Dr. Daddy
Elizabeth Bevarly

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Veronica Marie Bevarly,

completing the first round nicely.

Happy Birthday, sweetie.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Epilogue

Prologue

“It can’t be as bad as all that, Zoey.”

Zoey Holland glanced up from the baby girl in her arms and nodded her head fiercely at the baby’s mother. When she did so, she felt a tug on her hair and realized the infant clutched a generous handful of the straight, fiery red tresses in her tiny fist. She gently tugged her hair free and tossed it over one shoulder.

“Oh, it’s definitely as bad as all that, Sylvie,” she said adamantly. “The guy’s a complete ogre, and he won’t be happy until he has my head on a spit and my butt in a sling. Ask Livy.”

Sylvie Buchanan turned to her sister for verification, arching a quizzical blond brow in question. Olivia McGuane nodded in agreement with Zoey.

“He really does seem to have it in for Zoey for some reason,” she said, trying to dodge her own toddler as she zigzagged across Sylvie’s expansive, ultramodern kitchen. The trio were meeting for their monthly Sunday brunch, at Sylvie’s house for the first time since she had brought Genevieve home from the hospital three months ago. “Be careful, Simon,” she admonished her twenty-two-month-old as he flew by. “And watch out for the plants. Auntie Sylvie and Uncle Chase aren’t nearly as untidy as Mommy and Daddy are. They won’t be as understanding if you make a mess.”

Sylvie emitted a sound of disbelief. “You mean Uncle Chase isn’t as untidy. He still hasn’t gotten over how messy everything seems to become once babies arrive—including the babies themselves—and he’s still convinced there’s some way to keep this house clean every minute of the day. Of course, just because I married the guy doesn’t mean I’ve mended my ways, either. Gennie and I are both driving him crazy.” She leaned over Zoey’s shoulder and chucked Genevieve under the chin. “Aren’t we, sweetheart?”

The baby gurgled and ducked her head in response to the tickle, reminding Zoey of a turtle. “Looks like she’s going to have Chase’s green eyes and your blond hair,” she said of the infant. “Nice combination.”

“Yeah, how come Gennie got hair right away and it took Simon more than a year?” Livy demanded.

All three women looked over at the dark-haired little boy who squatted in front of the air vent in that odd, flat-footed way of children, peering intently into it. The air rushing out tousled the thick, dark curls he’d inherited from his mother.

“That’s just the way babies are,” Sylvie said. “Besides, once his hair started coming in, it took off like a bunch of weeds. You’ve got no cause to complain.”

“Yeah, so much for his future doing late-night bald-guy commercials on TV,” Zoey said wistfully. “You could have made a fortune.”

“Thanks, but I like him just the way he is,” Olivia told her.

“But we digress,” Sylvie said, turning to Zoey again. “You were talking about this new doctor at Seton General, Dr. Fate.”

Zoey chuckled as she placed Genevieve back in the baby carrier situated at the center of the kitchen table. “That’s Dr. Tate,” she corrected her friend. “Please, don’t suggest it was destiny that I be tortured by the guy. That makes it sound like I’ll be stuck with him forever.”

Dr. Jonas Tate had shown up on the scene six months ago at Seton General, where Zoey and Olivia both worked as nurses in the maternity ward—Zoey in the nursery and Olivia in obstetrics. He had come to the South Jersey hospital from a prestigious private hospital on the west coast, where he had been the head of cardiology. Everyone at Seton had heard how he’d completed his residency with flying colors at Johns Hopkins twelve years ago, had received his M.D. with highest honors from Harvard before that and had fulfilled his premed undergraduate courses with near-perfect scores at Columbia before that.

He was, as Zoey had heard through the hospital grapevine on many, many occasions, an amazingly gifted physician. Now he was also on the board of Seton General, an administrator of stellar reputation and limitless ability. He was loved and respected by everyone.

Everyone except Zoey Holland.

Oh, she respected his education and his position at the hospital, of course. And she had even liked him well enough when he’d first come aboard, had liked his casual good looks and the pleasant smiles he seemed to have for everyone. But she hadn’t had much to do with him then, and somewhere along the line he’d begun to change. Lately, it seemed as if every time she turned around, she was going toe-to-toe with him on something, everything from the hospital’s policy on maternity leave to whether or not they were ordering enough sterile swabs. And always, always, she was forced to back down. Because no matter what else he might be—a jerk, a creep, a misogynist and a major thorn in her side—he was also unfortunately her boss.

“So what’s his problem?” Sylvie asked.

“You got me,” Zoey told her, honestly mystified. “All I know is that it seems like every chance he gets, he’s breathing down my neck about something.”

Olivia grinned. “Then again,” she said suggestively, “there are a lot of nurses who would be perfectly happy to find Dr. Tate breathing down their necks. Not to mention their blouses. Preferably in a dark linen closet in the middle of the third shift.”

Zoey expelled a rush of air in an unmistakably rude sound. “Well, not me. The guy’s nothing but a jerk. He’s arrogant, abrupt, rude, egocentric, bad tempered, sexist, pigheaded—”

“And has the nicest brandy-colored eyes you’ve ever seen,” Olivia completed with a wistful sigh, turning to Sylvie. “Not to mention those dark curls. I just love men with dark curls, don’t you?” she added with an affectionate glance at her son. “They’re just so adorable.”

“I like dark hair,” Sylvie agreed with a nod.

Zoey looked at Olivia as if her head had just exploded. “You have got to be kidding, Livy. Jonas Tate? Adorable?”

“Hey, it’s not my butt he’s chewing off at every turn,” Olivia said. “He’s always been perfectly polite—if a little cool and distant at times—to me.”

Zoey couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “The man is never polite, cool or distant to me, although as much distance as possible would be welcome. He has a more heated personality than anyone I’ve ever met. And as for polite... Hey, wait a minute,” she added when she reconsidered her friend’s statement. “Are you trying to imply that it’s my fault I’m at the top of his hit list?”

Olivia shrugged, obviously thinking hard before voicing her reply. “Not so much your fault,” she said slowly. “But I think his bad moods might just possibly be a direct result of your presence.”

Now Zoey was really confused. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just that some personalities don’t jibe with others, you know?”

Sylvie nodded her understanding. “I know what you mean. That’s exactly how Chase and I were for a while. We had almost nothing in common—except for Gennie, of course—and there were times when he just absolutely drove me nuts. But,” she added with a serene smile, “we worked through all that. Now everything’s peaches.”

“Well, things will never be peaches in my life as long as I have to deal with Dr. Jonas Tate,” Zoey said decisively. “There’s just something about that man....”

“Don’t sweat it,” Sylvie told her. “Listen, I’m going to give you the sagest, most profound bit of bartender advice in my ample arsenal, advice that has never failed me or any of my customers before.”

Zoey didn’t try to hide her skepticism, but asked anyway, “And what’s that?”

“Just go with the flow, Zoey.”

Zoey glanced from Sylvie to Olivia and back again. “Go with the flow,” she repeated blandly, enunciating each word clearly lest she had misunderstood one of them.

Sylvie nodded. “You’d be amazed at how many of us inadvertently create our own problems by battling against the very things we should be accepting. Look at Livy and me and the problems we had with Daniel and Chase. She and I are two prime examples.” She looked down at the baby dropping off to sleep in her carrier and smiled. “Just relax and let nature take its course, Zoey. You and Dr. Fate will work things out.”

“Dr. Tate,” Zoey corrected her friend again. Sylvie waved her hand negligently and bent to kiss her daughter’s forehead. “Tate, fate,” she said quietly. “Whatever.”

One

Jonas Tate was not having a good day, and it was all Juliana’s fault. She was the most demanding, petulant female he had ever had the misfortune to know, an absolute monster hiding behind big blue eyes, soft blond hair and delicate, cupid’s bow lips. As she did virtually every night since she’d invaded his home two months ago, she had woken him in the middle of the night, insisting that he see to her needs—and by God, Juliana’s needs could exhaust an army of men—and hadn’t allowed him to go back to sleep after he’d satisfied her. Once awake and sated, she had ordered him to further entertain her, commanding stories and music and clever conversation.

