"Of course." The nurse offered Madelyn another reassuring smile before she left, closing the door behind her with a soft click that seemed unnaturally loud to Madelyn's ears.
"This was a mistake," she said through a constricted throat when they were alone. "It seemed perfectly logical when Doc and I were discussing it, but now…" She drew in a breath before sitting up. "Obviously there are a few unresolved issues from that particular period of my life that escaped my attention."
He ran his thumb over the thin scar riding the edge of his jaw. A tussle with a barbed-wire fence when he'd been live, he'd told her once when she'd traced it with her fingertip. "Guess I've been called a lot of things in my time, most of them deserved, but I can't ever remember being called an 'unresolved issue' before."
His dry tone charmed her into a shaky laugh. "Sorry, that's the guidance counselor in me talking."
He nodded. "Professional jargon. Makes it easier to handle the scary stuff."
His insightfulness surprised her. "Exactly."
"If it would help to take a swing at me, go ahead."
"I don't want to hit you, Luke," she said with a large measure of surprise. "Although I admit there was a time when I wanted to empty my daddy's shotgun in … well, places best not discussed in polite company."
That hard mouth softened into a rueful grin. "I can understand that, and I surely do appreciate your restraint." Grin fading, he scooted the stool closer. "I'll do everything I can to make this easier for you, Madelyn, but you have to give me some guidance here. Which, considerin' that's your profession and all, should be a dead-bang cinch."
"That's just the trouble," she said, her voice strident. "I don't know how to handle this. Ever since I found out about the baby, I've been an emotional basket case."
He nodded, serious as a judge. "Those baby-nurturing hormones can be a real pain sometimes."
She gurgled a laugh, then bit her lip, fighting an overwhelming urge to cry. "It's so … frustrating," she muttered as a tear drizzled down her cheek. "See what I mean?" she added, dashing it away.
Smiling, he captured her hand in his. "I want to help you. I think I can, but first I have to know exactly what kind of problems we have ahead of us."
"There is no us, Luke. There never was."
"I was speaking medically, not personally." He hesitated, then said gently, "I'm not asking you to forgive me. Or even to like me, though that would make things easier. But I am asking you to trust me professionally."
She felt a wave of relief. A professional relationship was exactly what she wanted. All she wanted.
"I hope you warm up that … that thing," she said, her gaze going to the shining speculum on the tray. "Otherwise, I swear I will shoot you."
His eyes crinkled. "I'll remember that," he said before releasing her hand and scooting to the door to call Esther in again.
* * *
Forty minutes later Madelyn was dressed and waiting in Luke's oak-paneled office while he finished with another patient.
Seated stiffly in one of two chairs by the desk, her hands folded in what was left of her lap and her mouth dry, she glanced around, distracting herself by absorbing the sights and smells of Luke's private domain.
Like the rest of the office, it was furnished in Southwestern pastels. The chairs for visitors were well padded and covered in soothing shades of green and beige. His own chair was upholstered in brown leather that looked butter soft and showed definite signs of wear.
A Navajo blanket of excellent quality covered part of one wall, and a signed lithograph of the desert at dawn hung behind the desk. As far as she could see the only visible sign of his rodeoing days was a small bronze statue of a wild-eyed stallion trying to unseat its rider, used as a paperweight on the desk.
Both her charts were there, as well, sitting squarely in the middle of the blotter. Though she knew it was inappropriate, she was sorely tempted to take a quick peek at the notes Luke had jotted down in his left-handed scrawl. Only the knowledge that she would feel horrendously embarrassed if he caught her kept her hands in her lap.
Though by necessity intimate, the examination itself had been virtually painless. As he'd worked, he and Esther had ragged each other about a dispute over a called third strike during her son's last Little League game.
By the time they'd finished insulting each other, the exam had been finished and Luke was helping Madelyn to sit up. Before she could launch into the anxious questions tumbling in her mind, he'd stripped off his gloves and been on his way out.
