by Jo Leigh
GUY PICKED UP Heath and held him close to his chest. The boy looked so much better than just two days ago. His color was good, the jaundice had nearly vanished. He was moving more, too, and if Guy hadn’t known about his genetic abnormalities, he would have sworn he was a perfect baby boy.
He sat down in the rocker next to the incubator, grateful he could finally dispense with the face mask so he could be close to Heath. What was he thinking? Heath was perfect. And now he had a much better chance of making it, although his health was still vulnerable. But the fact he didn’t have to go through a kidney transplant was a damn good sign.
If anything happened to the boy…
Closing his eyes, Guy rocked this child who had no blood connection to him. No connection at all, and Guy had never felt closer to anyone. Except perhaps one person. Just last week he hadn’t loved anyone but himself. Hadn’t dreamed that he could care like this. Now there were two people who mattered more than his own life.
And he couldn’t have either of them.
“Well, that’s a picture.”
Guy turned to see Tammy standing next to one of the NICU nurses. He hadn’t expected her here, especially at this hour. It was only seven-thirty, but for Tammy that was the dinner hour. In fact, she was dressed to go out—in a slinky purple dress and high heels. “When did you get here?” he asked.
“This morning.” She came over to him and smiled down at the baby. “He looks better.”
“He is. But he’s not in the clear.”
“So I’ve heard.”
Guy stood and offered the baby to his grandmother. She hesitated, looked down at her dress, then held her arms out. Guy carefully made the transfer, even though a part of him didn’t want to. He got another chair and brought it next to the rocker. “Sit,” he said, nodding toward the rocker.
Tammy did. Her gaze was on Heath, and even though she smiled at the baby, Guy could see she wasn’t relaxed with him. He’d never seen her with an infant before, but he imagined she’d been much like this with Heather. Babies were so helpless, and that was the role Tammy preferred. She simply didn’t know how to be the caregiver. He didn’t believe it was malicious or even mean-spirited on her part, but it was there, and had been one of the things that had drawn him to her in the first place. He had felt like a big man, taking care of her. He’d been an idiot.
“So what did you find out on your fact-finding mission? Is he in jail?”
“DiGrasso? No. We didn’t find him. But we got closer. A lot of people are looking for him now.”
“I hope they find him,” she said, “but I’m not holding my breath.”
“Don’t count it out. We made a connection between Stan and an adoption agency. Evidently, he made a habit of impregnating young women, then selling their babies.”
That got to her. She stilled, and her face, so perfectly made up, paled. “Oh, God.”
Guy leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “We didn’t do right by her, Tammy. Neither of us.”
“You were hardly there.”
“I know. I’m not excusing myself. I could have been so much more. I’m sorry. I didn’t know how to be a father.”
Tammy’s lips were tight together, staring at him, and he could practically see all his sins run through her mind.
“Or,” he admitted, “a very good husband.”
His ex shifted her attention back to the baby. “I’ll find a good doctor for him,” she said. “And I’ve already started to look for an au pair.”
“So you’ve decided to take him?”
“What are you talking about? Of course I’m taking him. He’s my grandson.”
“But do you want him?”
“Don’t start with me, Guy. This isn’t your business, and you have no right to judge me. You know nothing about my life. Nothing.”
“Why don’t you tell me.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it again. “What are you trying to pull? You think you can make up for being a shit to Heather by being the perfect father to Heath? I have news for you, buddy. He’s not yours. If Heather hadn’t come here, you wouldn’t have even known about him. I doubt you would have called me, and I’m sure as hell you wouldn’t have called Heather. Heath isn’t here to make you feel less guilty. You want to be a good father, go have a child.”
Guy leaned back, feeling slapped. She was right. He had no business questioning her motives or her decisions. He was, for all intents and purposes, out of the loop. Maybe that’s why it was so important for him to find DiGrasso.
But knowing he wasn’t wanted or needed didn’t make him love Heath any less. The boy had changed him in ways he hardly understood. Losing him would be as devastating as losing Heather.
“You’re right,” he said. “I’m not his family. But I’d like to be. Somehow.”
“Unless you plan to move to France, I don’t see how that would be possible. And if you move to France, I’ll kill you myself.”
He laughed. One thing about Tammy, she’d always made him laugh. But it didn’t change the bottom line. He didn’t want Heath to go, and he couldn’t figure out a way to keep him here. “I don’t know, Tammy. I haven’t a clue how it would work. Just do me a favor. A big one. Don’t shut the door, not yet.”
She looked at him, and her expression told him he wasn’t making much sense. “I’m leaving as soon as Heath is able to. If you want to see him, I won’t stop you.”
“That’s generous. And I appreciate it.” He stood up, ready to leave her to her grandson.
“Guy?”
“Yeah?”
“I don’t know what’s happened to you since I left. But it’s good.”
He smiled as he walked away. He didn’t even tell her how to put the baby back into the incubator.
It was late, and he hadn’t been home yet. He wanted to unpack, get a good night’s sleep. Would that be possible? He’d gotten through the day all right, but behind every thought, every bite of food, every blink of his eye was the memory of last night.
