The Surgeon's Secret Baby

by Christopher, Ann

  “I don’t like this,” Jalen grumbled blearily, pulling the cannula out of his nose and over his head before she could stop him. He cracked open his eyes and blinked at her, his expression baleful even though his color was pink with newfound health. “And I’m thirsty.”

  “I think we can do something about that.” There was a cup of ice water with a bent straw on the tray table for just such an occasion, and she raised the head of the bed a little and propped him up so he could sip. The anesthesia might make him a little nauseous, so they had to be careful about that. “Now drink slowly,” she said.

  Jalen latched onto the straw and drank in greedy slurps, nearly draining the cup before she had the presence of mind to snatch it away. “Hey!”

  Satisfied, he slumped back against the pillows, his eyes closing again. She watched, heart swollen with joy, as he moved his arms under the blankets, running his hands over the bandages on his right side.

  “So, do I have a new kidney now?”

  “You do indeed.”

  “Is it working good?”

  “It’s working great.”

  “No more dialysis?”

  “No more dialysis.”

  “Awesome.” Eyes still closed, Jalen managed a drowsy grin. “Let’s party.”

  “I’m in here,” Thomas called.

  Lia, who’d had to kick the front door shut because her arms were full of bags and bundles, did a sharp U-turn away from the spiral staircase leading to the upper level of Thomas’s house and veered into the living-room area. The newly sprung patient was sprawled across a sleek black leather sofa that looked as though it had been stolen from the Jetsons or some other space-age family. The place was really very cool, she thought, with floor-to-ceiling windows on three sides, exposed pipes and walkways, funky black-and-white paintings on the walls and, of course, a monstrous flat-screen TV mounted over the black marble fireplace.

  She stared down at him, wondering how he planned to get comfortable when the lone pillow on the sofa—if you could call it a pillow—seemed to be a block of red foam with some black piping on it.

  “You okay?”

  “Never better,” he said, arranging the pillow under his neck.

  “Oh, really? Well, your never better looks a little pale and sickly to me.”

  He gave her a doleful look from beneath droopy eyelids. “Please do not insult my manhood.”

  Laughing, she set her bags on the floor because the sparkling glass coffee table didn’t have a single speck of dust on it and she hated the thought of smudging it. “You’re down one kidney, Doctor. Your body needs to adjust. I don’t think it’s a sign of dishonor if you admit to being a little tired.”

  “I do not admit to weakness.”

  “Great. Since you’re doing so well, I’ll just be on my way.”

  “On the other hand,” he said, his voice noticeably fainter and more pitiful than it had just been, “I am a little…off-kilter.”

  “Poor baby,” she murmured.

  “Someone probably should take care of me. Just in case I need anything.”

  “Well…” She hesitated. “If you think that’s wise.”

  He nodded solemnly. “I do.”

  “Then it’s a good thing I’m here, isn’t it?”

  “It’s the best thing. For my health. You know.”

  “Anything for your health.”

  “Come here.”

  He stretched out a hand to her, and she took it, thinking that medical crises had a strange way of breaking down barriers and creating intimacy. In the last several days, she’d gotten way too used to touching him. Anticipating his needs. Smiling at him. So it didn’t feel that odd when he shifted to make room for her to sit on the edge of the sofa at his hip and when he smoothed her hair behind her ear and then rubbed the strands between his thumb and forefingers as though he was testing the quality of a bolt of silk.

  “Thanks for bringing me home,” he told her.

  Nerve endings tingled to life all up and down her scalp and neck. She shrugged, trying to disguise the involuntary shiver. “Oh, you know. When you donate a kidney, you get a ride home. It’s a rule.”

  He grinned, displaying those fabulous dimples. “And if I donate blood?”

  “Cab ride.”

  His husky laughter slid under her skin and inside her, making it harder to breathe.

  “I think you like me a little bit, Lia,” he told her, those fingers moving up her neck and around back to her nape, where they kneaded and soothed.

