“Well, yes, sure.” Abruptly, all mirth vanished. “Could that be
what’s causing this?”
“It’s a remote possibility,” Cole said. “Since nothing else has
shown up, I’d like to test you for antibodies to your own sperm.”
The teacher regarded him in bewilderment. “How is that
possible?”
“Sperm is usually protected from the immune system by a
mechanism called the blood-testis barrier,” Cole explained. “Sometimes an injury
breaks through this barrier. In that case, the immune system may form antibodies
to the sperm.”
“You said that was rare.”
“It’s found in less than one percent of infertile men,” Cole
agreed, “although the incidence is higher when they’ve had surgery on their
reproductive tract. I don’t see that in your case. But the wrestling might have
caused it.”
“This test—is it invasive?” The man swallowed. “Never mind.
I’ll do whatever it takes.”
His determination to become a father, even without a woman in
the picture yet, was striking. Although Cole tried to avoid becoming overly
invested in his patients, he hoped he could help.
“We need to test a sperm sample for antibodies,” he assured
him. “Nothing invasive.”
“Let’s do it.”
Cole summoned Lucky to arrange for the specimen. Then, in his
office, he made notes in the patient’s file. The problem was that even with a
diagnosis, treatment for male antibodies was controversial and uncertain. He
supposed they’d cross that bridge when and if they came to it....
A tap at the door announced an unexpected visitor. Ned Norwalk
popped in, his teeth gleaming white in his tanned face when he smiled. Although
they’d hung out together at the Sunbeam Saloon, this was the first time the
nurse had paid him a visit. “What’s up?” Cole asked.
Ned dropped into a chair. “Just making sure we’re on the same
page.”
“About what?”
“Stacy.”
Irritably, Cole recalled Ned’s comment at the nightclub:
There’s one I wouldn’t mind getting to know
better.
“What about her?”
Ned spread his hands placatingly. “I’m looking for a place, so
we discussed her ad for a roommate. When she confided that she’s pregnant, I put
two and two together. She refused to say anything about the father, but I saw
you two leaving the club, and the timing is right.”
Cole pried apart his clenched teeth to ask, “And?”
“I wanted to let you know I’ll take good care of her.”
Considering Ned’s reputation for gossiping, Cole did not feel
reassured. “You will, eh?”
The nurse hurried on. “People will assume I’m the dad, which
lets you off the hook. With all this publicity, I figured you’d appreciate
that.”
A swell of anger nearly choked Cole. He did
not
want to be let off the hook, and he hated the idea
of another man living with Stacy. “You figured wrong.”
Ned regarded him uneasily. “You don’t like the idea?”
“Correct,” Cole muttered. Then he remembered the first lesson
he’d learned about Stacy: not to control her. He struggled to moderate his tone.
“I should discuss this with her. Any idea where she is?”
“I saw her on the elevator a few minutes ago. She got off on
the second floor. Something about an ultrasound.”
The exam wasn’t scheduled for another week and a half, but
there must have been a change in plans. Was she having problems? Cole sprang up
so fast he banged his thigh against the edge of the desk. “I’d better go.”
“Yeah. Glad we had this little talk,” Ned said as Cole hurried
past him. “Guess I’ll find another place to live.”
“Excellent plan,” he snapped.
He supposed he should have been more diplomatic, and more
careful about revealing his paternity. Sworn the man to secrecy, too. But right
now, Cole didn’t care.
He had to find Stacy.
Chapter Ten
As Stacy approached Nora Franco’s office, Una stepped
into the hall, the tag sticking out of her flowered maternity dress. She must
have already completed the ultrasound and dressed hurriedly afterward.
Stacy wished she had arrived earlier, but she’d been at home
when she received a text saying the eager mom-to-be had arranged to move up her
ultrasound by a few days. “How’d it go?”
“I’m having twins!” Una cried, and twirled around in the
corridor.
“That’s great! Hang on a sec.” Reaching out, Stacy tucked the
tag into the collar. “There you go. Where’s Jim?”
