Daddy by Accident

by Paula Detmer Riggs

  His eyes crinkled, lending an irresistible charm to his starkly male features. "Is there any other way?"

  "Not in this lifetime," she said with a hearty sigh before taking a bite. "Ambrosia," she murmured when she'd chewed and swallowed.

  The cheeseburger did indeed taste marvelous, but she couldn't help wishing she had a serving of sauerkraut to go with it. Followed by a double scoop of peppermint ice cream slathered in fudge sauce.

  Conscious that Boyd was watching her more closely than she at first realized, she made herself finish the entire sandwich, even though her stomach was threatening to rebel. The last thing she wanted to do was appear ungrateful for his kindness. And it was a kindness, she realized as she blotted her lips with the napkin she'd found tucked neatly beneath the hamburger.

  She wanted to tell him she understood how difficult this must be for him, given the loss of his wife and child, but she was hesitant to bring up a painful subject, especially since she'd heard the story from a third person.

  "If I were a cat, I'd be purring big-time," she said instead, and hoped the smile she gave him expressed the depth of her appreciation.

  "How's the little one?"

  His question was casual, even offhand, but Stacy caught the flash of strong emotion in his gaze when it had rested briefly on her tummy.

  "Actually she's been very quiet today." She tried for a light tone as she added, "Dr. Jarrod was telling me this morning about the good luck they've had here with preemies." Her hands trembled slightly as she returned the foil to the bag and crumpled both into a tight ball. "Of course, the odds would be more favorable if I could just make it into my ninth month."

  Boyd heard the quaver in her voice, saw the sudden shimmer of tears in her eyes and wanted to bolt. Try as he might, he'd never quite managed to numb himself to the sights and sounds of another's suffering, which was just another reason why he made a better carpenter than doctor.

  Uncomfortable and antsy, he shifted until he was resting one ankle on his knee. A few hours in that hard plastic chair could effectively wring a confession from a saint, he thought. And he was about as far from sainthood as any man could get.

  "Jarrod is the best," he said, and meant it. "If anyone can keep that little one where she belongs for another month he can."

  "Yes, so everyone here keeps telling me."

  "But you don't believe it?"

  She took a breath and straightened slender shoulders more suited to tailored silk than faded hospital cotton. "Yes, I believe it. I have to believe it. Otherwise…"

  She took a breath, then another, clearly struggling for control. She did her best to blink back tears but there seemed to be too many.

  He felt his mouth go dry. The quick, determined smile had him shoring up walls he'd thought invulnerable. Worse, he was strongly tempted to bundle her poor bruised body into his arms and hug her until she felt safe and reassured again. Only the memory of the last time he'd held a woman had him backing down hard.

  "There should be a box of tissues around here someplace," she murmured, wiping her wet cheeks with her fingertips. Leaning forward, Boyd plucked one from the box on the small metal storage cabinet and handed it to her.

  "Here, blow."

  "I went to a psychic once, right after I graduated from college," she said between unladylike honks. "She told me I was an old soul, and therefore likely to be rather intense about things." Finished with the tissue, she tossed it into the nearby trash basket.

  Boyd heard the clatter of dinner trays and realized he'd stayed far longer than he'd planned. Determined to say goodbye and mean it this time, he glanced at his watch and was about to make his polite farewells when the RN on duty walked in.

  Built like a bean pole topped with straw, Maureen Schultz was as professional as they came—and as irreverent. Nothing was sacred to her—except human life. As a nurse, she had no equal. The same could be said about her tendency to be a pain in the butt.

  Spying him sitting next to the bed, she broke into a teasing grin. "My stars, the reclusive Dr. MacAuley has actually graced the halls of PortGen with his presence again."

  Even though her tone was light, he heard the unspoken questions. Was he still grieving? Still having nightmares? Still not returning phone calls from well-meaning friends?

  "Still terrorizing the interns?" he inquired mildly as he got to his feet.

  "Just the lazy ones." Grinning, she reached for the blood pressure cuff in the wall holder. Widening her grin, she turned toward Stacy, who obediently held up her arm. "Would you believe this hulking brute was once the most promising resident we had on the surgical service?" she asked as she wound the cuff securely.

  "I know he's cool in an emergency."

  Boyd saw the quick look Schultz shot his way and gritted his teeth. Restless again, he ambled to the window and looked out on the parking lot. The mercury vapor lights cast an eerie blue aura over the cars lined up in their neat rows. How many of the visitors who had come in those cars had come to see near-strangers? he wondered. A half dozen, a couple? One?

  So he had a soft spot in his cynical heart for a small, sleek woman with grit. No problem. Hell, he also had a soft spot for lonely little kids like Heidi. Who wouldn't? But, hey, he was a guy who pounded nails for a living, not a social worker.

  When the job on Astoria was done, he'd move on to another job, and Heidi would find another "best friend" to jabber at when she was lonely. When Stacy's bruises were healed and her condition stable, she would go back to her world and out of his thoughts. When that happened, they would both be better off.

