Morgan tried several times to get the girl to talk with her about the tragic events that had led up to the baby’s birth and how she felt about Dylan’s role in the whole thing, but Tessa was stubbornly silent. All Morgan could think to do was talk to Frannie Myles and ask her advice.
She tracked the counselor down in her tiny office at St. Joe’s, charmed as always by the younger woman’s warm manner. Frannie was tall, slender and striking, with long golden brown hair drawn into a tight knot on her neck, and eyes of a deep, calm blue. She had the fluid grace of a dancer and the crooked smile of a mischievous child.
She wasn’t smiling now. Like Morgan, she was concerned about Tessa.
“I’m afraid she’s blaming herself for her baby’s death. It’s exactly what Dylan’s taught her to do, to take on guilt for his actions,” Morgan confided to Frannie.
“We’ll just have to give her time to grieve in her own way,” Frannie said in her quiet voice. “Actually, I’ve started a group I’d like Tessa to join, girls from all over the city dealing with various aspects of teenage pregnancy and motherhood, as well as loss. Several of them have given babies up for adoption, and one girl lost her child to cancer. Maybe Tessa could talk about her feelings with them easier than she can with you and me.”
Morgan agreed, and she thought of Luke’s daughter.
“I have a friend whose kid is pregnant, same age as Tess. Would you mind if I mentioned the group to him?”
“Please do. She’d be very welcome.”
Morgan hadn’t seen Luke except in passing since the funeral, and she felt both shy and nervous about talking to him. She glimpsed him loping down the corridor ahead of her later that afternoon at St. Joe’s, and she sprinted to catch up.
“Luke! Hey, Luke! Wait up.”
He stopped and turned, and when she caught up to him, Morgan felt herself blushing.
It was his fault. He seemed to be staring at her mouth, and that dratted kiss was right there between them, just as she’d feared it would be. She swallowed hard and forced herself to look straight into his eyes, struggling for a professional tone. “I’d like to speak to you privately for a moment,” she managed to croak.
“Of course. Come in here.” He opened the door of an unoccupied examining room, holding it until she was inside.
She’d never realized how small these rooms really were, Morgan thought as she squeezed past him, too aware of his warmth, his particular male essence. There was a single plastic chair and the examining table, with a bare two feet of open space between them, and her foot caught the chair and sent it toppling.
“Ooops—”
“Got it—”
She lunged for it and so did he. Their shoulders collided and both of them pulled back. Luke lifted the chair with one hand and set it upright. He seemed enormous in the confined space.
“Morgan, I—”
“Luke, I wanted—”
They both stopped, and she returned his polite smile, though her lips felt numb.
He made a tiny bow and a courtly little gesture with his hand, inviting her to begin again, and then he leaned back against the examining table, one hand in the pocket of his dark slacks, his entire attention focused on her.
His long body was nonchalant and graceful as he waited for her to speak.
Admit it Morgan. He’s drop-dead handsome, and sexy, too. Every cell in her body acknowledged it.
Her throat was dry, and she was trembling a little, of all the silly things. She sank down on the chair and realized right away that it was a mistake, because now her eyes were in a direct line with his crotch.
Lordy. She tipped her head back and stared up at his face with dogged determination.
“Luke, I wanted to thank you for coming to the funeral, it was kind and thoughtful of you. I also wanted to tell you I was talking to Frannie Myles this afternoon.”
Morgan found herself speaking faster than normal. She tried to slow down as she explained about the group Frannie was starting, adding, “I just thought I’d mention it to you in case you thought it was a good thing for Sophie. I hope Tessa’s going to go.”
He nodded. He was looking at her intently, and as usual, it was impossible to read his expression, which made her even more nervous. She wondered if she ought to have said anything at all. After all, hadn’t he told her how he felt about someone from the hospital counseling Sophie? Maybe he thought she was meddling.