  She tried to focus on his face. Tried to swallow the slow croon that wanted to rise up out of her throat and give her away. Tried not to let her head fall back and her spine arch.

  “There you go, getting cocky.”

  Another laugh, this one followed by a low murmur. “You don’t like me? Just a little bit?”

  Would it hurt anything if she closed her eyes and leaned back into his caress? Just this once? She was so tired. What could it hurt? “I will concede,” she told him, “that there is a slight possibility—”

  “Only slight?”

  “—that you may not be, on closer examination, as big a jackass as I first thought you were. But that’s not my final word on the subject, and it’s all pending further developments.”

  “So I’m a small jackass? Is that it?”

  Opening her eyes, she stared down into his, making a connection that was like freefalling through space. She took a deep breath and worked on regulating her thundering heartbeat before it made her ribs crack.

  “You’re not a jackass.”

  “No?”

  “No.”

  “You sure?”

  Sitting here with him like this, when they were both drowsy and his warm hands were so comforting and when he’d banked most of the intensity that usually burned in his eyes, replacing the arrogant surgeon with the boyish man who was as vulnerable as she was, it felt safe to tell him the truth. This once. “You’re smart and funny. You’re demanding, but I think you’re harder on yourself than you are on anyone else. You’re brave and strong and sexy—”

  “And you like me.”

  “—and I like you.”

  “Good,” he said, unsmiling. “Because I’m crazy about you. In case you hadn’t noticed. So go easy on me, okay?”

  “Okay,” she said softly.

  That seemed to satisfy him. Nodding, he let his eyes drift closed, but his hands went to her hips, anchoring her there beside him in case she had any plans to leave just yet. And she studied everything about him. His brown skin. The shadowy bristle of his beard, because he hadn’t shaved in a couple of days. The sleek brows, the long lashes. The tender curve of his mouth. And she wanted—

  “Did you bring something for me?”

  Did she what? Oh, yeah. Get back into the game, girl.

  Trying to return to business, she looked to her bags, reminding herself. “A blanket. Some magazines. Dinner for later.”

  “Chicken soup? Smells homemade.”

  “I’ll have you know that this is creamy chicken soup with shiitake mushrooms and wild rice.”

  One edge of his mouth curved in a smile, but he didn’t open his eyes. “You’ll spoil me.”

  “You deserve it.”

  He sighed, settling deeper into the sofa.

  Well, there was no time like the present to get the soup into the fridge, she supposed, starting to stand. And while she was here she could check his supplies and make sure he had bread, milk and eggs and the like. God knew what a bachelor like him ate if left to his own devices. And she should—

  “Stay with me.”

  Startled, she looked down to discover those eyes open again, focused and intent. She gestured helplessly to the bag, to the kitchen, trying to encompass all the things she needed to do, all the responsibilities and duties she had to manage.

  “I can’t,” she began.

  Wrong answer. His brows lowered, darkening his entire face. “I’m going to take care of you, whether you make it easy for m
e or not. I’m tired. You’ve been staying at the hospital with Jalen, so I know you’re tired. We both need a nap. I’ve got a sofa and you brought a blanket.” He opened his arms in the sweetest invitation she’d ever seen. “Stay with me. Please.”

  Part of her wanted to resist. A bigger part of her wanted nothing more than this, now, with him. So, after a slight hesitation, she grabbed the fleece blanket from its bag and stayed, stretching out alongside him on that big sofa, twining her legs with his and resting her cheek against the solid warmth of his chest. Lying with him was like entering a wonderful hybrid zone where heaven met home, and she knew right away that, after this, sleeping alone would always be a letdown.

  But she would worry about that later.

  With a murmur of approval, he shook the blanket open and covered them both with it, kissed the top of her head and held her tight while she surrendered to the exhaustion.

  Chapter 9

  “Did you give Bones the carrots?” Jalen asked, his restless legs moving under the blanket and knocking over the pile of UNO cards that Lia had just painstakingly arranged and stacked. “You can’t forget the carrots.”