To say that it had been extraordinary was a shameful understatement. He’d been with his fair share of women, and had had some fantastic times. Better than he deserved. But last night had made every other experience pale in comparison.
But was it love? Or were his feelings for Rachel some kind of reaction to Heather’s death and Heath’s condition? Or maybe he was just losing his mind. Nothing had prepared him for the soul-wrenching truths he’d faced in such a short period of time. He was a man who had been given a lot of gifts, which he’d always taken for granted. Things had come easily to him. School, medicine, women, jobs. He’d had few real struggles. Maybe that’s why he enjoyed sailing so much. At least there he had a worthy opponent and had to be on his toes.
Since the morning of Heather’s death, it was as if the blankets had been thrown off his life. He’d been bared to himself, and what he’d seen upset him more than he could have anticipated.
He got down to the first floor and headed for his office. Connie would be long gone, and he’d have time for himself. If he could get it together, he’d head home, but before then, he’d take a quick look at what had happened here in his absence.
When he turned on the lights, he smiled. There was a plate of chocolate-chip cookies on Connie’s desk, covered with plastic wrap. Everything looked as neat and tidy as he expected, even in his office.
Reports were piled on the right corner of his desk, phone messages to the left. But he didn’t look at either after settling in his chair. Instead, he closed his eyes and leaned back.
What did he really have in his life? He was happy in his job, although to be brutally frank, he wasn’t terribly challenged by it. He’d wanted the power of the position, but he’d given up his work in the trenches. Most of his duties were administrative and while he took on the occasional case, the other doctors did the lion’s share.
He had his home. It was nice, but the only place he was truly happy was in the kitchen. Thinking about cooking made him smi
le. Funny, that was a task he did solo. He never wanted help when he was concocting some new dish. He also liked to sail alone. For such a social guy, that was interesting, no?
Okay, so he had cooking. Being a doctor. Sailing. What he didn’t have was a close relationship. Someone with whom to share the real joys of his life. The women he’d dated hadn’t tempted him to include them in his private life. Until Rachel.
He’d loved having her in his kitchen. And he’d thought a lot about having her over for more meals, letting her get wild with béarnaise or even a spicy Thai curry.
He’d pictured her a hundred times on his boat. Always with her hair down. Laughing into the wind.
Having gotten a glimpse of Rachel’s inner fire, he couldn’t imagine not having more. As far as he was concerned, he didn’t give one damn what anyone at the hospital thought about the two of them together, but he knew without a doubt that Rachel cared.
She’d never, in his experience, stepped one foot outside the tight restrictions of hospital protocol. Oh, she took chances where a patient’s well-being was at stake, but she was a by-the-book attending physician, who made sure her team toed the line at all times.
He’d often wished that she’d participate more in the social aspects of the life here, but that wasn’t Rachel. If there was a party, she’d make a brief appearance, then quietly disappear. If someone had a gripe about a co-worker, she was the perfect mediator because she never let her emotions get in the way.
But the woman in bed with him was a wild creature, filled with so much passion it scared her to death.
What an incredible life it would be to watch that part of her blossom. He wanted to be there. To see the whole woman emerge from the tightly woven cocoon she’d created for herself. There was no doubt in his mind that Rachel had already taken the first steps on her journey, and damn it, he wanted front-row seats.
The question then was how? How could he be involved in her life? In Heath’s life? How could he salvage a true and meaningful life from the pathetically shallow existence he’d been too blind to see?
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
HER FIRST DAY BACK was a bitch. There were two frequent fliers, regulars who came in a couple of times a week complaining of this and that, always with a new angle, desperately needing attention. EMTs had brought in a homeless man so dehydrated they almost lost him. Throw in a couple of seekers, drug addicts who came up with amazingly inventive ways to con the docs out of narcotics, and she’d had a full E.R. without any traumas at all. Of course, there had been legitimate patients, too. The flu season was in full throttle, and that meant there were lots of folks moaning in chairs. A broken wrist from a construction site, an impacted bowel and a sprained ankle rounded out the morning. Lots of busywork, and no time to think. Which was the good part.
The bad part was that whenever she did have a second to herself, all she could focus on was Guy. For the second night in a row, he’d kept her awake. Only, it was being without him that had her tossing and turning last night. This was crazy. She couldn’t possibly miss him. He was right here at work, so what was her problem?
Maybe it was the whole lack-of-sex thing. Before last night, she hadn’t been with a man in over a year. And for a normal, healthy woman, that was just too long a dry spell. Except that she hadn’t missed sex at all, until last night.
The memories of what he’d done, what she’d done, and what they’d done together, had her completely unsettled.
She’d actually stayed and listened to Amy’s terrible jokes in the lounge. She’d talked for almost twenty minutes to Betty—the patient who’d fallen from her bicycle and sprained her ankle—about her boyfriend. Twenty minutes Rachel could have been catching up on her files, doing rounds, a hundred other things.
She blamed Guy. It was his influence that had sent her heading toward the deep end. Getting back to work this morning had made her realize just how deeply under Guy’s spell she’d fallen.