She was that most deadly kind of female, he thought, charming and surprisingly alluring one minute, needful and completely dependent the next. There was no doubt in his mind that she would be the death of some unfortunate man someday.

All that, and she was barely three months old.

Jonas pulled open the top right-hand drawer of his desk, pushed aside a sheaf of papers, a banded bundle of pencils and a wayward pacifier until he located a bottle of extrastrength pain reliever. He tossed back three of the capsules without water, grimacing when one got stuck halfway down his throat. When he went to the water cooler in the corner of his office, he caught a quick glimpse of himself in the mirror hanging near it and wished he hadn’t.

He looked like hell. His dark curls were ragged looking and badly in need of a cut for which he had absolutely no time to spare. He’d also had no time to spare for a shave that morning, and his three-o’clock shadow—normally heavy on the best days—shaded the lower half of his face like a Mack truck. What had once been faint purple crescents beneath his eyes due to a little overwork were fast becoming indelible black smudges due to an almost total lack of sleep. He looked not like a man who oversaw a hospital wing, but a man who was confined to one—whichever one it was that housed the psychiatric ward.

A quick rap at his office door caused him to turn around abruptly, icy water sloshing over the side of the cup and onto the sleeve of his white dress shirt. His reaction to the cold liquid was to jump, an action that spilled even more water onto the front of his shirt.

“Come in!” he shouted out angrily, holding the wet fabric away from his skin.

The door opened slowly, barely enough for one of the new interns to stick her head inside. “Uh, Dr. Tate?” she asked.

“Yes?” He couldn’t remember the young woman’s name, but he didn’t really care. From what little he’d observed of her, she wasn’t long for the program, anyway.

“They, uh, they need you in the maternity ward, sir.”

“Why?”

“I, uh, I don’t know. They just asked me to bring you.”

“Is it an emergency?”

The young woman narrowed her eyes as she considered the question. “I don’t think so. They probably would have told me if it was, don’t you think?”

“One would think so, yes.”

“Or else they would have paged you. I guess.”

Jonas studied the woman for a long time before he spoke further. When he did, it was brief and to the point. “What’s your name?” he asked the intern.

“Mills, sir. Uh, Dr. Claudia Mills.”

“Mills,” he repeated, making no effort to hide the displeasure and exasperation he felt. “Dr. Mills,” he corrected himself, placing a sarcastic emphasis on her title. “How long have you been with us here at Seton General?”

“About two weeks, sir.”

“Two weeks. I see. And in that very brief amount of time, you’ve already managed to forget the most basic principles of your medical education, is that right?”

Her eyes widened in surprise before she dipped her head to avoid meeting his gaze. “No, sir, I—”

Jonas strode forcefully to the door and jerked it open, out of the intern’s grasp, causing her to stumble forward past him. He turned again before he left and addressed her one final time. “The next time someone asks you to do something, Dr. Mills, do try to get the particulars before you go trundling off on your merry way, won’t you?

“And one more thing,” he added when he saw tears forming in her eyes. “If you expect to last in this profession, you’d better develop a thick skin. I won’t be the last doctor to take you to task for stupid mistakes. Just watch that you make as few of them as possible. Someone might wind up hurt. Or dead. And then where will you be, hmm?”

As the door closed behind him he thought he heard the young woman sniffling, and he frowned. Interns, he thought with a cynical shake of his head. These days none of them seemed to have the backbone for the job.

He was still angry, and his head was still pounding, when he arrived in the maternity ward, finding the unit surprisingly quiet so close to a change of shifts. Only one nurse commanded the main station, and she was bent over a clipboard, making what appeared to be standard notations on a patient’s chart.

“What is it?” he asked when he approached her.

“Oh, yes, Dr. Tate,” she said, standing. “Dr. Forrest wanted to see you in LDR room C.”

Jonas was puzzled. “Did she say why?”

The nurse shook her head and shrugged. “Nope. Sorry. Just that I should send you in as soon as you arrive.”

He rubbed vigorously at his forehead, trying to will the throbbing between his temples to go away, since the pain relievers were doing no good whatever. He was still cradling his forehead in his palm when he pushed open the door to LDR room C, so he didn’t realize it was packed full of people until they all shouted out, “Surprise!”

Immediately, Jonas looked up to find himself surrounded by doctors, nurses, interns, orderlies and other representatives of every unit housed in the east wing. Intermingled between them were several dozen colorful balloons—some of which, he noted, were actually inflated surgical gloves with smiley faces drawn on them in Magic Marker—and a huge sheet cake ablaze with candles and billowing smoke.

“You didn’t think you could hide the big four-oh from us, did you, Jonas?” Lily Forrest, the head of neonatal intensive care asked him.

Lily and her husband, Mike, had been the first friends Jonas had made after his arrival in New Jersey. Actually, he realized reluctantly, they were the only friends he’d made since moving. Then again, he thought, he was a man who liked to keep to himself. At least, he had been, before the social worker holding Juliana had arrived at his front door. On top of every other lousy thing that had happened since New Year’s Day, Jonas was turning forty. He had no idea how Lily had discovered that today was his birthday. And he’d certainly told no one how old he was going to be. Hell, he didn’t even like to think about that himself.

But now, as he stared out at the eager, smiling faces surrounding him, and the cake with enough candles burning atop it to make it appear comical, he felt a genuine smile start to curl itself onto his lips. Until his gaze traveled over the crowd and settled on one woman in particular.

A redheaded nurse stood alone in the corner. Her long, straight ponytail, crisp, blue surgical scrubs and the stethoscope dangling around her neck made her appear a vision of efficiency and calm. Jonas couldn’t deny that Zoey Holland was the epitome of efficiency. However, he also knew she was anything but calm. Her ramrod-straight posture, and the perfectly manicured, red fingernails digging into the arms she had crossed over her chest gave her away. That and the scowl she always seemed to reserve for him alone.

Jonas knew Zoey hated him. And, he conceded reluctantly, maybe she had a right. He hadn’t been the easiest man to get along with lately. And, dammit, for some reason, she really rubbed him the wrong way. He couldn’t put his finger on why, exactly, but the two of them had been butting heads almost since day one.

“Well, aren’t you going to say something?” Lily asked him, circling an arm around his shoulder and pulling him close for an affectionate hug.

“Frankly, Lily, I’m not quite sure what to say,” he told her honestly. “Who’s minding the store? There must be countless women in labor wondering what’s happened to the staff.”

“They’ve all been nice enough to time their contractions to convenience our little party. Besides, there’s just been a shift change. What you’ve got here is the first shift on their way out.”

“Yet you all made time to wish me a happy birthday,” Jonas remarked, honestly flattered by their gesture. “Thank you,” he added. “I’m not sure how you knew it was my birthday....” His voice trailed off as he offered Lily a look of mock censure. “And it might be best if I don’t find out, but...” He didn’t know what else to say, so he simply repeated, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Lily told him. “Now hurry up and blow out your candles before someone calls the fire marshal.”

As Jonas approached the cake, he glimpsed Zoey from the corner of his eye trying to make a discreet exit. There was no doubt in his mind that she had been pressed into attending this party against her will, and suddenly feeling inexplicably devilish, he called out after her, “Give me a hand here, will you, Zoey? I’m not sure I can do this by myself.”

She paused, her long, fiery ponytail shivering like liquid copper as she clearly tried to control what was at best her pique—and at worst her rage, Jonas was certain—at being singled out from the others.

“Sorry, Dr. Tate, but I’m kind of pressed for time,” she said as she spun around quickly. “I’m pulling an extra shift later tonight for Jeannette, and I’ve really got to get home and catch a little shut-eye before I come back.”

Her long hair kept moving even when she stopped, cascading over one shoulder in a ruddy stream. Jonas’s fingers twitched at his sides. Normally she wore her hair confined in a tightly woven French braid or wound into a bun. This was the loosest he’d ever seen it, and he was helpless to deny that, at the moment, he wanted nothing more for his birthday than to bury his fingers in the silky tresses. He wondered if her “little shut-eye” after work included a man, and if that was why she was wearing her hair almost loose like that. Her green eyes flashed at him as he formed the thought, as if to demand what business it was of his if she were.

