Jack indicated the three doorways. “Which one's your room?”

“Back corner.”

“I'll bet it has a great view.”

Taking the hint, Anya led him into the room. “Ignore the mess, okay?” She'd left a pile of clean laundry on the bed to be folded.

“You consider this a mess? It's nice.” Hardly high praise, but then, her plain, inexpensive furnishings didn't merit compliments.

She found Jack's nearness even more enticing in these intimate quarters. Everything about him appealed to her, from his chest-hugging T-shirt to the light in his green eyes.

Longing shimmered through Anya. As a diversion, she hurried to the window. “It's especially pretty at sunset.”

“It sure is.” When Jack approached, the air heated between them. His arm circled her waist, drawing her close.

Anya relaxed against him. When Jack turned her toward him, a rush of longing underscored how much she'd missed him. New Year's Eve hadn't been a tipsy aberration. She'd longed for him from the moment they'd met. And now she longed for even more …

A Baby for

the Doctor

Jacqueline Diamond

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Delivered at home by her physician father, JACQUELINE DIAMOND came by her interest in medical issues at an early age. Later, during her career as a novelist, Jackie was inspired to follow medical news after successfully undergoing fertility treatment to have her two sons, now grown. Since then, she has written numerous romances involving medicine, as well as romantic intrigues, comedies and Regency historicals, for a total of more than ninety-five books. She and her husband of thirty-five years live in Orange County, California, where she's active in Romance Writers of America. You can see an overview of the Safe Harbor Medical miniseries at www.jacquelinediamond.com and say hello to Jackie at her Facebook site, www.facebook.com/JacquelineDiamondAuthor.

For Jennifer, Steve, Jessy, Mickey and Courtney

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Extract

Chapter One

“That was unbelievable.” Exhilarated, Dr. Jack Ryder stripped off his surgical gown, folded it inward to contain the soiled part and stuffed it into the specially marked laundry receptacle.

He wished his mentor, Dr. Owen Tartikoff, hadn’t already left the operating suite so he could thank the man for letting him take the lead in today’s microsurgery, a procedure known as pain mapping. Instead, he shared his high spirits with the anesthesiologist, Dr. Rod Vintner.

Rod quirked an eyebrow at the younger man’s excitement. “Don’t let it go to your head. In the Middle Ages, surgery was performed by barbers. By the way, I could use a trim.” Pulling off his cap, he displayed a shock of graying brown hair.

“Getting a little thin in the middle,” Jack responded. One of the techs, obviously new at Safe Harbor Medical Center, seemed startled at this exchange, so Jack explained, “Rod’s my uncle.”

“Barely,” said the anesthesiologist, removing his glove from the edge, inside out to protect his skin from the contaminated surface. “We’re the same age.”

“Except that you’re eight years older,” Jack corrected mildly.

“Anything less than ten years is negligible.” Rod slid his bare fingers inside the second glove and pulled it off, also inside out.

“In your fevered brain.”

“I have much more interesting things in my fevered brain.” Rod replaced his surgical cap with a fedora. The look, combined with his short beard and sharp eyes, reminded Jack of a college professor he’d once studied under, a fellow who’d also been quick to pounce on a student’s vulnerability but was kind at heart.

As he washed his hands, Jack mentally replayed the surgery. The minimally invasive microlaparoscopy technique involved making an incision about the size of a needle stick. Then the patient had briefly been brought out of anesthesia, and he’d used tiny instruments to touch the organs, allowing her to react so he could identify the exact source of her pain.

After she was again under anesthesia, he’d removed the endometriosis, excess cells from the uterus lining that had spread to the abdominal cavity. The small amount might not have troubled another patient, but each individual perceives pain differently, and this patient had been in agony. Hopefully, she would now feel much better and be able to pursue her goal of having a baby.

“I can’t believe I hesitated to apply for this surgical fellowship,” he commented to Rod as they left the suite. “Thanks for nudging me.”

“You’d been away from Southern California long enough,” his uncle said. “Anyway, I needed a roommate and I like your cooking.”

Jack took a quick glance around the second-floor hallway. A couple of young nurses must have been watching for him because they immediately made eye contact and flashed him warm smiles. He gave what he hoped was a friendly but distant nod in return. “Could you keep your voice down?” he murmured.

“Why is it such a big secret that you cook?” Rod strode alongside him toward the twin elevators.

“I learned a long time ago that if women find out I have domestic skills, they’ll never leave me alone,” Jack said. He’d unwittingly earned a reputation as a ladies’ man in his younger years simply by responding to women’s interest. Whether they were attracted to him as a doctor or as a single male, he’d never been certain, but the discovery that he was a good cook acted like an accelerant on a fire.

He’d soon realized how quickly some ladies made assumptions about having a future with him and how easily feelings could get hurt. So he’d done his best to avoid involvement. Until recently...

“Women never leave you alone,” his uncle commented.

“Some of them do.” Especially the one I didn’t mean to drive away.

And there she was, waiting by the elevators, freshly scrubbed after surgery. Wavy brown hair tumbled around nurse Anya Meeks’s sweet face, but her full lips no longer curved when Jack appeared and her intense brown eyes avoided his even while she’d been smoothly assisting him in the operating room.

He should have followed his own rules about not hooking up with a coworker. Yet something about Anya had drawn him to her from the start—her dark, humorous gaze, her quirky energy when they joked and the anecdotes she’d shared during operations about helping raise the younger siblings in her large family. After growing up longing for a stronger family connection, Jack had found those stories especially fascinating.

Which was why when he’d run into her at a New Year’s Eve party five weeks ago and learned she was ready to go home before her designated-driver roommate, he shouldn’t have offered her a ride. He’d been well aware of an undercurrent of attraction between them. Still, because they lived in the same apartment complex, the suggestion had made sense. But then he really shouldn’t have walked her to her door, and then walked through her door, and then noticed the leftover mistletoe and claimed a kiss and then...

The experience of being with her had been so unexpected and powerful, he’d wanted to proceed with caution. Plus, Anya had urged him to leave before her roommate came home. “Let’s just keep this light, okay?” she’d said.

Jack had agreed. After all, they were still coworkers and neighbors, and too much closeness too soon could spell disaster. He did want to see her again, but he’d figured they’d gravitate to each other naturally and let whatever happened, happen. But she’d avoided him ever since. During the past month, he’d done his best to throw himself into her path, but that had led exactly nowhere.

Anya pushed the down button, which was already lit. Jack searched for a casual opening that might persuade her to turn around. Nothing occurred to him that wasn’t unbearably clunky.

“Got any plans for the weekend?” Rod asked him.

Jack didn’t want to answer such a question in Anya’s presence, even though his schedule was extremely boring. “It’s only Thursday.”

“The lady next door mentioned baking pies with the apples her sister gave her,” Rod continued. “I think she was hinting. With a little encouragement, you could...”

“She’s a real-estate agent,” Jack said between gritted teeth. “She thinks we’re rich doctors and she can sell us a house.”

Anya kept her back to them, but he saw her shoulders hunch. Didn’t Rod realize she could hear every word?

Jack wasn’t trying to put the moves on her. He simply regretted that, for some unknown reason, she’d taken a dislike to him after what he’d considered a thrilling encounter that had left them both deliciously sweaty and breathless. She’d moaned louder than he had, he’d be willing to testify.

Scratch that. No testifying. No public testimonials of any sort.

Anya pressed the button again. This floor didn’t show the lights from all six stories, so they had no idea where the cars were.

“Must be a lunchtime holdup,” Rod remarked. “There’s always a chatterbox who can’t stop gossiping with her coworkers.”

Anya turned, finally. “Why do you assume it’s a she?”

“Women usually have the best gossip,” Rod replied without hesitation. “Heard anything good lately?”