“Hauling a load back from Oregon.” Una’s husband was a
long-distance truck driver. “Dr. Franco knew how anxious I was, so her nurse
called about a cancellation. Jim gave the okay, and here I am. Jim was ecstatic
when I told him the news. Me, too!”
“I wish I’d been there.” Stacy had meant to share as many
special moments as possible with her co-mom.
“Don’t feel bad,” Una told her. “Dr. Franco and Harper were
almost as excited as I was. I did kind of hope for triplets or quads,
though.”
Down the hall, a staff door opened. Stacy expected to see her
roommate leaving for the day. Instead, she caught a glimpse of Zora Raditch’s
short ginger hair and green uniform. Even after nearly three years, Stacy still
felt a blast of resentment toward the woman who’d stolen her husband. At least
she had the good grace to duck away in the opposite direction.
Stacy returned her attention to Una. “You don’t really want to
be pregnant with more than two. I sure hope I’m not.” She halted, startled by
what she’d blurted. If she hadn’t been so distracted by seeing Zora...
“You’re pregnant?” Una’s eyes widened.
“I had a little accident.” Boy, was that an understatement.
“How wonderful!” Her fellow mom gave her a hug. “Our kids will
be brothers or sisters. When are you due?”
“February,” Stacy said. “A few weeks after you.”
“We might deliver at the same time,” Una pointed out. “That’s
so sweet. The kids can grow up together.”
Stacy raised her hands to stem the flow of words. “I’m planning
on adoption.”
Silence fell as the other woman absorbed this information.
“Wait! That’s even more perfect. Jim and I will adopt your baby! The more the
merrier.”
She would do
what?
“Una, this town
is full of couples with empty arms,” Stacy said with more feeling than she’d
intended. “Don’t be...” She nearly said “greedy,” but that would be offensive
and just plain mean. “Think of the expense, not to mention the exhaustion.”
“People at my church will help,” Una responded cheerily.
“Another congregant had triplets and our women’s group formed a diaper and
bottle brigade. I’m sure they’d do the same for me.”
No way was Stacy giving her baby to the Barkers. She resented
the assumption that any child of hers automatically belonged to Una.
This is my baby.
For nine months, anyway.
Still, she understood Una’s desire to have a large family. Her
co-mom had been a foster child, abandoned by her father and orphaned at her
mother’s death. Her few relatives had been indifferent. No wonder she yearned to
surround herself with love.
“It isn’t a good idea,” she said more gently.
“Yes, it is.” Una tugged her toward the elevator. “Give the
idea a chance to sink in.”
Talking to Una was like swimming against a strong current. “I
told you...” Stacy was saying as the doors slid open.
“We’ll adopt however many babies you’re carrying. Once you get
used to the idea, you’ll see that I’m right.”
Cole was standing in the elevator, his brown eyes smoldering as
he took in Una’s remark and Stacy’s frustrated expression. “Stacy doesn’t like
being pressured.”
Una blinked in surprise. “I beg your pardon?”
“She told you she doesn’t want you to adopt her baby,” Cole
said firmly. “That should end the matter.”
Una’s gaze flicked over the name tag on his jacket. “Dr.
Rattigan. You’re famous!”
“
Infamous
would be more accurate.”
As Stacy entered the enclosed space, he touched her arm. “Watch your step.”
Una’s eyes widened in understanding. “He’s the dad?”
Oops.
“This is private,” Stacy
said.
Cole didn’t seem to care. He was too busy glaring at Una like a
bulldog guarding its territory.
As the elevator doors closed, the mom-to-be held up her hands
in surrender. “My lips are sealed. As for your baby, all I ask is that you keep
me in mind if you do go through with an adoption. Oh! I have a great idea.”
Stacy wasn’t sure she could handle any more of Una’s great
ideas. “What’s that?”
“I’m tired of keeping a lid on the news about my pregnancy,”
the other woman said. “Now that we’ve confirmed twins, I’ll ask the hospital to
hold a press conference. I mean, it
is
a first for
the egg bank. That ought to take the heat off you, Dr. Rattigan. Give you both a
little peace and privacy.”