"We'll talk in my office," he'd told her with a noncommittal smile before disappearing.
So here she was, fully dressed again in her new maternity power suit, so uptight she was surprised she didn't creak when she moved. Certainly she couldn't sit still, she realized as she got up from the chair and went over to inspect the snapshots and children's artwork pinned to a large bulletin board opposite the desk. Most of the drawings were addressed to "Uncle Luke," the letters printed laboriously in crayon or pencil. Several, however, had obviously been done by an older child and showed a definite flair.
One in particular caught her eye. It was of a cowboy astride a yellow horse, his gloved hands crossed over the pommel, his hat pushed to the back of his head, the way Luke used to wear his when he was feeling playful. At eighteen, he'd been breathtakingly earthy, the epitome of untamed masculinity to a naive girl raised on cowboy lore.
"That was a Christmas present from my goddaughter."
Startled, she whirled around. "She's very talented."
"I think so." After closing the door, he crossed the room to stand next to her. She'd forgotten how tall he seemed when they stood side by side, how he filled up the room with restless energy even when he was standing still. She felt that same energy seeping into her now.
"That's her there," he said, indicating a glossy photo of a young girl perched in front of Luke on the saddle of a breathtakingly gorgeous palomino. About five or six, she had dark braids, big brown eyes and looked impossibly dainty snuggled against his broad chest.
"Her name's Tory MacAuley," he said, his voice a little gruff. "Her mom's a kindergarten teacher and her dad's a neurosurgeon at Port Gen."
Madelyn forced herself to smile. "How old is she?"
"Five and three-quarters. A real proper lady already. Reminds me a little of you, actually." His grin transformed his face, erasing years and strain. "She informed me a few weeks ago that all the boys in morning kindergarten were pigs."
Madelyn laughed softly. "She'll change her mind soon enough."
"That's a fact, though I wouldn't care to be in her daddy's shoes when it happens." A look she couldn't decipher crossed his face for an instant before he glanced toward the desk. "How about we have that talk I promised you?"
"Yes, fine." Madelyn hurried to the chair she'd just left. Outside an ambulance wailed as it sped along the hospital access road, and rain pelted the twin windows. Luke snapped on the brass lamp, then waited until she'd seated herself before settling with surprising stiffness into his own chair.
"The baby's a good size for twenty-three weeks with a good strong heartbeat. The two ultrasound photos Dr. Morrow included show a definite increase in the size of the fibroid, which is a concern. But your blood pressure is fine and from what I've seen, you're in excellent health. Just to be on the safe side, though, I'd like to have Esther draw some blood and we'll set up an appointment to do another ultrasound. After that, I'll have a better idea—"
The door flew open, startling them both. "Sorry to interrupt, Doctor," the redheaded receptionist exclaimed as she rushed in. "We just got a call from the ER. Marlene Gregory was hit by a car as she was crossing Powell Street, and the baby's in trouble. The trauma surgeon said he'd meet you in the OR stat."
Luke was already on his feet by the time the receptionist ran out of air. "I'm sorry, Maddy, I have to go."
"Of course," she said, rising. "I'll wait."
He hesitated, then came around the desk. "Look, I
don't know how long I'll be. Where are you staying? I'll call you when I'm done, and we can set a time to meet."
"I'm at the Mallory Hotel downtown. But I don't mind waiting. Really."
"Go back there, order yourself a blood-rare steak with all the trimmings for lunch and then take a nice long nap."
"But—"
"Doctor's orders, Mrs. Foster." He gave her a quick—and impersonal—smile before hurrying out.
* * *
Chapter 4
« ^ »
Built in the early twenties on a hill overlooking Portland's central district, the Mallory Hotel retained all the elegance of an earlier more gracious era. In the lobby glittering crystal dripped from a magnificent chandelier while classical music soothed tempers and set the mood.
Madelyn's room was on the fourth floor. Discreet signs directed Luke to the right and down a long dogleg. Thick green carpet splashed with pink and purple roses muffled the sounds of his boots as he checked the shiny brass numbers affixed to the old-fashioned doors. Her room was the second from the end and looked out toward the business district wedged between two mighty rivers.