  Lia, who had been sitting in the bedside chair, scrambled to catch the cards as they cascaded to the floor and wondered if anyone would call child protective services on her if she bopped the patient upside the head. The hospital room had, in the last couple of days, begun to feel like a prison cell for both of them—although, in fairness, she thought that she was suffering way more than Jalen was. They could not get out of here soon enough, as far as she was concerned. Jalen was restless, whiny and generally bored out of his mind, which translated to wall-to-wall misery for Lia, who’d been struggling to keep him both quiet and entertained.

  Still, she tried to be mature and patient. She was, after all, the adult here.

  “As I explained to you before,” she said, recovering the cards and keeping most, but not all, of the edginess out of her voice, “I fed Bones before I left the house.”

  “Yeah, but did you give him the carrots or the celery?” Jalen, who was now the picture of glowing health, with pink cheeks, bright eyes and only the IV line in his arm to remind the world that he’d just had major surgery, did a little mini-flop against the pillows to highlight his apparent frustration at having to explain the whole rabbit diet thing to such a dolt. “He likes carrots in the morning and celery at dinner. And did you download the images from his bunny cam? When can I see them?”

  Lia sighed. Yeah, she’d had nothing better to do this week than download the bunny-cam images of the undersides of all the furniture in her house.

  Right on cue, there was a brisk knock on the door, and Thomas poked his head inside. “What’s going on in here, people?”

  “Thank you, Jesus,” muttered Lia, even though she wasn’t sure she was ready to face him again so soon after today’s interlude on the sofa.

  Jalen perked up, apparently thrilled to have someone else take up his fight. “Mom didn’t feed Bones his carrots this morning,” he complained. “I’ve got to get out of here and get back home before she kills him.”

  Thomas, wearing a black T-shirt, jeans and a baseball hat, and still moving a bit slower than usual, shot Lia a glance of wry amusement, as though he understood perfectly. “I’m pretty sure your mom will not kill Bones between now and tomorrow, when you go home.”

  “She might!”

  “I’m going to kill someone,” Lia murmured, and Thomas stifled a snort of laughter. “Maybe a couple of people. Why aren’t you home resting, where I left you? Why can’t you stay put?”

  Thomas flapped a dismissive hand. “I’m not good at lying around.”

  “Now’s your chance to practice.”

  “Absolutely,” Thomas agreed brightly. “As soon as I look in on a couple of patients.”

  Unbelievable. “Workaholic, much?” Lia wondered.

  Thomas gave her a pointed look. “Actually, now that I have other, more important things going on in my life, I plan to cut way back on my hours.”

  Lia’s cheeks went red hot. See? She wasn’t ready to face him. “Is that so?”

  His level gaze never wavered. “You know that’s so.”

  “What the heck are you two talking about?” Jalen demanded.

  “Grown-up stuff.” Thomas sat on the edge of the bed, reached inside the red plastic bag he’d been carrying and presented Jalen with a LEGO box. “This is for you. Why don’t you put it together and give your mother a few minutes of peace and quiet?”

  “Starship Enterprise!” Jalen grinned with a year’s worth of delight and went to work on the box. “Cool! Thanks!”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Out in the corridor, a commotion seemed to be gaining strength.

  “I don’t know why I need to traipse all over this hospital trying to find my son,” a male voice boomed.

  “No.” Thomas dropped his head and pinched the bridge of his nose, his shoulders slumping. “Please, God. Not today.”

  The voice continued. “First they tell me he’s in one room, and then they say, no, he’s left the hospital, and then someone else tells me he’s up here. What kind of place is this? No, I don’t need your help.”

  “What the—” Lia began, bemused.

  Thomas raised his head and stared at her. “Run,” he whispered. “While you have the chance.”

  Without warning, the door swung open and an elderly gentleman appeared.

  “Too late,” Thomas muttered bitterly, shaking his head. “Too late.”

  Though his hand rested on a cane, there was nothing fragile or diminished about the gent, from his rigid posture to his heavily starched white oxford shirt, down to his creased, navy trousers and the tips of the most highly polished penny loafers she’d ever seen. He surveyed the room, his steely-eyed gaze resting on all of them in turn and lingering for a long time on Lia and longer on Jalen.