Long dark lashes swept her cheeks as she glanced down. “This is ridiculous. I’m taking the stairs.”

Before she could leave, Jack said, “Why don’t you drop by for dinner tomorrow night? I’m broiling pork chops with an orange-rosemary dressing.”

Rod stared at him, then spread his hands in a what-the-hell-gives? gesture.

“Tempting, but no,” Anya replied, flicking the tiniest of glances at Jack but otherwise keeping her eyes on the ground. “See you around, doctor.”

Off she went, a cute figure in that blue-flowered uniform. Even cuter without it...

Stop that, Jack reprimanded himself and started after her. He caught the heavy door to the stairs before it could close in her wake. “Hold up!”

She halted. “What?”

“I...” Think fast. “I want to apologize if I’ve offended you. I didn’t call you...afterward...because, well, you gave me the impression you wanted to take things slow.”

“That’s right,” she said.

“You’re not mad?”

“No, and thanks for the African violet. Zora and I will give it a suitable burial.” She began her descent.

Jack paced alongside. “You killed it already?”

“Not yet, but the light in our unit is terrible,” Anya said. “Also, I know you don’t usually do laundry on Sunday mornings, so don’t pretend otherwise.”

“I ran into you by accident.” Weak, Jack, weak. “Spilled stuff on my clothes the night before.”

“While cooking?” Beside him, she lifted a dark eyebrow. Much more effective than when Rod did it. He had no quick comeback with her.

But he’d better speak before they reached the bottom, which was coming up fast. “New recipe. Kind of exploded.”

“Sorry I missed the fun.”

“So everything’s normal between us?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” With that nonanswer, she shouldered the exit door.

Although not completely reassured, Jack hoped that in a few days she might reconsider joining him for dinner. He wanted to be alone with her, to have her bright spirit focused solely on him.

One problem: he’d have to get his uncle out of the apartment. Jack supposed he might encourage Rod to go out with their Realtor neighbor or join an internet dating site. One lousy marriage shouldn’t sour the guy on women forever.

“If you’re headed for lunch, we could share a table,” he said to Anya just as a muscular guy in a dark blue nurse’s uniform materialized. He had dark hair, a confident swagger and a couple of tattoos extending from beneath his short sleeves.

The bar pin disclosed the stud’s name as Luke Mendez, RN. Jack had never seen him in surgery or labor and delivery, so most likely he worked in the adjacent office building.

“Hey,” the man said to Anya. “New developments. You won’t want to miss this.”

“Miss what?” Jack asked.

“Nothing important,” Anya told him. “See you around.” Off she went with Nurse Tattoo in the direction of the cafeteria.

Well, damn. Briefly, Jack considered buying lunch at the cafeteria, too. He wouldn’t sit at the nurses’ table, of course; the only doctors who did that were married to nurses, and even then they usually respected each other’s separate social circles. Still, he was curious about what he might overhear.

Don’t be an idiot. She’d said everything was fine between them. Furthermore, having been up since before dawn, he could use a nap. The shortage of office space at Safe Harbor forced newcomers like Jack to see their patients on evenings and weekends in shared quarters. It was after one o’clock now, and he had to return by five.

Why should he care about Anya and her chums? Whatever they were doing, he’d find out soon enough via the hospital grapevine and his uncle. So why did he feel as if he was missing something?

* * *

SO JACK COOKED, Anya mused. It gave him a certain domestic appeal—as if a guy with bright green eyes, thick brown hair and a million-watt smile needed or deserved any further advantages.

As she accompanied Luke—Lucky to his friends—to the cafeteria, Anya felt propelled by her own mental kicks in the butt. Downing two drinks on New Year’s Eve was no excuse for jumping into bed with her handsome neighbor. His clumsy attempts to score a second time—which is what she assumed he was doing, given his reputation—were mildly amusing, but she wasn’t that big a fool.

She had a more pressing problem—her period being three weeks late. The pill was 99.9 percent effective when used properly, which she did. She ought to take a pregnancy test, but she was almost certain it would prove negative. When it did, Anya preferred to have expert advice on hand because there was definitely something wrong with her.

She doubted it was stress. She wasn’t that upset about her stupidity in bedding Jack, nor about her roommate pressuring her to move to a cheaper place rather than renew their lease. So was this a hormonal imbalance? An autoimmune disease? At twenty-six, surely she was too young for early menopause.

She checked her phone. No text from Dr. Cavill-Hunter’s nurse about working her into today’s schedule.

In the cafeteria, Anya studied the posted menu. “What’s the special? I don’t see it.”

“They’re out of it,” Lucky told her. “It’s nearly one-thirty. Just grab a sandwich, will you?”

Anya folded her arms. “What’s the rush?”

“People have to get back to work.”

She hated pressure. It usually inspired her to go even slower, but she was hungry. Also, across the busy room, she spotted a halo of short ginger hair that identified her roommate, Zora Raditch, sitting across from patient financial counselor Karen Wiggins. Karen’s hair color this week: strawberry blond with pink highlights.

The third woman at the table, Melissa Everhart, projected pure gorgeous class with her honey-blond hair in a French twist. Melissa worked with the hospital’s recently opened egg bank as egg donor coordinator.

They weren’t sharing a table by accident, nor from longstanding friendship. They had serious business to discuss, and it included her.

By now, Lucky was jogging in place. Anya chose a pastrami pita sandwich with avocados and sprouts, sweet-potato chips and iced tea. She paid the cashier and followed her impatient companion.

The three women huddled over a sheet of paper. “You could have this room in the front and Anya this one on the side,” Karen was saying as they approached.

Glancing over her roommate’s shoulder, Anya saw the floor plan of a two-story house. “I thought you were all set for renters, Karen.”

Zora swung around, braced for action. “We’re getting a second chance, Anya. Come on! We’ll never find a more fun place to live than Karen’s house, and it’s really quiet and backs onto a park.”

Here we go again. For the past year, Anya had relished both the close companionship and the comparative privacy of living with just one friend. Having grown up in a crowded household where her family’s expectations, assumptions and criticisms weighed on her constantly like a heavy coat in summertime, she had no interest in sharing quarters with a group.

“That isn’t a park—it’s wetlands. Mosquito central,” Anya responded, setting her tray on a clear spot. “What happened to the two guys who’d signed on?”

“Ned Norwalk decided he prefers living alone.” Ned was a fellow nurse. “I wish he’d told me sooner.” Karen scowled at Lucky.

“I had nothing to do with that.” Turning a chair backward, he sat at the other open space. “I like him.”

“But you hate Laird,” Melissa noted.

Lucky shrugged. “Karen, I’m sorry, but you know how he is. A few drinks and he’s making passes at random women.” Catching Karen’s eye roll, he added, “Unwelcome passes.”

“So you chased him off,” Karen grumbled.

“Once you come to your senses, you’ll thank me,” Lucky replied.

Quietly eating her sandwich, Anya conceded that she didn’t like Laird either. He might be a psychologist and family counselor, but in her opinion, he could use some counseling of his own.

“How’d you get rid of him?” Zora asked.

Lucky addressed his response to the others, ignoring Zora, as usual. “I may have implied that I’d make his life miserable if he moved in. That’s all.”

Karen smacked the table. Anya had to grab her iced tea to prevent a spill. “This may be a game to you, Lucky, but I can’t make the payments by myself. Now that the renovations are finished, I need a full house. Otherwise, I either have to raise everyone’s rent sky-high or sell.”

For years, Karen—now in her early forties—had cared for her ailing mom while medical expenses ate up their savings. They’d had to defer all but the most essential maintenance on their five-bedroom home. A few months ago, though, following her mother’s death, the counselor had taken out a loan to upgrade the electrical, plumbing and appliances. Then she’d solicited her friends and coworkers to move in for what Anya had to admit was a very reasonable monthly rent.