  "Any contractions since the last time I was in?" he heard Schultz ask, and turned his gaze toward the bed in time to see Stacy's eyes cloud.

  "A tiny one. More like a twinge."

  "How long ago?" he asked, earning him another appraising glance from Schultz's laser-keen eyes.

  "Two hours, more or less—" Stacy admitted, before adding too quickly, "—nothing to worry about, right?"

  Boyd lifted a hand to the back of his neck, where a sudden knot had formed. "Like someone told me once, worry is the world's most useless emotion."

  Finished with the pressure reading, Schultz removed the cuff before patting Stacy's shoulder. "He's right, Mrs. Patterson. What you need right now is rest."

  "Seems like that's all I've done since I've been here."

  The nurse smiled. "Don't fret about those cramps. It's probably just the baby settling down again."

  Stacy smoothed the sheet over her tummy and wondered if Tory was awake or asleep. "I'll … try not to."

  Nurse Schultz nodded once before shifting her attention to Boyd. "Dr. Ivans is retiring at the end of the year."

  "Good for him."

  Schultz folded her arms and cocked one hip. "Rumor has it he offered you a piece of his practice if you'd come back and finish your residency."

  Lifting one eyebrow, he offered her a lazy smile. "Since when did a smart lady like you start listening to rumor?"

  Stacy watched the nurse's thin chest expand in a sigh and empathized with the woman's frustration. Clearly Boyd MacAuley had a stubborn side that seemed as strong as his propensity for kindness.

  "I give up," the nurse muttered before turning to Stacy again. "Is there anything you need?"

  Stacy had a wild urge to rattle off the growing list, beginning with next month's rent money and ending about a hundred items later with a heartfelt plea for a hug.

  "Nothing, thanks," she said instead, and summoned a grateful smile for all the woman and her colleagues had already done to make her stay a little less miserable.

  "Just buzz if you think of something," the nurse said before leaving.

  Boyd stood for a moment watching the empty doorway before he shifted his gaze to Stacy again. She had a way of looking at a man that tempted him to rest his head against those soft, womanly breasts and confess his deepest, darkest secrets.

  "It sounds as though your decision to take a break from practicing medicine hasn't be
en received with universal joy," she said quietly.

  "I didn't take a break. I quit."

  "For good?"

  "For the good of my patients."

  Her gaze chided him gently. "I think you must have been a marvelous doctor."

  Boyd felt something hard and hurting grind in his chest. He heard the sound of dinner trays sliding from the carts and the chatter of voices as the patients greeted the aids serving them. The aroma of food blended with the sharp medicinal odor that seemed to permeate the air, even in the downstairs lobby.

  God, he hated this place. The sights, the smells. The guilt. His heart thudded and he felt a wild need to escape. He cleared his throat and managed what he hoped was a decent enough smile. "Well, take care of yourself."

  "I'll do my best. And thanks for sneaking me some real food. It was heavenly." The eyes that were wide on his reflected understanding and concern and an open affection that shook him hard.

  "No problem." He nodded, made another stab at a smile and left. Fast. By the time he'd made it to the elevator, he'd convinced himself he wouldn't be back.

  * * *

  Five

  « ^ »

  Boyd woke with a start, his heart pounding and his body damp. Even with his eyes wide open, it took him a few seconds to realize he was in his own bedroom, sprawled facedown across his own bed with one arm hugging his pillow.

  It was dark outside, though when he turned his head, he could get a glimpse of a nearly full moon through the open windows. A quick check of the clock showed that four hours had passed since he'd gone to sleep around midnight.

  He didn't know when he'd started dreaming, or how long it had lasted. But he did know he'd been making love to Stacy Patterson in this particular dream. And, God help him, he was still distended and hot.

  That in itself didn't surprise him, since he'd gone to bed thinking about her. Wondering if her body would feel as soft as it looked. Craving the feeling of her breasts flattening against his chest when he pulled her into his arms. Warm, soft breasts, perfectly formed with hard little tips he'd ached to suck. Breasts already swelling with milk, breasts that tasted sweeter with each lap of his tongue.

  In his dream she'd moaned when he closed his mouth over her distended nipple. And when he'd lifted his head and looked at her face, her lush, pale lips had been curved in a drowsy smile and those incredible green eyes had been shimmering with a need as great as his own.

  Remembering had a hot and aching need throbbing deeper and deeper until he could no longer lie still. The kind of need that goes beyond the physical to wrap around a man's soul until he longed to feel himself easing a part of himself into her forever.

  He should have known better than to kiss her. Remembering the silk of her lips against his had him clenching his teeth and telling himself to think about something else. Anything but the taste of her. Anything but the longing to taste her again, each kiss more drugging than the last until he had to taste deeper. In his dream, her mouth had been vulnerable and hesitant at first, then opening eagerly to the first gentle thrust of his tongue. And then he had thrust deeper and deeper until her lips had closed around his probing tongue.

  A groan escaped his lips, and he turned on his side, trying to ease the pressure in his loins. The friction of rigid flesh against the bedclothes only made it worse. Still tasting the kiss, he closed his eyes and forced himself to go to sleep.