“That would be a welcome change,” Cole conceded, his tension
ebbing. “Thank you.”
Stacy appreciated Una’s thoughtfulness. As they reached the
ground floor, she said, “I’m sorry I was touchy.”
“If anybody understands about mood swings, it’s me.” Una patted
her shoulder. “See you soon.”
“You bet.” Stacy was glad to stay on good terms with Una. It
saddened her that, although their children would be half brothers or sisters,
they’d probably never meet.
Cole walked Stacy to her car. It was becoming a tradition, she
mused, and a welcome one. “I appreciate your sticking up for me. Una’s
enthusiasm can be hard to take.”
“When I heard something about an ultrasound, I was afraid you’d
run into a problem,” he said.
“Una’s, not mine,” she said. “Why’d you think it was me?”
“Ned Norwalk mentioned it.” They stopped beside her sedan. “He
came to request my approval to be your roommate.”
“Why would he do that?”
“I guess since I’m the father...”
Stacy didn’t bother to ask how Ned had figured that out. He had
a talent for snooping. “I didn’t say he could move in. As a matter of fact, I’ve
had several inquiries.”
“Good.” Cole regarded her hesitantly. Strange how he could be
so fierce one moment and shy the next. “I warned him off.”
“That wasn’t up to you.” Still, Ned
had
chosen to consult Cole. And Stacy felt a twinge of appreciation. Having a
protector felt kind of nice.
“If you need taking care of, I should be the one to do it,” he
said. “This pregnancy is as much my responsibility as yours. I should be your
roommate.”
Stacy touched her still-flat abdomen, keenly aware of what lay
inside. Part of her longed to lean against Cole and yield to his protective
instincts, but she’d learned the hard way to be cautious. “One disastrous
mistake per relationship is the legal limit. And we used ours when we made this
child.”
“Why would living together be a mistake?” he pressed.
“Because I’m vulnerable,” she said. “Have you ever been in
love?”
He frowned. “Define ‘been in love.’”
Oh, for pity’s sake!
“If you had been, you wouldn’t have to ask. It will sweep away
everything else like a wildfire.” She recalled her intense early months with
Andrew. “You’ll be consumed, delirious. Longing for the person you love.
Desperate to spend your life with him or her.”
Cole’s shoulders drooped. “I don’t think that’s in my
personality.”
“Neither do I,” Stacy said sadly. “Let’s leave it at that.”
As she got into her car, she wasn’t sure why she felt so let
down. She had to stop hoping for more than Cole was capable of giving.
Especially since some foolish part of her still yearned to
nestle into his arms and stay there, safe and warm.
* * *
W
HEN
C
OLE
HAD
REALIZED
, back in Minneapolis, that he wasn’t
capable of committing to his girlfriend, the discovery had bothered him only
because it meant distressing Felicia. More accurately, infuriating her. She’d
fired off several nasty emails that had emphasized the less-than-lovable side of
her personality and made him doubly glad of his escape.
It was different with Stacy. He regretted letting her down, for
his own sake as much as for hers. Why couldn’t he be the kind of man who made
her heart beat faster?
During the next few days, Cole’s thoughts kept returning to the
concept of love as a sort of hemorrhagic illness. He wondered if a modified
version might be acceptable to her. Seeing Stacy lifted his spirits. He missed
her when a day went by without contact. Yet he supposed the fact that he could
consider the situation rationally meant he didn’t meet her definition of being
in love. Or, as he feared, he simply wasn’t capable of it.
During surgery on Friday, Cole inquired about the roommate
situation. Stacy informed him that Harper was moving out the following day, but
had paid for another week’s rent. Stacy hoped to have chosen one of her prime
candidates by then.
From the look on her face, he judged that he wasn’t in the
running.
On the plus side, Cole wasn’t nearly as worried anymore about
how the press would react if they learned of Stacy’s pregnancy, which by now had
become common knowledge around the hospital. Una Barker’s press conference, held
the previous afternoon, had succeeded in deflecting the spotlight from him.
