Expecting the Doctor's Baby

by Teresa Southwick

  “You, too.” Sam smiled then slid through the crowd of people.

  What the heck was he doing here?

  But she knew the answer. This was a fund-raiser. The hospital had a mutually beneficial relationship with all the physicians who had privileges there. For all his flaws, her father had a noble goal and had put the pressure on everyone to make this fund-raiser a success. He was determined to build a cancer treatment center at Mercy Medical and dedicate it to the memory of her mother, who had died of the disease. He had loved her very much. It wasn’t his fault he couldn’t love her daughter.

  Sam made her way to the other side of the room but couldn’t shake the sensation of awareness. She felt like the princess and the pea—she couldn’t see him but she knew he was there.

  And then it happened. The crowd parted like the Red Sea and he spotted her. It was too much to hope he would simply wave and walk away. That wasn’t the Tenney technique. He grinned and headed for her like a magnet to true north. His long legs put him in front of her before the static in her brain cleared.

  “Sam, what a pleasant surprise.”

  “Hello.” Clever comeback, she thought.

  “And just like that, an evening I thought would be boring is anything but.”

  Based on what the sight of him in a tuxedo was doing to her insides, boring was the last word that came to her mind. The first word would be sex and if all his harnessed intensity was aimed at her, she’d be in his bed, no questions asked.

  “So what brings you here?” he asked.

  “I’m working, actually. Networking. Darlyn was supposed to be here also, but she’s still under the weather. So I’m on my own representing the firm.” She was babbling and took a sip of wine to stop herself. “How are you, Mitch?”

  “Better now.” His gaze boldly checked her out from head to toe. “You look amazing.”

  “Thanks.” She decided to mimic his bold appraisal and looked him up and down. “You clean up pretty good yourself. Quite a change from the pajamas.”

  He glanced down. “Speaking of monkey suits…It’s your fault I’m here.”

  How did she interpret that comment and respond appropriately? He didn’t look annoyed. More like a predator on the prowl.

  “Is that so?”

  “Yeah. At our monthly status meeting my associates drafted me to represent them when I was preoccupied with figuring out how to convince you that we would work well together.”

  The glitter in his blue eyes made her heart hammer against the inside of her chest. Suddenly there wasn’t enough air in the huge room, which made a witty comeback something of a challenge.

  “Oh?”

  “I promised myself that I’d bring it up the next time I saw you, but never expected I’d have the pleasure so soon.” He took her elbow and steered her to the bar, where he ordered a Jack Daniel’s on the rocks.

  For someone who relied on talking to put food on the table and a roof over her head, being around Mitch was an incredibly humbling experience. Which was a good portion of the reason she could never work with him. She emptied her wineglass and set it on the bar.

  “So, you don’t like dressing up?” she said, watching him take his drink, then slip five dollars into the bartender’s tip glass.

  “I’m much more comfortable in my pajamas,” he answered, a knowing glint in his eyes.

  Warmth crept into her cheeks. As far as his attire went, the pajamas were a good look. But in black tie and jacket he was a tall, dark, handsome fantasy come to life. How could she not fantasize about being in his arms with his lips pressed to hers?

  Good grief. She needed to get away. “It’s nice to see you again. But if you’ll excuse me, I’m going over there to check out the silent auction items.”

  “Great idea,” he said, falling into step beside her.

  The man couldn’t take a hint if she pressed it into his hand. He was the perverse type who would stick like glue if she asked him to get lost. She simply turned away and felt his gaze on her as he followed.

  They browsed the items on display—jewelry, paintings, pricey glass art, spa packages—and stopped by the large sign that read Marshall Management Consultants. After reading the fine print, he set his drink down and filled out a bid, then stuck it in the box.

  “Wouldn’t you rather have a picture or a weekend spa getaway?” she asked.

  He drained the contents of his glass and the ice clinked when he lowered it. “No.”

  She folded her arms over her chest and blushed when the movement drew his gaze there. He made no effort to hide his positive reaction.

