“I’d rather let that nonsense die a quiet death,” Cole told
her.
At Tammy’s disappointed look, her mother, nurse Eva Rogers,
gave her a poke. “I warned you,” she said sternly.
Tammy scrunched her face. “What kind of reporter would I be if
I didn’t try?”
Cole hurried away. Yet, despite feeling a bit awkward, he
didn’t try to stick to Stacy’s side. These were her friends and she seemed to
enjoy circulating freely.
No one mentioned the triplets. As far as he could tell, Stacy
wasn’t spreading the news about that yet. He was glad, especially with Miss
Would-Be Journalist hanging about.
Standing alone with a glass of punch in hand, Cole noted the
way people cast him speculative glances. Wondering about his relationship with
Stacy? Well, so was he.
On the rear patio, a handful of guests clustered around a snack
table set up with the deviled eggs, as well as chips and dips and a cheese tray.
Having eaten more than his share of the eggs while fixing them, Cole wasn’t
tempted to join in.
He found a deck chair near Adrienne, who’d finished her
gardening duties and stretched out on a lounger for some well-deserved rest.
“I’m amazed at the lack of flies in California,” he told her. “All this food and
nothing buzzing around.”
“I take it for granted, probably because I grew up here.” The
doctor had brushed out the long blond hair she usually wore in a twist. She was
an attractive woman, Cole realized, although her loose sweater and casual jeans
indicated she didn’t fuss about appearances.
He sat beside her, watching a group of children play catch on
the grass. Mia stayed on the sidelines, cradling a kitten and cheering on her
friends. “Good throw, Reggie!” she called to a blond boy, who flashed her a grin
minus a couple of teeth.
“That’s my nephew.” Adrienne sighed. “He’s growing fast.”
Stacy had mentioned that Adrienne was raising the boy after her
sister’s death in a car crash a few months ago. “It must be hard, adjusting to
parenthood,” Cole said.
“I’ve had plenty of practice.” The obstetrician stretched her
shoulders. “After our mother died three years ago, I took this job at Safe
Harbor partly so I could help with Reggie. My sister was bipolar and abused
alcohol, like both our parents. Reggie needed stability in his life, and I’m
it.”
Although surprised by her frankness about such personal
matters, Cole appreciated the confidence. “Your long hours must make it hard to
spend time with him.”
“It’s far from ideal, but I do the best I can.” She closed her
eyes, and he recalled that she must have been on duty overnight. A moment later,
she opened them to glance toward her nephew.
Keeping watch. Must be her maternal instincts.
“You love him a lot,” Cole observed.
She sat up straighter. “Reggie’s a great little guy, a real
trooper. I just wish I didn’t have to leave him with sitters so often.”
“You’re adopting him?” Cole asked. “I presume that’s necessary,
even with a family relationship.”
“I want him to feel secure that I’ll always be there,” Adrienne
noted. “It’s basically a formality. Vicki’s will appointed me guardian. Reggie’s
father was one of those hit-and-run jobs.”
Ouch.
Cole wondered if that was a
dig at him.
Adrienne smiled. “Stop scowling. I didn’t mean you.”
“You sure?”
“You’re obviously pitching in,” she said.
“Doing my best.” He couldn’t resist asking. “Do you think
Stacy’s going to regret giving up the triplets for adoption?”
Adrienne raised her hand in a warning. Realizing he’d lost
track of who was nearby, Cole scanned the area. Eva’s daughter stood not far
off, idly observing the children. Or so it appeared.
“Do you think she heard?”
Adrienne gave a headshake, as if to caution him. She must also
suspect the young woman of eavesdropping.
Cole remembered his mother granting interviews to science and
medical reporters, who’d always respected her boundaries. He decided to hope for
the best. Tammy was Eva’s daughter, after all.
Besides, here came Mia with a squirming black-and-white kitten
in her arms. “Hi, Dr. Rattigan. This is Po.”
“How’d you pick the name?”
“Like
Kung Fu Panda,
” she said.
“He’s black-and-white, too.”
“He’s cute.” Cole reached out to pat the soft fur.
Through the rear sliding door, Harper announced, “The caterer’s
here! Come eat dinner while it’s hot.”
Cole checked his watch. “It’s only four-thirty.”
