Seeing Stars: A Loveswept Classic Romance

by Baker, Fran

  “The sooner the better.” His thigh brushed hers when he sat down next to her and turned sideways so Curtis could get a lungful of life-giving air. The strength of his physical response to touching Dovie really jolted him, and it was all he could do to check the urge that stiffened his jeans.

  “Are you saying they still might …?” Fear made sailor’s knots in Dovie’s throat, and her voice faded to nothingness.

  Nick reached over with his free hand and squeezed her shoulder, wishing he could absorb some of her pain. His heart thundered when he felt Dovie’s first soundless spasm, the sob that was not yet a sob. She was so alone … so vulnerable.

  Deep in her own misery, Dovie rubbed her palms over Linda’s abdomen. As she did it she felt the muscles begin to tighten, starting at the sides and rippling upward. Suddenly she felt immensely relieved, then full of excitement.

  “Look, Nick!” She took his hand and laid it at the base of her sister-in-law’s stomach, then placed her own on the opposite side.

  Their fingertips touched, their hands forming a light cradle around Linda’s abdomen as, together, they shared the thrilling affirmation of life amidst the tragic possibility of death.

  “She’s in labor, isn’t she?”

  “The first stage of it, yes.”

  “Did you hear that, Linda?” Dovie spoke excitedly into her sister-in-law’s ear. “The doctor says you’re in labor!”

  Nick didn’t have the heart to correct her.

  When a tiny foot—or was it a fist?—poked at the flat of her palm, she leaned over and shook her brother’s shoulder. “Your baby kicked me, Curtis! Here”—she took his limp hand and held it in place—“feel for yourself!”

  Linda shifted restlessly then, as though she recognized her husband’s touch, and Nick felt a little chill that had nothing to do with the cold air flailing through the bedroom when his burden, too, began to stir.

  “Where the hell is Harley?” Rationally he knew it had only been about ten minutes since Dovie had called his houseman, but it seemed like hours.

  Her gaze skimmed the empty road in front of the house, then swung to Nick. He held his head in an alert pose, his profile a bronze relief carving in the sepia light of winter. Until now, she’d been too preoccupied to notice that he’d removed his sunglasses. “He said he’d be here as soon as humanly possible.”

  The unspoken question hovered between them: But would he be in time?

  “High forceps.”

  Dovie stood quietly in a secluded corner of the delivery room, every nerve, muscle, and sense strained to the limit as Dr. Rodgers prepared to take Linda’s baby. This was the moment of truth, what the battle in the bedroom and that hair-raising ride with Harley had been all about, and her eyes automatically sought Nick’s reassuring presence.

  Like everyone else in the room, herself included, he wore baggy surgical greens. A loosely-tied cap hid his thick black hair, while a gauzy white mask covered his crooked nose and mobile mouth. He stood to the right of Dr. Rodgers, his head cocked at that vigilant angle she’d come to associate exclusively with him. Dovie thought it must be a trick of the bright overhead lights that made him seem to shimmer and vibrate with new energy as the crisis neared conclusion. But something told her he was simply back in his element.

  She couldn’t see very well from where she stood, but she didn’t dare voice a complaint. A high-forceps delivery was an exceedingly difficult and dangerous operation, indicated now because the baby was too far into the birth canal for a cesarean section. Dr. Rodgers had been adamantly opposed to her presence during the procedure. Only after Nick intervened on her behalf, citing her experience as midwife for her mother, had the reluctant physician relented.

  Linda lay draped and anesthetized on the delivery table, her eyes closed peacefully and her chest rising and falling to the rhythm of the ventilator. She’d been told the truth when she’d asked, that Curtis was alive but too weak to be with her, and Dovie could only pray that her sister-in-law somehow sensed that she wasn’t totally alone in her time of travail.

  “Blood pressure,” Dr. Rodgers demanded.

  “One-thirty over eighty,” the nurse-anesthetist answered.

  Thinking that sounded a little high, Dovie looked at Nick. He seemed to realize she was worried and nodded reassuringly.

  “Forceps,” Dr. Rodgers ordered.

  “Forceps,” the scrub nurse repeated before placing it in his gloved palm with a firm snap.