“Oh, come on,” he cajoled her. “This will only take a minute.”

Zoey Holland glared at Jonas Tate with all her might, willing him to spontaneously combust so that she could go home and soak in a hot bath. It was no secret to anyone in the east wing that she and Jonas Tate did not, to put it politely, get along with each other. Yet here he was, in front of God and everyone, daring her to be nice to him. His challenge didn’t sit well with Zoey, and she wondered what he was setting her up for.

On top of that, she’d had a lousy day. The only thing that had made it bearable was that it had looked as if she would see it through to its completion without running into the infuriating Dr. Tate. She had been this close to grabbing her coat and leaving the floor when she’d been corralled by Dr. Forrest.

Only because Zoey had such enormous respect and admiration for Lily Forrest had she conceded to the woman’s request that she attend this surprise party for Jonas Tate. She didn’t have to stay long, only a few minutes, Lily had promised her, knowing as well as everyone that Zoey didn’t get along with the good doctor. But maybe, Lily had suggested further, Zoey’s appearance would help mend the rift that seemed to be growing wider everyday between the two.

Zoey knew the only thing that would mend the rift between herself and Dr. Tate would be to erect a wall three feet thick between the two of them. But, nonetheless, she had promised Lily she would come. What would a few minutes hurt? she had reasoned. She could hang back in the corner and sneak out when no one was looking. Besides, Lily had said there would be cake. Chocolate cake with white icing, without question the most favorite culinary treat Zoey could name. She’d grab a piece and take it home, and have it with her coffee after dinner.

A few minutes, she repeated to herself now. That was how long Lily had said Zoey would have to stay. Well, a few minutes were up, and she wanted to go home. Still, Jonas Tate’s eyes glittered with the light of combat as he awaited her reply, and she had never been one to back down from a challenge. Especially when she’d been challenged by an overblown, egocentric, self-important, male chauvinistic—

“Zoey?” he asked again, his deep, rusty-sounding baritone grating on her nerves. “Better hurry. This cake’s going to set off the sprinkler system if we don’t put it out soon.”

She wasn’t sure when or why she decided to play along, but Zoey suddenly found herself moving slowly toward the good doctor. He looked like hell, she noted absently. His hair, normally a little longish, but nonetheless neat, was becoming pretty shaggy, and he clearly hadn’t shaved that morning.

She wondered idly if he had overslept at the house of a female companion after spending the night practicing all kinds of sexual gymnastics, and simply hadn’t had the time—or the energy—to make himself presentable for work. Come to think of it, he did look pretty exhausted, she thought as she drew nearer. Just what kind of women did he date, anyway?

He smiled at her when she halted beside him, and she wondered why she even cared about the type of woman who would interest Jonas Tate. She already knew the answer to that—someone coy, petite, demure and submissive. Which, of course, left her completely out of the running. At five foot ten, she stood nearly eye-to-eye with him, fewer than two inches shorter than he was. She was big boned, too, her hands strong and capable and not much smaller than his. And as for the coy, demure and submissive part, well... Zoey Holland had never been accused of being any of those things. She spoke her mind when it suited her—and often when it did not—and no one, no one, ever told her what to do.

Except for Jonas Tate, a little voice in the back of her head taunted. He can get a rise out of you faster than a thoroughbred through the gate.

Zoey doubled her fists at her sides when she realized how easily she had fallen into the trap. Just by succumbing to his dare that she do something he knew she otherwise wouldn’t, she’d played right into Jonas Tate’s hands. Once again, he’d told her what to do.

“On the count of three,” he instructed her softly, his voice coming from dangerously near her ear.

She turned to find his face scant inches away from her own and started to back away. But his fingers circled her wrist and held her close, a cryptic smile that curled his lips her only indication that he’d known how she was going to react before she’d even formed the thought in her head. Reluctantly, she stayed put in her position beside him, but she couldn’t quite shake the shivery sensations that spiraled up her arm and through her heart to pool in a tightly wound coil in her stomach.

She scarcely heard him count the numbers, but reacted accordingly when he reached three. Zoey and Jonas both inhaled deeply, bent forward at the waist and expelled their breaths in a long gust of wind. The candles sputtered and went out, every last one. The group surrounding them laughed and applauded, and even Zoey felt oddly pleased by their accomplishment.

“Guess this means my birthday wish will come true,” Jonas said, his voice low and suggestive and once again closer to Zoey’s ear than she found comfortable.

When she turned to face him this time, his eyes were lit with a bold fire, and she got the unnerving feeling that he was trying to tell her something.

“Yeah, well, that’s what they say, isn’t it?” she replied, her own voice sounding breathless and weak.

His fingers on her wrist tightened, not painfully, but insistently. “Don’t you want to know what I wished for, Zoey?”

The light in his eyes took on a new dimension, now becoming undeniably libidinous. She felt his thumb stroking over the pulse in her wrist, felt her own heart racing. Was this some kind of joke? she wondered. What was he trying to do to her?

She shook her head feebly as she replied, “No. I don’t think I do.”

One corner of his mouth lifted in a wry grin. “Well, since my wish is destined to come true, you’ll find out about it soon enough, seeing as how it includes you, too.”

She tried to laugh off the odd sexual tension that had suddenly leapt up between them, but her laughter came out sounding hollow and false. Finally, she tugged her wrist out of his grasp, circling it with her free hand as if she’d been burned.

“Oh, I get it,” she said with a flip shake of her head, regaining enough of her senses to issue a chuckle that was almost convincing. “I know what you wished for.”

The gleam in his pale brown eyes brightened, and he took a step closer to her. “Do you?” he asked.

Zoey nodded and took a step in retreat. “You want me gone. You’re either going to demand my resignation, or you’re expecting me to foul something up so badly you’ll have the perfect excuse to fire me.”

This time Jonas Tate was the one to chuckle, a single, solitary sound that lacked all humor. “Is that what you really think?” he asked her.

Zoey nodded harder. “It’s what I know.”

She took another—giant—step away from him, and the distance seemed to give her more strength, more energy, more conviction that he would not throw her off balance. She glanced quickly around to make sure the others in attendance were occupied elsewhere before she continued, somehow managing to keep her voice low.

“Well, don’t hold your breath, Dr. Tate,” she continued. “Because I’ve been at Seton General for too long and like it too well to give up my position just because some doctor finds me an annoyance. And all modesty aside, I’m too good at what I do to ever make a mistake that would end my career here.”

She waited to see how he would respond, and wondered if maybe in speaking to him so boldly she had just made precisely the kind of mistake she’d sworn not to. But instead of retorting angrily or threatening to fire her, Jonas Tate just smiled.

“Touché, Zoey,” he finally said quietly. “Touché.”

And with that he turned to the cake that Lily had finished slicing and was now passing out to everyone present. He didn’t look back at Zoey once, didn’t even seem to notice she was there. For just the briefest of moments, she felt jealous indignation that the man had the nerve to slight her in such a way. Then she realized how ridiculous a reaction that was. She wanted Jonas Tate to ignore her, she reminded herself. And if that meant she had to be dismissed by him, so be it. It was better than being singled out for his full attention.

Wondering why she should suddenly feel cheated that she wasn’t the center of his universe when she had been trying for months to steer clear of him, Zoey backed away. Someone pressed a paper plate with a generous slab of cake into her hand, and she looked down at it blindly. Then, making her way to the LDR room door, she quietly slipped outside. Sleep, she repeated to herself as she went. She needed to catch a few z’s. That could be the only reason for her odd reaction to Jonas Tate just now. By this evening, she wouldn’t even be able to remember what his careless touch had done to her.

Two

Zoey stretched her arms high above her head and watched the clock at the nurses’ station, smiling as the minute hand reached toward the twelve and brought her another hour closer to a long weekend. She had forgotten how pleasant the third shift could be sometimes, when it was quiet and slow moving and passed without incident. In a little over an hour, she’d be heading home to enjoy a leisurely Friday, followed by an even more leisurely Saturday and Sunday. Normally she would be rushing around to get ready for work right now. It was nice how occasionally an otherwise inconvenient scheduling change worked out just right.

