“You mean I should make them feel guilty because they don’t want to give up their doctor?” Heather asked.
George chuckled sympathetically. “I didn’t look at it that way. But it seems a waste to have you giving women their annual checkups when infertility patients need your attention.”
“I suppose so.” Heather enjoyed all the aspects of her work, though. “I find it reassuring to treat some women who aren’t having problems, because I’m a woman, too. It reminds me that most of the time nature functions the way it’s supposed to.”
“I hope you won’t find working at the new clinic unduly stressful,” the department head said. “However, on the positive side, Jason has assured me that his obstetricians will back us up in a pinch. You know how busy it can get around here.”
“Babies all want to be born at once.” Heather had sometimes wondered if there weren’t such a thing as a prenatal conspiracy, especially on holidays, weekends and evenings.
“There are bound to be some rough patches as the new clinic gets established,” George said. “Although you’re more affected than most of us, I’m sure you’ll adjust.”
Heather was glad she hadn’t blown up at Jason, since her old boss shared his point of view. “Thanks,” she said. “I appreciate your positive attitude.”
“How could I be anything but positive when I get to see miracles every day?” said the obstetrician.
Heather felt better. “Sometimes I forget how wonderful this job is.”
In her office, she read about the two new doctors who would be arriving. Dr. Alexei Davidoff was a Russian-born reproductive endocrinologist. Gruff but brilliant was the impression Heather had formed on hearing him speak once at a seminar.
She’d never met the second new staff member, Dr. Lisa Arcadian. The woman had trained in England at the same institute where Jason had worked. He’d left his fiancée to go there, Heather recalled.
In her photograph, the young woman had a sparkling smile and thick, dark-blond hair. Heather nearly choked as it struck her that there might be more between Jason and Lisa Arcadian than mere professional respect.
She was absurdly pleased to note at the bottom of the sheet that Lisa was married to a Dr. Henry Arcadian. Heather’s stomach untwisted.
What was wrong with her? she wondered. She didn’t want to be jealous of Jason. Yet he kept sneaking into her thoughts when she least expected it. He’d been so warm and cuddly at his town house that he’d reminded her of why she’d nearly gone to bed with him in the first place. Well, if anyone ought to know how charming a man could be one minute and how rejecting the next, it was Heather.
The phone rang. It was the charge nurse at Labor and Delivery to tell her one of her patients had just been admitted.
Heather sprang to her feet, fired with energy. Another miracle was on its way.
THE MEETING with Heather had gone well, Jason thought. He’d expected her to put up more of a fight about relinquishing her non-infertility patients.
He couldn’t understand why anyone would want to hang on to routine appointments with such an exciting clinic on the verge of opening. Simply walking through the unfinished premises set his mind whirring with plans and possibilities.
The excellence of his new staff members meant a further boost to the clinic’s public image. Patrick Barr had told Jason that their reputations, combined with his, were definitely a help with the fund-raising.
But medicine was as much an art as a science. Heather’s clinical experience and rapport with clients should prove as important to the clinic’s success as Lisa and Alexei’s lists of credentials.
Jason had missed her these past few weeks, from the liveliness of her bright face to her spicy fragrance with its hint of baby powder. Several times, he’d dropped by the whirlpool bath in the evenings, but he’d seen no sign of her.
Last weekend, he’d even gone to her town house, seeking advice on how to keep Frodo from chewing on his socks. When he’d reached it, however, the front door had stood open and, from inside, he’d heard several women discussing a wedding dinner. Not wanting to interrupt when Heather had company, he’d withdrawn before anyone spotted him.
He knew it was best to stay out of her life. Why, then, did he keep dreaming of a butterfly waiting for his touch?
Jason’s stride carried him through the March sunshine and across to the West Wing, where he was continuing to see his patients until the new examining rooms were completed. On the second floor, his nurse tapped her foot as she waited for him.
“Am I late?” He checked the wall clock and answered his own question. “Only by five minutes.”