“Does eating early break some universal law?” Adrienne
teased.
“I guess I should go with the flow, huh?”
His companion patted his arm. “I’m starting to like you.” Then
she called, “Wash your hands, Reggie!” and vanished into the interior, along
with a rush of children.
Cole followed in their wake, not sure how to take Adrienne’s
comment, and concluding that he might as well consider it a compliment.
Chapter Fifteen
Despite her intention of seeking a referral, Stacy kept
putting off contacting the hospital attorney. The party had left her with a warm
glow, and many images of children and their parents playing and joking and
sharing a meal. Little Mia with the kitten sleeping in her lap. Reggie managing
to smear goop on his face within minutes after washing. Zack’s daughters, Berry
and Kimmie, singing “There’s No Place Like Home” as a sort of blessing over the
food.
Several times Stacy got as far as pressing the elevator button
for the fifth floor, where Tony had his office. But once she brought in other
people, the babies wouldn’t be hers anymore. Considering how strongly she’d
reacted to the news that Una was carrying her babies, how much worse would she
feel about losing the little ones nestled inside her own body?
Common sense told Stacy to see a counselor. Yet even though
Laird had muttered an apology for his drunken behavior at the club, she
certainly couldn’t talk to
him.
Consulting a
counselor outside the staff would be expensive. And pointless. Because
ultimately, this was her decision. And she’d made it.
Stacy drew up a list of desirable characteristics for adoptive
parents. Married for at least three years. Financially stable. Preferably home
owners. Although she didn’t want an open adoption, she’d like for them to send
her annual letters.
Yet when she tried to imagine her children with their
adoptive—no, make that
real
—family, other scenarios
kept sneaking in. Cole holding babies on his lap. Cole setting dinner on a table
surrounded by children. Cole lining up three kids before school, inspecting
their clothes and lunches.
He’d be a good father and he wanted to marry her, but just
because it was Stacy’s nature to make others happy didn’t mean she should take
the easy way out. Not that raising triplets would be easy, exactly, but it might
seem that way at the start. Then, in a year or so, she’d wake up with a houseful
of stubborn, messy toddlers, a politely distant husband and the realization that
she’d never find the love she craved.
What she needed was a pep talk from her mom. Stacy had intended
to call her, anyway, to tell her about the triplets. But did they have to
continue keeping the pregnancy secret from her dad? Alastair might be a reserved
and occasionally stern father, but he loved her.
So when her phone sounded as she was finishing dinner on
Thursday, Stacy felt a rush of pleasure at seeing her father’s name on the
screen. Mom must have broken down and told him. Even though the conversation
might be prickly at first, she craved his reassurance.
“Dad!” she said.
His response curdled the food in her stomach and filled her
with disbelief.
* * *
O
N
T
HURSDAYS
, Cole didn’t perform
surgery. Instead, he spent the mornings on administrative tasks. That involved
coordinating with a team of reproductive endocrinologists, nurses and
technicians, reviewing proposals for studies, overseeing applications for grants
and tracking fertility success rates. He also served on the boards of several
national fertility organizations and had to keep up with their activities.
After lunch he saw patients and performed office procedures. By
late afternoon, he began to sense a stir around him—phones ringing more than
usual and staff members murmuring to each other—but he refused to allow
curiosity to interfere with his focus on patient care. At work, Cole left his
cell phone on vibrate, even though he rarely felt the damn thing. If anything
required his immediate attention, his nurse, Lucky, would inform him.
Thanks to a couple of cancellations, he finished earlier than
expected, at around six-thirty. After inputting his notes on the last patient,
Cole ran into Eva, who was hovering nervously outside his office. Lucky stood
nearby glowering at her.
“Is something wrong?” he asked, unsure which of them to
address.
“I want to apologize.” Eva sounded breathless.
“For what?”
“Have you looked out the window lately?” she asked.
He hadn’t. When he moved onto the fourth floor, Cole had been
disappointed to discover he had a boring northern view that included the parking
area and adjacent street, rather than the ocean to the south. Owen had explained
apologetically that this was the only available suite large enough to
accommodate Cole’s practice.
“Don’t let them see you,” Lucky warned, as Cole reached for the
rod to adjust his blinds.
That didn’t sound good.