  If she lived to be a hundred, Dovie would never forget the almost palpable tension that gripped the room when Dr. Rodgers went after Linda’s baby. She trained her gaze on Nick, reading in his body language what she couldn’t see.

  When sweat beaded on his brow, perspiration rolled in rivulets down her stomach and thighs. If he listened to the fetal monitor overly long, her pulse did a three-minute mile. And when he leaned over and reached out, her heart flew into her throat.

  “It’s a boy,” Dr. Rodgers announced.

  Nick straightened up, laid the blue-gray baby on his mother’s belly, and gently massaged him. “Start the oxygen and get his blood gases.”

  “Yes, Doctor.”

  Dovie could hardly breathe as she watched her new little nephew. His head was covered with wet, downy black hair, almost like a fledgling bird. When Nick rubbed his back, he opened his mouth and gave a mew. Before her eyes, he began to bleach and pinken. Ribs tiny as a sparrow’s sprang outward—she could see their whiteness through the skin.

  Suddenly he screwed up his face and screamed, shaking a fist wildly at the great surgical light. That cry carried the wattage of chain lightning, burning away the tension and bringing thanks to the hearts and lips of all who heard.

  Dr. Rodgers looked up from between Linda’s swaddled knees, admiration and relief evident in his eyes. “It’s good to know you’ve still got that magic touch, Dr. Monroe.”

  It might have been Dovie’s imagination, but did Nick nod in her direction? “That remains to be seen, Dr. Rodgers.”

  The coffee in the doctors’ lounge was the consistency of crankcase oil, but it could have been smoothly blended whiskey, for all that Nick had noticed. He crumpled his empty Styrofoam cup, dropped it in the wastebasket, and headed for the door. “Catch you later, Joe.”

  “Hey, wait a minute!” Joe Rodgers grabbed his stethoscope and hurried into the hospital corridor after him. “I’m going that way, too, so we might as well walk together.”

  “Oh?”

  “She went to tell her brother about the baby.”

  Nick nodded and turned in the direction of the Intensive Care Unit, where Dovie was.

  “Fine figure of a woman.”

  “And a damned nice one, too.”

  “It’s about time.”

  Nick chuckled softly. “If that’s a polite comment on all my one-night stands after the accident, I couldn’t agree with you more.”

  “Polite, hell!” Joe laughed out loud. “For a while we had a running bet around here on which you’d need first—a Wassermann test or a rabies shot.”

  Nick grimaced in self-disgust. “Hell, don’t remind me.”

  “Perfectly natural reaction, punishing yourself like that after such a significant loss.”

  “Thanks, Sigmund,” Nick said dryly.

  “You’re velcome,” Joe replied, deadpan.

  They both laughed.

  “So … how’d you meet her?”

  “Trout fishing.” Remembering how he’d pulled Dovie out of the river, Nick smiled. But Joe’s next remark brought him up short.

  “Still trying to drown your sorrows, huh?”

  “It sure beats making brooms,” he retorted bitterly.

  “How does it compare to the thrill of holding that new life in your hands this afternoon?”

  Nick clenched his teeth. “It doesn’t, and you damn well know it.”

  “Or the satisfaction of hearing that woman say thank you when you diagnosed her diabetes simply by smelling the fruity aroma on her breath se
veral years back?”

  “What’s the point of rehashing the past?” he asked scoffingly, more disturbed then he cared to admit.

  “The point is, you still have a place—a future, if you will—in medicine, but you’re the only one who can find it.”

  At the entrance to the Intensive Care Unit, Joe exerted a gentle guiding pressure on his elbow. “First door to your right. I’ll be in as soon as I check the latest lab report on her brother’s blood gases.”

  Nick’s senses were instantly heightened. The blipping monitors … the antiseptic odors that seared his nose and throat … the very urgency of the air. Damn, but it was almost a drunken high!

  Thirsty for more, he stood in the hallway for a moment, pondering Joe’s insightful comment. Suppose … just suppose he actually hung out his shingle again. A bitter curl lifted one corner of his lip. What patient in his right mind would consult a blind doctor?

