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The Heart Doctor and the Baby
Lynne Marshall








The Heart Doctor and the Baby

Lynne Marshall







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




Table of Contents


Cover Page (#u1d4ec8eb-fae3-5dbb-9950-6619bc59deb6)

Title Page (#ub218176b-672d-5eb6-8ca4-7ae43f0770ae)

About the Author (#u30c4856b-ff22-5e25-a182-a88b4e057be2)

Dedication (#u2be04eb5-3d69-552f-a77c-a9927104c307)

Praise for Lynne Marshall (#u47e462a2-8f71-52c6-8620-0b4072f00c53)

Chapter One (#u2826b5b3-7658-5824-8c9b-a9e1cca48a5a)

Chapter Two (#u1841b5e1-2ad3-5396-8b7a-225e9d62bd46)

Chapter Three (#u539355f4-4fe8-5ee0-a2bc-bd2979ded1a5)

Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)




About the Author


LYNNE MARSHALL has been a Registered Nurse in a large California hospital for twenty-five years. She has now taken the leap to writing full-time, but still volunteers at her local community hospital. After writing the book of her heart in 2000, she discovered the wonderful world of Medical™ Romance, where she feels the freedom to write the stories she loves. She is happily married, has two fantastic grown children, and a socially challenged rescue dog. Besides her passion for writing Medical™ Romance, she loves to travel and read. Thanks to the family dog, she takes long walks every day! To find out more about Lynne, please visit her website: www.lynnemarshallweb.com


For my mother, Lura,for teaching me unconditional and abiding love.




Praise for

Lynne Marshall:


TEMPORARY DOCTOR, SURPRISE FATHER

‘A touching, tender and engrossing Medical™ Romance, TEMPORARY DOCTOR, SURPRISE FATHER is a wonderful story which I devoured in a single sitting! Don’t miss this talented storyteller’s enchanting tale of second chances, devastating secrets and the redeeming power of love!’

—cataromance.com

‘Lynne Marshall’s excellent writing skills lend excitement and credibility to this story…The tension between Jan and Beck is realistic, and keeps you reading to the very end. A very satisfactory end!’

—The Pink Heart Society Reviews




Chapter One


RENÉ MUNROE hadn’t been this nervous since her first date at fifteen. Today, twenty years later, she worked like a madwoman to prepare a meal for her coworker, Jon Becker.

She used whole tomatoes and garlic cloves, fresh basil and, because she liked tangy instead of sweet, she added her signature dash of balsamic vinegar to the marinara sauce. Then she went the extra mile to make the pasta from scratch.

Tonight, if she handled things perfectly, could turn out to be an “extra mile” kind of night. The linguini looked delicious as she pulled the noodles through the gizmo, hoping all would turn out as planned. Add a salad of baby greens and fresh Italian bread from her favorite bakery, and she had a meal. A darn fine meal. A meal that might lead to a dream come true.

She brushed off her hands, grabbed the dishes and tableware and hipped her way through the swinging kitchen door to the dining room while trying to push nervous thoughts out of her mind. Could she pull this off? She distracted herself by setting the table.

Three years ago she’d found a classic Craftsman home in disrepair in the foothills of Santa Barbara. Since it was close enough to the medical clinic, she bought it for a good price and little by little began restoring it. The dining and living rooms were her favorite parts of the house. She’d knocked out one wall to bring an open, flowing feel to the area, but had maintained and refinished all of the built-in shelves and extra woodwork. This was a home she intended to live in for the rest of her life. A home she hoped to have a family in.

She believed in keeping design uncluttered, like her life, and the simple dining table and chairs with a matching buffet were the only furniture in this room. Sage-green walls brought peace to her roiling jitters, and were a perfect contrast to the abundant rich golden wood.

After tonight, if all went well, the last thing her life would be was simple.

She put bright red place mats on the table to contrast the subtle earthenware vase heavily laden with colorful dried flowers. She needed things to be just so tonight, and did a quick walk-through of the living room to make sure nothing was out of place.

A natural-rock fireplace served as the focal point, and even though she’d cheated with a gas log, the fire gave the living room that extra bit of coziness she wanted. Anything to help make easier the topic she was about to bring up with Jon.

One mad dash to the bathroom to touch up her makeup and run the comb through her hair, and she was ready…just as the doorbell rang. Perfect timing.

Jon stood on her porch with his typical serious expression and a bottle of wine in each hand. Along with his usual salt-and-pepper-brown closely cropped hair, he sported a new beard tracing a thin red-tinged line along his jaw, and wore a black fleece vest, long-sleeved gray shirt and jeans. When she let him in, he smelled good, like sandalwood and some exotic spice, and it struck her that she’d never noticed his cologne before.

“Wow,” he said. “You’ve really done a lot with the house. It looks great.”

He’d helped her do a walk-through when she’d first considered buying it, and had given his nod of approval. After his divorce two years ago, she wasn’t sure how to handle their mostly business relationship and, not wanting to send the wrong message, hadn’t invited him back again. He’d struck her as a recluse since then, avoiding anything that smacked of social interaction. In fact, she’d been pleasantly surprised when he’d accepted without protest her invitation for dinner.

Had it really been that long since he’d been here? She thanked him and gestured for him to sit while she opened the wine, but instead he followed her into the kitchen.

“I thought I was the high-tech guy,” he said, “but look at you, going all stainless steel.”

“Yeah, I upgraded,” she said with a laugh as she popped the cork out of the bottle, splashed some wine into the glasses and walked him back to the living room. Small talk had never been a problem with Jon, but they’d never ventured deeper than that, and definitely had never come close to what she needed to discuss with him tonight.

“We should probably let the wine breathe,” she said, wishing she could catch her breath, too. The moment she’d seen Jon her heart started tapping out odd beats, and right this minute it felt as if someone was juggling in her stomach. What she was about to ask him was the craziest idea she’d ever had in her entire life.

“Dinner smells fantastic,” he said.

“I hope you’re hungry.” She did her best to appear nonchalant, as if her future didn’t depend on the outcome of tonight’s meal. “Let’s sit for a bit, and…uh, talk. I’ve got some cheese and crackers to go with the wine.”

Long and lean, Jon settled into the hardy wood-and-earth-tone upholstered chair that went so well with the style of the house. Come to think of it, he looked as if he belonged there. She sat in its mate so they could both share the small table where she’d already laid out the appetizers. He tossed a couple of crackers topped with the nutty cheese-ball spread into his mouth before he sampled the wine.

When was the appropriate time to bring up the subject? Surely there wasn’t any etiquette for when to broach the topic of artificial insemination amongst friends. She took a long swig of the wine and felt her mouth dry up. “I need some water—can I get you any?”

By now, with her uneasy behavior, he’d gotten that suspicious glint in his eyes, the one she’d often seen him give a patient fudging about their diet or medicine. She’d been way too skittish, and Jon could tell something was up.

“You seem really anxious.” His eyes brightened. “Is it me?” He snapped his fingers. “It’s the beard, isn’t it?”