She grew more and more uncomfortable when he remained silent for several more moments. He just looked at her steadily, and she started to get the awful feeling that he regretted having ever mentioned his daughter to her. She could feel herself flushing all over again, and she first cursed her coloring, then, in self-defense, she cursed him for making her feel so darned uneasy.
Just when she’d decided to either get to her feet and walk out or say something rude just to break the tension, he cleared his throat and said, “Morgan, would you care to have dinner with me?”
“Dinner?”
Astounded, she repeated the word as if she’d never heard it before.
“Dinner. You know, where people sit in a decent restaurant and a waiter brings platters of food and drink?”
“Dinner. Yeah, now I remember. Umm, sure, I guess so. When?” Damn. She couldn’t seem to manage more than idiotic phrases.
“What’s today, Tuesday? How about Friday? I’m on call, but as far as I know none of my patients is due to deliver. What about yours?” She could barely remember that she even had patients, she felt so absolutely stunned by this turn of events. Finally she shrugged and shook her head. “I don’t think anybody’s due.”
“Good. So you’re free Friday?”
She nodded like a marionette.
“Then I’ll pick you up at your house, say, at seven?”
“Seven. Friday.” She was doing it again, acting like a zombie. She had to get out of this room while she still had some semblance of a brain. She got to her feet, and he straightened and opened the door for her.
She walked past him, helplessly breathing in the scent of him, every pore aware of his nearness. She nodded and gave him a small, strained smile and then hurried off down the corridor feeling as if she’d been hit by a truck.
“You’re going out for dinner with Doc Gilbert?” For the first time since her baby’s death, Tessa showed a trace of her old animation that evening when Morgan blurted out her news. “So what’re ya gonna wear?”
Morgan shrugged. “I’ve been thinking maybe I ought to call and cancel. He caught me sort of off guard, and I said yes before I really thought it through.” She’d been in a kind of daze all afternoon, and now she was having serious second thoughts about the whole thing. “It’s been a couple of years since I’ve gone out on anything remotely like a date,” she confessed. “And now that I think about it, it wasn’t my finest hour even then.”
In fact, most of her experiences along that line had been nothing short of calamitous. She just wasn’t good at making small talk or playing the games that dating seemed to require.
“Besides, we work together. It’s a really bad idea to date somebody you work with.” She’d heard the nurses at the hospital talking about that very thing, and everybody seemed to agree that it was a big mistake.
“Oh, phooey.” Tessa blew a raspberry and waved a dismissive hand. “That’s only if you’re dating the boss. Doc Gilbert’s not your boss, you’re sort of equals, aren’t you?”
Morgan bristled. “Absolutely, we’re equals. In fact, technically, I’m the senior obstetrician at the clinic.”
“So? There ya go. He’s kinda cute for an old guy, so why not go for it? If dinner’s a flop, just take along money for a taxi home.”
Morgan grinned, delighted that Tess was making jokes again. She was repeating exactly what Morgan had always told her: if you ran into a situation that made you uncomfortable, make sure you had money for a taxi.
If only she’d taken a cab home on that last date with Dylan.
Tess
a was giving Morgan a speculative once-over. “You really oughta get your hair cut, it could use a trim. I hear there’s a hot new sylist at Shapers. Why not give him a try?”
Morgan whipped her head from side to side, but Tessa wasn’t dissuaded. “Look, that place you usually go to is the pits, Morgan, face it. They’re all way too old to know what’s hot. Besides, there’s this boutique right across the street from Shapers. Maybe we could, like, find you a dress or something?” Her voice took on more of the animation it had lost. “You know, you oughta do something about your work clothes while we’re at it. Those cord pants and sweaters you wear all the time gotta go. C’mon, Morgan, let’s go shopping and get you up to speed.”
Haircuts always made Morgan nervous, even at the salon she’d been going to for years. And buying clothes was her least favorite activity. But it was wonderful to have Tessa taking an interest in something again. This was the first enthusiasm she’d shown for anything since the baby’s funeral, and Morgan felt it was worth a sacrifice on her part if it would help Tessa.
“Well, I guess. Maybe. But nothing too drastic, promise?”