Nonetheless, she had been quite happy to leave the eleven-to-seven shift for regular daytime hours three years ago, having grown weary of living her life upside down. Back then, she hadn’t been able to manage any kind of social life, because she had worked while most people slept and slept while others were out enjoying the day. Of course, back then, she’d also had an excuse for why she seldom dated. Now that she was working more regular hours, she still went out with men infrequently. And now she was hard-pressed to figure out why.

Because most men were jerks, she answered herself immediately. Case in point: Dr. Jonas Tate.

Just who in the hell did he think he was? she asked herself for perhaps the hundredth time since yesterday afternoon. He could have caused a nuclear meltdown with those boiling magma glances he had tossed her way. She felt her temperature rise at the simple recollection, telling herself the heat was a result of her anger and nothing more. She had not found his suggestive comments intriguing, she assured herself. Insulting, yes; infuriating, yes; incendiary, okay, maybe. But intriguing? Uh-uh. No way. Absolutely not.

Zoey was still telling herself this when seven o’clock rolled around and Jeannette came in to relieve her. Instead of feeling tired, however, she felt oddly reenergized by her late night’s work and looked forward to a day of play. Olivia would be working, but Sylvie’s bartender hours left her free during the day. Maybe she and Sylvie and Gennie could have an adventure, Zoey thought with a smile. March was still kind of cold to be out and about, but maybe they could take in a movie or do some shopping.

When she’d gathered her things and shrugged into her parka, she exited the nurse’s lounge and punched the button for the down elevator. With a tinny-sounding ding, the doors unfolded, and Lily Forrest stood ready to exit in much the same way Zoey was poised to enter. For some inexplicable reason, when she saw the doctor on the elevator, Zoey suddenly felt the urge to run. There was just something about the expression on Lily’s face that made her feel a little wary.

“Zoey!” the doctor cried when she saw her. “Are you on your way out?”

She nodded, edging closer to the elevator, stretching her arm across the open door, instinctively preparing herself for a hasty retreat. “Hi, Lily. Yes, I’m leaving. Jeannette and I switched shifts, so she’ll be working my hours today. I’m on my way home. Sorry.”

“No, don’t be sorry,” the other woman assured her. “This is perfect. I couldn’t have arranged it better if I’d tried.”

Zoey gazed at Lily warily. The elevator door banged against her arm insistently, as if to urge her, Run! Run while there’s still time! “Arranged what?” she asked, feeling somehow that she was going to be sorry for asking the question.

“You live in Haddonfield, don’t you?” Lily asked.

Zoey nodded. “Uh, yeah, I do. I rent an apartment there.”

“Wonderful,” Lily said with a smile. “I really hate to ask, but since you’re on your way out and headed in that direction, anyway, I wonder if you might do me a favor?”

“What’s that?”

“Would you mind dropping off a patient file for me in Tavistock on your way home?”

Zoey released a breath she hadn’t even been aware of holding and smiled in relief. “Sure, no problem.”

“It was left here inadvertently yesterday and it’s vital to a doctor’s presentation at the National Institutes of Health in Maryland later this morning. If he has to drive all the way to the hospital to get it before heading down to Bethesda, he’ll never make it on time.”

She extended a manila folder toward Zoey, who tucked it under her arm. “Here’s the address,” she added, jotting it down on a small pad of paper she retrieved from the pocket of her lab coat. “It won’t be too far out of your way, will it?”

Zoey shook her head as she glanced at the address. “Don’t worry about it, Lily. Tavistock is close enough to my apartment that I take my evening strolls there every night.”

And it was a very nice neighborhood, she thought as she tucked the scrap of paper into the inside pocket of her parka. Huge homes, many of them lovely Victorians, with perfectly manicured lawns and gardens, and huge trees that stretched to the sky. It was the kind of place she loved—quiet, peaceful, beautiful. After some of the experiences Zoey had suffered in her life, serenity and beauty were two things she strove to embrace in every waking moment.

“I appreciate it,” Lily said as she rushed past Zoey and down the hall toward neonatal, her flat heels clip-clopping merrily on the tile floor. “I owe you one,” she called over her shoulder just before she disappeared around a corner.

Zoey waved her off and turned back to the elevator. When she’d taken the address from Lily, she’d released the door, which had closed on a car that was now gone. Oh, well, she thought. She was in too good a mood to let it bother her. She had a three-day weekend before her, with nothing specific she had to do and no one to bother her. Best of all, she thought further with a smile, she was guaranteed seventy-two hours without the specter of Jonas Tate hovering over her. With a satisfied sigh, she punched the button again and settled in to wait.

* * *

Jonas Tate stared down at the sleeping baby in the nursery across from his bedroom, thinking about a redheaded nurse and wondering what on earth had made him behave so peculiarly the afternoon before. He had come on to Zoey Holland in a room full of people, had all but undressed her with his eyes while a dozen of his co-workers looked on. No, that wasn’t true, actually, he corrected himself. He had indeed undressed her with his eyes. And dammit, he’d liked what he’d seen.

Oh, God, how could he have done that? he asked himself. How could he find such an infuriating woman attractive? Zoey Holland was an overbearing, stubborn, know-it-all loudmouth, a woman more suited to inciting prison riots than caring for infants. There was absolutely no reason why she should turn him on so thoroughly, he told himself. None at all. Yet if that were the case, why had Juliana’s cries of an hour ago awakened him from one of the most erotic dreams he’d ever enjoyed, a dream whose focus had been none other than Nurse Zoey?

He just wasn’t getting enough sleep, Jonas thought. That was the only explanation he could come up with for behaving so strangely at the hospital yesterday afternoon and for the unsettling fantasies he’d been indulging in lately about Zoey. Total exhaustion did strange things to people. And there was no chance he was going to catch up on his sleep tonight.

Tonight? he repeated to himself. Hell, it was already morning again. And once again, he felt more tired upon waking than he had upon falling into bed the night before. He was disoriented and dazed and clutching a half-empty bottle of formula in his hands, but Juliana was sleeping peacefully for a change and he was terrified of moving away from the crib lest he disturb her and set her to crying again.

All around him, his house was silent. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d experienced such a lack of sound. When he’d first moved into the rambling old Victorian in Tavistock, he had loved it—loved its big, airy rooms and wide windows, the rich jewel-toned colors of the walls and dark mahogany trim, the huge trees growing outside and what had seemed a steady, constant quiet. The house, the neighborhood, everything, had been perfect for the first several months he was in residence. Then on New Year’s Day, Mrs. Edna Caldecott of International Children’s Services had arrived at his front door with a bundle of bad news and a baby in her arms.

As if inspired by his memories, the doorbell buzzed loudly downstairs, and the baby started. For one hopeful moment, Jonas thought Juliana was going to slide calmly back into sleep again, and he cautiously lifted one foot to step away from the crib. Then her eyes snapped open, and her chin began to crumple, an expression he knew meant she was about to start howling. As if cued by his thoughts, Juliana opened her little mouth and belted out a high-pitched scream that nearly shattered his eardrums.

Jonas reached into the crib, but hesitated before touching her, still completely uncomfortable holding the baby even after more than two months of performing the task. Of course, he tried to avoid touching her unless he absolutely had to, leaving that aspect of child care to the countless sitters he’d hired to watch Juliana during the day.

He’d been through a half-dozen since January, dismissing most of them because he didn’t trust something or other about them. Mrs. Howard had been too stern looking, while Mrs. Cather had seemed too indulgent and likely to spoil. Evan had been nice enough, but he just wasn’t sure a nineteen-year-old boy had the knowledge necessary for caring for an infant. And Melissa... Well, the moment he’d come home from work to find her waiting for him in his bed wearing little more than a smile, he’d known she wasn’t right for the job, either.

He’d been very pleased with Mrs. Garrison, the most recent one, though. At sixty-two, she’d raised four children of her own and had the nicest blue eyes Jonas had ever seen. He’d begun to look forward to a long and healthy relationship with her as Juliana’s nanny, but she had informed him yesterday afternoon that she wouldn’t be back. She was scheduled to be arraigned on armed robbery charges the following day, and there was a good chance she was going to be occupied elsewhere for the next five to ten years. Although with time off for good behavior, she’d told him, she might be available again before then, if he was still interested.