  “Since when did you change your mind about what I do?”

  “Since a very wise woman pointed out to me that if I don’t, my ass could be grass and in jeopardy of getting hit by the door on my way out.”

  “You’re already getting counseling sessions,” she reminded him. “Why would you voluntarily buy more?”

  “Let’s just say that I always get what I want.”

  Sam didn’t miss the expression in his eyes, the intensity snapping there. She got that familiar, fluttery sensation in the pit of her stomach because the look clearly said he wanted her. And not for counseling.

  She had a feeling what he wanted didn’t actually involve talking.

  Mitch leaned back and slid his left arm across the back of Sam’s chair, noting that his fingers literally itched from the urge to touch her shoulder and explore the shimmery, sexy, mysterious softness of her skin. He took a steadying breath and glanced around the ballroom, lights dimmed for dinner. Flower arrangements in fall colors of orange, gold and brown decorated the tables, garnished with small pumpkins as a salute to Halloween coming in a few weeks. Candles glowed from the center of the array and the flame only made his dinner companion look more captivating.

  He leaned closer and said, “I told you to stick with me. Is this a good place, or what?”

  “Technically I’m not with you,” she said pleasantly. “My father gave me a ride. And you crashed this table.”

  “A gentleman wouldn’t abandon a lady whose date is home sick. Especially a lady who looks so beautiful.”

  “Oh, please—”

  He touched a finger to her lips, stopping the words, but kicking her pulse into a flutter. If he hadn’t been focused on the fascinating place where clavicle and neck collided, he might have missed it. Tapping gently, he said, “Don’t say anything you’ll regret.”

  “I’d just like to say that if you insinuated yourself next to me in order to continue your campaign to change counselors, you’re wasting your breath.”

  “The seat was open,” he said, feigning self-righteous indignation. “I only wanted to keep you company.”

  “And I was looking at this as an opportunity to meet strangers.”

  “Problems become opportunities when the right people join together,” he said, quoting the words on her wall.

  “Exactly,” she agreed.

  “How about for tonight we call a truce? You won’t ask if I’ve been playing well with others and I won’t hit you up to be my coach.” He held out his hand. “Deal?”

  She looked at it, hesitating.

  “What?” he asked, meeting her gaze.

  “I’m just trying to find the asterisk in that statement.”

  He frowned. “I’m sorry?”

  “You know, the asterisk. Have you ever noticed that everything has an asterisk—an exception to the rule? Fine print. Excluded under the warranty. Discount applies only when a pregnant ape swings across the freeway at exactly 12:01. Life is an asterisk and one always needs to tread carefully lest they rear up and bite one in the backside.”

  “I’m shocked and appalled,” he said.

  “Oh?”

  “Who knew the poster girl for optimism, voted most likely to be positive, bright and cheery, had such a cynical side.”

  “Go figure.”

  Her shrug did amazing things to the bare shoulder that was driving him completely nuts.

>   “All I’m saying is that we agree not to talk shop,” he clarified.

  “Okay.”

  But before they could talk about anything, the public address system emitted static and then Arnold Ryan was introduced. Since their backs were to the dais, Sam turned her chair around to see. Mitch did the same and managed to get his close enough to brush her arm. The contact left a trail of silver glitter on the black sleeve of his jacket and he thought how characteristic of her to leave a glow on everything she touched.

  “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” Arnie greeted the crowd. “Thank you all for coming. We’re gathered here for a cause near and dear to my heart.”

  That’s when it hit Mitch that he’d been pressed into service because of being in the doghouse and hadn’t bothered to get any details.

  He leaned over to Sam and whispered, “Does he actually have a heart?”

  She turned to look at him and their lips were inches apart. Her eyes widened a fraction before she said, “Of course he does.”

  “What is he talking about?”

  “Did you bother to read your invitation?” she asked.

  “No.”