“It’s perfect timing. I understand Anya’s lease is up for renewal.” Lucky didn’t mention Zora. Anya wondered how the two of them expected to share a house. The potential for conflict added to her distaste of the idea of moving in with them.

“You can have the bedroom on the side,” Zora wheedled. “I’ll take the noisy one in the front.”

Everyone stared at Anya. The combined pressure was so strong, she half expected her chair to tilt. Fortunately, she was used to resisting pressure. “Zora and I will discuss this in private,” she said.

“Coward,” Lucky teased.

“Sharing a kitchen shouldn’t be a big deal because you hardly ever cook,” Zora pointed out. As Anya had explained to her friend, she’d grown up shouldering more than her share of household duties in her large family. Heating a can of soup and eating a premade salad felt like a heavenly indulgence.

“And I gather the rent will be considerably lower than what you’re paying for your apartment,” Melissa added.

Anya calmly started on the second half of her sandwich. She had shared her objections with Zora, and the polite refusal she’d voiced several times previously ought to be enough for the others.

Karen drummed her fingers on the table. “Contrary to what you may believe, a wetland is not a swamp. It’s a vibrant ecosystem. A healthy wetland actually reduces the mosquito population thanks to the thriving birds, frogs and fish.”

“And other insects that feed on mosquito larvae,” added Lucky, who’d clearly heard this speech before.

“I just love frogs, fish and insects.” Anya’s irony didn’t extend to birds. She did enjoy those, except maybe pigeons in the vicinity of her car.

Zora widened her eyes in mute appeal. Fortunately, there was little danger of her jumping ship on Anya. Until recently, Zora, an ultrasound technician, had occupied a pariah-like status around the hospital because she’d stolen a popular nurse’s husband a few years back. Then, a year ago, Zora had needed a place to go after her husband cheated on her, too, and Anya had agreed to move in with her. Zora had burst into tears of gratitude and they’d had each other’s backs ever since.

“I can give you until Sunday night to decide,” Karen said. “Monday, I’m posting the vacancies on the bulletin board.”

“Oh, come on, Anya,” Lucky said. “You haven’t given us a good reason. My bedroom’s downstairs. You ladies will have plenty of privacy on the second floor, and I can do guard duty.”

Anya ignored him and moved on to her sweet-potato chips.

The others shifted to regard someone approaching, as if the short, uniformed woman with thick glasses might be their salvation. Instead, Eva Rogers zeroed in on Anya.

Smiling and holding up her phone, Eva said, “Just got a cancellation. Dr. Cavill-Hunter can fit you in at 6:45. How’s that?”

“Fine,” Anya replied, trying to keep the bite out of her voice. The other nurse should have more discretion than to approach a patient in front of others, but Anya was grateful for the appointment.

“See you then.” With a wave, Eva sauntered off.

Around the table, four very interested faces turned to Anya. “Is anything wrong?” Lucky asked.

“It can’t be routine or there’d be no reason to jump at a cancellation,” Karen observed.

“Need me to come along for moral support?” Zora asked.

Anya stood. “That’s the other reason.”

“The other reason for what?” asked her roommate.

“The other reason for not moving into the house.” Anya picked up her tray. “Gossip.”

She left without waiting for their reactions. Although she’d rather not offend anyone, she had bigger issues to deal with.

Chapter Two

“How is this possible?” Sitting on the examining table, Anya hugged herself through the thin gown.

Mercifully, Dr. Adrienne Cavill-Hunter had broken the news without Eva in the room. Anya’s skin was prickling with apprehension so one skeptical look, or even a sympathetic murmur, and her blood pressure might soar to dangerous levels.

The blonde obstetrician rolled her stool over to sit beside Anya. She had chosen this doctor not only because she saw patients in the evening, but for Adrienne’s quiet, rational manner.

“Are you taking any over-the-counter medications that might interfere with your birth control pills?” the doctor inquired.

Now, there was a question Anya hadn’t considered. It was almost reassuring in its medical focus. And it didn’t imply that she’d screwed up by missing any pills.

“The only thing I took was St. John’s wort after spending Christmas with my family,” she said.

The obstetrician tilted her head questioningly. “Why St. John’s wort?”

“It was kind of a depressing experience, and I heard it might help.” Anya had chosen the herb, widely available in capsule form, after reading that it was as effective as standard antidepressants with fewer side effects. “Can it interfere with birth control pills?”

“Yes, it can.” Dr. Cavill-Hunter—who’d expanded her name after her marriage last month—answered in a level, nonjudgmental tone. “St. John’s wort decreases the level of estrogen in the body, which reduces the effectiveness of the pill.”

Anya smacked her forehead. “That’s why I’m pregnant.”

“Not entirely,” the doctor said wryly.

True, there’d been no immaculate conception. If only she and Jack had used a condom, too. But in the heat of the moment, they hadn’t been able to find one.

Now here she was, stuck in a massive, life-changing situation that Anya couldn’t wrap her mind around, except for one important point. “I can’t have a baby by myself.”

“Many women do,” the doctor said gently.

“Not me.” Just supervising her three younger sisters had often overwhelmed Anya.

She still had nightmares about one afternoon when she was twelve. After her mother’s arthritis had worsened, it had been Anya’s responsibility to walk the seven-year-old triplets home from school each day. But Anya’s period had arrived unexpectedly and she had to borrow a pad from a teacher, causing her to be late. When she finally arrived at the elementary school, there’d been no sign of Andi, Sandi or Sarah. For a painful half hour, as she traced the path they should have taken home, frightening scenes from TV newscasts had rolled through her mind. What if someone had taken them?

Realizing they might have stopped for a snack at their grandmother’s house around the corner, Anya had run there and rung the bell with her heart pounding. Her grandma’s gaze had been reproving, but she’d been greatly relieved to find her sisters safe.

Until she faced her father’s fury later that night. You need to take your responsibilities seriously. Why can’t we depend on you to do things right?

Dr. Cavill-Hunter asked a question, jerking Anya back to the present. The doctor had asked about the father and was waiting for an answer. Anya said sharply, “We aren’t even dating. It was a mistake. Do you have any resources about adoption?”

“You can take several avenues in that regard.” Choosing her words carefully, the doctor continued. “But there’s no reason to rush this decision. This is a shock. It’s wise to consider what it means to have a child and what kind of family support you might receive.”

Anya shuddered at the thought of her family. Returning to Colorado this past Christmas to visit her parents and six siblings had reawakened painful old feelings and reminded her forcefully of why she’d moved to California. “Forget that.”

The obstetrician didn’t argue. “All right. You can choose a private adoption—either open, with continuing contact, or closed. Or perhaps you have a family member who might take the child.”

“No family.” Nor did Anya care to deal with a social worker. This was her decision, and she wouldn’t be lectured or questioned about her motives. “Can you recommend a lawyer?”

“The hospital’s staff attorney could give you a list of family attorneys in the community.” The obstetrician cleared her throat. “I’m adopting a child myself, a relative. We’re using a lawyer named Geoff Humphreys.”

That name rang a bell. “His associate is handling Zora’s divorce.” She’d have to tell her roommate anyway, so that seemed convenient. “Thanks for mentioning him.”

“There’s something else.” The doctor laced her fingers. “As I’m sure the attorney will inform you, the father has to sign a waiver of parental rights before the child can be released for adoption.”

“He what?” Anya would pull all her hair out by the roots before she’d involve that—what was the legal term she’d read?—casual inseminator.

Okay, that wasn’t fair to Jack, although other nurses had described him as a playboy. In her observation, his dramatically good looks simply attracted a lot of women. In her case, despite their joking around in the O.R., he’d always kept a respectful distance. Until New Year’s Eve.

That night, while they were dancing at the party, she’d imagined she saw a spark of tenderness in his gorgeous, sparkling green eyes. That, combined with a couple of unaccustomed drinks, had worked magic on her nervous system. Plus, she’d been feeling lonely and estranged from her family after that unhappy Christmas visit.