Tess rolled her eyes. “Man, you sound like you’re havin’ a root canal.” She picked up the phone and called for a hair appointment at Shapers.
“The mall’s not far from the hair place, we can go there for shoes,” she decided, and Morgan felt her heart sink. Hair, clothes, shoes. She groaned. It was going to be a long, painful afternoon.
Luke made his way up her front stairs at precisely three minutes before seven that Friday evening, holding the bouquet of sunflowers he’d finally tracked down. The golden retriever he’d met on his last visit was lying on a mat outside the front door, and the dog rose to his feet and barked, pretending to be ferocious.
“Major, you old phony. Remember me?” Luke bent down and rubbed behind the dog’s floppy ears, and Major leaned against him, his tail smacking Luke’s pant leg in ecstasy.
Luke gave the dog one last pat and knocked on the door, wondering how in bloody hell he’d gotten himself into this.
He’d had serious misgivings ever since the invitation sprang from his mouth without consulting his brain, and right at this moment, he wished with all his being that one of his soon-to-be moms had chosen tonight to begin labor.
“Hi, Doc. Morgan’s nearly ready. Come on in.” Tessa was far too thin, Luke thought as he greeted the girl and stepped inside the house.
“Those for Morgan?” Tessa’s big hazel eyes dwarfed her face. The left eye still had green-and-yellow bruises surrounding it, and there were dark circles beneath both. Her spiky hair showed dark brown roots beneath the mottled purple and yellow.
“Yes. Perhaps you could put them somewhere?” He felt ridiculous holding them. “And these are for you.” He dug the small box of hand-dipped chocolates from his jacket
“Wow, thanks! How’d ya know I’m a chocoholic?” She looked genuinely pleased. “Thank you for the flowers you sent for Ky—”Her voice broke and she swallowed hard. “For Kyla’s funeral, too,” she managed to add. “It was very thoughtful of you.”
The formal little speech touched his heart and Luke reached out and took her bony shoulder in his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “I only wish there’d been something more I could have done,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.
He still couldn’t look at Tessa without thinking of Sophie, and he wished again he hadn’t made this date. His daughter was home, sulking in her room.
“You brought me sunflowers, Luke? How’d you do that at this time of year?’ ’ Morgan asked from the stairwell.
He turned, suddenly as nervous as a teenager, and then he simply gaped at the sight of her. She was standing on the staircase, two steps up, and the unruly mass of tousled hair was now a short curly cap that outlined the contours of her well-shaped head, baring pixieish ears and accentuating her slender, graceful neck. A few long, wispy bangs hung over her forehead, making her chocolate brown eyes immense and luminous.
She was wearing something short, gently shaped and black. A dress with a V neckline that skimmed rather than outlined her body. It emphasized full breasts and stopped well short of her knees, showing off silk-sheathed legs. Her high heels had sexy little straps that crossed on her instep, and she carried a short jacket that matched her dress.
By God, she was beautiful. He stared at her, drinking her in with his eyes, finally regaining his composure and his voice.
“Morgan. Morgan, you look stunning.”
She blushed a rosy pink, and he realized that he’d been anticipating that telltale flush. To him, it had become Morgan’s trademark, and he’d sometimes instigated it by provoking her to either pleasure or anger.
“Tessa redid me, top to toe. Even the makeup,” she said with touching ingenuousness, the slight tremor in her deep voice revealing her nervousness. “Truth is, I don’t really feel like me at all.” She took the last two steps down and then stumbled, making an undignified lunge for the banister an instant before Luke grabbed her bare arm.
She regained her balance and looked up at him, rolling her eyes and twisting her face into a rueful grimace. “Now I feel like me. You can dress me up, but you can’t take me out. I never really learned to walk properly in heels.”
Luke laughed and then realized he’d held her arm several heartbeats too long. He let go and stepped back, and from behind him Tessa smothered a giggle.