  She shook her head in exasperation, but the corners of her mouth curved up as if she would expect this from him. “My father is kicking off a fund-raising drive for the Catherine Mary Ryan Cancer Center. Colon cancer killed my mother and he wants to fund a diagnosis-and-treatment facility dedicated to her memory.”

  “The valley certainly needs one.” The dim light underscored the shadows in her eyes and he recalled her saying she’d been raised with Ryan’s children. “How old were you when your mother died?”

  “Six.”

  His father died because his cop instincts made him intervene in a convenience store robbery. Mitch knew how it felt to lose a parent at a young age, but he’d had his mother. And Robbie for a while. Senseless death made him angry. The guilt and pain that haunted him twisted together and knotted in his gut.

  “Mitch?”

  He blinked, clearing away visions of the past and focused on Sam. “That must have been tough. Losing your mom so young.”

  She nodded. “But every cloud has a silver lining and tonight is all about that. Making something good come out of tragedy.”

  In his opinion the two were mutually exclusive, but he wouldn’t tell her that because the sparkle was back in her eyes. He wouldn’t live up to her low expectations and say anything to snuff it out.

  “That’s the spirit, Sunshine.”

  Before she could respond to that, the room erupted in applause because her father had completed his remarks. Sam stood to turn her chair around and he took care of that like the chivalrous guy he was. When they sat again, he noticed the waitstaff was distributing dessert and coffee while a group of musicians set up behind the lectern at the front of the room.

  “Looks like there’s going to be dancing,” he commented.

  “On the invitation it was clearly stated that the evening included cocktail hour, dinner and dancing.”

  “I like surprises.”

  “See. Even boring clouds have a silver lining.”

  “Maybe. But only if you’ll take a turn with me on the dance floor.” He was sure she’d turn him down and was already marshaling his arguments.

  “I’d love to,” she said.

  Strains of a slow song drifted to them and he stood, holding out his hand to her. She slid her fingers into his palm and when she rose, the muted light caught the sequins in her dress and the glitter on her skin.

  Speaking of surprises…He’d get to hold the silver lining in his arms.

  The wooden floor in the center of the room filled with other couples and Mitch placed Sam’s hand in the crook of his arm as he led her there. He held his breath, anticipating the pleasure of her closeness. Then he pulled her into his arms and found the softness of her pressed against him more intoxicating than his Jack Daniel’s.

  He looked down at her. “I was sure you’d tell me to take a hike.”

  “I love to dance.”

  “So I could be any jerk off the street and you’d have agreed?”

  Her alluring mouth curved up when she smiled. “I believe we established that my jerk quota has been filled recently. So, I’d have to say no.”

  “Then I’m not on your jerk list?”

  “I don’t think that about you. Quite the opposite.”

  He found her completely charming and was grateful to be on her good side. “What’s the opposite of a jerk?”

  “You’re a guy who saves lives. In my book that makes you a—”

  “Here you are, Samantha,” said a voice behind them.

  Sam leaned to the side. Even with heels she wasn’t tall enough to see over his shoulder. “Hi, Dad.”

  Mitch turned and deliberately left his arm around Sam’s waist. “Ryan.”

  “Dr. Tenney. How nice of you to join us this evening.” His tone said he wasn’t actually feeling the love.

  “You throw a great party,” Mitch answered politely, if only to prove to Sam that he could be polite.

  “Thank you. The turnout is very gratifying.” He looked at Sam. “My remarks were well received.”

  “Absolutely,” she answered, tensing.

  They’d been too busy talking to listen to the speech. In his opinion Arnold Ryan was a pompous ass who gave his daughter a hard time for no good reason. Mitch tightened his hand on her waist, hoping she felt his support.

  “So, Doctor, how are things in the E.R.?” Ryan asked.

  Mitch shrugged. “Funny you should ask. Sam was just singing my praises.”

  “Samantha is easily impressed,” he said, with a sardonic look at his daughter.

  “No,” she said. “When I was there for his precounseling observation he saved a drowning victim the paramedics brought in. A little boy. Two years old.”

