Doctor Daddy

by Jacqueline Diamond

  “I’m trying.” They’d spent a half hour last night just on Zoey’s math assignment, which required her to measure the length of the kitchen by walking heel-to-toe. He’d tried it, too, and they’d burst out laughing at their wobbles, then had fun comparing the different sizes of their feet. That hadn’t been so bad, he conceded.

  As he swung around to replace the chart he’d been annotating, Luke narrowly avoided another collision with Edda. She beamed at him. “Oh, there you are!”

  Pam made a choking sound, swallowing a laugh.

  “Something I can help you with?” Luke asked as casually as he could.

  “Tomorrow’s hysterectomy patient had to reschedule because she’s got bronchitis, and your C-section delivered last night. So you’ve got the morning free. Can we book patients?” Edda fixed her gaze on his face.

  “Please run those matters by me, and I’ll coordinate with Dr. Van Dam,” Pam reproved. “Honestly, Edda.”

  “I was trying to save time!” the girl protested.

  Pam narrowed her eyes. Taking the hint, the receptionist scooted away.

  “You have to give her credit for caring about her work,” Luke murmured.

  “Word of caution,” his nurse told him. “You might want to eat at your desk or go out. She brought in a huge fruit salad and a pile of sandwiches for the lunchroom. Baiting her trap, I suspect.”

  “That was generous of her.” He found it hard to believe the receptionist had been thinking only of him.

  “She asked me earlier whether a twenty-four-year-old was too young to be stepmother to a seven-year-old,” Pam said pointedly.

  Whoa—that was going overboard. “Thanks for the warning.”

  Retreating to his office, Luke munched the peanut-butter sandwich and carrot sticks he’d fixed, a twin to his daughter’s lunch. Then, after shedding his jacket, he set to work organizing his books and hanging his framed medical certificates. He’d meant to do that last week, but his patients had taken priority.

  From the hallway, he caught the familiar click of footsteps and a hint of Jane’s springtime scent. Luke hurried out into the corridor. “How goes it?”

  She turned, blinking as if pulled from a daydream. “I’m not here.”

  She looked real to him. “You’re a hologram?”

  “I mean, I just stopped by after surgery to pick up messages,” she said.

  Luke refused to let her escape that easily. She’d dropped by his house with Stopgap on Monday night, as promised, but almost immediately had to go out to check on a patient with pregnancy complications, and he’d seen far too little of her the rest of the week. “I could use a bit of advice.”

  She glanced at her watch. “Sure.”

  “You do get a lunch break,” he reminded her.

  “It isn’t that. In fact, I cleared my schedule until three. I’ve got some personal stuff to take care of.” Anxiety puckered her brow.

  “Anything wrong?” He stood aside.

  “No.” Moving past him, she surveyed the office. “Looks better with your stuff on the walls.”

  From a cardboard box, he lifted a photo of Zoey, taken about two years ago. “Do you think this is too personal for my desk?”

  “I think it’s cute, if you can find space.” She indicated the stacks of files and journals covering the flat surface. “Is that what you wanted my opinion about?”

  “No. It concerns Zoey’s behavior.” He wasn’t sure why but right now Jane was the one person he wanted to talk to.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s going through a rough patch, with all the changes in her life.”

  “Actually, if anything, her behavior is too good. I’m afraid she’s bottling up her emotions.” He shoved a stack of magazines aside so he could sit on the corner of the desk. “She loves Maryam’s house, adores her teacher and hugs me every chance she gets. This can’t be normal.”

  “Sounds like the honeymoon period,” Jane observed.

  “Aren’t those for married couples?”

  “Cynthia Lieberman, our resident Harmony Circle psychologist, says they apply to anyone in a new relationship or situation.”

  Interesting concept. “So I can expect a period of adjustment ahead.” He felt almost relieved to discover his intuition had been on target.

  “Any contact with her mother or grandmother?” Jane asked. “That might help her release her feelings.”