Jack had been wonderful in bed, fierce and gentle and very skilled. Too skilled, maybe. Anya hadn’t had much time for men in her younger years, and her college boyfriend had been sweet but fumbling. Now, her vulnerability scared her. Losing control of her emotions reminded her of how little power she’d had over her life until she left Colorado two years ago.

So over the past few weeks, she’d kept things cool with him, strictly business. He’d gone along at first, as embarrassed as she was, she supposed. Then he’d started flirting again. But she doubted he meant anything by it. He was notorious for avoiding relationships.

And now she needed his permission to choose adoption for her—their—baby? “It’s outrageous,” she added for good measure.

“It may seem unfair, but that’s the law,” Adrienne said. “Discuss this with your lawyer. I’m sure he can handle the paperwork.”

“So Doctor...Mister Dad gets the news via the U.S. mail?” That was likely to provoke unpleasant repercussions. “I’ll deal with him some other way.”

Judging by the obstetrician’s expression, she hadn’t missed the reference to a doctor. She let it go, returning to the pregnancy.

“Based on the dates you gave me, you’re about six weeks along, which means you’re due in mid to late September,” she said. “In case you’re interested, the baby’s eyes and limb buds are starting to appear at this stage.”

Too much information. Anya performed the mental equivalent of closing her ears and skipped to a more bearable topic. “Six weeks? It’s only been five weeks since we...since conception.”

“We measure pregnancies from the date of the last menstrual period,” the doctor reminded her.

“Oh. Right.” All this theoretical knowledge seemed quite different when you were the patient, Anya reflected glumly. “I haven’t had any morning sickness. Well, maybe a tiny bit. I thought it was some chorizo I ate.”

“Let’s talk about a healthy diet during pregnancy,” the doctor said, seizing on the topic. “Or are you already familiar with all this?”

Being a scrub nurse, Anya didn’t deal with maternity on a regular basis. Also, in her state of shock, she could scarcely recall her own phone number, let alone the rules for moms-to-be. “Refresh my memory. Do I have to eat anything weird?”

“Depends on what you consider weird.”

“Seaweed?”

Adrienne smiled. “That won’t be necessary, although seaweed is quite nutritious. It’s a rich source of antioxidants and vitamins.”

Anya wrinkled her nose.

“You can skip it, though,” the doctor said. “Be sure to include plenty of fruits and vegetables in your diet. No alcohol or tobacco, no raw fish such as sushi, and avoid soft cheeses. They can carry bacteria.”

“I can’t eat Brie?” That sounded cruel to Anya. Another mark against Jack. Someone ought to deprive him of Brie for the next eight months.

Oh, don’t be childish.

“If the milk’s pasteurized, it should be safe,” the doctor said. “Cut out caffeine, or at least cut back. No undercooked meat or paté, and limit your fish consumption to twelve ounces a week in case of mercury contamination.”

This discussion set Anya’s stomach churning. “Can you give me a list?”

“I’d be happy to.” From a drawer, the obstetrician fetched several pamphlets and a prescription pad. “Also, we advise that you avoid changing kitty litter because of toxoplasmosis, a disease that sometimes infects cats and can harm the baby. Do you have a pet?”

“Just an African violet.” Which Jack had given her. “I hate him,” Anya burst out.

The doctor paused, brochures in midair. “The father? Understandable.”

“It isn’t his fault,” Anya conceded. “But that only makes me even madder. I want revenge on somebody, and he’s nominated.”

“You might write down your revenge fantasies,” Dr. Cavill-Hunter responded. “You can always shred them later.”

“Can I post them on the internet?” Anya didn’t seriously expect an answer. She was simply venting. “Is this what people mean by pregnancy hormones making you cranky?”

“I’d say it’s a legitimate emotional response to a difficult situation.”

Did the doctor have to be this rational? Right now, Anya would prefer a friend to share her righteous wrath.

The rest of the office visit passed in a fog. The doctor answered routine questions. Eva produced a packet of sample vitamins and pregnancy-related goodies and set up the next appointment. Tactfully, she refrained from commenting.

All the while, Anya’s emotions seethed. Revenge. Revenge. Revenge. Only how did you do that? Especially because she was the one who’d messed up her contraception.

Worse, she had to get the father’s stupid John Hancock on the adoption paperwork. Her anger shifted toward the idiots in the state legislature, who she presumed had mandated this. Busybodies. Nanny government.

Don’t think about nannies.

In the lobby, her mood didn’t improve on finding that the pharmacy had closed minutes earlier. Not that she needed to fill the vitamin prescription in a hurry, but it left yet another pain-in-the-neck detail to take care of.

As she turned away, a twinge of nausea ran through her. Suddenly morning sickness was striking in the evening.

As Anya pressed her hands over her stomach, reality hit like a blast of icy wind. She was pregnant. Carrying a child. About to become a mother. Frequently, she assisted at surgeries for women desperate to conceive and willing to undergo complex, expensive treatments. How unfair this situation was to them—and her.

Anya wished she could bless one of them with this miracle because it had happened to the wrong person. She was utterly unready to take on the tremendous job of raising a helpless little person. She was sure to screw up.

Now she also had to deal with the practical side of pregnancy. She faced nearly eight more months of fluctuating hormones and a variety of body aches and pains. How long could she keep working as a surgical nurse? What would her parents say?

Nothing. Because she didn’t intend to tell them. To them, it would be yet another sign of her immaturity, of her not being able to do anything right.

Grumpily, she shouldered open the glass exterior door and stopped at a real blast of cold air. February. Ugh. Accustomed to mild Southern California midday temperatures, she’d worn only a light jacket.

Behind her, the elevator doors slid apart and heavy male footsteps smacked across the lobby. “Hold up!” A pushy man—was there any other kind? her hormones demanded—reached above her head to hold the door.

It was Jack. Of course. Could this day get any worse?

As always, he smelled like soap and masculinity with a splash of lime. His dark blue coat fit his broad shoulders and strong body as if designed for him. Oddly, she realized, his scent had a soothing effect on her stomach, making her crave more of his nearness. All the more reason to hate him. She trudged on.

He halted on the front walkway. “Anya!”

“Yes?” She wondered what the correct etiquette was for this situation. You couldn’t just blurt, “I’m pregnant, so sign the parental waiver,” could you?

That would be efficient but not very diplomatic. Out loud, she said, “We should talk.” There, that was better.

Before she could say anything else, though, he asked, “Can you give me a ride?”

They lived in the same complex, so why not? Plus, they’d have a chance to talk away from prying ears. “Okay. What happened to your car?”

“I loaned it to my uncle.” He walked alongside her toward the parking garage.

“Where’s his car?”

“In the shop, as usual.” Jack’s body partially blocked the wind, cocooning Anya. “He was supposed to pick me up after my office hours, but we had a family emergency.”

Anya had never heard about any other members of Jack’s family, aside from Dr. Vintner. “I hope it’s nothing serious.” Much as she’d like for him to suffer, she only wanted him to do so on her terms and without involving innocent third parties.

“Long story.”

“Yeah, don’t bother to tell me,” she grumbled. “Never mind that I’m doing you a favor.”

Anya couldn’t believe she’d said that out loud. She never snapped at doctors. She hardly ever crabbed at anybody, in fact, except Zora, who could take it.

When they reached the car, Jack put his hand on her arm. The warmth lit a tiny flame inside Anya, a reminder of how comforting it would be to nestle against that strong chest. Sigh.

“You’re right. I’m being rude.” He withdrew his hand as she clicked open the car. “I’ll give you the details on the way.”

She’d meant to use the ride to talk to him. Maybe instead she’d drop her bomb as they parted company at the apartments. Good idea. Not exactly primo revenge, but a satisfying poke all the same.