  Arnold slid his hands into the pockets of his tux trousers. “It’s a good thing he was there.”

  The sarcasm in his tone told Mitch he was indeed one slipup away from the door hitting him in the backside on the way out. He wasn’t sure why this guy disliked him, but the feeling was becoming more mutual by the minute.

  “Dad, it was the most amazing thing to watch the E.R. staff work together to save that child.”

  “The E.R. staff is very good at what they do,” Mitch informed her father. “They have to be because we see everything from car accidents to the common cold. But I don’t have to tell you that.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “Mercy Medical is lucky to have a doctor with his skills,” Sam said.

  “And he definitely has them. Along with a finely tuned abrasive streak. If only rudeness saved lives,” Ryan snapped. “We’re still dealing with the fallout from your confrontation after that particular incident.”

  “I hate waste,” Mitch said, anger knotting in his gut. “Makes it hard to be diplomatic.”

  “That’s where my profession comes in,” Sam said quickly, looking very uncomfortable. “Smoothing out the rough edges will make him even better at what he does.”

  “What he does is take the rules and bend them into oblivion.”

  “Just give the counseling time, Dad. Darlyn Marshall is also very good at what she does. Sometimes people don’t realize how they come across and simply need to learn coping techniques to keep the little things from turning into big issues.”

  “If I hold my breath waiting for that,” her father said, “I would be in urgent need of emergency services myself. Either someone fits in or they don’t. Talking it to death is an exercise in futility.”

  “You do realize you’re referring to your daughter’s profession,” Mitch said, eyes narrowed.

  “Indeed I do. More’s the pity for her.”

  When Mitch felt her tense, his edges turned rougher and he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. “If that’s the way you feel, why bother with the program?”

  “It wasn’t my idea. Believe me.” Without giving his daughter a look
he said, “If it was up to me, you’d be out. And frankly this is all just a waste of time and money, in my estimation. I don’t expect any results and we’ll be back to square one, which is asking for your resignation.”

  “What if I prove you wrong?” Mitch asked, barely able to rein in his anger.

  “I’m not wrong. And if my daughter would stop wasting her time and take my advice to find a real profession, one worthy of respect, she would be much better off.” His mouth thinned in distaste when he looked at Sam. “Now if you’ll excuse me, there’s someone I need to talk to. I’ll see you later, Samantha.”

  Mitch was about to follow and felt Sam’s hand on his arm. “Don’t,” she whispered.

  “Just one good shot,” he said through clenched teeth.

  “Please. No—” Her voice caught and abruptly she turned and walked in the opposite direction.

  Mitch didn’t realize she was leaving until she stopped at the table, grabbed her purse and wrap, then hurried toward the exit. He followed her out the double doors, down two sets of escalators, through the casino and past the registration desk. For a small woman she went pretty damn fast in her high heels. Before he knew it she was through the front doors and outside. When he caught up with her, he heard her say something to the attendant about a cab.

  “Sam—”

  “Go away, Mitch.” She wouldn’t look at him.

  “I’ll walk you to your car.”

  “It’s not here. I came with him.” Her voice was unsteady and she caught her top lip between her teeth. “I think…it’s better if I take a cab home.”

  “Ignore him.”

  “Easy for you to say—” She had her back to him.

  “Okay. It is easy for me. I’m an objective observer. In spite of the fact that you think I have the sensibility of a water buffalo, I realize that you’re dealing with an emotional component. But, Sam—” He put a hand on her shoulder and gently turned her toward him.

  Her eyes were moist with tears and something tightened in his chest.

  He’d been susceptible to a woman’s tears a time or two. His ex-wife. His mother when she pleaded with him time and again to help Robbie. Pain sliced through him at the memory. He didn’t trust tears. Female tears were tools of manipulation. Interesting the first syllable of that word was man. He should just walk away and let her get a cab. Let her deal with the real water buffalo in her life on her own terms. The words were on the tip of his tongue until he saw her mouth tremble and her struggle to control it.