  Dovie’s delightful laughter floated from the cubicle where her brother lay recovering from his near-fatal bout with CO intoxication. At the door Nick paused and reached into his shirt pocket for his sunglasses. Remembering that he’d left them on the nightstand in Curtis and Linda’s bedroom, he swore softly under his breath.

  “Nick—” The name came so naturally to her lips! “I mean, Dr. Monroe.” Confused by her own confusion, Dovie linked her arm through his and drew him toward the bed. “I’d like you to meet my brother.”

  After the introductions were made, Curtis mumbled unintelligibly.

  “I think he said thank you,” Dovie said, her breath catching in her throat for a second when her breast brushed against his muscular arm. “He can’t talk with the oxygen mask on, so I’m serving as his interpreter.”

  Her brother’s eyes, however, spoke quite eloquently, narrowing with angry disapproval when she continued to cling to Nick. Embarrassed without knowing why, Dovie let go of his arm.

  But when she started to move away, he laid a staying hand on her slender waist, the warm pressure of his fingers seemingly burning through the fabric of her sweater as he held her possessively at his side.

  She looked up and was startled to see that his jaw had gone as hard as teakwood. The machine monitoring her brother’s vital signs began blipping a little faster. She glanced at Curtis. What was visible of his face behind the oxygen mask was as red as ribbon candy.

  “Oh, Curtis, I can’t wait till you see that baby. He’s a doll! And Nick, you’ll never believe how much he looks like Curtis did when he was born. A carbon copy!” She realized she was rambling to hide her nervousness.

  Nick sensed it, too, and replied simply, “We’d better go now so Curtis can get some rest. He’s had a pretty rough time of it today.”

  Her brother’s face turned fuchsia.

  “I know, but …” Law, why did she feel so torn between family loyalty and her own desire to be alone with Nick? She’d paid her dues. Hadn’t she? “Shouldn’t we wait to hear what Dr. Rodgers has to say about his lab tests?”

  A host of perceptions hit Nick all at once. From the monitor, which was running a little rapidly but still well within normal limits, to Dovie’s sudden reluctance to leave, it was obvious that Curtis was trying to lay a guilt trip on her. And doing a damned good job of it, too, judging by the dismay that laced her tone.

  “All right.” But just so Curtis would know that he knew what was going on, Nick retained his possessive hold on Dovie.

  “You’re a lucky young man,” Dr. Rodgers said to Curtis when he stepped into the Intensive Care cubicle. “The tests show that the level of carbon monoxide in your blood has almost returned to normal. But if it hadn’t been for Dovie and Dr. Monroe, your people would be planning a burial instead of a baptism.”

  “How’s Linda?” Dovie asked anxiously.

  “She’s fine. Her anesthetic during the delivery was ninety-five percent oxygen. We’ve moved her from the recovery room to the maternity ward, if you’d like to stop and see her before you leave.”

  “And the baby?”

  “Beautiful.” Joe Rodgers clapped Nick on the shoulder and grinned from ear to ear. “Every baby is a miracle, of course, but when this baby screamed while you were massaging him, I got goose bumps.”

  “I’ll have to admit to a little nervous chill myself.” Nick’s hand trembled slightly as his thumb moved upward and lightly stroked the side of Dovie’s breast.

  Like electricity his touch jolted her every cell. She stood rooted, suddenly not knowing how to act or what to say. At last she turned to Dr. Rodgers. “What caused the carbon-monoxide leak?”

  “Purely speculating now, I’d have to say a clogged furnace vent.” He glanced at Nick. “I seem to recall your treating a case very similar to this one several years ago, so what do you think?”

  Nick nodded. “That would be my guess too. See, over a period of time, the soot that’s been deposited on the chimney liner during the oil-burning process is loosened by the greater amounts of condensed water vapor produced by the new gas system. Eventually, clumps of soot fall, blocking the vent.”

  While Nick went on to warn that everyone who converts a furnace from oil to gas should have the chimney cleaned, he settled his hand just under Dovie’s breast.

  She didn’t look at Curtis for fear of the censure she’d find in his eyes. No man had ever laid a hand on her in front of family. But neither did she say or do anything that could be construed as an objection to Nick’s familiarity. No man had ever made her feel this much a woman.

