“You don’t think getting married on a donkey would be memorable?”
Owen burst out laughing. “Good point.”
They finished their informal tour and made their way back along the corridor. It was nearly seven o’clock on Saturday night, and Owen reflected guiltily that he’d presumed on his associate’s family time. “Go home. Take the rest of the weekend off.”
“Will do.” Jauntily, Alec led the way to the elevators. If he’d had any more bounce to his step, he’d have been skipping.
Even-tempered Alec was a good balance to Owen’s razor-edged personality. More than once, the embryologist had served as a buffer with other staff members in Boston. He was tops in his profession, too. On the rare occasions that Alec put his foot down, whether about a medical matter or anything else, Owen had learned to back off.
He couldn’t say the same for Keely Randolph. On the drive home, it was hard to keep his foot off the accelerator as he replayed that ugly confrontation at the office. Granted, Owen shouldn’t have dressed down the nurse in front of other staff members. Still, her neglect in updating a patient history could have had serious consequences. He’d discovered only through the patient’s casual remark that she was taking an herbal supplement that could cause dangerous side effects in combination with her prescription medication.
He hadn’t expected Keely to go storming off, but nursing supervisor Betsy Raditch had promised to find a temporary substitute by next week. Adjusting to yet another nurse wasn’t going to be pleasant, but it should give him time to select someone who would suit him in the long term.
Approaching his house, Owen felt a spurt of pleasure at seeing a familiar car in the driveway. And no sign of any visitors.
Of course, Bailey might be in a crabby mood about those yogurts he’d pilfered this morning, even if he had paid for them. Halting at the curb, he wondered if he should swing by the supermarket and pick up a bouquet of flowers. Wasn’t that what guys did to smooth things over?
Oh, for heaven’s sake. He was overthinking this.
Grabbing his briefcase, he made his way up the walk. In the fading light, the overgrown tropical plants reminded him of the mysterious island of Bali Ha’i from Rodgers and Hammerstein’s South Pacific. Or perhaps it was the song drifting from the front room in a lovely, clear alto that had put him in mind of his favorite composer and lyricist, even though it came from a different musical.
“When I Marry Mr. Snow” was from Carousel. Owen had fond memories of that musical from high school, when he’d played a major role. Lingering on the porch, he waited for another voice to join Bailey’s, but none did. Thank goodness.
As she launched into a reprise, an impulse seized him. Without pausing to reflect, Owen opened the door, stepped inside and added his voice to hers.
Chapter Nine
In high school, Bailey used to fantasize about trying out for a musical, but she’d never had the nerve. Although her friends assured her that she had a great voice, she’d been afraid to call attention to herself. Her mother, who never stayed in one place for long, had moved out of the school district right before senior year, and Bailey had lied about her legal residence in order to remain with her friends.
She used to imagine herself center stage, launching into a song, when out of the wings stepped the handsome hero—or a boy who could pass for one with the right makeup and lighting—to join in the duet. Now, hearing a mellow, tuneful baritone and seeing Owen’s teasing smile, she wondered if she’d fallen asleep at the keyboard. Any minute she might wake up.
Just keep singing and maybe this will last.
He barely took his gaze from hers as he crossed the living room, discarding his briefcase and sports coat on the couch, and skirted the dining table to join her. As he scooted into a chair beside her, Bailey reached the end of the song. Almost afraid to breathe, she flipped through the sheet music to the next song that caught her eye—“Shall We Dance?” from The King and I.
Not the wisest choice, considering that the lyrics spoke of dancing in each other’s arms and lingering together, but she couldn’t think straight with Owen’s legs stretching against hers and his gaze fixed on her face. If she turned her head, they’d be practically nose to nose.
Or mouth to mouth.
Of their own accord, Bailey’s fingers slid into the waltz tempo. A moment later, their voices blended so naturally that she couldn’t remember why she’d hesitated.