She swiped the air. “Gosh, no. Jon! The beard?” If she’d given it any thought at all, she’d admit the beard complemented his carved features, but beards were the last thing on her mind tonight. She took another sip of wine, then headed straight to the kitchen to gather her thoughts, soon emerging with ice water for both of them.

He waited with a thoughtful expression, brows faintly furrowed. “The beard was my daughters’ idea.” He scratched the triangular swatch beneath his lower lip, and straightened in his chair as if uncomfortable with the added masculinity.

“It’s a nice addition. Really.” Why did she need to say “really” if she’d meant it in the first place? Oh, if only her jitters would go away she might act like the normal person he knew from the clinic, instead of a nervous, stammering mental job.

He grew serious and shifted on the cushion, as if his curiosity had reached its apex. “There’s a reason besides eating dinner that made you invite me tonight, isn’t there?” His narrowed, probing stare made her spine straighten. “And I’m fairly sure it isn’t to talk about my facial hair.”

She needed another glass of wine and quick. “There is something I’d like to talk about, Jon.” Oh, God, how was she going to do this? “But let’s do it over dinner, okay?”

“Oh-kay.” If he had an inquisitive look before, now he bore the expression of a sleuth about to solve the crime of the century.

She stood and he followed her to the table. She couldn’t stand still and made a dash for the kitchen.

“Can I help with anything?” he asked through the door.

“Just sit. I’ll be right back.”

Thankful for the distraction, she swept through the kitchen, put the pasta on to boil, flung open the refrigerator for the salads and, gathering up the basket of bread before hitting the door, delivered the icy cold plates, dressing and bread all in one swoop.

The two of them became miserably bad at small talk as they ate, especially since she’d hinted at a much bigger topic. He glanced at her and her gaze flitted away, suddenly finding the bread of interest. She snuck another look at him; he chased a grape tomato around his plate. The mounting awkwardness made her grateful when the pasta timer went off and she rushed back into the kitchen to serve up the main course.

Jon tore the bread apart and dipped it into the sauce. “This is great, just great,” he said after his first taste.

“I’m glad you like it.” Normally she loved to watch a man enjoy his meal, but this time around all she could do was nod and smile, and try not to break out into welts over what she was about to bring up.

Deep breath. Swallow.

“So the thing is…Jon…I was, uh, wondering…” She nibbled on bread and twirled her fork around in the noodles, over and over again, no appetite whatsoever.

Jon leaned against the slated straight-back chair. She saw the wheels turning and the cogs meshing in his genius-level mind and knew she couldn’t stall another second.

“You know you’re driving me nuts, right?” he said, planting his fork into his pasta.

She closed her eyes and blurted. “What’s your take on artificial insemination?”

His fork stopped midbite. He shut his mouth and dropped a look on her that said she’d potentially lost her mind, every last bit of it. “In general? Or for some specific reason?”

She swallowed what felt like a paper towel, a large and grainy paper towel. “Let’s start with…in general.”

“For someone who has fertility issues or no partner…” He began in his typical professorial manner, then narrowed one eye. “Is this pertaining to you?” he asked, an incredulous gaze on his face.

It was indeed pertaining to her and now was the time to get serious. No more skirting the issue. This tack was making her come off foolish and flaky, and on the topic of artificial insemination, she was anything but.

She’d done her homework, had read with interest about the local donor bank, no doubt supplied by multiple university students in need of extra cash. Wondered if she could go through with choosing an anonymous donor based on her list of specific requirements and qualities. Though it would serve her purpose, twenty-first century or not, how cold was that? Images of immature, beer-goggled university boys flashed through her mind, and a firm twist in her gut had kept her from logging into the Web site. Then she’d thought about her list of requirements and one particular face had popped into her mind.

She finished off the last few sips of wine and carefully placed the glass on the table. “I’m seriously considering it, Jon. I’m not getting any younger, and I don’t see Mr. Right walking in my front door anytime in the near future.” She grabbed his hand, didn’t realize she’d done it until she felt his hard knuckles and lean fingers. She’d never touched him in this needful way before. “I want a baby, more than you can imagine.”

“And you want my opinion about this because…?” It was his turn to guzzle the wine.

Her eyes couldn’t stretch any wider. Since she’d finally opened up the topic, she decided to go all the way. “Traditionally, my wanting a baby would entail finding the right guy, getting married and settling down.” She blurted her thoughts as her eyes roamed around and around the room. “Unless some miracle occurs in the near future, marriage and pregnancy isn’t going to happen. But this is the twenty-first century, who says I have to be traditional?”

His suspicious look, along with the expression of terror, almost made her laugh as she went for the grand finale. How did one go about asking a man for his DNA? She grimaced. Very carefully.

“And I brought the topic up with you, because in my opinion…you’d be the perfect donor.”

He choked, bobbled his glass, which toppled over and spilled. They both jumped up to mop up the liquid.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Oh, no, it was my fault for dropping a bomb on you.”

He strode into the kitchen and reappeared with a towel, then when he’d absorbed the last of the wine with it, he produced a damp sponge to clean the wood. “I hope this doesn’t stain.”

“It’s the least of my worries.” She fought with several strands of hair that had fallen in her face during the fuss over the table.

He went still as the topic noticeably sunk in. “Wow. You’re really serious about this.”

She met his gaze and gave an assertive nod.

He scraped his jaw, and paced the dining room. “Wow.”

“Will you at least think about it?”

“Wow.” The bona fide genius, Jon Becker, had melted down to uttering a single-syllable echo.

She’d finally gathered her wits and was ready to talk business. “I’ve jotted down some thoughts about everything, and maybe you can give me your input—” oh, what an unfortunate choice of words “—about anything I may have overlooked?”

His dark eyes took on the wariness of a wild animal. He seemed to need to hold his jaw shut with his hand. After a few seconds considering her proposition, he dropped another look on her that made her take a breath. “You want me to be a father again at forty-two?”

She thought carefully how to best respond. “No, Jon. I want you to donate your sperm so I can be a mother at thirty-six.”

He went perfectly still, stared at her as if he’d never seen her before. “You want a designer baby?”

Sudden calm enveloped her, and clarity of thought finally followed. “Let’s sit down.” She gestured toward the living room to the small sofa in front of the fireplace. He followed.

“I’ve already got my daughters, I don’t want any more kids,” he said. “And I’m planning a sabbatical once Lacy graduates and goes off to college. I’ve waited a long time to be free again.”

“You won’t have to be a part of the baby’s life. I’m just asking you to be the sperm donor.”

“Why not ask Phil? He’s single. Young.”

“He’s also a playboy and irresponsible.” She left out the part that she preferred Jon’s nose to Phil’s. “Jon, I’ve thought about everyone I know, and you are the top of the list. You’re intelligent, healthy…you have an endearing personality—” How was she supposed to tell him the next part? She took a deep breath and spit it out. “And I think your DNA would work really well with mine.”

“A superbaby?”