The Willamette and the Columbia.
He chuckled to himself as he recalled her nervous travelogue in his office. That first night in Texas she'd chattered a mile a minute all the way to the motel, her breath coming out in cute little bursts. And when she hadn't been chattering like a magpie, she'd been gnawing on that curvy little bottom lip. A classic response to anxiety. Him, he tended to dive a little deeper into that private place inside no one had ever seen. He knew the stony silence made him seem grumpy and maybe a bit remote, but anything was safer than having his insecurities hanging out naked for the whole damn world to kick.
His gut tightened as he lifted a hand and knocked. While he waited, he worked at blocking out the screaming ache in his spine. Just as he lifted his hand to knock again, the door swung open. It took him a moment to connect the rumpled sleepy-eyed angel in the purple robe with the sophisticated woman he'd left almost six hours ago in his office.
"Luke! I thought you were going to call." Her voice had the throaty quality of someone who'd been asleep only seconds before.
"I thought about it," he admitted, trying his damnedest not to notice the tendrils of pale hair that had slipped free of the classy twist to frame her face, but even a man with promises to keep could only stretch professional detachment so far. "But then I, uh, thought about how long it'd been since breakfast and I figured we could talk over dinner."
She blinked, then frowned. Damned if she wasn't adorable, standing there with bare feet and her mouth pursed in the closest thing to a kissin' invitation he'd ever hoped to see on a pretty woman. Hell had to be a lot like this, he decided. Condemned to want the one thing you can never have, no matter how many years of penance you've paid.
"What time is it?" she asked, peering up at him distractedly.
"Goin' on six."
Her eyes flew wide. "Gracious, I slept four hours."
"As your doctor, I have to say I'm mighty pleased to hear it. But as a man who's got an empty space the size of Crater Lake in his belly, I'm wondering how long it'll take you to decide on dinner."
Those sexy green eyes darted a quick look at his midsection. He nearly sucked in his gut, before he caught himself. He was in some fairly major trouble here, he realized. Wantin' to show off for the lady like the conceited fool he'd been at eighteen. Block it out, Jarrod, he told himself firmly. The lady was his patient. Only his patient.
"Oh, right, dinner, then conversation," she said, stepping back. "Please come in while I get myself together." She turned away, leaving him to close the door.
"How's Mrs. Gregory?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder. No longer sleepy, her eyes were dark with what looked like genuine concern. He liked that about her, he decided, the fact that she could step outside her own anxiety to care about a woman she'd never met. He liked it a lot.
"She's holding her own," he told her with a smile. "The next twenty-four hours are crucial."
"But she has a chance?"
"She has a chance."
Relief bled into her eyes, but there were still shadows. Bad memories, he thought, the kind he'd never been able to shuck for all his trying. "And … and the baby?"
"A little boy, four pounds, six ounces. He has a chance, too." He hoped she didn't ask him how good a chance.
"Was the daddy … where was the little boy's daddy?"
"Last word I got he was on his way home from a business trip to L.A." He lifted a hand to scrub some of the tiredness from his face. The past two days were starting to catch up with him. "Turns out the elderly man who hit her had a heart attack. His chances ran out on Powell Street."
A fleeting expression of sorrow crossed her face. "I'm sorry."
"Yeah." He shifted his weight to his good leg. The numbness hadn't returned, but the ache left behind refused to ease. "I, uh, figured we could eat in the dining room downstairs, if that's all right."
"Fine."
She started to turn away, then swung around with a taunting swish of silk to look at him with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. "I don't remember giving you my room number."
"You didn't. I got it from the desk clerk."
"They do that in Oregon? Just give out a room number to anyone who asks?"
"Not in the Mallory they don't, so don't be worrying yourself."
"But you just said they gave it to you."
"I told the desk clerk I was checking on a patient."