“Mrs. LoBianco is an important patient,” Edith informed him. “Her husband made a $5-million donation to the Endowment Fund.”
“All my patients are important.” Mrs. LoBianco, he’d noted when he reviewed her chart earlier, was thirty-eight. Although she and her husband, computer-gaming magnate Alfred LoBianco, had an eight-year-old daughter, she hadn’t been able to get pregnant again.
According to their previous doctor’s report, the problem lay not with her but with her husband. Since they had rejected the idea of using a donor, it appeared the couple might benefit from ICSI, or intracytoplasmic sperm injection, in which a single sperm could be injected directly into the egg. It allowed fertilization if the husband had even a few healthy sperm.
“I can tell that woman’s nervous about this consultation.” Edith fixed him with her dark, knowing eyes. “Don’t you go scaring her any more than she already is.”
“Me?” Jason took the chart, which she’d been clutching as if undecided whether to let him have it. “I couldn’t scare a stray puppy.”
“You’ve got Coral Liu in a state of terror and Heather Rourke ready to pull out that pretty red hair of hers by the roots,” his nurse countered.
Heather hadn’t been in a particularly bad mood as far as he could tell. “She must have been annoyed that I interrupted her lunch,” he said.
“That’s not it,” Edith assured him. “She growled.”
“She did what?”
The nurse made a low snarling noise. “At Dr. Farajian.”
“Did she bite him, too?” Jason asked.
“I don’t know. She went into his office and that’s the last I heard,” Edith said. “But if she doesn’t calm down, she might need another leave of absence.”
“Did you say ‘another’?” He hadn’t heard anything about Heather going on leave. “When was that?”
“October and November,” Edith said promptly.
When Jason had run into Heather last September while visiting Doctors Circle, there’d been no mention of her going on leave. “Why?” he said.
“Nobody knows.” Edith shrugged. “Some people thought she was mad because you got the director’s job instead of her, but I don’t believe it. If you want the truth, you could ask Mrs. Barr or Mrs. Ladd. They’re her best friends.”
“Thanks.” Jason had no intention of prying into Heather’s personal business.
Nevertheless, he felt as if there were a puzzle he needed to assemble. The pieces included a cute baby who looked like Heather, a niece who didn’t resemble her at all and an unexplained leave of absence right around the time the baby was born.
Puzzling. Of course, he might be making much ado about nothing.
Or maybe not.
Chapter Seven
On Tuesday, after hours, Heather decided to visit a new women’s boutique on Bordeaux Way, near Doctors Circle. Several women at work had recommended it.
Although she’d planned to wear a dove-gray suit to Olive’s wedding, she impulsively pulled into the parking lot and went inside. She wanted to look her best in the wedding photos that her daughter would keep for the rest of her life.
“Do you carry petites?” she asked the middle-aged saleslady.
“Certainly.” The woman sized her up at a glance. “We have several designs I think will be perfect for you.” She led the way to a rack at one side.
Flipping through the selections, Heather sighed with approval. The first dress she chose was a vivid wine color edged in black, the second a dramatic midnight blue, the third golden brown. All were designed to flatter figures that were short with a large bust.
In a changing room, Heather tried on the wine-and-black dress first. Although it was hard to tell in the subdued light, she concluded that the hues didn’t flatter her delicate skin. Neither did the midnight blue, which was not only the wrong color but also too tight.
“How are you doing?” called the saleslady.
“I’m afraid these are rejects.” Heather handed the garments over the dressing-room door. “Two down, one to go.”
“Let me see if there’s anything in the back room,” the woman said. “We get new shipments all the time and they haven’t all been put on the racks.”
The russet gown slipped smoothly into place. The color was perfect, but the neckline dipped a bit low for Heather’s taste and a slit up the side revealed a lot of leg. The effect was sexy and daring—and a little alarming.
Since high school, when the pregnancy had given her a reputation of being easy, Heather had preferred to cover up. Regarding herself in this gown, however, brought a surge of rebelliousness. Did she have to keep redeeming herself forever?