The doorbell buzzed again and Juliana cried more loudly, jerking her tiny arms and legs in a silent demand to be held.

“All right, all right,” Jonas muttered, lifting the baby gingerly from the crib and positioning her awkwardly against his shoulder.

He made his way carefully downstairs, deciding not to worry about the fact that he wore only purple silk pajama bottoms and nothing more. He couldn’t imagine who would be ringing his doorbell at seven-thirty in the morning, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to make himself presentable for them. Juliana’s howling increased about ten decibels with every step he took down the stairs, so by the time he reached the door, she was red faced and screechy and almost out of control.

Which was pretty much how Jonas felt, too, when he saw Zoey Holland standing on his front porch.

“What are you doing here?” they chorused as one.

“I live here,” Jonas replied.

“Lily Forrest sent me,” Zoey said at the same time. Then, before he could say more, she demanded, “What on earth are you doing to that poor baby?”

In spite of the fact that her career consisted of being surrounded by moody infants, Zoey couldn’t bear to hear a baby crying in anguish. Instinctively, she reached for the child in Jonas Tate’s arms, tamping down all the questions that swirled in her head at his appearance. She noted only that he surrendered the baby willingly, and she pushed past him into the house, nudging the door shut with her foot before the cold morning air could chill the infant. She rocked the baby carefully, murmuring soothing, meaningless sounds. The tiny thing stopped crying almost instantly, focusing intently on Zoey’s face, blinking her teary, red-rimmed eyes.

“There’s my good girl,” Zoey said quietly, knowing immediately that the child was female. She placed a soft kiss on the baby’s forehead, inhaling the sweet aroma of powder and soap, and she smiled. “Here,” she added to Jonas, jerking the patient file out from under her arm and thrusting it toward him without looking at him. “Dr. Forrest asked me to drop this off on my way home. She said you’d need it today.”

When he didn’t take the file from her right away, Zoey glanced up. Now she had no choice but to take note of him, and she didn’t like what she saw. Well, she liked what she saw, she amended reluctantly, taking in the expansive chest covered with dark hair and corded muscle, the broad, steely shoulders and the pajamas dipping low on trim hips beneath a flat abdomen. She just wished the attributes she was appreciating belonged to someone other than Jonas Tate. When her gaze traveled up to meet his, he had arched a dark brow in question, and she realized he knew full well how closely she’d been inspecting his wares. She felt herself blush.

Unwilling to trust her voice just then, she shook the file in her hand to bring his attention to it. When he still did not take it from her, she cleared her throat discreetly and said, “Dr. Forrest seemed to think it was important.”

Jonas took the folder from her hands and tossed it onto the sofa without looking at it. Instead, his attention seemed to be focused completely on Zoey and the baby, who still stared solemnly up at her. And because she felt infinitely more capable of dealing with a baby than a nearly naked man, Zoey dropped her gaze back to the infant in her arms.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” she asked in a soft, breathless voice, rubbing her bent knuckle gently against the baby’s cheek. “Hmm? What’s your name?”

The baby gurgled and smiled, making Zoey laugh in response.

“Juliana,” a deep, husky voice said beside her. “Tate. Her name is Juliana Tate.”

Zoey feared that if she looked up, she would find Jonas standing much too close to her, and then she would no doubt do something really foolish. Like reach out to touch him, which was what she definitely wanted to do. So she kept her gaze trained tightly on the baby and spoke to her instead. “Well, that’s an awfully big name for such a little baby, isn’t it, Juliana? Yes, that’s an awfully big name for you to grow into.”

Juliana cooed and smiled again.

“How did you do that?” Jonas asked.

Zoey glanced away from the baby and up at Jonas and, sure enough, regretted the action completely. Up close this way, she could see that his shoulders were deliciously freckled, and could make out every smooth plane of muscle from his neck to his waist. She swallowed with some difficulty before asking, “Do what?”

“You made her stop crying,” he indicated. “Just by holding her, you made her stop. And now she’s actually smiling at you. She’s never smiled at me.”

“I...I don’t know,” Zoey said honestly. “You can’t ‘make’ babies do anything. They choose whether to smile or to cry or to stop, and usually they have very good reasons for doing all three.”

His lips thinned into a tight line, and he settled his hands on his hips, an expression and pose Zoey had seen often enough to know what it meant. It meant she’d made him mad.

“So you’re saying I made Juliana cry,” he said in a deceptively calm voice.

“Not necessarily,” she replied quickly. “You’re her father, after all. Why would that make her cry?”

Although the realization almost made Zoey want to cry. She’d had no idea Dr. Tate was married with children. She didn’t think anyone at the hospital knew. Too many nurses and other doctors were lusting after him, something that wouldn’t be quite so prevalent if the women in question knew he was already attached. Until now, Zoey would have sworn she was one of the minority who couldn’t care less if the man had a dozen women stowed away. But faced now with the unequivocal evidence of his tie to at least one, she felt a funny little hole open up in her heart.

“I’m not Juliana’s father,” he said. “I’m her uncle.” He sighed wearily and scrubbed his hands over his face as if feeling utterly defeated. “And frankly, you’re right,” he continued softly as he dropped his hands back to his sides, “I make her cry. For some reason, the kid hates me. And I have no idea what I’m supposed to do about it.”

Zoey studied Jonas for a long time before responding. He looked like a man who was at the end of his rope, a man who was two steps away from throwing himself off the Ben Franklin Bridge. His eyes were shadowed and exhausted looking, his mouth bracketed by white lines of strain. When he reached up to run a big hand anxiously through his hair, he closed his eyes and sighed deeply again, and she could see that he felt completely hopeless.

“Where are her parents?” Zoey asked quietly, softening at this vulnerable side of Jonas Tate she’d never seen before.

“Dead,” he replied bluntly.

Her heart turned over that the child in her arms had suffered such an enormous loss at such an early age. “I’m sorry,” she said softly.

Jonas shrugged off her condolences. “I didn’t really know them. Her father was my brother, but I hadn’t seen or spoken to Alex for more than thirty years.”

Which would mean the two men were separated when they were children, Zoey thought, unable to deny her curiosity about how such a separation might have occurred. She wasn’t about to pry into the man’s personal history by asking him about it, but Jonas must have picked up on her thoughts, because he sighed again.

“It’s a long story, Zoey,” he said softly, his gaze falling to the baby in her arms. “Why don’t you take off your coat while I put on a pot of coffee?”

* * *

Actually Jonas did more than put on a pot of coffee. At Zoey’s insistence, he readied himself for work while she kept an eye on Juliana. For the first time in months, he took his time in the shower, managed to shave himself without a single nick and not only matched up his clothes—opting for a gray dress shirt, plum patterned tie and charcoal trousers—but ironed them, as well. By the time he exited his bedroom, he was in a better mood than any he could remember for the past two months. And oddly enough, he owed it all to Zoey’s appearance at his front door that morning.

He bumped into her—literally—as she was coming out of Juliana’s room. He grabbed her shoulders to steady her, and she pressed her palms flat against his chest to regain her balance. For a moment, neither moved from the position, but their gazes remained locked, as if each was awaiting the other’s move. Finally they sprang apart at the same time, mumbling excuses and apologies. Jonas swept his arm forward, indicating Zoey should precede him down the stairs, and she pulled the nursery door closed silently behind her before doing so.

Only when they were well away from Juliana’s room, safely ensconced in his kitchen with the baby monitor turned on, did Jonas trust himself to speak. Yet he still kept his voice down, certain the slightest disturbance would have the baby screaming again.

“She ate a bit more while you were getting dressed,” Zoey said, as if reading his thoughts. “I think she’ll sleep for a while.”

He nodded, but wasn’t completely convinced. “Coffee?” he asked.

“Please.”

He brought two generous mugs steaming with the strong brew to the table, then went back for sugar and cream. “Are you hungry?” he asked her. “I could fix you some scrambled eggs and bacon.”

She shook her head. “Thanks, but that’s all right. I’ll have something at home later.”

He nodded again, and suddenly had no idea what to say. So he sipped his coffee and stared at Zoey and wondered how she could look so beautiful after coming off the graveyard shift.