  Dr. Rodgers turned to Curtis. “I’ll probably release you tomorrow, so I’d suggest you make arrangements to have your chimney cleaned before you move back in.”

  “It’s already been taken care of,” Nick said. “Harley and a man from the gas-service company went back to their house while we were in the delivery room.”

  By the time Dovie bid Curtis good-bye, his monitor was going like mad. It gave her a twinge of guilt, but, after telling herself he was in the best possible hands and promising him that she’d check on Linda and the baby, she left the Intensive Care Unit without a backward glance.

  “Dr. Rodgers.” A disembodied voice paged him through the hospital corridors. “Dr. Rodgers, please report to Surgery.”

  “A doctor’s work is never done.” He smiled at Dovie and shook hands with Nick. “I’ll see you two on Saturday night.”

  Then he turned and headed down the hall.

  “What did he mean, he’ll see us on Saturday night?” she asked as they waited for the elevator that would take them up to the maternity ward.

  “Joe and his wife, Elaine, are giving a Christmas party for the hospital staff, and”—a surprising vulnerability entered his voice—“he asked me to bring you.”

  Once inside the elevator, she broke the bad news. “I’d love to go, Nick, I really would, but I always baby-sit for my brother Jack and his wife, Jayrene, on Saturday night.”

  He cornered her—literally and figuratively. “Well, you’ll just have to tell Jack and Jayrene that the man who saved your life wants to collect his reward.”

  Caught between his powerful body and the wall, Dovie felt totally defenseless. “But they’re counting on me.”

  “So am I.”

  She looked up sharply. “They need me.”

  Nick leaned down and let his tongue do the talking. The silken tip of it skimmed her bottom lip, bathing it with his own nectar. Then it traced her top lip, all sleek, wet satin … and oh, so tempting. When she opened her mouth to welcome him home he murmured, “So do I.”

  “Please …” Reeling, she reached out and sought the support of the waist-high railing that branched out on both sides of her.

  “Twenty years you’ve given your brothers and sisters.” Moist lips moved over hers with gentle sipping motions, and her slumbering senses awakened with an intense craving to experience everything she had missed. “Your high-school prom and your graduation party. College and the career of your choice.” Gifted hands conformed her supple hips to his hard heat.
“Marriage and a family of your own.”

  “Please …” Dovie felt her nipples budding and her body flowering open, preparing for love. How many Saturday nights had she tucked someone else’s children into bed and wished to be doing something else? Something like this. Flustered, she wrenched her mouth away. “Please don’t ask me to choose. Not again. Not so soon.”

  “Twenty years,” Nick repeated thoughtfully as his long, blessed fingers lovingly feathered the back of her neck. “It’s not everyone who’d do that, Dovie, especially in today’s world. Do you regret it now?”

  “I …” Stricken, she realized she didn’t know how to reply. When the elevator doors whooshed open, she pushed past him and dashed out.

  But there was no escaping the truth. It followed her into Linda’s room, where her sister-in-law radiated a serenity that Dovie envied to the core of her soul. It stalked her to the nursery window, where she stood with her fingertips against the glass and tears glistening in her eyes. The fact that she hadn’t denied her regret was the closest she’d ever come to admitting it.

  “Does it help to know that I think you did a hell of a good job raising your brothers and sisters?” Nick stood behind her, not touching her, just there in case she needed a shoulder to cry on.

  “Yes.” A sob escaped her throat when her new little nephew opened his rosebud of a mouth and set up a great big howl. “But what I regret more than anything is the way I used them to excuse my own inadequacies.”

  “How so?” he prompted softly.

  “Do you want to know why I missed my high-school prom?”

  “Only if you want to tell me.”

  “It wasn’t because I couldn’t afford a baby-sitter, which is what I told people and which was easier to deal with than the truth.” She dropped all pretense of dignity and began to cry in earnest. “It … it was because no—nobody invited me.”

  Nick turned her toward him and gathered her gently into his arms. Dovie cried against him with her elbows folded tightly between them, and her tears brought some new and disturbing stinging behind his eyes. When her sobbing eased, he took her face in both hands and wiped at the wetness on her cheeks with his thumbs.