“A baby. Just a baby with a lot going for it. I’ll take complete responsibility for the child. Nothing—I repeat, nothing—will be expected of you beyond your, uh—” her eyes fluttered and she suddenly needed to swallow “—donation.” She tugged her earlobe and hoped she wasn’t blushing, though her face definitely heated up. “All things considered, your job will be relatively easy.”

Their eyes met and he seemed hesitant, as if he’d mentally walked his way through exactly what his part would be, and was completely uncomfortable with her proposition.

“But we work together,” he said. “How on earth am I supposed to not be involved?”

“I admit it could get tricky, but if you just put yourself in a clinical frame of mind, think of it as a scientific experiment between friends and colleagues, it could work.”

He didn’t look convinced.

She patted his hand, the same hand she’d never touched before tonight. “I just know we can handle this.”

He didn’t look nearly as sure as she professed to be, but she homed in to the subtle willingness to explore the possibilities with him, and seized her opportunity.

An hour or two or three later, after they’d discussed everything from health history to parental obligations or, in his case, lack thereof, to attorney input and whether or not to do home insemination versus clinical, intravaginal or intracervical insemination, the bizarre nature of their conversation seemed almost normal, as if two medical colleagues were discussing lab results.

“You feel like some dessert?” she asked.

He laughed, but admitted he did.

Amazingly, he ate every bite of the apple-and-berry torte she’d picked up at the bakery. Then, when it was time to leave, he hesitated. “I need time to think this over, René.”

“Of course! I’m just grateful you haven’t gone bolting out my door, peeling tire rubber trying to get away.”

“I wouldn’t run out on you.” He squeezed her shoulder.

“I know that, Jon.” She ducked her head against his chest, something else she’d never done with him before tonight, then quickly lifted it.

“I guess I’d better be going.” It was almost midnight.

“When you make your decision, if it’s yes, all you have to do is give me the nod and I’ll have my attorney draw up a contract. If you do decide to help me with this, I won’t hold you responsible in any way, Jon. You have my word. I promise.”

He took a breath and got a goofy look on his face. “In that case, we could save all kinds of trouble and do this the old-fashioned way,” he said with a devilish glint in his eyes.

An absurd laugh escaped her lips, and she socked his arm. Jon thought more like most men than she’d imagined. “You’re such a joker.” Though in the five years she’d known him, joker was never a word she’d use to describe him.

They’d had a conversation about creating a life without sex. He’d recited the statistics on success rates depending on his motility, and her fertility considering her age. They’d taken it to the scientific level, which made sense since they were both doctors, and he’d almost agreed to the plan. She wasn’t about to throw one major potentially mind-blowing wrench into the mix, no matter what he suggested in jest. The old-fashioned way? No way. No how.

She bit her lip and stared at him. As their gazes fused, a new understanding bridged between them. Under the most unlikely circumstances, they’d taken their business relationship to a new level. Whether Jon decided to take her up on the deal or not, things between them would never be the same.



Jon could run a hundred miles and still not work out the crazy mix of emotions sluicing through him. He’d woken up early—hell, he’d never officially fallen asleep by true sleep study standards—and after tossing and turning he’d gotten up before sunrise and hit the Santa Barbara foothills. What little REM time he did manage had been cluttered with vivid dreams about babies and doctor babes, outlandish propositions and some interesting positions, too. At one point, René had straddled him. He liked that part of his dream, yet it had made him sit bolt upright, disoriented. And poof, the sexy vision had vanished.

A sudden steep hill forced him back into the moment, and he hit it with determination, refusing to slow his pace. Last night, in another transition from non-REM to early REM, he’d seen René as if looking through the wrong end of a telescope, motioning to him to follow her as she floated farther and farther away toward a baby. A tiny baby. In a test tube.

Crazy dreams matched by crazy thoughts.

His lungs burned with each stride, his leg muscles protested with aches and near cramps, but he refused to stop, refused to give in to the hill. That damn proposition. He had plans, for crying out loud! He was going to take a sabbatical and travel to the Far East. He’d study with Asian healers and cardiologists and learn their methods while imparting his knowledge. His daughters had reached the age where they’d be going out into the world, and he dreamed about doing the same. Finally!

It still seemed unreal that two years ago his wife, out of the blue, had asked for a divorce after seventeen years of marriage. It had sent him reeling in disbelief; even now the thought released a thousand icy needles in his chest. What had he done wrong? How had she fallen out of love with him? If he couldn’t trust her to keep her word in marriage, what woman on this planet could he ever trust?

He’d withdrawn and lived the life of a recluse since then, even going so far as to take up long-distance running, anything to avoid other people. His medical practice and plans for a sabbatical had kept him going when he didn’t think he could go on. That and his relationship with his daughters.

René had asked him to consider this “deed” a special gift to her, and that he wouldn’t be involved beyond the initial donation. He could tell by the solidly sincere look in her eyes that she wanted a chance to have a baby, but would it be a passing whim?

And more importantly, based on his experience with his ex-wife, could he trust that giving his sperm would be the extent of his involvement with René?



That afternoon, the MidCoast Medical staff meeting dragged on. René stealthily tapped her foot under the table and listened to Jason recite the quarterly reports.

Her mind wandered, dying to know if Jon had made his decision yet, but doing her best not to make eye contact with him. She didn’t want to pressure him.

“We’ve balanced our budget, which means we’ll be able to buy that new lab equipment we’ve been wanting,” Jason said, using a laser pen to highlight the slide behind him. “And if things keep up this way, in a few more months we won’t have to send our patients to the local hospital for bronchoscopies. We can do them here.”

“That would be fantastic,” Phil Hansen said. “I’ve been waiting a long time for that.”

The clinic, housed in a renovated Victorian mansion in downtown Santa Barbara, was thriving. The four-doctor practice had taken a risk and prevailed against the odds. They’d built a clientele from nothing and reached out to the community, and their hard work had finally paid off.

Jason gave his signature broad smile—the one he’d been wearing ever since he’d fallen in love with and married Claire, the nurse practitioner. “Who’d have thought that five years ago when we conceived the idea to join forces and build our own clinic, we’d come this far?” he said, glancing toward his partners, then at his pregnant wife.

“Me,” Jon raised his hand. “We did our homework, studied the demographics, discovered the perfect location and need for the clinic. We had your money, Jason,” Jon added with a smirk, “and business expertise. We were bound to succeed.”

He analyzed everything and, genius that he was, always did a fine job. René glanced fondly into his luminous brown eyes, which softened ever so slightly when their gazes met. She nodded and smiled. He smiled back—a masculine take on Mona Lisa. The kind of understated yet proud smile that made René react in her gut whether she wanted to or not.

Was he sending a subtle message? Had he made his decision?

Claire shifted in her chair, her brows knotted together and lips slightly pursed. René had seen that same look hundreds of times on the faces of her third trimester patients. Toward the end of the pregnancy, constantly searching for comfort, all they longed for was to get that baby out of there! René offered a smile of encouragement as she locked gazes with her newest friend in the medical group.

Claire attempted to smile back, then tossed a glance toward the ceiling as if searching for moral support. Though considered a high-risk pregnancy since Claire also had lupus, René had seen her patient through nothing but smooth sailing from the first day she’d examined her.