“You were going to tell me about Juliana’s parents,” she said after a sip of her own coffee.

That’s right, Jonas remembered. He knew there was another reason for her having remained at his house after completing the duty assigned her. Other than the simple fact that he wanted her there, of course.

“But if you’d rather not,” she added.

“No,” he quickly assured her. “It’s not that.”

“Then what?”

He shook his head. “It’s nothing. Forgive my frequent bouts of miscommunication. I just haven’t been getting much sleep since Juliana’s arrival.”

“How long ago was that?” Zoey asked.

“New Year’s Day,” he said, still marveling at the irony of the date. “My brother, Alex, and his wife were killed in a car accident in Portugal on Christmas Eve just a couple of weeks after Juliana was born. They left behind a will that donated everything they owned to charity and indicated that the care of their daughter should fall to me.”

“Yet you hadn’t seen your brother since you were a child,” Zoey said, sipping her coffee again.

She wasn’t nearly as unaffected by the story as she was letting on, Jonas thought. He could see in her eyes how deeply moved she was by Juliana’s situation.

He shook his head. “No, but we somehow kept up with each other so that we at least knew where the other was and what he was doing. My mother and father split up shortly after my fifth birthday. Alex was about two when it happened, I guess. By my parents’ mutual agreement, I went to live with my father in upstate New York, and Alex accompanied my mother back to Europe, where her family lived. My father remarried when I was about ten, and I’ve always thought of my stepmother as my mother. I can just barely remember the woman who gave birth to me.”

Zoey nodded. “I lost both my parents when I was three. I can’t remember much about them at all.”

For some reason, Jonas wasn’t surprised. He had detected something in her demeanor that seemed to sympathize immediately with Juliana. “Who took care of you after their deaths?” he asked.

“Two of my aunts raised me,” she said. “They were nice enough ladies, but they weren’t very realistic about the needs of a little girl growing up when I did. As a result, I was something of a...a difficult child.”

Jonas couldn’t help smiling. “That doesn’t surprise me. You’re a difficult adult, too.”

Zoey’s head snapped up and her eyes were ablaze when her gaze met his.

He chuckled. “Why is it so easy to get a rise out of you?”

She lifted her chin defensively. “Why do you get such a kick out of provoking me?”

He couldn’t deny her assertion, but he didn’t want to fight with her right now. So he went back to the original topic, picking up where he left off.

“All in all, my parents’ divorce was a surprisingly painless experience. Four people who split up and went their separate ways only to find happiness in other arenas. To this day, I can’t even form a mental picture of Alex as a two-year-old.”

“Then why did he leave his daughter in your care?” Zoey asked.

Jonas shrugged. “I’ve asked myself that question a hundred times since January. Our parents have both been dead for years. And from what the attorney said, Alex’s wife had estranged herself from her own family to the point of not seeing them at all. I suppose I am, in effect, Juliana’s closest living relative. And really, what couple in the prime of life draws up a will expecting their wishes to be fulfilled before their child reaches adulthood?”

Neither answered the question, because no response seemed necessary. They sipped their coffee in thoughtful silence for a moment until Zoey ended it with a quietly offered, seemingly benign observation.

“So now you’ve got a baby to raise, Dr. Tate,” she said with a smile.

Jonas wished he could embrace the same warm, positive attitude about it that she so obviously did. “Yes,” he replied.

And with that simple, one-word response, his first good mood in more than two months evaporated, and he felt the world drop out from beneath him. Everything he’d been refusing to think about since Juliana’s arrival exploded in his brain like a time bomb. He was solely responsible for another human being, a girl child he didn’t know the first thing about raising.

“Help me, Zoey,” he said suddenly, unable to stop the words that tumbled from his mouth without him even thinking about saying them. “Please. I can’t do this by myself.”

Three

Zoey stared at him in disbelief, her voice failing her completely. Help him? she thought incredulously. Help him? Help Jonas Tate? With a baby? What was he, nuts?

She continued to gaze at him in silence, and the coffee she had sipped as he’d uttered his request—his plea—sat in her mouth until it tasted like mud. Finally, she remembered to swallow, but when she did, she gagged and began to choke. The hacking that ensued brought Jonas around the table to pat her soundly on the back, an action that just made her cough harder because it was such an unexpectedly inflammatory gesture. Inflammatory because the feel of his palm pressing into her well-covered flesh, in a manner that was in no way seductive, somehow felt just that—seductive.

Alarmed, Zoey jerked away from him and leapt out of her chair, moving blindly toward the sink in an effort to escape. But Jonas followed her, seeming to pen her in where the countertops came together at a ninety-degree angle. Honestly, all he was doing was making sure she was okay, she told herself. But for some reason, he seemed to be much closer than he really needed to be, seemed to be intent on doing much more than helping to alleviate her cough.

Zoey had never liked it when people got too close—emotionally or physically—without her permission. There was a reason for that, she recalled all too readily, and without thinking further, she flattened her palms against his chest and pushed him away. Hard.

Jonas stumbled backward, his eyes reflecting his surprise at her gesture. But apparently undaunted, he approached her again and lifted his own hand slowly toward her. “Are you all right?” he asked as he cupped his palm cautiously over her shoulder.

Zoey flinched a little, but made no move this time to restrict him. Evidently encouraged by the less violent reaction, he dipped his hand lower to rub her back again. She told herself to stay calm and not overreact, forced herself to stand still and let him touch her. Unfortunately, that plan of action didn’t work, either. Because his simple caress still felt like the most inviting of gestures and, instinctively, she wanted to pull away before things got out of hand.

“I’m fine,” she lied, taking a few deep breaths to steady her heart rate and get her lungs moving normally again. For some reason, though, when she inhaled the musky aroma of him, her heart rate became anything but steady, and her lungs wanted to gulp in the air at a staggering speed. “I’m fine,” she repeated, though whether she was trying to convince Jonas or herself of that, she wasn’t entirely sure.

His hand continued to make lazy circles on her back, and she found herself standing there, immobile, gazing into pale brown eyes that were fixed on her face. For long moments, the two of them only stared at each other in silence, until Zoey made a halfhearted move to pull away.

But instead of removing his hand from her back to allow her passage—because, clearly, she was okay now, Zoey thought, and there was no need for him to remain so close—Jonas settled his free hand on the counter to prevent her from going anywhere. He cupped the fingers of his other hand lightly over her nape and, exerting just the slightest pressure on her neck, he started to bring her head toward his.

“Don’t,” she said softly, trying to pull back.

But Jonas seemed not to hear her and continued the gentle coercion of her head toward his. For one wild moment, Zoey forgot about the animosity she felt for him, forgot the reason she was normally so cautious around men. For one wild moment, she allowed herself to be drawn forward. His eyes were so compelling, the shape of his mouth so intriguing. He smelled so good and his touch was...oh...so gentle. No man had ever touched her in quite that way before. But when she realized what he was trying to do, understood that he had every intention of kissing her, she panicked, bolting from his arms to race to the other side of the room.

She purposely positioned herself so that the kitchen table was between them, knowing the gesture was silly even as she completed it. As if that meager barrier might actually keep him away from her if he wanted to try to again kiss her again, she thought. As if such a move would prevent her from reaching out to him.

“I’m fine,” she insisted for a third time, clutching the back of a chair when she realized how badly she did, indeed, want to reach for him again. Good heavens, what was happening to her?

“You certainly are,” Jonas agreed in a quiet, ragged tone of voice unlike any she’d ever heard from him.

He cleared his throat abruptly and returned to his seat at the table, then proceeded to sip his coffee casually, as if the past few moments had never occurred. Zoey eyed him curiously, wondering if maybe she had completely misinterpreted what had just happened between them.

Of course she had, she told herself with a silent sigh of relief, lifting a shaky hand to her forehead. She must have. He’d only been trying to stop her coughing. There was no way he had intended to kiss her. She simply must have misread the signs. She’d just pulled a double duty at the hospital, she reminded herself, and had just come off the graveyard shift. She was tired and, as usual, Jonas Tate’s presence was making her edgy. Considering their history and the quickness with which the two of them generally went for each other’s throats, the last thing the man would want to do was kiss her.