“I can’t wait,” she said.

* * *

“HAVE YOU HEARD the story about Rod’s kids?” That seemed a good place to start, Jack decided as he adjusted the passenger seat to accommodate his long legs.

Backing out of her parking space, Anya frowned. “I didn’t know he had any.”

Better cut this story short. They only lived a five-minute drive away. “Two daughters. Or so he thought.”

“What do you mean?” The pucker between her eyebrows was adorable.

Jack took a moment to organize his thoughts. As they left the garage, he noted only a few cars in the circular drive. Traffic dropped off rapidly in the evening because there was no emergency care aside from labor and delivery at Safe Harbor. Five years ago, the former community hospital had been remodeled to specialize in fertility and maternity treatments, along with a range of gynecological and child services. Most recently it had expanded into treating male infertility, too.

On the opposite side of the compound stood a now-empty dental office building. Someday, with luck, the hospital would acquire it for additional office space. Then Jack could treat patients at more convenient hours.

He resumed his tale. “When my aunt Portia demanded a divorce and my uncle sought joint custody, she revealed that she’d cheated on him.” Jack would never forget the heartbreak on Rod’s face as he’d shared that discovery. “Neither of the girls was genetically his.”

“How awful.” She turned the car onto Hospital Way.

“It was a mess.” Jack had been living in Nashville, Tennessee, at the time, completing medical school at Vanderbilt University. However, he’d spent most of his holidays with his aunt and uncle.

Technically Tiffany and Amber were his cousins, but he’d always thought of them as nieces. He’d loved playing with them and watching them grow into toddlers and preschoolers. Then they’d been yanked out of his life, leaving a painful void for him, too.

“Your aunt married the girls’ father?” Anya tapped the brake at a red light on Safe Harbor Boulevard. The broad avenue bisected the town from the freeway to the harbor that gave the community its name.

“He was long gone, but she found someone else, a rich guy unable to have kids of his own who wanted to adopt hers. They pulled one legal maneuver after another to keep the kids from Rod.” Jack still burned at the memory. “Rod was supporting the girls financially, and he went into debt fighting for them in court. If he’d been their genetic father, he’d have stood a chance, but as it was, he lost all rights.” And was living in a small apartment and driving an unreliable car as a result.

“What an ordeal.” When the light changed, Anya transitioned onto the boulevard, passing a darkened veterinary clinic and a flower shop that supplied the hospital gift boutique.

“We haven’t seen the girls for six years. Then, this evening, Rod got a call from my older niece, Tiffany. She ran away from her home in San Diego and asked him to pick her up at the Fullerton train station.” That was about a two-hour journey from San Diego.

Anya swung onto a side street. “How old is she?”

“Twelve.” He only had a few photos of Tiff from years ago, a little girl with Orphan Annie red hair and a big smile. “It’s hard to visualize what she must look like now.”

“Twelve is awfully young. Why’d she run away?”

“No idea.” His phone rang. Plucking it from his pocket, Jack saw his uncle’s name on the screen. “Hey.”

“Change of plans. I’m taking Tiffany to her grandmother’s house.” Rod must be speaking into his wireless device because it was illegal in California to hold a cell phone while driving. “Less risk of legal complications that way. Can you meet us there? You remember where Helen lives?”

“Vaguely.” Portia’s mother had joined the family for holiday celebrations and had once hosted a Fourth of July party at her bungalow. Jack recalled Helen as a kind, quiet woman overshadowed by her forceful daughter.

A girl’s voice piped up in the background. “Is that Uncle Jack? Hi, Uncle Jack!”

“Hi, pumpkin.”

“Hi to you too, squash-kins,” his uncle said drily. “I mean, as long as we’re using vegetables as terms of endearment.”

“Very funny. What’s the address?”

Rod provided it. Jack’s phone showed it to be in the northwest corner of Safe Harbor near the freeway. “Anya, I have another favor to ask.”

“Anya’s driving you home?” His uncle sounded peevish.

“Who’s Anya?” Tiffany piped in. “Can I meet her?”

“End of conversation,” Jack said and clicked off. This was far too confusing, and, besides, he needed to focus on winning Anya’s cooperation. “How about lending me your car after I drop you at home?”

“How far away is this?” she asked.

“Just a few miles.” The alternative was to call a cab, which meant waiting heaven knows how long. In Southern California, where private vehicles outnumbered people, taxi drivers concentrated their efforts on servicing airports and hotels.

And he didn’t have the time to waste. No doubt Helen was already dialing her daughter. Portia and her husband, a private equity investor reported to be worth close to a billion dollars, would take a private plane or helicopter to collect the runaway, which left only a window of an hour or so for Jack to connect with her.

Anya hadn’t spoken again. “I don’t want to lose this chance to see Tiffany.” The ragged emotion in his tone surprised Jack. “It’s important she understands that she’s welcome here and that we love her. I’m afraid that next time, if there’s a next time, she might go off on her own.”

The fate of young runaways in metropolitan areas had been the subject of a recent lecture at the hospital. Staff pediatrician Samantha Forrest had presented a horrifying picture of predators trolling for young girls and boys who’d landed on the streets.

Now that he thought about it, he’d seen Anya at the lecture, too. Surely she understood his concern.

She appeared to be mulling the request as they reached their complex—a half-dozen two-story apartment buildings separated by tree-shaded walkways. In the carport area, Anya halted, her expression shadowed in the thin lighting.

“I’d like to meet her,” she said.

“Not a good idea.” This was private family business.

“She might talk more freely to a woman than to a couple of guys,” Anya said.

“Her grandmother’s there.”

“I wouldn’t discuss anything personal or uncomfortable around my grandmother,” she replied. “Jack, I remember what my sisters were like at that age. You and your uncle are great guys, and I’m sure her grandmother loves this girl like crazy, but it’s important right now that she be able to open up. What can it hurt to have me there?”

Anya did have a point. And he had to admire her willingness to step into such a delicate situation. Jack glanced at her profile: shapely nose, full mouth, firm chin. He needed her help and, besides, he wanted to spend more time with her. Why not seize the opportunity?

“Thanks. I’ll navigate, okay?” he said and relaxed as he saw her nod.

They were on the same page for once. That was a nice change.

Chapter Three

Spotting Jack’s hybrid sedan in front of a tidy bungalow, Anya knew this must be the place. She wedged her car into a slot at the curb.

What a pretty neighborhood, she thought as they got out. Some of the houses had a fairy-tale air, thanks to their gingerbread trim. Although of a simpler design, the grandmother’s cottage had appealing, old-fashioned shutters and an extended porch lit by a sconce-style lamp.

But as Anya hurried to catch up with Jack’s rapid pace, she noticed spiderwebs festooning the corners of the front windows. Surely the elderly lady would keep those wiped clear if she were physically capable of it.

The door flew open and a young girl’s eager face appeared, her red hair in thick braids. “Uncle Jack!” She threw her arms around him with such enthusiasm that he had to step backward.

“Tiff? I can’t believe that’s you.” After hugging the girl, he took a long look. “You’ve grown into a young lady.”

She smoothed down her navy blazer and tan skirt, evidently a school uniform. “Come in.”

“Somebody’s blocking my path,” he teased.

“Okay, okay.” As Tiffany danced inside, her gaze fell on Anya. “Is this your girlfriend? She’s pretty! And you’re handsome, isn’t he, Anya?”

“Most of the nurses seem to think so,” she replied, slipping into the room behind them.

Inside, Rod’s eyes glittered in the light from the chandelier as he greeted them. Surely those couldn’t be tears. Anya had never seen the sardonic anesthesiologist show so much emotion.

