Daddy By Design? & Her Perfect Wife

by Cheryl Anne Porter

  “But…I need—” Melinda clamped her mouth shut on help now, dammit! According to Dr. Bowen, surgeons never showed emotion. “Ah, doesn’t putting on a big wedding take months?”

  “Don’t worry,” Jack said, reclaiming her hand. Same electric tingle. Weird. “Sherry and I can throw one together in no time.”

  His matchmaker friend nodded. “Sure. And we’ll get the grass cut right away—I’ll explain later,” she told Jack when he grunted questioningly.

  “I’ve got to give two weeks notice,” Jack said, shooting Sherry another puzzled glance. “If you can hold out till then, we can put together a prenup, too, so we both just walk away when it’s over.”

  A weird feeling rippled along her spine at the words. Mel shrugged it off. Until then, coffee in bed. Clean underwear. No more nasty citations.

  “Okay,” she said. “Two weeks it is.”

  THEY ADJOURNED to the bar after the waiter threw a series of vicious glares in their direction. After all, turnover meant more tips.

  Sherry ordered champagne and offered a toast to a mutually beneficial arrangement.

  After a quick sip, Mel asked if they needed anything from her to plan the wedding. Otherwise, she’d head back to the hospital and her stack of patient files.

  Jack turned those deep-blue eyes on her. “Do you have a church or a minister you prefer?”

  For some reason, Mel’s hand twitched, spilling champagne on the table. Don’t be a numskull, she told herself, shaking her head as she mopped up the wine. There’s nothing romantic about this. It’s a clever solution to a nagging problem, that’s all.

  Jack locked gazes with his old friend. “So whaddaya think?”

  Sherry shrugged. “The Empire Club. Three o’clock.”

  “If we can get it,” Jack said, touching his shirt pocket, then his thighs.

  Melinda pulled a pen and pad from her lab coat and handed them over.

  “Thanks,” he said absently, making a note. “I’ll try to get Father Bernard, but you’ll probably have to call that justice of the peace you know.”

  Sherry nodded, pulling a leather-bound notebook from her briefcase and making a note of her own.

  “Flowers?” Jack asked.

  Melinda sipped champagne; he wasn’t asking her.

  “Fanny’s. She needs the business, she’ll give us a great deal.”

  Jack nodded again. Made another note. “Music?”

  “Jazzy Jake. Easy eighties.”

  Another nod, another note. “Food?”

  “Cake, hors d’oeuvres, cash bar.”

  Not exactly the way I’d imagine my wedding taking shape, but… Mel smiled as the two friends continued their machine-gun planning. They were getting the job done.

  “Speaking of cake, where should we—?” Jack broke off to grin. Sherry grinned back. Together they chanted, “Austin’s!”

  More jotting, then, “Tuxes?”

  “First Night—I get this one free.”

  “They rent bridal gowns, too,” Sherry said. “No sense buying one. I’ll check there tomorrow. What size are you?”

  Melinda jerked as she realized the woman was addressing her. Before she could answer, Sherry said, “A six, right?”

  See? They don’t need my input, Mel thought, nodding politely. Not even for my dress size. Just as well. She wouldn’t have much to add. She’d given up silly “girl” things like dates and proms and romantic wedding fantasies years ago to achieve her goal in medicine. And now she had an M.D. after her name.

  Which meant a lot more than having a Mrs. in front of it, Mel reminded herself. Not just to her, but to all the little kids like her brother, kids who needed the special skills of a pediatric surgeon.

  Dodging a familiar stab of sorrow, Mel returned her attention to the wedding planners as Sherry pointed her pen at Jack, who responded with, “Decorations?”

  “How about balloon ropes? Confetti on the tables.”

  “Gifts for the wedding party—what did Sam give out?”

  “Business card cases.”

  “That’s good.” Nod. Note. “No videographer, right?”

  “Right. Dave’ll take photos.”

  Jack jotted as he muttered, “Music for the ceremony—the usual.” He looked up. At Sherry, naturally. “Should we have a soloist?”

  “No!” they shouted together, then laughed companionably.

  Melinda touched her pager. She wasn’t jealous of their friendship. All she wanted out of this was the help she needed with her parents’ house. And clean laundry—no matter how late she worked.