Owen Tartikoff had spoken enthusiastically about the egg bank’s
first pregnancy, and Una and her husband were a sympathetic couple. Although the
announcement fell short of being earthshaking, last night’s local newscasts had
played up the human-interest angle.
One reporter had tried to relate the case to the alleged Daddy
Crisis by asking whether Una’s husband required fertility treatments. Luckily,
Jim hadn’t. Cycling home on Friday, Cole hoped they could lay all that nonsense
to rest.
Turning into the driveway, he spotted his landlady descending
the steps from his apartment, her pink bubble of hair bouncing as she moved.
What had she been doing up there? Emergencies aside, she was required to alert
him in advance if she needed to enter.
Cole waited for her in the driveway. “Mrs. Linden?”
She gave him a too bright smile. “Hi, there! How’s it going,
Doc?”
“Fine. Why were you inside my apartment?”
She tugged on a tight sweater ill-suited to a woman in her late
sixties. “I was in the garage and thought I heard a noise, so I went to
check.”
Cole didn’t believe her for a second. “What kind of noise?”
“Scurrying,” she said.
“Like a rat?”
“Oh, heavens no!” She sidled toward the house. “More like a
squirrel.”
“How can you tell the difference?”
“You scientists certainly ask a lot of questions,” she
responded. “I guess that’s what makes you so good at your job. You know, I think
I left a pot boiling on the stove. Keep an eye out for squirrels, would you?
They can be a real nuisance.”
If he didn’t have a lease, he’d be out of there, Cole thought
grumpily as he put his bike away. While her excuse might sound plausible to an
outsider, he didn’t buy it.
Upstairs, he fought a growing sense of discomfort as he ate a
salad. Although nothing appeared out of place, he felt invaded. While he made a
point of password-protecting all his electronics and keeping his financial
papers in a lockbox, he shouldn’t have to.
He understood that his landlady might be bored and lonely.
Nevertheless, she had no business poking through his possessions, and he didn’t
see how he could stay there any longer.
Considering the unpleasantness of the situation, he wished
she’d given him a clear-cut reason to break the lease. Instead, if he left, he
might end up forking out unaffordable payments—half of Stacy’s rent, as he’d
offered, along with the rent on this place and the cost of a new apartment.
Despite making a respectable income, he didn’t see how he could manage all
that.
Cole fired up his laptop and visited a site featuring the
latest bicycle accessories. He’d like to buy a cyclocomputer to track his speed
and mileage. On the low end, he found one for only thirty-five bucks, but it
paled in comparison to a top-of-the-line competitor that also monitored heart
rate and travel time, stored favorite routes and included both map features and
GPS. On the downside, it cost over five hundred dollars.
He’d never been concerned about such expenses before. Now, he
had to put aside money for Stacy. Just in case.
Out of curiosity, he moved the cursor to the browser window and
typed in his landlady’s name, Valerie Linden.
You never knew what you might find on the internet.
A list of references popped up, mostly women who were clearly
not her. Then Cole remembered seeing her middle initial on a piece of
misdelivered mail. He typed in Valerie Q. Linden and added Safe Harbor for good
measure.
The name of a blog jumped out:
The
Neighborhood Nose.
The woman snooped and bragged about it? With
disbelief, he read the title of her latest entry. “Dr. Daddy Crisis: An Inside
View.”
There was a picture of Cole’s TV set and DVD player. Another
image showed his bathroom counter with his shaver and deodorant neatly lined up,
followed by a similar shot of his nearly bare kitchen counter. The only thing
she hadn’t run were shots inside his bureau drawers and refrigerator—maybe she
was saving those for later.
Judging by the date and time, she’d posted these while he was
eating dinner. The nerve...
Fury shot through Cole. It took all his restraint not to storm
over to her house and order the woman to remove the pictures immediately. He
wasn’t sure whether this qualified as a crime, but it certainly constituted
grounds for a lawsuit—not that he wanted to get involved in anything so
messy.