  He’d kept his promise. “We went to see Hetty last night. She’s doing much better without the stress of caring for a child.” Luke had been relieved to see the woman’s color improving and her energy level back to normal. “Zoey’s talked to Pauline on the phone, but that isn’t the same as seeing her.”

  Jane folded her arms. “She could benefit from therapy.”

  “True. She’d benefit even more from a sense of stability.” He resented Pauline’s insistence that they reevaluate where Zoey lived at the end of the school year. As far as he was concerned, returning her to a crazy life spent in motels shouldn’t even be on the table. “I’m not looking forward to another legal battle with my ex.”

  In Jane’s eyes, he caught a glimmer of moisture before she averted her face. Were those tears? “You look sad. What’s wrong?”

  She released a long breath. “I was thinking how lucky Zoey is to have such a loving father. Even when my dad was home, I always felt like I was getting between him and a ball game on TV.”

  “I’m sorry.” Instinctively, Luke leaned forward to touch her shoulder. “Having a dad like that can affect the way a woman relates to other men in her life.”

  She jerked away. “I have no problem relating to the men in my life.”

  Her reaction startled him. “My apologies. I wasn’t thinking.”

  Unreadable emotions flickered over her face. “It’s all right. I have a lot on my mind.”

  Although they stood mere inches apart, he felt as if they were talking across a canyon. “Anything you want to chat about?”

  “Afraid not.” She stared out the window toward the parking lot. “Some things are too personal to share.”

  Luke had a sudden, intense longing to be the person Jane did confide in, the friend she trusted above all others. He’d done his best to convey that to her the other day, when he’d compared her to a sister. The problem was that sometimes his feelings for her strayed rather far from brotherly.

  She turned toward him, mute appeal on her face. But for what?

  Impulsively, Luke reached for her. For a moment, Jane stiffened, and then she fell against him and nestled into his chest.

  In his arms, she felt feminine and so sweet that he longed to protect her. “Jane, whatever the problem is, let me help.”

  “You can’t. But that’s all right. I’m okay.” With a trace of reluctance, she shifted back. “I might as well tell you, since you heard me discussing it with Brooke. I made an appointment at the fertility clinic.”

  The excitement of Zoey moving in had driven that conversation out of his mind. “You’ve decided to go through with it?”

  “Not necessarily.” She moistened her lips. “It’s just a consult.”

  While Luke still believed two parents were better than one, he knew she had far better child-rearing skills than most single moms. “Whatever you decide to do, Jane, I’m on your team.”

  She relaxed a little. “That’s good to know.” Rising on tiptoe, she brushed a kiss across his cheek. It felt whispery and inviting. “You can be one hell of a man when you want to.” Giving him a quick smile, she ducked out of the room.

  The scent of her lingered after she’d gone. He wished she wouldn’t keep fleeing. Whatever negative side of himself he’d presented to her back in medical school, he hoped that impression was beginning to change.

  He wanted very much to keep her close. Even if, in order to do that, he had to leave more distance between them than he’d like.

  Not until later, when he caught Edda staring at him in dismay, did it register that Jane had left a lipstick m
ark. As the receptionist stomped away down the hall, Pam handed him a tissue and grinned. “I’d say you took care of that problem.”

  “Exactly as I planned,” he replied, and hoped she believed him.

  But he hadn’t planned any of this. Especially how he kept replaying Jane’s kiss, and wishing he could be at her side for what might be the most important meeting of her life.

  Chapter Eight

  Several years ago, before Jane began referring patients to the fertility clinic, she’d visited it and met with the director. She’d admired the efficient operation, and found the curving walls and soft color scheme soothing.

  Today, sitting in Dr. Linda Chandhuri’s office, she couldn’t have cared less about the decor. Her brain kept buzzing with what had just happened between her and Luke.

  The moment his arms closed around her, she’d experienced a profound longing to melt into him. Having him hold her had felt like the most natural thing on earth, and the most alluring. Just like ten years ago.

  Why feel this for a man who considered her a sister? But he did care. Ironically, his gentle concern, even though she knew it to be platonic, had touched a place deep in her heart.