Claire was expecting her second child—Jason and Claire’s first together—and their newfound love was nothing short of a miracle. It gave René hope that anything was possible. Even for her.

As René listened to the rest of Jason’s report, she stared at her lap, at the hands that had delivered countless babies…and the noticeably empty ring finger. Her thirty-sixth birthday was next month and this year, for the first time in her life, she’d become aware of distant keening. That ticking biological clock had never bothered her before, but now consumed her thoughts, drove her crazy with the desire to be a mother. Even to the point of making a fool of herself by asking Jon to be a sperm donor. Rather than cringe, she glanced longingly at Claire’s very pregnant state.

Claire gasped.

René went on alert. “Are you all right?”

“Fine,” Claire said, releasing the word with a cleansing breath. “Been having Braxton Hicks all day.”

René quirked a brow. “All day? Why didn’t you say something?”

Claire shrugged. “Second-kid syndrome?”

Since Claire wasn’t due for another few weeks, she’d keep her eye on her as the meeting continued.

Phil shot up, forcing her to crane her neck toward the ceiling. His longish dark blond hair swept back from his face in a cavalier manner. Tanned and too handsome for his own good, he read his obligatory monthly OSHA report, and tortured them with rules running the gamut from what chemicals were acceptable to how to dispose of soiled dressings. She prayed the pulmonary faction of their group wouldn’t tell them it was time for another disaster drill. And if he did, how soon could she schedule a vacation?

Claire let out another gasp, this time grabbing her back. René checked her watch. It had only been one minute since the last one.




Chapter Two


JASON flew to his wife’s side, the one she was holding with both hands. “Sweetheart, is there anything I can do?”

Claire diligently practiced her birthing breathing as René knelt in front of her. She put her palm on Claire’s rigid stomach. The baby had dropped from yesterday’s appointment and, from the feel of the rock-solid mound, was already engaged.

“I have an idea,” René said. “Why don’t we adjourn this meeting, and I’ll take you to my office and examine you?”

“No argument from me,” Claire said.

The confirmed bachelor of the group, Phil, had noticeably paled beneath his Santa Barbara tan. “I guess I’ll take off, then,” he said, looking relieved.

Jason gingerly assisted his wife to stand, and escorted her, like the deliciously doting soon-to-be father he was, to René’s examination room in the clinic.

Jon stood perfectly still, obvious wheels turning in that wondrous mind of his. He glanced at René. “You need any help?”

“Don’t know yet,” she said, as she rushed out of the kitchen-turned-conference room. “Why don’t you stick around just in case?”

Five minutes later, René placed Claire’s feet in the stirrups on the table, gowned up and donned gloves, then started the examination. Holy smokes! Not only was she almost effaced and dilated, but her waters had broken.

“We’re having a baby here,” René called over her shoulder, which had Jason rushing into the room.

“That’s what I was afraid of,” Claire said, worry knitting her brows.

“Do we have time to get her to the hospital?” Jason asked, sounding breathless.

“Not at this stage.” René gave Jason an assertive glance, then she saw Claire’s questioning expression. “Don’t worry, Claire. I’m here. I’ll take care of you.”

“Ask Mrs. Densmore if she can keep Gina tonight,” Claire said to Jason.

He stood at Claire’s side, eyes dilated and wider than René had ever seen them. “Everything’s going to be fine,” he said, squeezing his wife’s fingers with one hand, fishing out his cell phone and speed-dialing their babysitter with the other.

From outside the door, she heard Jon’s voice. “How can I help?”

“Get a case of the absorbent towels, and warm some baby bath blankets, then start an IV for me,” she said.

A familiar-sounding scream tore from Claire’s chest. “Jason, get our morphine supply and an antiemetic. It might help Claire take the edge off before she goes into transition.” René waited for the contraction to diminish, then positioned the fetoscope to get an initial heart rate. She delivered babies at the local hospital, not in their clinic, and electronic fetal monitoring wasn’t available here.

“Oh, and call for standby ambulance transportation,” she added. After the birth, both mother and child would need to be admitted to the local hospital for observation. René bent her head and concentrated on timing the strong and steady beats. One hundred and thirty beats a minute. Good.

René stared into Claire’s stressed-out green eyes, sending her calming thoughts. Only thirty seconds later another contraction mounted, and perspiration formed around Claire’s honey-colored hairline. René continued listening for abnormal deceleration of the baby’s heart rate with the contraction, and was relieved to find a normal variation. Only a ten-beat dip.

Jason lurched back into the room with the IV supplies, and when his hands proved too shaky to stick his own wife, Jon stepped in and started the IV as Jason titrated a tiny amount of morphine into the line to help ease Claire’s pain in between the contractions. She didn’t want Claire too relaxed when it came time to push; the baby could come out floppy instead of vigorously crying.

The labor went on for another hour and a half, when René felt the rigid beginnings of a massive contraction. Now fully effaced and dilated, Claire had moved into transition.

“Push,” René said.

Though Claire seemed exhausted, she gave her all. This time the head fully crowned. When the next contraction rode in on the tail end of the first, René continued her encouragement. “Use the contraction, Claire,” René said. “Push!”

Jon hovered at René’s side. “I’ll get a basin for the afterbirth,” he said. “Are you going to need to do an episiotomy?”

“Don’t think so, but get a small surgical kit for me just in case.” She intended to do her part to slow down the passage of the head to avoid any tissue tear.

Jon dashed out of the room as if he were the expectant father, and when he returned, René put him to work tracking the baby’s heart rate through the fetoscope so she could concentrate on the birth. Not only was he fascinated with the listening device—typical of him—he was most likely figuring out a way to make a better one.

All was well, but the contractions came so quickly and hard that Claire didn’t have time to relax in between. Wringing with sweat, she looked exhausted, ready to give up. Along came another contraction.

“Bear down, Claire! Push! Push!” René urged, as she cupped the baby’s head in her hands and moved it downward as Claire pushed with everything she had. Her legs trembled and she let fly words René hadn’t heard since the last Lakers basketball game she’d attended.

She slipped the umbilical cord free of the baby’s face, and assisted as first the head, then one shoulder and then the other, slipped out. No sooner had the mouth cleared the birth canal, than the baby cried.

Obviously relieved after delivering the hardest part—the head—Claire wept.

René glanced up long enough to see tears fill Jason’s eyes. “Oh, my God,” he said. The room went blurry for her, too, but she couldn’t dwell on the swell of emotion taking over; she had a baby to finish delivering.

The baby slipped out, and René skillfully caught him, as she’d done so many times over her career, but this one felt more special than all the rest. It was her partner and friend’s baby. This infant sent her dreaming of birthing her own baby, of daring to hope she’d get the chance.

“It’s a beautiful boy,” she said, wiping the baby’s mouth and face with the warm and soft blanket that her new assistant, Jon, had handed her. He gave her another. After a quick check of the perfect little body, she wrapped the baby up as if the most precious thing in the world, and Jon produced a syringe bulb to suction the baby’s mouth and nose. He’d thought of everything. Had he thought of his answer yet?