The rectangular room encompassed both living and dining areas and had antique-style furnishings. Dusty curio cabinets displayed a charming collection of china plates and cups, while a built-in counter in the dining area held a nativity scene. As the girl’s grandmother approached, her small, arthritis-curled hands revealed why she hadn’t packed the holiday decorations or removed those outside spiderwebs. Why didn’t her married-to-a-billionaire daughter spring for a housekeeper?

“Anya’s a nurse who works with Rod and me,” Jack explained as he introduced her to the grandmother, Helen Pepper. Slim and silver-haired, Helen wore a mint-green embellished top and pull-on pants that would be easy for those gnarled hands to manage.

“I’m very glad to meet you,” she told Anya earnestly.

Anya took the extended hands gently. “You have a beautiful home.”

“Anya was kind enough to give me a ride,” Jack added. “Since Rod commandeered my car.”

“When I heard my little girl’s voice on the phone, I couldn’t think about anything but rushing to the rescue,” his uncle admitted. “It’s a good thing the CHP didn’t clock my speed on the freeway.”

“I’m sorry I had patients, or I’d have driven you,” Jack said. “Tiff, I want you to know that Rod moved heaven and earth to try to gain custody, or at least visitation. These past few years have been torture.”

Tiffany nodded vigorously. “I was convinced Mom and Vince must have lied to me.”

“Lied about what?” Jack asked.

“Well, I didn’t get it at first. I was only six.” The girl took a deep breath. “They told Amber and me our dad rejected us because we weren’t really his.”

The anguish on Rod’s face tore at Anya’s heart. “They dared to say that after I nearly went bankrupt fighting them in court?”

“That’s not only a lie, it was cruel to the girls,” Jack observed.

“I’m sorry I didn’t speak up sooner,” Helen said. “I always felt like I was walking on eggshells when I visited them. Please, everybody, have a seat.”

She gestured the group into the living room, its walls brightened by colorful framed floral embroideries. She must have loved creating them before arthritis crippled her hands, Anya thought.

“Why did you stop visiting, Grandma?” Tiffany nestled beside Rod on the couch. “You hardly come anymore.”

Helen lowered herself gingerly to the sofa. “My hip got so bad, I can’t travel.” To the others, she said, “I don’t mean to complain. Portia hired a limo to bring me for Thanksgiving and Christmas.”

“Big of her,” Rod muttered.

It seemed to Anya that everyone was avoiding the central question of why this child had run away. However, being a not-very-invited guest at a family crisis, she held her tongue.

“How’s your little sister?” Jack beamed at his niece, apparently as overjoyed to see her as she was to see him, Rod and her grandmother. “Amber must be ten now. She was a bold little thing. I’m surprised she didn’t come with you.”

“Don’t give them ideas,” Helen said tartly.

“Oh, she isn’t bold anymore,” Tiff said. “She’s shy.”

“Unlike somebody I know.” Rod quirked the girl a smile. “Sweetheart, as Jack said, I fought for both of you.”

“I figured you must have.” Tiffany lifted her chin proudly. “I kept remembering you reading us bedtime stories and cracking jokes, and the older I got, the weirder it seemed that you stopped caring about us.”

“I always cared!”

“How’d you get his phone number?” Helen asked. “I’m sure your parents don’t keep it around, although I guess kids can find anything on the internet these days.”

“Mom and Vince only let us use computers for schoolwork.” Tiffany made a face. “They won’t let me have a cell phone either. My friend’s big brother dug up Daddy’s phone number.”

Rod tweaked one of Tiffany’s braids. “You should have called before you left home, squirt. Taking the train by yourself, that’s scary.”

“It was fun,” the red-haired girl proclaimed. “And if I’d called, you might have said no.”

Jack regarded her sternly. “Tiff, what if he’d been out of town? Dangerous people hang around train and bus stations watching for runaways. Please don’t take a chance like that again.”

“Then you’d better give me your number, too,” she replied, then added mischievously, “just in case.”

“Sure.” Fishing a prescription pad from his pocket, Jack began writing on it. “Honey, call me before you put yourself into a potentially dangerous situation, okay?”

“I’ll try.”

“Don’t just try.” He also gave her a business card. “That’s my office number. If for any reason you can’t get through on my cell, make sure the receptionist understands it’s an emergency.”

He certainly was acting fatherly, or like an uncle, Anya thought. Another woman in her situation might be thrilled, but to her it raised a whole bramble bush of unwanted possibilities. If he cared this much about his nieces, how might he feel about his own child?

“I hate to bring this up, but I have to call your parents and let them know you’re safe,” Helen said.

“Not yet!” Tiffany begged. “I’ll go home on Sunday, okay?”

“It’s only Thursday, and you’ve already missed a day of school,” her grandmother chided.

With obvious reluctance, Rod backed Helen up. “They’ve probably notified the police. We’ll all be in trouble if we don’t report your whereabouts.”

“They’re mean.” Tiffany slouched down. “If my grades aren’t perfect, they ground me for a whole weekend. They make me play soccer because that was Vince’s sport. I had to drop dance class, which is my favorite.”

“Too many organized activities,” Helen commiserated. “It’s not healthy.”

Anya wondered how Tiffany would have responded to her family’s demands. At twelve, Anya had hurried home every day after school with her seven-year-old triplet sisters, assisted her disabled mother, cleaned the house and fixed dinner.

Her older brothers had spent their after-school hours assisting Dad in the feed store. The only escapee had been her older sister, Ruth, who’d married and moved out by then. But she’d soon had kids of her own to care for.

“Children deserve a chance to develop at their own pace,” Rod was telling Tiffany as Anya tuned back in. “But if you were still with me, you’d probably complain about how strict I am, too.”

Anya admired his effort to be fair. He could easily seize on this chance to whip up his daughter’s resentment toward her parents.

“No, I wouldn’t because I’d know you loved me.” The girl’s lips trembled. “When I asked them if I could visit you, Vince said if I ever mentioned you again, he’d send me to a boarding school in Switzerland.”

Rod looped an arm around his daughter’s shoulders. “Honey, I’d hate for that to happen. But after the court ruled in his favor, Vince adopted you. I have no legal rights.”

“He treats Amber and me like he owns us. Like we’re pretty objects for him to show off to his friends.”

We’re still missing something, Anya thought. The girl was unhappy, but why take action now? “Why did you run away today?” she ventured. “Did something happen?”

“Good question,” Jack murmured.

“It’s because of last Sunday.” The girl sniffed. After a deep breath, she resumed. “They make me take piano lessons even though I’m terrible because their friends’ kids play instruments. I had a recital on Sunday and I messed up.”

“What do you mean ‘messed up’?” Helen asked.

Tiffany’s hands clenched. “I forgot part of my piece in front of all those people. It was embarrassing. As soon as it was over, Vince dragged me outside and yelled at me where everybody could hear. He called me stupid and lazy.” Tears rolled down her cheeks. “Daddy, no matter how hard I practice, I still suck. When I try to memorize music, it falls out of my brain.”

“It’s good to play an instrument, but not if it makes you miserable,” her grandmother noted.

“I was great in dance class!” Tiffany burst out. “And I enjoyed it.”

“That’s why you ran away?” Jack asked.

“I had to see Daddy,” the girl said. “I knew he’d love me for who I am.”

Rod drew her close. No question about it; those were definitely tears brightening his eyes.

Anya understood how it felt to long for the freedom to be oneself. In a sense, she, too, had run off, although she’d waited until she was an adult with a nursing degree.

Rod’s gaze met Helen’s, his frustration obvious. “I wish I had the power to intervene, but legally, I don’t.”

“I should get a choice about who I live with,” Tiffany insisted.

“When you’re older, you might,” her grandmother said.

“How much older?”

“Fourteen, I believe.” Jack recalled that information from the lecture about runaways. “But you’d need your parents’ consent and your own money.”

“That’ll never happen!” Tiffany flared. “And what about Amber? They’re mean to her, too.”