It did Luke’s heart good to hear it, and he winked at Morgan. “I’m sure you’ll do fine with those shoes. You just need a little more practice,” he teased, taking the jacket from her and helping her into it, allowing his hands to brush against the soft skin of her arms.
“Don’t be too late,” Tessa deadpanned as they walked out the door. “You’ve got work in the morning, Morgan.”
“Brat.” Morgan turned around and stuck her tongue out at the girl, and Luke noted that Tessa was still smiling as she closed the door behind them.
“Let’s use an ounce of prevention here. I don’t fancy setting a broken bone just now.” Luke used the heels as an excuse to slip an arm around Morgan’s waist as they descended the porch steps, pretending to steady her but actually enjoying the narrowness of her waist and the swell of her hips under his hand. She smelled delicious, some light and haunting fragrance that pleased him.
In fact, everything about her pleased him, he realized as he opened the car door and helped her inside. He heard the sensual rustle of her hosiery as she slid across the leather seat, and a jolt of pure animal hunger shot through him.
He wanted this woman. He wanted her in his arms, in his bed. It was simply sex, he assured himself as he spoke to her about the unexpected sunshine Vancouver was enjoying and the unlikely chance that maybe the weather would last through the weekend.
It was pure body hunger, this attraction he felt, some unlikely match of pheromones or something.
Although he hadn’t actually dated anyone since Deborah’s death, for the past two years he hadn’t been celibate, either. There’d been casual encounters with several women who’d wanted exactly what he had to give, sex without strings, without real intimacy, without anything more than simple appeasement of human need.
Was that going to be possible with Morgan? She was the first specific woman he’d wanted for a long time, and he found that fact upsetting. Somehow he’d have to make it clear to her that he wasn’t looking for a lasting relationship.
He slid the car into gear and pulled onto the street, touching the button on the dash that would activate the tape in the stereo.
“Fats Domino? You actually like rock and roll?” She sounded astonished.
“I can change it if you prefer.”
“Nope, I love him. I figured you’d be more the classical type.”
He turned to her, raised an eyebrow and assumed an injured air. “Just because I have an accent, you’ve pegged me as a snob? Show a bit of humility here, Dr. Jacobsen. You can be wrong, you know.”
She stared at him for a
moment. “Man, you got that right,” she said with feeling, and then she laughed, the deep, hearty belly laugh that made his insides feel warm.
For no real reason, he laughed with her. It had been a long time since he’d done so with genuine amusement, and all of a sudden he knew it was going to be a good evening.
“So, where did you do your internship?” Seated across from Luke in the cozy little restaurant he’d chosen, Morgan began to relax. The tables were far enough apart, the lighting was soft, the music pleasant but muted. There were just enough empty tables to lend a sense of privacy.
The noise level was low and the service excellent. Most amazing of all, for the first time in her entire adult life, Morgan felt well dressed and actually quite attractive.
Well, passable. And she hadn’t spilled a single thing, at least not yet.
“At St. Bart’s. It’s near St. Paul’s Cathedral in London’s East End. After that I did another year at an obstetrical clinic much like Women’s Place. It was a great opportunity for an obstetrician, our case load was enormous. What about you?”
“Oh, St. Joe’s, of course. Where else?”
He nodded. “I should have guessed. I’ve noticed that you’re on a first name basis with everyone from the housekeeping staff to the administrator.”
“Well, not quite the administrator.” She sipped the wine and added, “He’s new. I can’t really say I know him very well. It takes time.”
He gave her a wry grin. “I think I told you before you have a magical way with people.”
She felt her cheeks flush with pleasure. “Thank you. I guess it makes up for having two left feet.”
“What makes you think that?”
She wrinkled her nose at him. “C’mon. Stop being polite, Luke.” This lovely wine was going to her head, just a little. “Surely you must have noticed that things have a way of getting a bit muddled when I’m around? When I was interning, my nickname was Flap Jacobsen. Residents shuddered and took tranquilizers when I rotated to their service. I had trouble with strict routines, and I used to lose stuff a lot.”
The Baby Doctor Page 8