The baby continued to make a healthy wail, music to her mother-longing ears. René laid the newborn on Claire’s stomach, and pressed to feel for another contraction, then prepared for the afterbirth. Jon held the large stainless-steel basin in readiness.

Jason hovered over Claire and the baby, as they laughed and cried together. René was too busy to hear everything they said, but knew love had been mentioned several times. And the name Jason James Rogers, Junior.

She glanced at Jon and saw the familiar look of wonder that new life always evoked. He met her gaze and held it, adding a smile. Could he read her thoughts, her desires? His short-cropped salt-and-pepper-brown hair had always made his eyes look intense, but she’d never seen that fiery excitement there before. Did he understand how she felt? How every cell in her body cried out for the chance to be a mother?

New life. Nothing compared with the wonder. Especially if the newborn belongs to you. Jon glanced back at the happy family, and she prayed they might perform a silent miracle on her behalf.

Jason kissed Claire’s forehead, as a distant siren rent the air. René could practically palpate their bonding. There was something about a baby that changed everything, that turned lovers into a family, and sealed a bond outsiders could never fathom. She’d seen it countless times, but this time it plunged straight into her heart.

Her chest clenched and ached for what she longed for, for the answer she depended on to provide the portal to her dreams. She couldn’t look at him again for fear she’d beg him to say yes.

“You want to do the honors?” She’d double clamped the umbilical cord and held it with gauze, handing Jason sterile scissors from the suturing pack. For a general practitioner, he looked apprehensive. She gave him an encouraging wink. When he’d finished, she applied the plastic clip on the baby’s end of the cord and smiled at the squirming newborn—healthy and strong, though small and a good three weeks premature by her calculations. Babies were nothing short of a miracle; she’d been convinced of that since her first delivery.

There went that clutch in her chest again, the one that made it hard to breathe. She couldn’t look at Jon, but felt his gaze on her.

“Congratulations, man,” Jon said to Jason. Memories of his wife giving birth flashed before his eyes. Nothing had awed him more, or given him greater satisfaction, than seeing his daughters brought into the world.

He didn’t have to look at René to know what she was going through; she’d thoroughly explained her deep hunger for motherhood to him last night. How must it feel to deliver babies for everyone else, and at the end of the day still be alone?

Jason grinned so hard his eyes almost disappeared. Claire patted his hand and welcomed the baby to her chest with the other. From the corner of his eye, Jon watched René’s reverent gaze as a pang twisted in his gut. He couldn’t take it. Couldn’t take the feeling or the implication a simple answer of yes would bring, so he bent to gather the soiled towels and stuff them into the exam room hamper.

The air was too thick with yearning and he’d never been the kind of guy to make dreams come true, just ask his wife. He needed to change the mood. “Do we get paid overtime for this?”

Not usually one to make light, his joke made everyone blurt a relieved laugh. Combined with Claire and Jason’s euphoria, joy filled the room from every angle, and against his better judgment, the feel-good rush fueled a growing desire to grant his coworker her biggest wish. He couldn’t let it influence him. His decision would be made the same way he made all of his medical determinations, based on logic and common sense. Nothing less.

René looked at him, the makeshift assistant, while the lovebirds and new baby continued bonding. Her expression had changed, as if she understood how much pressure she’d put on him, and how unfairly the perfect timing of this birth had played in her favor. A warm smile appeared on her face, as if the sun had cracked through thunderclouds. How could he not smile back?

“You’re not bad for a novice,” she said.

So she’d opted to keep it light, too. Relief crawled over him, as if a welcoming blanket. Birth or no birth, he wasn’t ready to make his life-altering decision, though her can-didness went far to nudge him along.

He flashed a capable look, one that conveyed I can handle just about anything. “You’re not the only one who’s full of surprises, René.”

“You want to hold him?” Claire had already dressed her contented-looking baby in blue by early the next morning.

René grinned. “I’d love to.” She’d popped in last night and found Claire sleeping, the baby swaddled and content in the bedside bassinet, and Jason lightly snoring in the lounger, so she tiptoed outside and read the pediatrician’s report instead. When the nurses assured her that Claire’s fundus was firming right up and there were no signs of excessive bleeding or fever, she’d gone home rather than wake up the new mother and father.

This morning, Jason was already down in the business office settling up, and they’d be heading home to introduce the baby to his big sister, Gina, as soon as René performed her discharge examination.

The six-pound boy squirmed when she took him and tucked him into the hook of her arm. The feel of him sent her reeling. He smelled fresh, like baby lotion and new life, and the clutching in her chest nearly took her breath away. She detected eye movement beneath tightly closed lids with no hint of lashes, and wondered what babies dreamed about. She gently pressed her lips to his head, and inhaled the wonders of his being pure as the first light. The longing in her soul for a baby swelled to near-unbearable proportions. His fine light brown hair resembled a balding man’s with a noticeably high forehead. On him it was adorable. Her eyes crinkled as the smile creased her lips.

His tiny hands latched on to her fingers, barely covering the tips. The flood of feelings converged—tingling, prickling, burning—until her eyes brimmed.

Her mouth filled with water, and she swallowed. “He’s so beautiful,” she whispered, discovering that Claire’s eyes shimmered with tears, too.

“I know,” Claire said. “Babies are miracles, aren’t they?”

Overwhelmed by the moment, wishing for a miracle of her own, her breath got swept away and all René could do was nod.



Jon wolfed down three bagels loaded with peanut butter and downed a pint of orange juice straight out of the carton when he arrived at work. He hadn’t slept for a second night, and the usual runner’s high had eluded him somewhere around mile eight that morning. He scrubbed his face and strode down the hall.

René was just about to knock on a patient exam room.

“Got a minute?” he said.

She started at his voice and snatched back her hand. “Oh!”

He headed for her office, stopped at the door, tilted his head and arched his eyes to guide her inside.

René’s breathing dropped out of sync, coming in gulps. She followed Jon toward her office as tiny invisible wings showered over her head to toe. Oh, God, what would he say?

She stopped one step short of entering the room, swallowed the sock in her throat and gathered her composure. She pasted a smile on her face in hopes of covering her gnawing apprehension, and proceeded inside, then prayed for courage to accept whatever Jon might tell her.

Would she have to go back to plan A, and the donor clinic? God, she hoped not.

“So, I’ve been thinking,” Jon said, the second she stepped over the threshold. “A lot.” He engaged her eyes and held her motionless.

“And?” she whispered, closing the door.

“I’m bowled over by this, René. I’d be lying if I didn’t say that. I don’t understand why you insisted on asking me when Phil is single and available.” He held up a hand to stop her before she could begin with the plethora of reasons all over again. She’d recited A to Z quite thoroughly, twice, the night before last. “But I believe your sincerity in wanting this—” he glanced toward the door as if to make sure no one was within hearing range, and though it was closed, he lowered his voice anyway “—baby. I saw it in your eyes last night. This isn’t some freaked-out biological-clock whim. This is the real deal.”