  She struggled to return her attention to the woman across the desk. Knowing Jane’s medical expertise, Linda was skimming over the information about monitoring ovulation and taking a fertility drug to stimulate the release of mature eggs.

  “Our latest figures show that our patients have about a twenty-five-percent chance of becoming pregnant each cycle,” she said. “That’s a couple of points above average.”

  “I’m aware of your excellent reputation.” Several of Jane’s patients had happily borne babies after coming here. “You have my complete confidence.”

  On her laptop, Linda clicked a few keys. “We update our donor information regularly. I’ll show you in just a second.”

  “You have pictures?” Jane didn’t expect that, although she’d be curious to see what the men looked like.

  “No, but the descriptions are quite thorough. We recruit intelligent, healthy males from college campuses. As I’m sure you’re aware, we screen each donor for his personal and family medical history. Here, have a look.”

  She swung the computer around to reveal a page of biographies. Reading through several, Jane noted that they included age, ethnic background, blood type, height, weight, scholastic achievements, sporting activities and other interests.

  Scrolling down the document, she reflected that each donor appeared more ideal than the last. Yet she was choosing a father for her baby, not a contestant on a reality TV show. How could you tell the quality of the person? A shy janitor with a bad knee might make a superior parent to a bodybuilding Ph.D. candidate.

  But whoever I choose won’t be a parent. The donor, she reminded herself, would never hold the baby in his arms. Her child would never be cradled against its father’s broad chest and feel the rumble as Daddy sang a lullaby.

  Tears pricking her eyes, Jane turned the laptop back toward Linda. “I guess I’m not as ready for this as I thought.”

  “There’s no hurry,” the doctor assured her. “It isn’t something you should rush into.”

  “I’m not. I’ve been putting it off for ages,” Jane confessed. “If I don’t have a baby soon, it may be too late.”

  “There are other ways to parent,” Linda said sympathetically. “Adopting or taking in a foster child, for instance. Or simply being a devoted aunt.”

  “I’m an only child. Although I am a godmother.”

  “Many women feel pressured because their friends are having babies,” the other woman murmured. “Counseling can help. Would you like a referral?”

  “I have names already.” Jane often recommended therapy to her patients. Yet she clung to the notion that she ought to be able to resolve this dilemma on her own. “Thanks for your time. I may be back sooner than you think.”

  “I’d love to help you realize your dreams.”

  As they shook hands, she noticed Linda’s wedding ring. On the desk, a photo showed two beautiful, dark-haired children.

  “I had fertility issues myself,” said the other doctor, following her gaze. “Believe me, I understand how it feels to long for a baby.”

  The trouble, Jane mused as she walked to her car, was that her earlier encounter with Luke had left him stuck in her head. In each donor description, she’d instinctively searched for similarities.

  She had to get over this fixation. Avoiding him obviously hadn’t helped. Perhaps it was like having allergy treatments in which a patient, exposed to more and more of a substance, develops a tolerance for it.

  It might be worth a try. Besides, she’d promised to help Zoey, and she didn’t want to let the child down.

  Even though a voice within warned that she was playing with fire, Jane decided she should see Luke again as soon as possible—like tonight.

  LUKE HAD BEEN hoping Zoey would move past the honeymoon phase so they could iron out their problems and bond as a family. Too bad he’d forgotten the old saying that you should be careful what you wish for.

  When he arrived at Maryam’s house that evening, she showed him a small bruise on Zoey’s arm and a similar one on another girl’s leg. “They fought over a toy. I separated them as fast as I could, but I’m afraid they’re a little worse for wear.”

  “Coretta pushed me,” Zoey growled.

  Luke crouched at her level. “She’s younger and smaller than you.”

  She stared at him defiantly. “She pushes hard!”

  “I’ve decided to keep them apart each afternoon until Zoey has a chance to unwind from school,” Maryam told him. Behind her in the den, several children were playing a game of chutes and ladders. Zoey glared at the group as if their easy companionship came as a personal affront.

  “That sounds like a good plan.” When his daughter tugged at his hand, Luke said, “Get your backpack and we’ll go.”