Her life was just fine, thank you very much. And though she loved Allie like a sister, there was no way she could be like her. She didn’t even want to be like her. Rachel had dedicated her life to one thing—medicine. How could she undermine all that because Guy was great in the sack?
All she wanted was to get back to the way things were. To think of Guy as her boss. Period. Becoming friends with him wasn’t going to work.
She thought about telling him right away, but reconsidered. This was private business, and the hospital was such a hotbed of gossip it was too dangerous to have that kind of conversation even in his private office. Still, she really had no choice, and there was no time like the present.
Putting aside her report, Rachel headed for the restroom to check her hair and reapply her lipstick—the dark red that meant all business. Then she walked over to Guy’s office.
Connie gave her a big smile. “I’ve got some fresh cookies, Dr. Browne.”
“No, thanks, Connie. But I would like to see Guy.”
“Can’t help you there.” Connie shifted her phone pad and leaned closer to Rachel. “He’s up in the boss lady’s office. Been up there for over an hour.”
“Oh, well, I’m sure he’s catching up on the days he missed.”
“Right,” Connie said, although she didn’t sound very convincing. “I’ll tell you something that’s all hush-hush. You remember that gentleman you worked on the night of the storm? Nepom was his name.”
“Yes, I remember. I couldn’t do much to help.”
“And I’ll tell you why. It wasn’t the roof that killed him. Someone knocked the stuffing out of him. It’s murder.”
Rachel sat down. “Murder?”
“That’s right. Hit with a hammer at the base of his skull.”
“I don’t know what to say. There was so much cranial damage.”
“I’m not implying that you should have known. Heavens no. But I hear that Callie Baker herself went to the autopsy, and that’s where they found it.”
“I see. So is that why Guy’s with her upstairs?”
Connie leaned back. “I’m not sure. He didn’t tell me much. Just let me know he had things to discuss with her.”
“You know, I think I’ll take you up on one of those cookies.”
Guy’s secretary smiled and handed her the platter. Rachel took one but barely tasted it. She was too busy thinking about Nepom, and how she hadn’t seen the hammer blow.
“Would you like Dr. Giroux to call you when he gets back?”
“Yes, please. I’ll be here till about six.”
“I’ll let him know.”
Rachel stood, grabbed one more cookie, then headed back to admitting. If there was no one in chairs, she’d pull the records on Nepom and see what she could see.
GUY RANG RACHEL’S doorbell, then ran a quick hand through his hair. He’d been surprised at her invitation, and pleased when she’d insisted that they have dinner at her house. But most of all he was anxious to tell her about his day. His decision.
She opened the door, and he was struck yet again at how the sight of her knocked him right out. God, she was something. She still had on her slacks and jacket from work, although the lab coat and stethoscope were history. She must have stayed later at the hospital than he’d guessed, because she still wore her power lipstick.
“Come in,” she said, opening the door for him.
He entered, then did what he’d wanted to do since dropping her off last night. He touched her cheek, then leaned in for a kiss.
She seemed hesitant, but not for long. Once his arm wrapped around her waist and he pulled her close, she opened her lips to him, and it was L.A. all over again. Scorching heat and a desire that was pure animal swept through him, nearly kicking him on his ass. It was Rachel’s hand behind his neck that kept him steady. That, and the promise of what was to come.
She pulled back first, her face flushed. Then she closed the door.
“How do you do that?” he asked as he turned to face her.
“Do what?”
> “How come I just kissed the hell out of you and your lipstick is still perfect?”
She smiled. “Magic.”
“Ah, that explains it.”
“‘There are more things on heaven and earth, Horatio…’”
He grinned. “Especially when it comes to women.”
She walked past him, heading to her living room. He followed, checking out her place. There was so little of Rachel to be seen. Everything was neatly in place, the decor traditional and comfortable, but it felt more like a model home than the place where someone as vital as Rachel would live. But then Dr. Browne wouldn’t have concerned herself much over decorating. She’d have been too busy working.
“Would you like a drink?”
“Love one,” he said. “Sorry, I didn’t bring any wine, but I was stuck at the hospital until about twenty minutes ago. I wasn’t sure if I would spoil dinner if I was late, so…”
“No problem. I have some decent Shiraz, if that’s okay?”
He nodded and joined her in the kitchen. She handed him the corkscrew and the bottle of wine, then went to the oven and peeked inside. Something smelled good.
“I was trying to figure out a way I could make you believe I cooked this,” she said, “but it’s not gonna happen. I got this from that little Italian place by the hospital. And I bought prepackaged salad with bottled dressing. Sorry.”
He poured them each a glass of wine, then joined her by the oven. “I wouldn’t have cared if you’d ordered a pizza. I’m not here for the food.”
“Right. You gourmands are always jonesing for a store-bought salad.”
He gave her the wine. “As a matter of fact, I buy them myself. So shut up and drink.”
She eyed him but obeyed. “I heard you were up with Callie Baker today.”
Backing up, he leaned against the island. “God bless the grapevine. Yeah, I was.”
“I also heard that Bruce Nepom’s death was actually a murder.”
“I heard that, too, but that’s not what I was discussing with Callie.”
“Oh.”
“I want to tell you about it.”