This close, his heat enveloped her, and his voice reverberated into her nervous system. Instinctively, she swayed against him, and it seemed only natural when his arm wrapped around her waist. They might as well have been dancing.
After the last note faded, Bailey sat in silence, afraid to move. Owen’s strength, his unexpected playfulness—everything about him—was larger than life. The other men she’d known had been boys compared with him.
“More,” he murmured into her ear.
Bailey tried to clear her throat. “Any particular…?” She made the mistake of returning his gaze, only to find his mouth inches away.
His lips brushed hers, so lightly it was closer to a whisper than a kiss. “More,” he repeated, but this time the word seemed to have a different meaning.
Bailey drew back. “Bad idea.”
“Rough week?” Owen asked mildly.
“Not nearly as rough as yours.”
He chuckled. “You heard about that, I take it.”
“We had a bet going.” Maybe she shouldn’t have confided that, but what the heck?
“A bet?” The arch of his russet eyebrow conveyed a world of perplexity.
“I won a five-dollar gift certificate to the cafeteria.” She’d split the grand prize with two other nurses.
“What did you bet on, precisely?” Owen asked.
“On who would cave first,” she said.
He tilted his head, considering the implications. “You figured I’d hang tough?”
“Yep.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“I’m not sure that’s the right term,” Bailey said.
“I didn’t intend to sack Keely, even though she’s been a thorn in my side. She’s a competent nurse, despite some mistakes, but her attitude is unacceptable. If people don’t admit fault and learn from their errors, they’re likely to repeat them.”
Bailey conceded the point. On the other hand, everyone knew that Owen vented his bad temper on whoever was around, the way he’d done with Ned, even without provocation. Thank goodness she didn’t have to work for him.
Reaching around her, Owen riffled the pages of the music book. “Where’d you learn to play?”
Her family hadn’t been able to afford formal piano lessons, which Bailey would have loved, but she’d been grateful for any instruction she could get. “One of my mom’s boyfriends taught me a few things. He was a musician.”
“A good one?”
“When he wasn’t high as a kite.”
“Ah.” He gave no sign of removing his arm.
It had been a long day, Bailey reflected, resting her cheek on his shoulder. It was just the right height. “You’d make some woman a terrific pillow,” she murmured before realizing how suggestive that sounded. “I didn’t mean that!”
She felt his rumble of laughter. “I like the way you speak without thinking. It’s refreshing.”
“It’s awkward.” She doubted those elegant women he’d dated in Boston were so unguarded.
He reached down to touch her stomach. “The twins are growing fast. Do they ever ask about me?”
“I heard them complaining a while ago,” Bailey answered tartly, adding in a high voice, “‘Where’s that doctor who poked and prodded us? Punch him out for us, will you, Mom?’”
“Is that an exact quote?” His palm cupped the bulge, while his thumb performed a gentle, circular massage.
Did he have any clue about the sensations rippling through her? Perhaps, but he was joking around, nothing more. Maybe having a bit of fun at
her expense. The notion stiffened Bailey’s resistance, until curiosity got the better of her. “They aren’t growing too fast, are they?”
“No. It’s simply more noticeable because there are two of them.” He leaned back, releasing her from the heated cocoon they’d shared. “Any word from your sister?”
She hadn’t heard a thing from Phyllis, a fact that added to Bailey’s irritation. “Quit nagging!”
He blinked with an air of innocence, except that no one would credit the great Dr. T. with any such thing. “It was a friendly inquiry.”
“You don’t trust her!”
“I don’t trust my brother.” He paused as if considering whether to say more.
Bailey didn’t care to hear it. Several times this week, she’d awakened in a panic with visions of her nest egg gone forever and the twins disappearing with her sister and brother-in-law along an endless road toward the horizon. But since there was nothing she could do about the situation, why waste time worrying? “Some of us have a sense of family loyalty.”
“Some of us know our siblings better than we wish we did.” There was regret in his words. “Enough gloom and doom. Feel like a dip in the hot tub?”