Below, in the lingering June sunlight, a crowd milled between
TV vans and portable spotlights. While a few members of the press had staked out
the hospital’s entrance, most faced the office building, no doubt aware that he
was in there.
“What the hell?” Cole said.
“I’ll show you.” At the computer, Lucky brought up a live image
of the same scene from ground level. A reporter Cole recognized from the day of
his speech faced the camera, talking excitedly.
“We’re waiting to chat with Dr. Cole Rattigan, aka Dr. Daddy
Crisis,” the man intoned. “A journalism student’s report that’s gone viral on
the internet contends that the doctor has impregnated his nurse with triplets.
Famous for predicting that birthrates will plummet due to degenerated sperm, Dr.
Rattigan appears to have no trouble with his own reproductive prowess.”
Cole suddenly wished he’d developed a more colorful vocabulary
of swear words. He’d never felt the need for them, until now.
“I’m sorry.” Concern laced Eva’s voice. “I had no idea she’d
pull this.”
Cole took out his phone. It showed text and voice messages from
Jennifer and Owen. Nothing from Stacy. Had she heard about this?
He was glad he hadn’t given his old landlady the new address,
preferring to forward his mail via the post office.
“Now what?” he asked aloud. Experience taught that confronting
reporters would only make matters worse. They’d twist his words, and might even
follow him home.
“I’ll get rid of them,” Lucky announced.
Cole regarded his nurse dubiously. Prior to attending nursing
school, Lucky had driven an ambulance and worked as a paramedic. He’d also been
a bouncer in a bar, drawing on his background growing up in a rough part of L.A.
“I don’t want you to get in trouble.”
“No trouble.” Lucky flashed a confident grin. “This should be
fun.”
Eva’s eyes widened. “Are you sure?”
“Trust me.” Adjusting the bar pin that proclaimed him Luke
Mendez, R.N., he added, “Keep watching that screen.” And out he went.
Eva clasped her hands in front of her. “Tammy had no right to
post personal medical information about Stacy. She could get me fired. I swear,
I didn’t mention anything in front of her.”
“This is my fault,” Cole conceded. “I was talking to Adrienne
at the party and it didn’t occur to me that anyone might be listening.”
“She shouldn’t have repeated a private conversation.” Eva shook
her head angrily. “My husband and I raised our kids to have more integrity than
that. Our son’s in the air force. He would never pull a stunt like this for his
own advancement. I didn’t think Tammy would, either.”
On the screen, the reporter was informing any new viewers that
Dr. Daddy Crisis was about to become the unmarried father of triplets. At the
lobby entrance, patients and staff members blinked in surprise as they emerged,
some stopping to ask questions, others ducking past the crowd.
He ought to call Jennifer or Owen, Cole reflected. He’d jumped
the gun by authorizing his nurse to intervene.
Too late now. The lobby doors disgorged a familiar muscular
fellow in a navy nurse’s uniform. Lucky had rolled up his sleeves to reveal his
tattoos, which included a colorful dragon on one side and a sexy cartoon woman
wearing skimpy armor and wielding a sword on the other. Raising his arms, he
gestured the throng to silence.
“Who’re you?” demanded a reporter, thrusting out his
microphone. Others followed suit.
“My name is Luke Mendez, R.N.,” he replied in a voice loud
enough to carry to the far reaches of the parking lot. “I’m Dr. Cole Rattigan’s
nurse, and I can assure you that I am
not
pregnant.”
A stunned silence was broken moments later by a scattering of
embarrassed questions. It didn’t seem to occur to anyone that Cole also had a
scrub nurse. No doubt they’d figure it out soon enough, but for now, the
announcement had knocked the wind out of everyone’s sails.
The newscast cut to an anchorwoman at a desk, who hurriedly
changed the subject. “In Sacramento today, the state legislature failed once
again to agree on a balanced budget despite the approaching deadline....”
Cole closed the internet site. “That was brilliant.”
“It won’t last,” Eva said, “but maybe they’ll be more cautious
next time. I hope Tammy’s ashamed. She should to be.”
“Any idea what Lucky’s drinking these days?” Cole asked. “I’ll
send him a case.”
“Fruit juice,” Eva said. “I’ve seen him shopping at the health
food store.”
“Good to know.” Cole decided to buy him a gift certificate.