Skepticism filled her eyes. "And she believed you? Just like that?"
"Actually I delivered a baby here once. On the third floor. A tourist from Japan who'd been too polite to call for help until it was almost too late. I was just leaving the restaurant when the desk clerk got the call and started yelling. Same one's on duty tonight and she remembered me."
Her expression cleared. "Let's hope history doesn't repeat itself in my case."
"Just remember not to worry about calling for help, even if you're not sure you need it. Us doctor types would rather handle things in a well-equipped hospital than a hotel room. Makes us real nervous when it's a room-service waiter passing the instruments."
She choked a laugh. "I'll make a note."
Since she hadn't invited him to sit down, he checked around for something sturdy enough to lean against while he waited.
"How long has it been since you slept?" she asked, studying his face.
He shrugged. "Baby does learn to sleep in snatches."
"In that case why don't you grab a quick nap while I shower?"
Luke glanced at the bed, still made but a little rumpled from her nap. The idea of shutting down for a few minutes was nearly irresistible. "Better not. I've been known to crash hard when I'm this tired, and I still have rounds to make tonight."
"At least sit down and rest. I won't be long," she said before disappearing into the bathroom with another maddening swirl of silk against sleek calves. An instant later he heard the rush of water through the pipes in the connecting wall.
Feeling as though he was strangling, Luke managed to lower his aching bones to the mattress, found the remote and turned on the TV. After surfing until he found a Mariners game, he eased to his side, bunched the pillow she used under his head and set his mental alarm for fifteen minutes. Between one breath and another his mind simply shut down.
* * *
Through the closed door Madelyn heard the indistinct sounds of a baseball game on TV as she unzipped the small brocade bag containing her jewelry. She had one pearl drop affixed to her lobe and was searching for its companion when she heard the muffled ringing of the phone by the bed.
Muttering a curse, she hurried from the bathroom in her stocking feet. Luke was asleep, sprawled on his belly with his scarred boots hanging over the edge of the bed and his head turned toward the TV. His long arms were wrapped around the pillow, his cheek half-buried in the soft foam. The corners of his mouth were still tense, however
. And his black brows were drawn together in a frown, as though something in the fathomless void of sleep was troubling him.
She managed to snatch up the phone on the third ring. He didn't move. Turning away, she whispered an impatient hello into the receiver.
"Madelyn? Is that you?" Her ex-husband's voice carried the strident edge of irritation that had become far too familiar.
"Wiley, how'd you get this number?"
"From your mama. She also told me you were consulting a specialist, but then, you always did overreact."
She glanced over her shoulder, her stomach knotting. Only Doc and her best friend Emily Weldon knew the name of the man she'd come to see. The last thing she needed right now was another scandal. "What do you want, Wiley?"
"Simply to complete the dissolution of a marriage that's become intolerable for both of us."
Madelyn closed her eyes and used her free hand to rub at the pinprick of pain in her right temple that invariably exploded into a full-blown headache whenever Wiley started in on her. "Intolerable," she repeated in a low tone. "Yes, I suppose it is now."
It hadn't been so intolerable when he'd come to her every Saturday night for an hour of regimented sex that had left her feeling more and more lonely and unsatisfied, however. Or when she'd nursed him through a battle with lung cancer, holding the basin as he retched after surgery and emptying bedpans because he was too modest to ask the nurse. No, good old Wiley hadn't found her intolerable then. Shaking with hurt and a healthy dollop of disgust at the loyalty she'd shown a man who so clearly had none for her, she stiffened her spine and took a bracing breath.
"All right, Wiley. I'll get an attorney. We'll work out a settlement."
"No need. Judge Berdette and I have already worked out the details."
"I'll just bet you have."
"The judge was my father's best friend before Daddy passed on to his heavenly reward, as you well know, and as such has always looked out for the best interests of the Foster family."
When had the stability she'd valued so much in Wiley Roy turned to a really ugly stuffiness? she wondered.
DADDY BY CHOICE Page 4