“In what way?” Rod asked sharply.

“Since she’s a good swimmer, Vince took her to this competitive coach. Now he and Vince both yell at her when she doesn’t do well at meets,” her sister said. “She hardly talks to anybody anymore except me. When I told her I was short on money to buy my ticket, she gave me her savings.”

“Amber knew about your plans?” Rod sighed. “They’ll squeeze the truth out of her. They could have me arrested if we don’t report right away that you’re here.”

“We love you guys,” Jack put in. “But nobody’s above the law.”

“If they stick me in boarding school, I’ll run away from there, too.” Fire flashed in Tiffany’s eyes. Anya shuddered at the prospect of the girl wandering alone in some foreign city, an easy target for a predator.

“Please don’t put yourself in danger,” Rod said.

“If I can’t live here, they ought to at least let me visit,” Tiffany responded. “I’m going to tell them that when I get home.”

“Oh, dear.” Helen’s shoulders slumped. “I heard Vince say to your mother...”

“What?” Tiffany demanded.

“That I’m a bad influence because I indulge you girls. And once Vince’s mind is made up, he’s a bulldozer. I’m afraid he’ll cut me off completely.”

Vince was clearly a control freak. He couldn’t stand sharing the girls with anyone.

“My opinion of that man isn’t fit for polite company,” Rod growled.

“I did talk to a lawyer in town,” Helen said. “I could file with the court for visitation rights. But they’d fight it, and you know how much money Vince has. He’d bankrupt me before he’d give in.”

Unless they found a solution, Tiffany faced a difficult and possibly disastrous adolescence, Anya thought. Although it wasn’t her place to interfere, she did have an idea. “May I make a suggestion?”

Mixed expressions greeted this remark. Rod spoke first. “I appreciate your concern, Anya, but you’re not familiar with any of the people involved.”

“She was a teenage girl herself not long ago. Let’s hear what she has to say.” Jack’s encouragement finally drew a nod from his uncle.

Anya addressed the girl. “They won’t let you visit your dad, but your grandmother isn’t getting any younger. You and your sister are old enough to spend a week or two with her during vacations. And then you can discreetly visit your dad.”

“Vince won’t let us do anything that isn’t his idea,” Tiffany replied bitterly.

“Surely your mom has some influence. Play the guilt card,” Anya persisted. “Grandmothers are precious, and I’m sure she could use two helpers for spring cleaning. It would give your parents a break, too, during vacation.”

“They already get a break. They stick us in camps, like music camp and swim camp and soccer camp.” Despite the objection, a note of hope brightened the girl’s voice.

“I would love to have them here. They’re growing up so fast.” Helen gazed fondly at her granddaughter. “And it would be wonderful to do some spring cleaning together.”

“I’d like that. Amber would, too,” Tiffany replied. “Could we visit Daddy and Uncle Jack while we’re here?”

“Not officially,” Rod told her. “If your parents get wind that I’m involved, they’ll forbid you to come. They might even file a restraining order against me.”

Jack leaned forward. “I’ll bet we could arrange something if we’re careful, though.”

That was exactly what Anya had had in mind. She wondered if she should speak again or let the others carry the ball from here.

Helen clasped her hands in her lap. “But if Portia and that husband of hers found out I let you spend time with the girls, they’ll cut off all contact with me.”

“I suppose that’s a risk,” Jack conceded.

Anya cleared her throat. Everyone turned to her, with varying degrees of curiosity and skepticism.

“As I said, you have to be discreet,” she ventured. “But, Helen, surely you have friends who could take the girls on outings. It wouldn’t be your fault if they happen to run into their dad.”

“You’re a sneaky little thing,” Rod said appreciatively.

“I grew up in a family that tried to run my life even after I was grown,” she explained. “I learned the less I told them, the better.”

“Some of the hospital staff have school-age children,” Jack remarked. “There are lots of possibilities for playdates at a park or the beach.”

Rod grinned. “If I ran into them, naturally I’d offer to spring for lunch.”

“Thanks for the idea,” Helen told Anya. “I don’t suppose you have children, do you? You’d be a splendid parent.”

“Not yet.” With a twist of pain, she remembered the news she’d received this evening. I will have a child for about five minutes—until her forever mom claims her.

A dozen years from now, how would her child feel about being adopted? Anya supposed different kids had different responses. Tiffany had been torn up about Rod’s supposed abandonment, but that was because they’d formed a bond. A birth mother who relinquished her baby wasn’t rejecting her. Exactly the opposite. You had to do what was best for the child.

“I have another idea! Amber and I could go to the movies with Anya and Jack. Like a double date.” Tiffany clearly assumed they were a couple, despite their denials. “And he could cook dinner for us. Do you still cook, Uncle Jack?”

“Rumor has it,” he replied cheerfully.

More soberly, Rod said, “None of this is guaranteed. But you should make your case, Tiff. The fact that you ran away might show them they can’t keep you under lock and key. Let’s hope Amber hasn’t mentioned that you planned to contact me.”

“I swore her to secrecy.” The girl toyed with the end of her braid. “She knows Vince would go ballistic.”

“When you talk to them, don’t forget to lay on the guilt,” Anya reminded her. “Emphasize how unfair they’re being to your grandmother.”

“Their poor aging grandmother,” Helen said lightly. “Who can’t do a proper spring cleaning anymore.”

“Not that anyone could tell.” Anya wasn’t about to mention the spiderwebs on the front windows. Even if the detail reinforced Tiffany’s case, it would only embarrass her grandmother.

The girl bounced with excitement. “I’ll act totally pathetic. This is great! Thank you, Anya. I can’t wait till you’re my aunt.”

Heat rushed to her cheeks. “Jack and I aren’t dating, sweetie. We just work together.”

Rod studied her. Anya hoped he hadn’t changed his mind about her so drastically that he might play matchmaker. She hadn’t meant to be that helpful.

“Now that we have a plan, I’ll go call your mother,” Helen said.

Taking that as her cue, Anya stood. “It’s been great meeting you and Tiffany.”

“Do you have to leave already?” the girl asked. “I like you.”

“I like you, too.” And truthfully, Anya hoped she’d see Rod’s daughter again. “But I have to hit the hay. Surgical nurses start work at 7:00 a.m. That means rolling out of bed by 5:30 a.m.”

“Does Uncle Jack roll out of bed by 5:30 a.m., too?” his niece asked mischievously.

Anya blushed. “I wouldn’t know.”

“You’re grown-ups. That means you can sleep together, right?” Tiffany teased.

“Where’d you pick up that idea?” Rod demanded. “I thought your parents monitored your media access.”

“Everybody knows about that stuff.” Tiffany patted his arm. “Don’t worry, Daddy. I don’t have a boyfriend yet.”

“That’s one thing I approve of,” he said with mock gruffness.

Anya said her goodbyes. “Back in a sec,” Jack told the others, then followed her outside.

“We have something to discuss,” she began as they walked toward her car.

“Maybe tomorrow.”

She’d prefer to get this over with. “It’s important.”

He didn’t seem to hear her, though. “What was my aunt thinking, shutting Rod out of the girls’ lives? Rod’s their father in every sense that counts. You can’t sever a bond like that, no matter how many lawyers you hire.”

In this state, Jack wouldn’t take her news well, Anya conceded. “Tomorrow night, then. Let’s find a moment to talk, okay?”

“I remember flying home from college right after Tiffany was born,” he continued, oblivious. “Holding her in my arms... She was a little cutie with her red hair. I got this wild rush, like it was my job to protect her from the world. Isn’t that nuts? I was twenty years old.”

“Kind of a strong reaction.” In the glow of a streetlamp, Anya clicked open her car lock. “You’re only their uncle. Or cousin. Or whatever.”