She nodded her head vehemently.

“I trust you’ll stick to your word about my small role in it.”

“To the T, Jon. I promise.” Oh, heavens, she didn’t want to anticipate too much, but it sounded as if he might take her up on the plan. She could only hope and pray. And hold her breath.

“It feels really callous on my part knowing how I plan to take a sabbatical and all, and I care about you as a coworker, and, well, I don’t want things to change professionally.” He scrubbed his jaw, and the now-familiar facial hair. “This could really ruin our working together.”

“I wouldn’t want that, either, Jon.” Oh, hell, in his swinging pendulum of emotions he’d convinced her from one second to the next to give up on him. Did she really want to sacrifice their professional friendship because of her desire for a baby? Could she blame him for wanting nothing to do with her outrageous plan?

“I’d want to think we could talk things through whenever we needed,” he said. “That though I’d be nothing more than a clinical donor as far as the baby goes, I’d like to be your friend. And as a friend and donor I should be able to share in your happiness, like everyone else here in the clinic.”

She nodded at his reasonable request, afraid to get too hopeful in case he pulled the rug out from under her dream. “I’d want that, too. I don’t want to lose what we have, Jon. Never.”

He stepped closer. “What do we have, you and me?”

He studied her eyes, making her feel under a microscope. Those winged creatures returned, dropping anxious nectar over the surface of her skin. She took a slow, intentional, quivery breath.

“We have five years of hard work and wonderful achievements to share,” she said. “We’ve laughed, celebrated, mourned and prevailed together over every setback in our clinic.” She took a step closer to reach out for his hand. “No matter what happens, if you say yes, you will always be a special friend, Jon.” His long fingers laced through hers, still feeling foreign, though warm, regardless of how many times she’d clutched his hand lately.

“No one can know a thing,” he cautioned. “If it comes out, I’ll leave the clinic.”

The importance of anonymity worried her. As with any risk, there was a cost. Was she willing to accept the guilt of changing Jon’s future if someone found out? Was she willing to let him pay the price? Confidence leaked out of her pores, leaving her insecure and wobbly. Maybe plan A was the only way to go, but Jon gently stroked her thumb with his, and a silent soothing message transmitted between them.

“I promise,” she whispered. A sharp pang in her gut, over the thought of ruining whatever relationship they had, forced her to face the gravity of their possible pact. This was it. Right here, right now. Her dream, their deal, was about to become a reality. The air grew cool and seemed to rush over the surface of her skin, setting off goose bumps.

His molasses-brown gaze swept over her face, as if searching for honesty. Could he look deep enough to see the longings of her heart? She’d meant what she’d said with all of her being.

“After you’re pregnant, I want superfriend status.” A tiny tug at one corner of his mouth almost turned into a smile.

“You’ll do it?” She grabbed his other hand and squeezed both, reeling with hope. The surge pushed her up onto her toes, ready to jump up and down, or kiss his cheek, based on his final decision.

“Yes,” he said. “I’ll do it.”

At the beautiful sound of his reply, she did both.




Chapter Three


THE reward for getting the exquisitely lovely René Munroe to smile was one large dimple and a satisfying hint of an overbite. Jon had once read a study on facial esthetics and found that, in general, men preferred a slight overbite. Come to think of it, seeing her grin like that, he did, too. She’d squealed, jumped up and kissed his cheek when he’d agreed to go through with her plan. She’d kissed him so hard he felt the imprint of her lips half the afternoon. He’d never seen her so animated, and it surprised him, made him wonder how much more there was to know about her.

Since his divorce, after work, he liked his alone time. Preferred it. He’d already done his run for the day and wasn’t sure how else to work off this new itchy feeling. And oddly enough, the last thing he felt like being right this minute was alone. Sure he had a day filled with patients ahead of him, but what about after that? He wouldn’t get his girls until the weekend.

“You want to go for a coffee after work?” he blurted. The thought of going home to his “man cave”—as his daughters facetiously referred to it—after such a momentous agreement, had little appeal. “We should probably get to know each other a little more.”

“That sounds perfect,” she said.

Perfect. She used the word frequently, and when it came to describing her it suited…well…it suited her perfectly.

“I’ll see you later, then,” he said, heading for the door with a new spring in his jogging shoes.



At the end of the workday, they locked the clinic and hiked the two blocks over to State Street, and caught the electric trolley heading north to an alfresco coffeehouse. They’d committed to coffee, not dinner. It was a start. Even though it was late January, the temperature was sixty-five degrees, and the outdoor restaurants all had outdoor heating lamps for their patrons’ comfort. If he inhaled deep enough, he could smell the crisp, tangy sea.

“Do you ever get tired of delivering babies?” he asked, as they rode.

“No. It’s wonderful, isn’t it?”

Jon nodded and thought back to the birth of both of his daughters. Amanda had been born at a midwife center eighteen years back, and Lacy, at home, under water, eighteen months later. His ex-wife had wanted it that way. He’d felt as if he’d run a marathon after each labor and delivery, but had never been more ecstatic in his life. Watching Jason and Claire last night had brought back long-forgotten memories.

Somehow lecturing patients about their tickers didn’t quite measure up, though of course he understood the importance of the heart sustaining life. It just couldn’t quite compare with the theatrical bang of a delivery.

“I never thought I’d see Jason happy again,” she said.

Hmm? Oh, he’d taken a tangential thought trip, and quickly focused back in. “I guess there’s hope for all of us, then,” Jon said, deciding, on a scale of one to ten, he probably sat around six on the happy meter—not ecstatic, not miserable, just making due, especially since his divorce.

He’d forgotten what this type of elation felt like, being more used to the endorphin variety from his long and hard runner workouts. Emotional highs were…well…unusual these days. Definitely nice, but different.

He glanced at René smiling with cheeks blushed from her hard work and the brisk evening air. Her amber eyes hinted at green, probably because of the teal-colored sweater she wore. As a pool reflects the sky, light eyes reflect surrounding colors. Where had he recently read that, and why had he lost his train of thought again?

“You’ve sure made me a happy camper,” she said, with a perky glance out the window, which made her earrings sway.

Never having been in the business of granting wishes before, he enjoyed the swell of pride and rode along with it.

He noticed René always wore extralong earrings, and right now the colorful beads and loops almost reached her shoulders, and for some odd reason it fascinated him the way they swayed with the movement of her head. Mesmerizing. But that was neither here nor there; he was on a mission to get to know René better, not notice her earrings or how they swayed with her long, thick hair. There had to be some relevant question he could think of to ask.

For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why a woman such as René wasn’t happily married. She should be having a baby with her doting husband instead of soliciting his services.

His services? The thought tickled the corner of his mouth into a near smile and he looked straight ahead so she wouldn’t notice. He’d really agreed to do this crazy thing. For René. Two years ago, when Cherie had kicked him to the curve without so much as a hint of being discontent, who would have ever thought about agreeing to such a ridiculous idea? That smile kept edging up his face, and he kept staring out the front window to hide it.