The realization brought with it an odd mixture of reassurance and regret, but she ignored the feeling as she returned to her own seat at the table and pulled the chair away. Before she could sit down, however, Jonas stood, moving quickly toward the other side of the room to stand in precisely the same spot Zoey had just vacated.

Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he stared at the ceiling as he asked, “Would you? Help me out, I mean. With...with the baby. With Juliana.”

When she said nothing in reply, he dipped his gaze to the floor and rushed on, “You’re obviously good with her. She took right to you, the moment you held her in your arms. She likes you, Zoey. That’s a hell of a lot more than I can say she feels about me. I don’t know what to do. I’ve had her for more than two months now, and I...” He lifted his head to meet her gaze levelly as he concluded, “I just...I don’t know what to do.”

It was costing him plenty to ask for her assistance, she realized. Clearly, he was at his wit’s end if he was coming to her for help. The two of them were mortal enemies, completely at odds over just about everything. He didn’t like her, and she didn’t like him. But he was desperate for help. So desperate, he’d even ask her to come to his aid. It was a strange feeling to have Jonas Tate dependent on her.

Zoey knew what it was like to have a newborn suddenly placed in one’s care—the shock and panic, the lack of sleep and abundance of exhaustion, the feelings of helplessness and fear that accompanied a baby’s arrival. And that was with people who’d had nine months to prepare for the event. Jonas had become a father virtually without warning and was obviously still unequipped for the responsibilities that had been heaped upon him. He did, indeed, need help. And she was perfectly capable of helping him.

If she wanted to.

“Why do you need my help?” she asked him. “Don’t you have someone looking after her during the day while you’re at work?”

“Not anymore. No one has seemed appropriate. I don’t know if you realize it, but there’s a real child-care crisis going on in this country.”

She twisted her lips into a wry grin. “So I’ve heard. There’s also a very good day-care center at the hospital for employees. Olivia McGuane keeps her son, Simon, there during the day while she’s at work. So do most of the other nurses who have kids. I’m sure Juliana would thrive and be perfectly happy there.”

Jonas shook his head. “Juliana hasn’t thrived or been happy since she arrived. I’d worry about her constantly if I didn’t think she was getting continuous, one-on-one supervision at this point. At least until she gets over this...this anguish...this despondency she seems incapable of ridding herself of.”

Zoey shook her head in disapproval. “She’s only a baby, Dr. Tate. She’s not in charge of her happiness and contentment—you are. You can’t expect her to behave and react like an adult.”

“I don’t, I—” He ran a big hand helplessly through his hair. “Look, Zoey, I know we’ve had our differences in the past,” he continued, moving slowly back toward the table. “And I know we haven’t always gotten along very well.”

“Very well?” she repeated with a unfelt chuckle. “We haven’t gotten along at all.”

“I know,” he told her as he sat down. “And I apologize for that. I haven’t been the easiest person to deal with since Juliana’s arrival, and I’ve been rough on everyone at the hospital.”

“Maybe so,” she agreed. “But you seem to go out of your way to come after me in particular. Most of the people at Seton like you in spite of your behavior.”

Jonas noted well the unspoken statement that Zoey was one of the people who didn’t. He wished he could deny her assertion, wished he could laugh off the pronouncement as simple paranoia on her part. Unfortunately, he knew what she said was true. There were times when he did seem to single her out for some reason. And if he were in a crowded room, a room full of people who’d ticked him off for one reason or another, he knew it would always be Zoey he wanted to come down on first.

Nevertheless, he said, “Now you know that’s not true. There are plenty of people at Seton who would tell you that they’re the ones I go after most often. That’s how many enemies I’ve made since I came to work here.”

He paused briefly before continuing, “I can’t manage Juliana on my own. Not yet. I need help. And you’re as likely a candidate as any. You know about babies—you’re surrounded by them every day. It’s your job to care for them. I realize there’s absolutely no reason why you would want to help me, but I’m asking you, anyway. I’d appreciate it, Zoey. It would mean a lot to me. And I’ll return the favor somehow, someday. So what do you say?”

She studied him thoughtfully for a moment and opened her mouth to speak, but Juliana’s cry rang out from the monitor on the counter. Quickly, she jumped up and headed for the stairs with Jonas right on her heels. She pushed open the nursery door and immediately reached for the crying infant, and he watched with much interest as she cradled the baby’s head in one hand and settled Juliana easily against her shoulder.

“Shh,” she murmured to the baby, moving her own body back and forth to rock the child. “Shh. You’re all right now. Zoey’s here. I won’t let anything happen to you, sweetie. You’re all right.”

Immediately, Juliana stopped crying and nuzzled closer to Zoey’s neck. Zoey smiled and kissed the baby’s temple, then turned to look at Jonas. For one brief moment, he experienced the oddest sensation that the three of them were perfectly situated there in the baby’s room. That he and Zoey and Juliana belonged together in a way that was solely restricted to other people—to people who comprised families.

Then he shook the feeling off and tried to put it out of his head, in much the same way he tried to forget how badly he’d wanted to kiss her in his kitchen only moments ago. He must be exhausted, he thought now, if he’d actually had the urge to take Zoey Holland into his arms.

“I can give you two weeks,” she said suddenly, and he could tell by the tone of her voice that the offer was drawn from her reluctantly. “Jeannette’s sister is in town and she wanted me to trade shifts with her for two weeks. Originally, I was only going to switch with her on a few nights because I didn’t want to give up that much of my time.”

“But now you will?” Jonas asked.

She shrugged negligently. “Now I will. I’ll stay with Juliana during the day while you’re at work and then spend part of the evening helping the two of you get comfortable together. I’m not sure when I’ll find the time to sleep,” she added after she placed another soft kiss on the infant’s head, “but it’s only for a couple of weeks.”

“You’re willing to surrender that much of your life for me?” Jonas asked quietly.

“No, not for you,” she told him with an adamant shake of her head. “For Juliana.”

He nodded his understanding but said nothing.

Zoey turned to look at the baby again. “I know what it’s like to be a burden,” she said so softly that Jonas had to strain to hear her. Bending her forehead to Juliana’s, she whispered further, “I know what it’s like to be thrust on to someone who doesn’t want you. Who has no idea about your needs and desires. I know what it’s like to be resented.”

Jonas wasn’t sure what to say, so he remained silent. But as he continued to look at Zoey and the baby, he felt a strange heat wander through his body and settle around his heart. Relief, he told himself. That’s all he was feeling. Relief that there would be someone to help him get through this ordeal. Oddly enough, however, that relief was accompanied by an inexplicable satisfaction that the someone in question would be none other than the infuriating Nurse Zoey.

* * *

When Jonas pulled into his driveway late that afternoon, he was beat. He was also frankly amazed that he hadn’t killed himself or someone else driving home from Bethesda, so exhausted had he been by the end of the trip. Only God and drive-through coffee had prevented such a catastrophe. Now, in addition to being exhausted, he also had way too much caffeine zinging through his system, a combination that resulted in a very strange view of the world.

That could be the only explanation for why, when he stumbled up the stairs and into Juliana’s nursery to find Zoey sitting in the rocking chair singing to the baby she cradled in her arms, he wanted to walk across the room and plant a very thorough kiss on the woman’s lips.

She had changed her clothes at some point during the day and no longer wore the blue hospital scrubs in which he normally saw her—the scrubs that had only hinted at the lush curves he knew must lurk beneath. Now Zoey was dressed in faded blue jeans and an oversize pink sweater that begged him to reach out and feel how soft it was, when what he really wanted to explore was the softness of the woman beneath it.

And her hair... Jonas curled his hands into fists lest he do something really stupid. Because Zoey had let her hair down. It hung loose and cascaded over one shoulder in a shimmer of copper that seemed to catch fire as it reflected the rays of the setting sun streaming in through the window behind her. Never before had he realized just how long and straight, how silky and rich, her hair was.

And in that moment, Jonas knew he was in serious trouble. Because instead of stirring up the anger and resentment he normally felt when he encountered her, Zoey was stirring up something else entirely. Something he hadn’t experienced for a long, long time. Something that felt dangerously like desire. Hot, heavy, urgent desire.