  “You get it,” she commanded.

  He raised an eyebrow. “Bossing Daddy around, are we?”

  “I’m tired.” She planted hands on hips.

  To his annoyance, Luke realized that her stance reminded him strikingly of Pauline. He didn’t want to come down hard on the child just because of that. Still, her attitude pushed the limits.

  “Honey, you have to take responsibility for your possessions,” he told her.

  “What’s that mean?”

  Remember, she’s seven years old, not seventeen. “It means carry your own stuff.”

  She studied him rebelliously until she saw that he meant it. Then, to his relief, she accepted defeat with good grace. “Okay, Daddy. I’m sorry.” Off she went to fetch her pack.

  “Kids do best when there are reasonable boundaries,” Maryam said. “I wish all parents understood that as well as you do.”

  “My dad never tolerated nonsense. I guess I learned it from him.”

  Over dinner, Zoey chattered happily about her activities at school. Afterward, Luke washed the dishes while she stood atop a chair to dry them. “Dad, you missed a spot of salad dressing.” She waved a fork.

  “Where?” He peered at it.

  “Right there.” She held it closer, nearly poking him.

  “Hey! I like my nose the shape it is.”

  She giggled. Luke took the fork and washed it again. There was a fleck of oil on the tines. “You have a good eye.”

  “Two good eyes,” she corrected, and waved toward the window. “Yay! There’s Stockup.”

  “Who?” Glancing out, Luke saw Jane and her dog marching up the walkway. His spirits lifted. He’d hoped she might stop by tonight, especially after she’d confided in him. “You mean Stopgap.”

  “I’ll let them in.” His daughter hopped down and raced for the door.

  Luke had barely removed his apron before the dog leaped in and covered Zoey’s face with slurps. She grinned with delight.

  “Sorry if we’re intruding.” Jane straightened her figure-skimming blue sweat
er. “I took him out for a walk, and he made a beeline over here.”

  “If you wouldn’t mind company, we could use some fresh air.” Luke was hoping he and Jane might even be able to talk freely with Zoey’s attention focused on the dog. “Do you think he’d behave if Zoey held the leash?”

  “Please, please,” his daughter begged Jane. “I’ll make him be good, I promise.”

  “Let’s give it a try.” Jane handed the leash to the little girl, who gripped it with solemn intensity.

  As they walked along Harmony Road in the mellow early-evening twilight, the scent of barbecuing drifted from across the street. A scattering of children swooped by on in-line skates, taking advantage of the recent arrival of daylight savings time.

  Ahead of Luke and Jane, the dog adjusted his pace to Zoey’s. “It’s as if he takes into account that she’s a child,” he commented.

  “Many animals have that instinct,” Jane said. “Have you ever owned a pet?”

  “Dad wasn’t keen on letting animals in the house.” Irwin Van Dam had been a stickler for order. In retrospect, Luke wondered how his father had fallen in love with their free-spirited mother. He supposed opposites really did attract—for a while.

  “My father adored his Irish setter. If he could have taken Rusty with him on the road, he’d have done it. Mom was partial to cats.” Jane broke stride as, ahead of them, Stopgap paused to sniff a freshly turned strip of dirt.

  A sun-bronzed man in his thirties knelt on the lawn, removing a petunia plant from a six-pack. “Hello, Stopgap,” he greeted the dog. “Don’t eat my earthworms. They’re good for the soil.”

  “He doesn’t eat worms. He eats dog food.” Zoey spoke with confidence, as if she personally fed the spaniel.

  “As long as he doesn’t chow down on my plants, I’m not complaining.” The man nodded toward them. “Hi, Jane.” To Luke, he said, “I’m Bart Ryan.”

  “Luke Van Dam, and this is my daughter, Zoey.”

  “I’d offer to shake hands but for some reason most folks aren’t crazy about getting dirt all over themselves.” The fellow grinned.

  “Bart’s a horticulturalist. A plant expert,” Jane added for Zoey’s benefit. “Those petunias are beautiful, but why aren’t you waiting until Saturday?”