  “Groomsmen?” Sherry asked.

  “My brothers, I gue—”

  “You have brothers?” Melinda interjected, the old, familiar heavy feeling settling in her chest again. “Plural?”

  “Yeah.” Jack sounded so casual she wanted to hit him. “Three of ’em. And a sister.”

  Unbelievable. Better-looking than a GQ model and siblings. The man’s middle name must be Lucky.

  “As usual, Mike’s out of the country,” Jack went on. Addressing Sherry, of course. “Maybe if we ignore the other two…”

  “Dream on,” his friend said. “Those bozos will insist on participating. You Hallorans make the Brady Bunch look like a collection of introverted loners.”

  “Bridesmaids.”

  Melinda felt her toe nudged. “Bridesmaids,” Jack repeated. “How many do you want?”

  The real question was how many women did she know well enough to ask. “Oh, um, Sherry, of course.”

  The woman rewarded her with a smile.

  Mel looked at Jack. “Your sister?”

  After a second’s thought, he shook his head. “She’s…no.” When Sherry uttered a sound of protest, he jutted his jaw. “She needs to get back in the swim, but that’s too much,” he said fiercely. “She’s not ready.

  “My sister lost her husband last year,” he told Mel with a crooked smile that made her heart valves flutter. “She’s…having a hard time pulling out of it.”

  “Anybody else?” Sherry asked, giving Jack a frown he ignored. “We’ve still got one more Halloran.”

  “Well…my cousin, maybe.” They weren’t particularly close, but since Aunt Gertrude only attended funerals and her parents were in Oman, Noreen was all the family she had. “If she’s available. She has a pretty small baby—”

  “Give Sherry her phone number and she’ll find out.”

  Obediently Melinda scribbled Noreen’s name and phone number in Sherry’s notebook.

  “Are we gonna have a theme color?” Sherry asked Jack.

  Melinda checked her pager again. Oh, stop it. Stop pretending you’re too busy to feel left out.

  She was too busy. She didn’t feel left out. The wedding thing was their idea, not hers. Her priority was becoming the best pediatric surgeon Leo Bowen ever trained. She was twenty-eight, not seventy-eight. She’d get a personal life later.

  “Bronze would be interesting,” Sherry suggested, one hand going to her dark auburn curls.

  “British racing green,” Jack countered, making a note. “The color of Melinda’s eyes. Let’s see…oh, yeah—caterer?”

  “My friend Bernice’ll do it for cost,” Sherry said, scooting closer to Jack to compare notes. “What have we forgotten?”

  Using one fingertip, Melinda pushed aside her glass of champagne. She refused to go all giddy just because Jack Halloran had noticed the color of her eyes. What mattered was—could he iron?

  “This’ll get us started,” Jack declared, ripping out his pages of notes, then sliding the pad and pen back toward Melinda. “Anything else comes up, Sher and I can touch base at work.”

  His grin heated Melinda’s insides, even though it wasn’t aimed at her. “After all, we’re Jensen’s top producers. What’s he going to do, fire us?”

  The two friends laughed. Together. Easily.

  Melinda touched her beeper.

  She wanted to save kids’ lives—and she’d be ready to do that, finally, i
f she survived this fellowship under Dr. Bowen.

  With Jack Halloran’s help, she’d achieve the goal she’d set for herself eighteen years ago.

  And her parents would have a house left to come home to.

  “Ready, Melinda?” At the sound of Jack’s deep, smooth voice, she looked up. Straight into his blue eyes.

  Wow, those babies were spellbinding! “Ready?” she repeated. Like a moron.

  “To leave.” Jack tossed aside his napkin and reached for the check as he stood.

  “Yes.” Melinda pushed back her chair. “Yes,” she repeated. “I have to get back to the hospital.”

  “I’ll start looking at dresses this week,” Sherry said. “Do you want to go with me, Melinda?”

  “The big public statement is y’all’s idea,” she reminded Sherry. “I’ll wear whatever you pick out.” If I stay nuts long enough to go through with this. Doubts were already snowballing like government cost overruns.

  While Jack paid the bar tab, Sherry pulled Melinda across the restaurant’s foyer. “You will take the whole day off for the wedding, right?” she asked in a low voice.