This wasn’t over, not by a long shot. But he appreciated the
breather.
A short while later, having thanked Lucky, spoken to Jennifer
and Owen and ordered the gift certificate, Cole ventured into the now-empty lot
and cycled home. How wonderful to travel undisturbed, filling his lungs with the
sea breeze.
At the apartment, he found Stacy’s dinner dishes still on the
table. He went in search of her.
She lay on her bed, her face blotchy with tears. Although he’d
seen her cry before, Cole had never witnessed this look of utter
devastation.
“I’m so sorry.” Gingerly, he sat on the edge of her bed. “Tammy
heard me talking to Adrienne at the party. I had no idea she’d broadcast our
personal news.”
“My father called.” The misery in her eyes tore at his heart.
“He’s disgusted with me. He’s angry with my mom, too, because he figures I must
have told her I was pregnant. I did, although not about the triplets.”
“He’ll get over it.” Cole might have little experience with
fathers, but he knew how
he’d
react if this happened
in his family.
Stacy’s mouth quivered. “He said I’ve humiliated him and the
whole family. My sister won’t be able to hold her head up in church because of
me.”
“It can’t be much of a church if they blame her for her
sister’s actions.” Cole’s logical response didn’t seem to make a dent in Stacy’s
unhappiness, though.
“He says the only way he’ll forgive me is if I get married,”
Stacy went on.
“That’s wrong,” Cole blurted. “Love shouldn’t be
conditional.”
“Is this what you wanted? To pressure me into marrying you? Is
this why you mentioned the triplets in front of Tammy?”
“Of course not!” Surely she didn’t believe that. But Cole was
beginning to learn that, with Stacy, emotions sometimes overrode reason.
She folded her arms, anger yielding to steely determination.
“You have to leave.”
“Okay.” Best to wait till she was calmer. “We can talk
tomorrow.”
Stacy shook her head. “I mean leave the apartment.”
He stared at her. After all they’d been through, she was
throwing him out when she needed him most?
“It’s not safe for you to be alone.” Her pregnancy grew more
complicated by the day, as the triplets put extra demands on her body. “Please
think this over.”
“And wait until the press finds out we’re living together?”
Stacy demanded. “Oh, that’ll be lovely! Dr. Daddy Crisis cohabiting with his
trashy, pregnant nurse.”
“You are not trashy,” Cole said.
“My father thinks I am.”
If these were the old days, Cole would have challenged her
father to a duel. Mr. Layne had no business hurting Stacy this way. “Let me take
care of you.”
“Pack your stuff and move out,” she answered, ignoring the
tears coursing down her cheeks. “Now!”
He bit back the arguments that sprang to mind. She did have a
point about the press. If it meant this much to her, he’d go.
For now.
* * *
O
N
F
RIDAY
MORNING
at the hospital, Cole was all business. Not that Stacy
expected anything else, but without realizing it, she’d come to relish those
sideways glances that spoke louder than words. Instead, he greeted her with a
distant nod when he spotted her in the hall, and went to scrub.
When she discovered he had asked another nurse to assist him
with gowning, she nearly pushed the woman aside before getting a grip on
herself. The discovery that it was Anya—twenty-five-year-old, bubbly Anya, who
gazed at him adoringly—only made Stacy angrier.
Cole had moved out last night. She hadn’t expected it to happen
so fast. With his customary efficiency, he’d rented rooms at Harbor Suites, a
motel near the medical center that leased rooms by the week. The place catered
to families of patients who didn’t want to make a long daily drive.
He’d apologized for leaving his bed and large TV, promising to
fetch them when he found an apartment. Since he’d paid half her rent for the
entire month, Stacy could hardly object.
She didn’t want to object. In fact, she’d sneaked into his room
late at night and lain down, just for a minute, to breathe in the reassuring
scent clinging to the mattress. And to wish that for once he hadn’t been so
darned agreeable.
If he really loved me...
He’d do
what? Disregard her wishes? Dragging herself back to her room, Stacy had wished
she could think straight.
By Friday afternoon, she didn’t feel any better. Cole had
remained coolly polite through two surgeries, and then adjourned to his office
without a word.
Mercifully, there were no reporters dogging the hospital
grounds. All the same, Stacy could feel her father’s outraged disappointment
vibrating all the way from Utah.