When they reached their stop, they hopped off the trolley, walked half a block and ordered their brews at the shop, then sat outside to enjoy the clear evening sky. In the distance, he could see the lights flicker on Stearns Wharf and wished he could hear the waves crashing against the pilings.

Beneath her shrouded gaze, René sat quietly, as if waiting for him to break the ice, to bring up the next step in their plan—admittedly, the trickiest, as far as he was concerned.

Not ready to go there yet, Jon took a drink of espresso and winced at the bitterness. “Since we don’t know much about each other, I’ll start. My girls are both in high school. Amanda’s going to graduate this June, and Lacy next year. Amanda has applied to every Ivy League school she could think of since she’s got it in her head that, if she wants to go to Harvard Law, she’s got to do her undergraduate studies at an equally prestigious school.”

Everyone in the medical clinic was well aware of his divorce two years earlier, how hard it had hit. But no one could possibly know, since he’d worked extrahard at hiding it, how devastated he’d been. How he never saw himself ever loving again, beyond his daughters. They’d seen the happy family guy turn into his current recluse status, and he’d complained bitterly to anyone who would listen about how Cherie had practically cleaned him out financially. But he’d always stopped short of the point of how he didn’t think he could go on, and how he never ever wanted to commit to another relationship because of it.

On a more practical note, he didn’t need to bore René with the difficulty of supporting his family at the level to which they’d become accustomed, while living on his own and saving for both daughters’ college funds.

Still, having taken the business risk with his colleagues and opened the clinic, he’d refused to bail for a higher-paying job when Cherie demanded the outrageous monthly alimony. The clinic was all about autonomy, which mattered a lot to him. It was all he had left. That same autonomy was what fueled his sabbatical dreams.

René sipped her tea concoction as coils of steam circled her face. He could smell the peppermint all the way across the table. She lifted intriguingly shaped brows, brows he’d never really noticed before now.

“And Lacy?” she asked. “What are her plans?”

Jon barked a laugh. “She’s thinking more in line with Oahu U.” He made the “hang loose” hand gesture associated with the laidback Hawaiian Islands. “My girls couldn’t be more different if they tried.” He shook his head, knowing both daughters had genius IQs. Sometimes he wondered if his genes were a blessing or a curse.

“As long as they’re happy, right?” she said.

He nodded wholeheartedly. Ah, to be young and free to start over again, but happiness was such a subjective state of being. At forty-two he was the picture of health, which should make him happy, yet sometimes he felt unnecessarily weighted down by responsibility. At times like that, his sabbatical plans helped keep him going.

Since divorcing and moving out, he’d occupied eight hundred square feet of high-tech loft where he practiced urban minimalism. His daughters were the ones to name it the “man cave.” As long as he had his books and stereo equipment, and visitation rights with his girls, he’d make do—even if he couldn’t satisfactorily explain the temporary feel of his current living situation.

She watched him closely, forcing him to say something. Anything. “And I suppose this deal we’re making will make you happy?” he said.

With warm eyes hinting at wisdom well beyond her thirty-plus years, René studied him as if on the verge of telling her deepest secret. That near-perfect smile stretched across her face. “You have no idea.”

The moments yawned on with the two of them cautiously watching each other. She told him how her parents had retired and moved to Nevada. How she was an only child. How all of her best friends were married and how she always felt like the odd woman out whenever they got together. He asked where the men in her life had all gone. Her relaxed expression became peppered with annoyance.

He knew the war chant—men, the callous heartbreakers! He could repeat the same, only changing the gender. Yet he wanted her to open up, to tell him something personal, so he bit his tongue. If they were going to make a baby together, he felt he had the right to know more about her.

“Ten years ago, I’d thought I’d found my soul mate, but instead, he dumped me, crushing my heart beneath his feet as he walked out the door.” She glanced at him. Could she tell he knew exactly how she felt? “Sorry for sounding overdramatic, but that’s how it felt. Since then, I’ve had a series of less-than-satisfying relationships, and I’m pessimistic when it comes to the topic of permanent love.”

Jon had been married so long, and hadn’t pursued much in the way of romantic relationships since his divorce out of commitment fears, but he’d heard enough women around the clinic moan about the same thing. Love and permanence didn’t seem to fit. He figured the world of dating wasn’t such a great place to be these days, but for the life of him and his old-school ways, he couldn’t figure out what kind of guy would let a woman like René get away.

Watching René sip her tea, Jon figured the ticking of her biological clock influenced her every thought. Sure, lots of women were waiting until their early forties to have their first babies, but she’d have to risk the time to find the right guy, get married and get pregnant when it was a well-known fact that fertility declined with each year after thirty. She’d made it very clear she wasn’t willing to take the chance. He’d computed that if she waited much longer, she’d be in her late fifties with teenagers, and that thought, having two teenagers himself, gave him pause. It was all luck anyway, and if he knew one thing about René, it was that she wasn’t a gambler. If she was going to respond to her brewing and strengthening desire for motherhood, she’d have to act…well, soon.

“Have you really given up on finding the right guy?” He lifted his brows, prodding, then when she didn’t immediately answer, he switched to a more challenging look.

Her gaze danced away. “Not completely.”

Since she wasn’t about to open up, he let slip a sudden thought. “Someone like you could make the right guy very happy, but after you have a baby—” my baby; the quick thought took him by surprise and not unpleasantly “—it may be more difficult to find him.”

“Who?” she asked.

“Him. The right guy.”

“Having a baby on my own may not seem like the perfect solution, but it’s what I want. I don’t need a man to validate me. And if the consequences are being a single mother, I’ll deal with them like a big girl.”

For the third time in as many days she placed her hand on top of his. Her warmth enveloped his and on reflex he responded and twined his fingers through hers. This handholding business was starting to feel normal. His eyes latched on to her almost-caramel gaze and held it, unwavering.

She squeezed his hand. “You’re giving me the most important gift I’ve ever wanted. How will I ever be able to thank you?”

He thought long and hard about the right response. He thought about the greatest gift in his life—his daughters—and though his answer might come off as being lame, he meant it. “You can thank me by being a good mother.”



René had pulled the lucky straw when it came to choosing offices. Hers was in the front of the American version of the Queen Anne Victorian house. The three-story, creamcolored structure proudly bore the official Santa Barbara historical site emblem. Her corner office was nestled in the polygonal-shaped tower, which came complete with ceiling-to-floor bay windows. She’d covered them in sheer white lace, and loved how the sun danced in patterns across the walls in the afternoons.

She’d splurged on a Chinese-inspired walnut desk with cabriole legs, and one huge Oriental rug over the wood floor. The office seemed more befitting of a princess than a middle-class girl from Tustin, California.

Her parents had cashed in early on her brains, and scholarships flowed throughout her high school and college years. She’d never relied on anything but hard work and innovative thinking to get her through, though many attributed her success to her looks rather than sweat and elbow grease. It didn’t seem worth the effort to hold a grudge for their uncharitable assumptions.