  “I could probably trade an ER rotation with somebody,” Melinda admitted, “but why? I thought the ceremony was at three.”

  Sherry picked up Melinda’s hand and studied her fingernails. “I’ll make appointments with my stylist Raoul and the nail tech. She does facials, too.”

  Before Mel could decide if she’d just been insulted, Sherry grinned. “A little makeup, the right dress—I can’t wait to see Jack’s face when you come down the aisle. He’ll never know what hit him.”

  “Come on, Sher,” the babe magnet in question interrupted, strolling over from the cashier. “Dr. Burke’s a busy woman. Find somebody else to micromanage.”

  He turned warm, cobalt eyes on Mel and handed her a business card. “Call me when you’re free to get the license.”

  How could such a simple solution suddenly feel so complicated? Melinda wondered as she fled.

  TODAY. MEL STOOD beside the other fellow, Dan Something, waiting to assist Dr. Bowen. I’ll call today. Tell him I’m sorry, but I’ve thought it over and—

  Melinda sighed. She’d told herself this every day since Sunday, but she still hadn’t called. Hadn’t explained to Jack Halloran that she couldn’t marry him, she didn’t even know him!

  There was just one reason she hadn’t picked up the phone. Not the pathetic suspicion that a strictly business marriage was the only kind she could handle. And definitely not the daydreamy fantasy of a hottie like Jack serving her coffee in bed every morning.

  She hadn’t called because someone had mowed the lawn on Tuesday or Wednesday—she’d slept at the hospital both nights on orders from Bowen to monitor the telemetry on a critical four-year-old.

  “Will you be joining us today, Dr. Burke, or are you too busy formulating your strategy for the next Neiman Marcus sale?” Bowen’s barb cut through the classical music pouring from the operating room’s speakers.

  Okay, that was the real reason she hadn’t called off the marriage-for-her-convenience: the short, balding, caustic Dr. Bowen. Who delighted in torturing his fellowship trainees, especially the females.

  Melinda forced herself to answer the program director calmly. “I’m ready when you are, Dr. Bowen.”

  “You’d better be, Burke. I tolerate no woolgathering in my OR.” The man glared at her over his mask.

  How dare this man question her devotion to excellence? Hadn’t she given her whole life to medicine? No friends, no hobbies, no—

  “As long as you understand the sacrifices I require, we’ll get along fine.” His eyes doubted it—and promised additional sacrifices. “Now, Dr. Burke. If you’d care to make a lateral incision approximately eight centimeters below and to the—”

  Mel selected a scalpel. She’d call Jack today all right—to set a time to get the license, not to bail. Clearly Bowen’s attitude meant she was going to need a wife now more than ever.

  Taking a deep breath, she made a swift and perfect incision, then helped retract the ten-year-old’s skin and external muscle sheath. As Dr. Bowen bent forward to access the polyp, she nudged Dan Something with her foot.

  “Would you take my ER rotation next Saturday?” she whispered beneath the soaring tones of Handel’s Water Music. “I’ll take your next holiday.”

  Dan thought a minute, then nodded. “Big plans?” he asked.

  “Not really.” Mel tried to sound offhanded. “I’m getting married.”

  Unless Jack has changed his mind, she thought as Dan’s eyebrows rose.

  “Suction! No—” Dr. Bowen stopped the surgical nursing assistant with an imperious gloved hand. “Let’s observe Burke’s technique.” Mel stepped forward, grateful for the distraction as well as the chance to be guided by one of the foremost experts in pediatric surgery. Even if he did have the charm and personality of a hungover rat.

  “OH, HI, MELINDA!” Grabbing a pen, Jack twirled it so fast it flew out of his hand. Landed two desks down. The broker there, glued to his monitor, didn’t even flinch. “Uh, can I put you on hold for a minute?” Without waiting for a reply, he punched the hold button.

  Then he lowered his forehead to his desk.

  He’d been expecting this. The kiss-off. After almost a week of silence—and after he’d submitted his resignation to ol’ Jugular.

  No surprise, really—why would a smart, ambitious surgeon marry a burned-out-at-thirty-one stockbroker who wanted to freeload on her and her insurance plan so he could study annuities at his leisure?