Bailey’s breasts tightened at the prospect of heated water rippling between them. The impact of his kiss lingered, along with the emotional imprint of his hand on her abdomen. Her pregnancy wasn’t too far advanced for lovemaking, and her body felt ripe for pleasure.
He was watching her, his expression keen with anticipation. Judging by the way he’d caressed her a moment ago, he was probably a skilled lover who knew exactly how to arouse a woman. A few minutes of nearly naked cuddling in the hot tub and she’d pass the point of no return.
What she needed was a real boyfriend, not a hit-and-run guy taking advantage of the moment. While Owen might not be deliberately treating her as an easy mark, that’s what she’d be. I’m not his type and he… Well, he wasn’t hers, although she’d never actually encountered his type before. “I’m tired. Past my bedtime.”
“It’s eight o’clock.”
“I’m sleeping for three,” she responded.
From the shadow in his eyes, she half expected him to try to dissuade her, but he merely closed the book of sheet music and pushed back his chair. “Then I’d better fix myself some dinner.”
“I went to the grocery store,” she said, as if that wouldn’t be obvious when he opened the fridge. “That is not an invitation to help yourself. This house doesn’t come with a personal shopper.”
“Don’t worry. When you get too big to roll your way through the supermarket aisles, you can hand me a list and I’ll do the honors.” Off he went to the kitchen, as casually as if he hadn’t proposed a steamy encounter in the hot tub, and as if her refusal didn’t mean a thing.
Had she misunderstood his intentions? Bailey switched off the keyboard and covered the keys. This living arrangement was way too convenient for a man like Owen, who was obviously accustomed to getting his way. And dangerous to a woman like her, who tended to leap before she looked.
Not this time. Tomorrow, she planned to attend a jazz concert with friends in the afternoon, followed by dinner and a movie. As for next week, with any luck, Owen would be tied up with his usual nonstop schedule, and when he came home, she’d retreat to her room or have guests over.
One way or another, Bailey intended to keep distance between them until Owen found a woman of his type. Then, she felt certain, he’d forget all about her.
HOW DID YOU PROTECT A WOMAN who resolutely refused to believe a word against her sister? Owen wasn’t sure exactly how he meant to protect her. Whatever money she’d invested couldn’t be instantly retrieved, and as for the babies…
Sitting in the kitchen finishing a frozen dinner that was more sauce than meat and potatoes, Owen basked in his awareness of those precious children. Moments ago, with his palm only inches from their tiny selves, he’d experienced a flood of love that left him weak. He’d never known such a powerful desire to cherish and guard anyone or anything. It surpassed reason and logic.
Nor had he figured out how to separate his bond with the babies from his connection to Bailey. Normally, he dated women who kept their emotions under lock and key, and allowed him to do the same. They enjoyed each other for a while, kept company, shared social and professional insights, and parted when the relationship became inconvenient or threatened to dissolve into petty arguments.
Amazingly, he enjoyed arguing with Bailey. Not only could she hold her own, but she skewered him in unpredictable ways. She never pulled her punches out of respect for his temper, either. He’d begun to suspect that she deliberately provoked him. It had been fun ignoring the damp laundry on the couch and noting her disappointment.
As he discarded his empty plastic container and put his glass in the dishwasher, Owen was keenly aware of the noises from Bailey’s bedroom. The walls were thin enough for him to hear the scrape of a drawer, followed by a faint rustling. Was she putting on one of those silly T-shirts she slept in? Any minute, she’d tromp into the bathroom and splash water all over the counter as she brushed her teeth. Was she going to pull another trick? He’d bought a couple of extra toothbrushes, just in case she decided to hide his old one.
He caught himself grinning as he tried to figure out how he could get back at her. This was childish. Beneath him. But a terrific stress reliever after intense days of building up to the program’s opening next month.
Speaking of which, he had a little more work to get done tonight. At the dining room table, now bare of the keyboard, Owen set up his laptop and forced his attention on his email. Dispatching new messages at night cleared valuable time in the morning.
