive.

  One of the nurses arrived at his side.

  “Free fluid in the abdomen,” he said curtly. “Get Philip—er, Dr. Ruiz.”

  Philip came through the curtain at a brisk clip and helped prep the patient for surgery.

  “I got it,” Philip said under his breath to Jack.

  Philip’s specialty was surgery, and if he was available he always got priority in the ER. Jack didn’t complain—as he moved deeper into internal medicine, he considered this jaunt in the ER a kind of tough initiation with a touch of hazing.

  Something to get through before he dug into what he really wanted to do. At least, what he really wanted to do if medicine was the only option.

  He stepped back from the exam table and looked down at his shoes as Philip and a nurse wheeled Mrs. Wood to the OR.

  “Dr. Stratton?” One of his favorite nurses, Loretta, pulled open the curtains and gave him a kind smile. She handed him a wet wipe and a towel.

  “Thanks,” he said, and leaned against the counter to wipe off his shoes.

  “You bring a spare pair like I told you?” she asked. She crossed her hefty arms across her even more ample chest.

  “No, mum, sorry. I forgot,” he said.

  She tsked at him.

  “I’ve been working the ER for thirty years,” she said. “You oughta listen to me when I tell you to keep a spare pair of shoes here.”

  He grinned up at her, taking note of how her hair wrap perfectly matched her scrubs. How she always wore a different set of oversized, sparkling earrings every day.

  “Yeah, you got style, girl,” he said. “I could use some lessons.”

  “Mm-hmm,” she said. “Save it for the wifey. Those charms of yours don’t work on me.”

  As she turned and left, his thoughts went immediately back to Addy.

  Stop it, he told himself. All this fantasizing at work is what got this blood and vomit on your shoes to begin with.

  Was his increasing interest in Addy getting in the way of his work? It was the third time he’d been caught zoning out while thinking about her instead of actively engaged in working on a trauma.

  She was proving to be a distraction, that was for sure. And that was a lot more than what he’d bargained for. Jack looked at his watch. His shift was up in ten minutes, and there were no signs of a new patient being assigned to him.

  Jack started down the hallway toward the staff lounge—only to have Rosalie emerge from the restroom and almost walk smack into him.

  “Rosalie, hey,” he said. “How’s—how’s it going?”

  “I’m about to start a fourteen-hour shift,” she said. “It’s going as well as it could be. How’s your… wife?” she asked.

  “Addison.”

  “I know what her name is.”

  “She’s fine, thanks for asking,” he said.

  Rosalie nodded and looked away.

  Jack smiled, amused. He hadn’t thought their little deception would work so well, but Rosalie clearly struggled with the whole thing. Rosalie was tough, always had been.

  That was partly what had initially attracted him to her. He never thought he’d be able to get under her skin so well, and so easily.

  “Well, I should let you get started,” he said.

  “Jack—I, this is awkward,” she said. “I think, you know, I have five minutes. Let me just get this out.”

  “Okay,” he said. “Shoot.”

  She looked up and down the hall, but it was deserted save for one janitor who mopped at the far end.

  “I’m… well, it’s pretty obvious I’m not happy about the whole thing.”

  “About me and Addison?”

  “Yeah. I’m bitter, I admit it. It’s hard, you know? I mean, it kind of came out of nowhere. But I’ve been working on accepting it. I’m trying to let it go. If we’re going to work together, I don’t want to have this cloud hanging over us all the time.”

  “Yeah, I agree,” he said.

  “So, that’s why I was thinking… why don’t we double date?”

  “What? You mean, Addy and me, and you and…”

  “Just someone I recently started dating,” she said with a shrug.

  “Oh. Who’s the new guy?” he asked. He could have kicked himself for his interest.

  Rosalie shot him a look. “You aren’t allowed to have an opinion about who I date. You’re married.”

  “I know that,” he said. She had him there.

  “So? Double date tomorrow night? It’s pr
obably one of the few times neither of us have the night shift.”

  “You know my schedule?”

  She rolled her eyes at him.

  “It’s posted in the break room,” she said. “I looked when I got here so I could ask you.”

  “Oh.”

  “So, dinner tomorrow? Maybe at seven?”

  “You’ve got a date,” Jack said.

  She smiled and started toward the ER.

  As Jack grabbed his bag out of his locker and headed toward the Jeep, he ran over the conversation with Rosalie in his head.

  Was she up to something? Or being genuine? He couldn’t tell. The Rosalie he knew, or thought he knew, back in the Congo wasn’t underhanded or manipulative. At least she hadn’t seemed to be.

  Maybe she’s for real, he thought.

  As he walked into the condo, he saw Addy as she prepped for work.

  “Dinner shift?” he asked. “I thought you didn’t work those.”

  “Dawn’s sick,” she said. “I have to cover for her.”

  “Are you working tomorrow night?”

  “No, morning shift. Why?” she asked as she pulled her hair into a ponytail.

  “We’re going to dinner with Rosalie and some guy she’s dating.”

  “We’re what?”

  He shrugged. “She asked, said she didn’t want things to be weird at work so this is supposed to smooth things over.”

  “Okay, sounds fun,” she said.

  “I wouldn’t use that word.”

  “Come on. I thought that’s what this was all about? Getting to our exes. What better place than dinner?”

  He watched her as she left, purse slung over one shoulder with keys that jangled in her hand.

  Sounds fun?

  It wasn’t just what she said, but how she said it. The response was like what a girlfriend would say. And as much as he was attracted to Addy, he had to remember that this whole marriage thing was just to make Rosalie jealous.

  How am I supposed to remind Addy of that? he wondered. Especially without making her mad—and still convincing her to put on a good show tomorrow night?

  Jack poured himself a glass of whiskey and sat on the patio to mull over his approach.

  Chapter Twelve

  Why did I agree to this?