  “Well, well, well,” he finally said, coming fully inside the room. “Don’t this beat all?”

  Though there was only one person this could be, Lia felt it was long past time for her to take charge and draw some boundaries. This was her son’s hospital room, after all. She and Jalen’s grandfather needed to come to an understanding ASAP, because she was so not the one for being bullied.

  “I’m sorry.” Standing, she stepped forward, frowned and crossed her arms over her chest. “Do I know you?”

  The man’s brows and lips flattened, morphing into the same sort of imperious glare that Thomas had given poor Dr. Brown that first day she met him. Geez. This was truly Dr. Evil to Thomas’s Mini-Me. Come to think of it, all three of these males could have been the same person at different stages of life—they looked that much alike.

  “Don’t play dumb with me, ma’am.” The Admiral stuck out his hand and they shook. “I’m Admiral Thomas Bradshaw, III, U.S. Navy, retired. And you must be the baby mama.”

  “Okay, Admiral.” Thomas edged to her side and put a light but protective hand on her waist. His face had closed off, and she felt a thrumming rigidity running down his arm. “This isn’t the deck of your ship, so you need to remember your manners.”

  The Admiral drew himself up, outrage bleeding out of his pores. “You want to talk to me about manners, boy? Well, it’s good manners to let a man know when he has a grandson who’s damn near old enough to shave.”

  Both Lia and Thomas stole worried glances at Jalen, who was watching the proceedings with drop-jawed interest.

  “I’d planned to let you know, Admiral,” Thomas said, his voice laced with ice, “just as soon as we all caught our breath. We’ve just found each other. And we’ve been a little busy, as you can see.”

  “Well.” This explanation seemed to mollify the Admiral somewhat, and he eased down a little, clearing his throat. “I accept your apology.”

  Thomas raised an eyebrow. “I wasn’t aware I’d apologized.”

  “And I trust you’ll be a better father than I was,” the admiral concluded.


  Thomas apparently wasn’t expecting this vote of confidence, because he stilled. When he spoke again, his voice was unexpectedly hoarse. “What does that mean?”

  The Admiral clasped his hands behind his back, reminding Lia of a general in the movies addressing his troops, and rocked back on his heels. He opened his mouth. He closed his mouth. Then he cleared his throat again. “It means that you need to spend time with the boy. Quality time. Take him fishing. Play touch football. Tell him you love him once or twice. So you won’t…have any regrets.”

  The two men stared at each other, with messages passing between them that Lia couldn’t fathom, although she instinctively knew that what she’d just witnessed was crucial to understanding who Thomas was and who he wanted to be. And she hoped—prayed—that Jalen’s appearance in their lives might help the Bradshaw men do some healing.

  “Hey, Mom,” Jalen piped up in the silence, having apparently gone through all his reserves of polite and quiet behavior. “Who the heck is this guy?”

  “Jalen,” she said, shooting him a killing glare, “this gentleman is your grandfather. Admiral, this is Jalen. I’m Lia. And I’m going to go out on a limb and say it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  One corner of the Admiral’s mouth twitched—was that a smile?—and his eyes twinkled at her. “Likewise.” He turned to Jalen and shook his hand. “You can call me Admiral or sir, young man. Understood?”

  Jalen’s eyes widened. “Okay.”

  “Okay, what?” snapped the Admiral.

  “Okay…sir?” said Jalen.

  “There you go.” The Admiral studied him with something like approval in his expression. “You look like a fine young man. You study hard in school?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You do your chores without complaining?”

  “Yes, sir,” Jalen said, darting a guilty glance at Lia. Lia gave a discreet cough. “Well, sometimes,” Jalen amended.

  “I expect you to do better on that,” the Admiral informed him. “And you listen to your elders, don’t you, son? You’re not one of those obnoxious kids who yak, yak, yak all the time, just to hear their own voices, are you?”