  For the first time since his rebellious teens Boyd overslept, so it was nearly seven-thirty by the time he stepped from the shower. Stalking across the hall into the bedroom, he made himself concentrate on the day ahead. As was his custom, he mentally rehearsed the details of the job one by one. By the time he'd cemented the plans for the day in his head, he was dressed, had jerked the quilt over the thrashed sheets and gulped down the pot of coffee he'd readied for brewing the night before.

  A quick glance at his watch on the way to the kitchen told him to forget breakfast. Another glance after he'd rinsed his cup and put it in the drainer to dry promised he'd be at the job site by eight-fifteen, forty-five minutes late. Not bad, he assured himself firmly as he grabbed a banana from the bowl on the counter. No problem to make that up working late. A man couldn't build a decent reputation as a carpenter if he couldn't keep his customers happy. And if he couldn't make a living, he couldn't pay off the mountain of student loans that had gotten him through med school.

  After his debts were settled, he intended to sell up and head south. To southern California, maybe, or Mexico. Someplace where it didn't rain nine months out of the year. Someplace where he didn't see reminders of all that he'd lost everywhere he went. Someplace where he could bake the chill out of his bones while he figured out how he was going to get through the rest of his life.

  Mill Works Ridge seemed deserted as he exited the back door and headed for his truck. The rain had slacked off, but the sky was still black to the west, and the air had a raw, earthy scent. He was heading down the walk toward the carport when Prudy came hurrying out of her back door, dressed for the weather in a red slicker that made him think of Little Red Riding Hood.

  As soon as she saw him, she veered in his direction. "I need a favor," she called without bothering with the usual pleasantries. He heard the tension in her voice, saw it, too, in her face and his heart began to thud faster. His first thought was of Stacy, his second was a cold fear.

  "Problems?" He was surprised his voice was so calm, given the sudden tightening in his throat.

  She took a fast breath. Her cheeks were flushed, and she hadn't bothered with makeup. "I'll say. A Greyhound skidded out of control and hit a stalled van on the 405."

  Relief that it wasn't Stacy in peril was almost immediately replaced by a sick dread. "Casualties?" He knew the answer even before he'd asked. He only hoped the van hadn't been full of kids.

  "Multiple, I understand. On the bus, primarily." She sighed. "Just my luck to be on call."

  "Don't give me that. You would have gone anyway."

  She flashed him an annoyed look. "Like you wouldn't?"

  He cringed inwardly at the memory of the last time he'd been on call. It had also been the last time he'd been in an OR. "What's the favor?" he asked more brusquely than he'd intended.

  If Prudy noticed the tension in his voice, she gave no sign. Instead, she dug into the slicker's pocket and pulled out a folded slip of paper. "I promised Stacy Patterson I'd stop by her apartment and pick up some things for her."

  "What happened to the downstairs neighbor?"

  "Apparently she couldn't reach him," she said, shoving the paper into his hand. "Here's the address and the list of things she needs. Her apartment's the one on the second floor. Door's unlocked. Seems her wacko ex didn't even give her time to lock it before he dragged her out."

  Boyd wanted to refuse. Instead, he shoved the paper into his back pocket and headed back down the walk with Prudy. "How's she doing?"

  "As good as anyone can be in a situation like hers." Prudy frowned and offered him a frustrated look. "Her in-laws claimed their son's body yesterday, then spent a delightful half hour with Stacy, accusing her of driving their precious son to his death."

  Boyd offered a succinct opinion of the elder Pattersons that had Prudy nodding in agreement. "Any idea when Jarrod plans to release her?" he asked as they reached their adjoining carports.

  "Day after tomorrow, if her condition continues to improve."

  If he thought as he opened the door to Prudy's ancient Volvo for her. He sure as hell hated ifs.

  The address was in the oldest section of town and looked it. The house in front was an ugly two-story brick the color of mud. The wood trim had been painted a sick pea green that was flaking off like dandruff, revealing a dull mustard undercoat. Without really trying, Boyd spotted three potentially dangerous structural cracks as he drove around to the rear.

  What had once been a two-car garage with servants' quarters above was now a duplex of sorts, with one apartment up and one down. Between the house and t
he garage was a narrow patch of lawn with the scruffy look of long-term neglect. What grass had somehow managed to survive amidst the garbage cans and junked auto parts was a scraggly brown.

  The crumbling driveway ended abruptly at the spot where a garage door had been inexpertly replaced by mismatched brick. Boyd parked close to a ramshackle fence and took the rickety steps leading to the upper apartment two at a time. At, the top he found the mailbox stuffed full. Mostly fourth-class flyers and circulars addressed to "Occupant," he realized as he collected the lot to carry inside with him.

  Just as Prudy had promised, the door was unlocked. Inside, he found one large room with a kitchen alcove at one end and what he took to be an enclosed bathroom at the other. An ironing board stood in one of the far corners along with a half-filled laundry basket. In the other was an old-fashioned wicker bassinet and a small white chest with wooden alphabet blocks for drawer pulls.