“Hi,” she said with a smile when she looked up at him.

Jonas wasn’t sure, but he didn’t think Zoey had ever smiled at him before. And the knowledge that she was doing so now, that the inviting, welcome-home expression on her face was meant for him and him alone, was staggering to say the least. As if to illustrate, he took a step backward, nearly reeling. Then she looked back down at the baby and, with the distraction of her beauty gone, he was finally able to catch his breath.

“How...how did it go with Juliana today?” he asked, hoping his voice revealed none of the troubling thoughts parading through his brain.

“Great,” Zoey told him.

He eyed her suspiciously. “Really?”

She nodded. “Really.”

“No fitfulness?”

“No, nothing unusual for a baby this age.”

“No crying jags?”

“Only when she was hungry.”

“No screaming fits?”

“Not a one.”

She continued to look at Juliana, and her next words were expressed in the high-pitched, breathy voice people normally adopted when addressing an infant. “We did very well today, didn’t we, sweetie? We ate well, and we played on our quilt, and we watched some birds at the feeder outside, and we read Curious George, and we listened to some reggae music, and—”

“Reggae music?” Jonas repeated. “Where did you find reggae music? I don’t have any reggae music.”

Zoey looked up at him and smiled that mind-numbing smile again. “I brought some tapes in from my car. It’s been my experience that babies love reggae music.”

“They do?”

She nodded. “Evidently. At least, the limited study group I’ve used for experimentation has.”

“How limited?”

“Three. Well, four now, if you include Jules.”

“Jules?”

She nodded again. “I think it fits her much better than ‘Juliana’. Don’t you think she’s more of a Jules?”

Jonas shook his head, feeling more and more bizarre with every passing moment. Zoey Holland was in his home, speaking to him quite civilly, rocking a child in her arms upon whom she had bestowed an affectionate nickname and behaving as if this were the most normal thing in the world.

“I—I don’t know,” he stammered. “I never really thought about it.”

Zoey dipped her head toward the baby, who stared back at her with frank adoration. “Well, I think she’s definitely more of a Jules.”

As if voicing her agreement, Juliana smiled and cooed with much contentment. Zoey laughed and rose from the chair, lifting the baby to her shoulder.

“I wasn’t sure what you planned to do for dinner,” she said, “so I took the liberty of fixing some seafood stew and a tossed salad.”

Dinner, too? Jonas marveled. On top of everything else, Zoey was actually cooking for him? “Where did you find the ingredients?” he asked. “I always order something in or eat out on my way home. There’s never any food in this house.”

“Well, there is now. Jules and I went to the grocery store and stocked up for you. You can pay me back before I leave tonight.”

“You took Juliana to the grocery store?” he asked incredulously.

“Didn’t I just say that I did?”

“You took her out? In this weather? To a public place?”

Zoey laughed as she approached him. “It was a beautiful day today, and—”

“It was thirty degrees!”

“—and Jules had a great time. She’s three months old, Dr. Tate. She’s in excellent health, and she was dressed in perfectly warm clothing. You don’t have to keep her hidden away. On the contrary, you should expose her to as many environments as possible. Stimulate her senses a little. She’s going to get bored if you keep her at home all the time. Come to think of it, maybe that’s why she cries so much.”

Zoey had paused scant inches away from him, close enough for him to reach out and touch the errant strand of hair that fell over her forehead, if that was what he wanted to do. And strangely enough, it was. But before he could lift a hand to do so, she extended the baby toward him.

“Now kiss her hello and take her in your arms,” she instructed.

The panic that always seized him whenever he had to come into close contact with Juliana gripped him fiercely, and he took another step backward. “I can’t,” he said.

Zoey took a meaningful step forward. “Of course you can.”

He shook his head. “You hold her for a while longer.”

“No, you hold her.”

With much reluctance, Jonas turned his hands palm up and slowly, ever so slowly, extended them forward. Zoey stared at him for a long moment before turning her mouth down in disapproval.

“See? Now that’s your problem,” she told him.

“What?” he asked. “What’s my problem?”

“You’re terrified of her.”

“Well, of course I’m terrified of her. Who wouldn’t be?”

“Oh, for Pete’s...” Zoey sighed in exasperation. “She’s a baby, Dr. Tate. Why do I have to keep reminding you of that? She’s not some knife-wielding stalker, she’s not running for public office and she won’t call you on the phone and try to sell you aluminum siding. There’s no reason to fear her. She doesn’t even have teeth! Now kiss her hello and take her in your arms.”

With some hesitation, Jonas leaned forward and placed a kiss on the crown of the baby’s head. Much to his surprise, she didn’t start howling. In fact, when she turned her head to face him, to see who had just kissed her, she smiled at him. She actually smiled. He couldn’t remember anything else in his life bringing him more pleasure, more joy, than that simple gesture from Juliana. She had smiled at him. And in that small moment, he felt ten feet tall.

“Now take her in your arms,” Zoey repeated softly.

Not quite as reluctantly as before, Jonas extended his arms. Zoey shifted the baby carefully and placed Juliana capably in his hands. He was astounded that she could have such faith in him, amazed that she would trust him with such a fragile life. Still, he reminded himself needlessly, Juliana had been with him for more than two months now, hadn’t she? And he hadn’t broken her yet. Even in those early weeks when she had seemed little more than a wisp of life, he had managed to keep her fed and clean and warm and safe, hadn’t he? He must be doing something right, even if the baby hadn’t come to love him completely. At least he’d managed not to hurt her in any way.

“That’s right,” Zoey said when Jonas tucked Juliana into one arm and settled her more closely against himself.

He waited for the howl of discomfort in which the baby always erupted when he held her, braced himself for the wildly flailing limbs that seemed intent on beating him to death. But Juliana only mewled a little this time, only fidgeted slightly as he shifted her into a more natural position. Even when she looked up and saw clearly who was holding her, she didn’t cry. Instead she only fixed him with an intent blue gaze and studied him with all her might.

“What did you do to her today?” he asked Zoey quietly, staring back at the baby with as much wonder as she seemed to hold for him. “She’s so calm, so good. Did you put something in her formula?”

“Of course not,” Zoey said with a chuckle. “You’re just starting to feel a little more confident with her, that’s all, and she’s picking up on that. Babies sense our emotions. If you’re distraught, then she’s going to be distraught. If you’re content and confident, then she usually will be, too. You just need to spend more time with her, Dr. Tate, holding her, touching her. You just need to get more comfortable with her. Let her know you care about her.”

“Jonas,” he said, still looking at Juliana.

“What?”

He met Zoey’s gaze levelly over the baby’s blond head. “Call me Jonas.”

That look was back in his eyes again, Zoey noted with much apprehension. The one that had so unsettled her yesterday afternoon when he’d mentioned that his birthday wish—a wish that included her—was going to come true. It was a heated look, a suggestive look, a look that promised something she wasn’t sure he had any business promising her. And, boy, did it make the nursery seem warm.

“Okay,” she said softly.

“Go ahead,” he instructed her.

“Go ahead and what?”

“Call me Jonas.”

Her mouth went dry as she said, “Jonas.”

He smiled, and his expression turned into something even more unsettling. Unwilling to consider just what was happening between the two of them, Zoey moved quickly toward the nursery door and stepped through it.

“I’m going to check on dinner,” she said. “After we eat, we can go over some real simple child-care and development basics, and then I’ll head home, okay?”

Jonas shifted Juliana from one shoulder to the other and smiled more broadly at Zoey, clearly feeling more confident than ever. Unfortunately, that confidence seemed to extend beyond the baby he held in his arms and enveloped her, as well. And confidence was something she decided she didn’t want Jonas Tate to feel around her.

His anger, she could handle. His resentment, she could handle. But confidence... He’d never seemed to feel that in her presence before. It was part of why she’d never had any trouble facing up to him when the occasion called. Now, however, she felt the situation changing, felt the earth shifting a little under her feet. What was worst of all was that she was on his turf at the moment, and would be for two weeks to come. The more confidence he came to feel, the more likely she was to lose her own. And confidence was something she most certainly could not afford to lose. It had taken her too many years to find it.

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