Trying to make up her mind, Heather stepped out of the dressing room to examine herself in a full-length mirror she’d seen in the shop. As she was adjusting the top, the front door opened and Jason walked in.
He halted, his gaze raking her with no pretense of subtlety. Surrounded by ladies’ finery and frills, his tall form looked more masculine than ever, and his confident stance exuded pure male desire. “Now that’s what I call a dress.”
Heather became intensely aware of the caress of the fabric against her skin. Her bare leg and low cleavage made her feel both exposed and a little excited.
“I’d hardly expect you to call it anything else,” she said tartly. “What brings you to a ladies’ dress shop?”
“My mother’s birthday is next week. She loves scarves and I heard they carry beautiful ones here.” Despite his words, he made no move toward a rack floating with gossamer wisps of silk.
“I’m sure your mother will appreciate it.”
Jason cut straight through her attempt at small talk. “You look stunning,” he said. “If you wear that to the wedding in Las Vegas, you’ll steal the bride’s thunder.”
Heather had to laugh. “It’s not very appropriate for…” She caught herself on the cusp of saying “the mother of the bride.” “…a guest, is it?”
“Not unless you want the groom to race from the altar and whisk you to his suite.” He delivered this outrageous remark as if it were self-evident. “You know what that dress lacks?”
“Enough yardage?” The more she studied her reflection, the more Heather convinced herself the outfit was too sexy for her taste. Yet it made her feel like a movie star.
“This.” From the rack, Jason lifted a diaphanous scarf hand-painted with silver and bronze leaves.
Before Heather could grasp his intent, he strolled to her and draped the fabric around her shoulders. As his fingers brushed her collarbone, sparks arced through her bloodstream.
“I’ve never been the scarf type,” she said.
“It might look better this way.” He adjusted the drape at his leisure, seeming to enjoy shifting it as if unaware that each contact with his hands sent sensations flowing all the way to her knees.
Heather knew she ought to protest and snatch the scarf away from him. Instead, she stood transfixed.
The saleswoman returned amid the rustle of fabric. Seeing Jason, she said, “Oh, good, you brought your husband.”
The two of them practically leaped apart. “He’s not my husband,” Heather said. “We work together.”
“Dr. Rourke was kind enough to model this scarf. I think my mother would prefer a darker color, though.” As Jason turned his attention to the display, Heather noticed that he was breathing hard.
What had come over her? She didn’t want Jason handling her! Annoyed at herself, she took the saleslady’s find, a lavender cocktail dress with a matching jacket, and returned to the dressing room.
Only when she started to take off the russet gown did Heather realize she still wore the scarf. As she removed it, a whiff of Jason’s scent made her quiver all over again.
The dress was beautiful. With the scarf, it cast an air of mystery and seduction.
Heather lifted the price tag and winced. Reluctantly setting it aside, she tried on the new arrival.
Where the russet gown might lure a man into bed, the lavender dress was far more suitable to wear to a wedding. The subtle color and the jacket also made the ensemble perfect for those opening-night parties at conventions where suits looked too stiff and everything else too fancy.
She would get lots of use out of it. It would never thrill her the way the russet dress did, though. And there was no scarf to remind her of Jason’s touch.
Heather could almost hear her daughter’s voice saying, “Buy them both, Mom. You know you can use them.”
Her natural thriftiness, reinforced by years of scrimping to pay for medical school, warred with her feminine instincts. Heather resolved the dilemma by reminding herself that, once purchased, the dresses would augment her understocked closet for years.
Besides, she would need more than one gown for the festivities in Las Vegas. Olive and John had arranged for a day of sightseeing and taking in a performance by Cirque de Soleil before the big event so their friends and relatives—the guests now numbered about thirty—could get acquainted.
“I’ll take them,” she told the woman, and reminded herself again that this was an investment.