Most of the items were routine, but partway down his in-box he found excellent news. Jan Rios Garcia, an administrative nurse he’d worked with a few years earlier, had accepted the job of coordinator for the planned egg donor program at Safe Harbor. That was one of the key posts Owen had been concerned about filling. He responded enthusiastically.
He loved being surrounded by capable, trustworthy colleagues. If only he could find a suitable replacement for his office nurse, he’d be in great shape.
Before logging off, Owen ran a search under his brother’s name. The only thing that turned up was a discreet website for Boone’s investment company. Nothing screamed Scam!—no promises of outrageous returns, no glossy pictures of the resort development depicted in Boone’s office. But then, his brother was too smart to reveal himself on the internet. From what Owen recalled, the senior Mr. Storey had pitched his projects in person to small groups and individuals.
During his lunch break on Wednesday, Owen had visited the police station and spoken with a Detective Hank Driver in the fraud unit. The man made notes and asked questions that quickly took on a sharp edge. To Owen’s annoyance, he got the impression the detective was trying to figure out whether Owen had an ulterior motive or some personal involvement in his brother’s business. He’d been on the verge of walking out angrily when Leo Franco, Nora’s husband, stepped into the interview room and greeted him in friendly fashion.
That put an end to the inquisition, but left him deeply unsatisfied. If doubting the motives of a reporting party was Detective Driver’s idea of investigating, nothing was likely to be accomplished.
His suspicions might be off base, Owen reminded himself. He hated the idea of betraying his brother. It would be a relief if Boone was cleared.
From Bailey’s room came the sound of the TV. Since she didn’t usually keep the set turned on as background noise, he gathered she’d decided to watch a program. A sitcom, judging by the laugh track.
She hadn’t been tired. She was avoiding him.
As he leaned his elbows on the table, an idea popped into his mind. It would help him out of a temporary bind, and irk Bailey at the same time. That struck him as a win-win situation.
Smiling to himself, he fired off an email to the hospital’s nursing coordinator.
ON MONDAY M
ORNING, BAILEY had the rare luxury of doing follow-ups on some patients at Nora’s request. She started with Una Barker, a former fertility patient who, after two years of trying to conceive, had recently adopted a baby. Una and her husband had avoided advanced fertility treatments because of the cost.
“Our son is adorable!” Una crowed on the phone. “I keep meaning to bring him by the office like Dr. Franco asked, but I’ve been busy.”
“I can imagine. Don’t forget your regular checkup.” Bailey consulted her computer. “You’re due in a couple of months. Do you want to make that appointment now?”
“Sure.”
After they finished, she made a note for Nora when she returned from her honeymoon, then followed up with Lucy Arrigo. She and her husband objected to in vitro fertilization on religious grounds, and when less aggressive methods failed to result in pregnancy, they also had adopted.
“I can’t believe how happy I am, even though I’m exhausted, too,” Lucy said. “Thanks so much for checking on me.” She also scheduled her regular exam.
Nora would be happy to hear about Una and Lucy, Bailey reflected. Owen had cited their cases—anonymously, of course—as examples of how Nora’s old-fashioned methods failed to produce results. But the choice belonged to the patients, not the doctor, and the adoptions had turned out well.
Bailey went to fix herself a cup of herbal tea. The receptionist was subbing in another office, and except for a few phone calls from patients, the place was quiet.
When the office door opened, she wasn’t entirely surprised to see Betsy Raditch, the hospital’s director of nursing. Although the doctors ran their own private practices, most of them contracted with the hospital to supervise the staffing arrangements.
“We have a request for you to fill in at another doctor’s office this week.” Betsy adjusted her glasses as she glanced at the clipboard in her hand.
“Dr. Sargent?” Bailey had more or less expected to be drafted to help the relatively new obstetrician, who’d agreed to take on any of Nora’s cases that required immediate attention.
The Surgeon's Surprise Twins Page 9