  In spare moments since their meeting, he’d been optimistic. And haunted by Melinda Burke’s faint air of desperation and fatigue.

  He’d become almost obsessed with the crazy idea of showing the world that he, Jack Halloran, could be a perfect wife. Her perfect wife.

  Dammit, the woman needed him. And he needed—

  Aw, get it over with, he told himself and depressed the blinking button.

  “Thanks for waiting,” he said, keeping his voice steady. “What can I do for you?”

  “Well, first, what do you tell people when they ask how we, you know, got together?”

  “The truth,” Jack said with a shrug. “That Sherry introduced us.”

  “Of course!” Delight warmed her voice and made his insides kind of knot up.

  Jensen came out of his office to glare in Jack’s direction.

  Jack glared back. What the hell—he was out of a job, anyway. “And second?” he prompted.

  “When can we get our license?” Melinda’s words were brisk, though her voice was suddenly as soft as kitten fur. “If we need blood tests, I can get them run here at the hospital.”

  Jack imagined that velvety voice murmuring endearments against his skin. In the dark. Between the sheets.

  Put a lid on it, Halloran. Dark-rimmed glasses, shapeless clothes, no sex, remember? So just stick to business.

  After clearing his throat, Jack said, “We have to go to the county clerk’s office. Together.”

  “Noon tomorrow?” Mel asked.

  “Fine with me.” Hanging up a minute later, Jack told himself there was nothing about Melinda Burke to make him think their relationship would or should be anything other than platonic.

  Nothing except a pair of smoky green eyes. A velvet voice. And hair the color of dark chocolate.

  Jack gave Jensen another glare for the heck of it. Then, resuming his stock tracking, he decided it was a Martha Stewart good thing he had no interest in a real relationship. Just as well, though, that there wasn’t going to be a doctor in the house.

  At least, not often enough to worry about.

  3

  JACK SHIFTED HIS WEIGHT from one foot to the other. The permit-to-wed line was moving about as fast as granite.

  Giving him way too much time to watch the couples bracketing them smooch and drape around each other like Confederate jasmine.

  Hell, the pair in front were going to have each other comp
letely disrobed by the time they reached the head of the line.

  Which made it damned near impossible to not think about the one aspect of marriage he and his virtual-fiancée, Dr. Burke, had agreed their relationship would not include: intimacy.

  A surprisingly dangerous thing to contemplate, with Melinda’s scent—something sweet yet spicy—filtering subtly into his lungs.

  So don’t. Distract yourself.

  “What made you decide to be a doctor?” he asked in a low voice.

  “Um…” Melinda paused, as if choosing her words carefully.

  One half of the couple ahead of them was sucking the earring right off the other. That left Jack unmoved, but Mel wet her full lips and his male equipment stirred in response.

  “Go ahead,” he urged, turning the inappropriate desire into something safer: childish irritation. “Use multisyllabic words. I have a college degree—I’ll get the gist of it.”

  “I’m not worried about your comprehension,” she snapped.

  Jack hardly heard. He was noticing how soft-looking her mouth was. Wondering how it would feel beneath his. How she would taste.

  “It’s just—” she raised and lowered a shoulder “—hard to talk about.” She looked down the bland hallway. “I was ten when my brother died. Harry was only six.”

  He couldn’t imagine her pain, but instinctively Jack moved closer. “Oh, Mel…I’m so sorry.”

  For a minute, she seemed to lean toward him, then Melinda stepped back. Jack let her have the space. It’s not that kind of relationship, he reminded himself. And that’s the way he wanted it.

  Because he knew what happened when people started caring about each other. All he had to do was think of his sister to remember the wreckage love could leave behind.

  Melinda shook her hair; it fanned forward over her shoulder and tumbled onto her breast. “A good pediatric surgeon might have saved Harry’s life.”

  Desire bloomed again thick and hot. Jack stuffed it down, ordering his mind to stay off soft green eyes, sexy perfume and the mystery of what lay under today’s shapeless outfit.

  She shrugged; her hair rippled again. “That’s why I became a doctor. And this fellowship is the last of the training I need to save other Harrys. And their families.”