When she came out, she found Jason waiting at the counter with a rainbow assortment of scarves. “I couldn’t pick just one so I decided to indulge her fantasies,” he said, eyeing Heather appreciatively.
The saleslady gave a discreet cough.
“I was referring to my mother,” he said calmly.
“Oh, it’s a gift? I’ll wrap them for you.” To Heather, the woman said, “Are you in a hurry?”
“I can wait,” she said.
When the clerk disappeared into the back, Jason said, “I’m glad to see you’re buying the dress.”
“Two of them,” she pointed out. “I’m indulging my own fantasies.”
“At a wedding?” he asked.
“It’s a two-day event,” she explained. “We’ll be celebrating all over Las Vegas.”
He absorbed this information thoughtfully. “So who’s going to be there?”
“The bride and groom,” she said.
“Who else?”
“No one in particular.” She gave the words a lilt, as if to imply that she had an admirer, or several, waiting in the wings.
“Anyone I know?” Before she could answer, the saleslady returned with a gift-wrapped package. Seeing no chance to buttonhole Heather, he paid, bade them both farewell and departed.
“What a handsome man!” the clerk said.
“And good to his mother.” Heather smiled demurely as she signed her credit-card receipt.
It tickled her that Jason had wondered who was going to see her in the russet dress. She couldn’t help wondering if she would ever have a chance to wear it for him again. Just to remind him of what he was missing, of course.
ON WEDNESDAY NIGHT, some of Olive’s college friends were taking her out for a bachelorette dinner. Heather, who had volunteered to babysit, fixed herself a frozen dinner for the first time in several months.
“Don’t tell me that’s what you’re going to be eating after I move out!” her daughter said as she came downstairs in slacks and a blouse. She looked fresh and glowing, the picture of a happy bride-to-be.
“I don’t always have time to cook, and there’s not much point when I’m alone.” Quickly, Heather added, “Don’t you dare read anything into that!”
“You should join some clubs. Go out and meet people,” Olive said. “Invite that nice Dr. Carmichael over for dinner.”
“I’d rather starve.”
Her daughter heaved an exaggerated sigh. “You’re telling me it’s a coincidence that he moved in nearby and you finally went out and bought yourself some decent clothes?”
Last night, she’d insisted that Heather model the new dresses, which she’d applauded. The two of them were more like sisters than mother and daughter, Heather thought. Who could have guessed that the baby she had relinquished with a heavy heart would someday become her close friend?
“I’ve got to go,” Olive said. “Ginger took a late nap. I doubt she’ll be ready for bed until later,” she called.
“If it’s all right with you, I’ll take her to the health club.” The facility, located a few blocks away, provided child care until 9:00 p.m. “I’m behind on my workouts.”
“Good idea. A change of scenery ought to help wear her out.” Olive stifled a yawn. “I want to get as much sleep as I can tonight and tomorrow. Wouldn’t it be awful if John saw me for the first time in months and I had bags under my eyes?”
“Twenty-one-year-olds don’t get bags under their eyes,” Heather said.
“That’s what you think! Have fun at the club.” With a wave, her daughter vanished.
“Okay, toots,” she told Ginger. “I know I’m young for a grandma, but I’d better give these muscles a pounding or I’m going to start to sag.”
The baby cooed, happy to go along.
FRODO FLUNG himself at Jason the moment he walked in the door. Between playing with the eager creature and consuming the pizza he’d brought home, the next hour passed quickly.
He was glad to see a note from Alice Gray that she and her sons had visited Frodo after school and taken him out to play. Pets, like children, required care and affection. Even so, the pup had chewed up a couple of stray socks, a fact that made Jason wonder all over again why he’d been so eager to get it.
“Because you’re cute,” he told the little dog as he cuddled it.
Still, he had to admit that he’d never yielded to his desire for a puppy before. Something about the welcoming atmosphere of Serene Beach made him feel at home. And a home wasn’t complete without someone to share it with.
Prognosis: A Baby? Maybe Page 8