She’d tried her best to be the perfect daughter, the perfect student, the perfect girlfriend—that one had never paid off—and the perfect medical practice partner and doctor. The last required long hours and dedication to the clinic, and left little room for a normal social life. Now, thanks to Jon’s decision, she could skip over all of the preliminaries and have her shot at motherhood.

His one request? To be a good mother. He hadn’t said perfect mother, no, just a good one. A good-enough mother. And that’s what she’d try with all of her heart to be.

A rap at her door, followed by her nurse escorting her next patient into the office for a consultation, forced her out of the all-consuming thoughts.

After greetings, René engaged the tension-filled eyes of her last patient of the day. The woman sat across from her desk wringing her hands. Her husband sat waiting beside her, straight as a giraffe, eyes more like a hawk.

“I’ll get right to it,” René said and smiled, fingering a printout report. “I received your endometrial biopsy results this morning, and they were benign.” She smiled again, and noticed that relief hadn’t washed away the couple’s furrowed brows and apprehensive eyes. “That means it was negative. You’re clean. No more cancer.”

The middle-aged patient and her husband shared a sigh, smiled and hugged. The scene made René wish all her medical “news” could be as good.

After they stood and shook hands, and René had instructed the patient to stop by Gaby’s desk and make a follow-up appointment, she folded her arms and paced the room. She was at her prime, in excellent physical condition, and good health should never be taken for granted. Now was the perfect time…for…

Her eyes drifted to the one wall reserved for every baby she’d ever delivered. The ever-growing collage of pictures—big and small, ornate and plain—called out to her. She scanned the gallery and thought again about becoming a mother. Chills tickled her neck.

She sat at her desk, stared at the detailed crown molding along the ceiling and tapped a light rhythm with her pen. More exciting thoughts about parenthood whispered through her mind. Her dream really could come true. She could barely wait.

With her restless gaze wandering the expanse of the office, she nibbled a fingernail, while her crossed leg pumped a breakneck beat. On the opposite wall was a framed photograph of the four MidCoast Medical partners the day the clinic had opened. She meandered over and took the picture in her hands. They all smiled. She was flanked by Jon on one side and Philip on the other, and next to Jon stood Jason, the owner of the building. The day was one of the happiest of her life. She remembered hugging each of them, and sharing a bottle of champagne. She thought about the hope they all had, and the desire to serve the local Santa Barbara community, back before Jason’s wife and daughter had died and Jon was still happily married.

She’d expected to marry, too, but life had surprised them all. Only Philip, the happy bachelor, seemed to make it through the past five years unscathed.

Well, it was her chance now. The sperm bank had called to tell her Jon had made an appointment for today—Valentine’s Day! He had skipped part of his morning clinic for an appointment, and she’d quietly chuckled over the reason—to donate his sperm, designated for her. But when it hit her between the eyes that her dream was about to come true, the gesture touched her so deeply she’d flat-out cried. Now she grinned and shook her head. Jon was right about two things: he was full of surprises, and no matter what happened after this, their relationship would never be the same.

Who knows how long she stared at the photograph. Jon’s image made her smile. His lanky frame, angular features, friendly demeanor and over-the-top intelligence gave her confidence she’d chosen the right man, and right now, she owed him another gigantic thank-you. And maybe another home-cooked meal?



Jon stared down Antonin Grosso. The stocky man sat across from his desk with arms folded, and a stubborn glint in his eyes.

“Your thallium treadmill showed an abnormality suggestive of arterial blockage.”

The man scrubbed his face with a beefy hand. “Please, doctor, I’m a butcher—speak the English!”

Jon grimaced. True, layman’s terms were his downfall. “You may have a blocked artery in your heart. I can’t stress enough the need for an angiogram. Oh, uh, that’s a study that will tell me if any of your heart arteries are blocked.” He fished through his patient education pamphlets and found the right one, then handed it to him.

“I no need this test. I feel fine.”

“Feeling fine and being fine are two different things, Mr. Grosso.” Jon ran his hand over his stiff spiky hair and reconsidered the explanation in butcher’s vernacular. “Take your prime beef. It may look fine, but until the U.S. government checks it out and approves it, you won’t know if it’s diseased or not.” He stared at the man while the analogy computed. “You look good. You feel good. But your heart isn’t so good. This study says so. We may need to unplug the arteries so your heart gets more blood and feels better.”

Something clicked. The man’s expression brightened. “You mean like that plumbing guy? My pipes need cleaning?”

Jon snapped his fingers and pointed at Mr. Grosso. “Exactly! Your pipes may need cleaning out. We need to schedule an appointment for a special test to decide if they do.”

“I don’t know. That sounds dangerous. I need to talk to my wife first.”

“Okay. Talk to your wife, but make it soon. I’ll talk to her, too, if you’d like. Bottom line—you need this test, Mr. Grosso.”

“Okay, okay, but I feel fine.” He rose to leave, and Jon stood, too.

“It’s Friday. I want to hear from you by next Wednesday.” Jon waved the EKG and treadmill results around to impress the patient that he had solid proof he needed the angiogram. “You have to get this done ASAP.”

The man glanced over his shoulder, then hung his head when he grabbed the doorknob. “We’ll see,” he mumbled.

Jon sat on the edge of his solid oak behemoth of a desk and shook his head. Before he had the chance to mutter a single curse, something grabbed his attention, and two young ladies rushed him.

“Dad!”

“Hi, Daddy!”

Amanda and Lacy threw their arms around him and hung tight. Every frustrated physician-oriented thought he’d been thinking flew out of his head. His teenage daughters had a way of doing that for him.

“Hey!” he said, smiling. “You guys are early.”

“Mom had a hot date,” Lacy said, with a strong hint of sarcasm.

Ack. Cherie hadn’t even tried to hide her multiple trysts from the girls since the divorce. Hell, she’d started extramarital dating before they’d even finalized the divorce. The thought still boiled his blood.

While deep in a group hug, he noticed René walk up to his door. Her intent expression changed to comprehension when she spied the girls. Since his office was in the back of the building, and the copying machines and bathrooms were in the middle, he knew she only came to this part of the clinic if she needed to talk to him.

She shook her head and flipped her hand in a wave, mouthed “thank you” and started to walk away. The sparkle in her eyes, since he’d agreed to be her sperm donor, had made everyone in the clinic take note. He’d heard his nurses comment to each other. “What’s up with Dr. Munroe?” “I wonder if she’s in love!”

His daughters turned their heads toward the door and caught sight of René just as she turned to leave. “I just wanted to wish you a happy Valentine’s Day, Jon,” she said, expertly covering for herself.

“Hey, same to you.”

He grinned at the thought of having put that gleam in her flashing eyes. Briefly, he wondered what would have transpired if his daughters hadn’t arrived early. Would she give him another squeeze of the hand and kiss on the cheek, a gorgeously grateful smile, and eyes so filled with joy his heart would palpitate? He felt guilty how simple his part of the agreement was, but if she wanted to make this huge deal out of it, it was fine with him. As long as no one found out. As long as it wouldn’t change his life or routine, or plans for China.




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