“Yes, whatever,” he said dourly. “But it doesn’t matter that we aren’t genetically related. We’re family. And families mean more to me than to most people.”

She stopped. “Why?”

“Because for most of my childhood, I missed out on having one.” Jack dug his hands into his pockets.

He hardly struck Anya as the product of a deprived upbringing. “You grew up in foster homes?”

“Not exactly.”

“What does that mean?”

“My dad was a firefighter who died in a fire when I was three.” Jack stared down the dark street. “My mother wasn’t the domestic type, and after Dad died, she stopped trying to be. She adopted one cause after another and travels all over the world, saving the subjugated women of India and Africa. And South America. And Central America. And probably the South Pole.”

“Surely she took you along.” Anya had no idea how anyone could raise a child under those circumstances, but it might be exciting and educational.

“She dragged me here and there until I reached kindergarten. Then she dumped me on my grandparents.” Bitterness underscored his words.

At five years old, his mother had left him? That was harsh. With a shiver, Anya tried to relate his mother’s actions to her own situation. To her, it seemed an entirely different matter. But Jack might not see it that way.

“Grandparents are family, too,” she said.

“Mine weren’t even prepared to have Rod, a surprise midlife baby. He’s thirteen years younger than my mom, and they certainly weren’t eager to add a grandchild to the mix.” Jack seemed lost in his painful past. “Physically, they took care of me, but I grew up feeling as if I wasn’t wanted there. It was lonely.”

The opposite of me. Anya had often longed for less family. “Wasn’t your uncle like a brother?”

“A much older brother. He was a teenager when I was in grade school,” Jack said. “It was later that we got close.”

She shook her head. “I had no idea. Are your grandparents still around?”

“They died a few months apart while I was in high school.” A hurt look shadowed his face. “It felt like the end of the world to me. They may not have been perfect, but at least I had a home.”

“What about your mom?” Surely the woman had stepped up to the plate at such a critical point.

“After the funeral, she offered to fly me to Central America, where she was living in a jungle hut or something like that,” Jack said tightly. “She was vague about her circumstances, which I took to mean she’d rather I stayed here.”

“What did you do?” Anya wished she could soothe his sadness. She’d always pictured Jack as a secure person from a solid, supportive background.

“I moved in with Rod. He was in medical school by then and too busy to spend much time with me, but we got along. I received my father’s survivor benefits from Social Security, so that covered my share of expenses, and I did my best to be useful.”

“That’s why you learned to cook?”

“Along with other household skills.” He shrugged. “That’s how my childhood went. Better than for a lot of kids, but not exactly storybook.” Jack glanced toward the house. “That’s why it tears me apart to see Tiffany and Amber growing up like this. Being rich doesn’t compensate for feeling unloved and unvalued.”

“Surely their mother loves them.”

“Not enough to put their interests ahead of hers,” he said grimly.

Anya had no intention of discussing that subject. Instead, she sent forth a small feeler. “I don’t suppose you want children of your own, considering how unhappy you were.”

Deep green eyes bored into hers. “If I’m ever lucky enough to have them, I’ll be there for them one hundred percent. They’ll be the most important things in my life.”

What a devoted father he’d make, Anya thought, but how realistic was his promise? As a surgeon, he had to work long hours. The person who’d really be there morning, noon and night was the mother.

Still, seeing his hurt, feeling his unhappiness, Anya couldn’t help wanting to fix things for him. But she knew where that path led. She had the best of intentions but eventually her patience wore out, and she made dangerous mistakes.

She’d tried to be the perfect substitute for her mom with her younger siblings and to help at home as her mother’s rheumatoid arthritis grew progressively worse. Molly had put on a cheerful face for her husband and the triplets, but Anya had noticed the swollen joints and profound fatigue, the weight loss and the discouragement as one promising medication after another proved disappointing.

Anya had been exhausted by the extra work and—much as she regretted it—sometimes resentful. During her senior year in college, she was studying for exams one weekend and had decided to ignore her mother’s call for assistance from downstairs, just for a few minutes. Please, let someone else help her this once, Anya had thought. Unaware that everyone else had gone out, she’d concentrated on her textbook until she heard a sickening crash.

Trying to go to the bathroom alone, Molly had fallen and sprained her hip. Aching for her mother and filled with guilt, Anya had spent the next few days sleeping in her mother’s hospital room to make sure no such accident happened again. She’d also endured furious lectures from her father about failing those who relied on her yet again.

Then on the exams she’d received her lowest grades ever, losing a chance at a grant for a graduate program. Anya had given up her goal of becoming a nurse practitioner with her own practice. Instead, she’d taken a job at a hospital in Denver, continuing to make the hour-long commute from her small town until she’d gained enough experience and enough self-confidence to move out of state.

It was only two years later, and Anya wasn’t ready to tackle a lifelong commitment to a child or a man. Her baby would have as close to an ideal childhood as she could arrange, though—with an adoptive family. As for how Jack might react when he learned about her pregnancy, she’d rather not be there.

She’d learned the hard way that avoidance was often a wiser tactic than blunt honesty. She’d admitted to Dad what had happened that day with her mother and had received a tongue-lashing.

Yes, she’d let Jack calm down on his own rather than lash out at her out of shock. In fact, the more distance she put between them, the better. Suddenly, Karen’s house seemed like a haven.

“It was great meeting your niece,” she told him.

The tension eased from his body. “You were great. Thank you.”

“Glad to do it.” As she slid into the car, Anya added, “By the way, my roommate and I are moving.”

“Moving?” Dismay replaced his warmth. “What about your lease?”

“It’s up for renewal, and this will be cheaper,” she said. “We’re only going a few miles, to Karen Wiggins’s house. See you at work!”

Quick escape: turn on the ignition, pull out from the curb, wave blithely and go! In the rearview mirror, she saw Jack staring after her, openmouthed.

As she drove home, Anya processed the fact that she’d just committed to living with four other people, including Lucky, who was annoyingly nosy. And she still had to deal with informing Jack about his impending fatherhood.

Look on the bright side. Literally. In Karen’s airy house, her African violet had a better shot at survival.

And so did Anya’s hard-won peace of mind.

Chapter Four

“Manager or police?” Jack asked.

His uncle studied the dented blue van blocking their carport spaces. “I’m guessing the driver hasn’t gone far. It’ll be faster if we wait.”

“I’d rather call someone, but you’re probably right.” At 11:00 a.m. on a Sunday morning, Jack’s stomach was growling for brunch at Waffle Heaven. “I figured now that you have your car back, we’d be bulletproof. If one doesn’t start, we could take the other. Then this jerk blocked us both.”

“Shall we punch him when he shows up?” Rod asked drily.

“You do the punching,” Jack said. “A surgeon’s hands have to be protected.”

“It takes dexterity to insert my tubes and syringes,” his uncle replied. “How about I sit on him while you administer the beating?”

“What if he is a she?” Jack asked.

“Let’s do rock paper scissors,” his uncle proposed.

“To decide whether we call the police or to decide which of us messes up our hands?”

They broke off their nonsensical discussion when they heard voices from around the corner of the nearest apartment unit.

“Angle it to your left! No, your other left,” a man ordered.

“It’s tilting!” squawked a woman.

“Hang in there, Anya. Zora, get over here!”

Shoes shuffled on the sidewalk. “Okay, I have it.”

They came into view on the walkway, navigating the narrow path between low-growing palms and bushes. With Anya and Zora was the male nurse Jack had met a few days earlier. Even though the temperature had barely reached the low sixties, he was wearing a sleeveless undershirt, displaying his expansive tattoos.

Behind him, Anya helped her roommate support the other end of a faded purple couch. She’d tied back her dark hair and donned an oversize T-shirt that ought to be shapeless. But on her, every movement reminded Jack of the tempting curves underneath.

“That,” announced Rod to the group, “is a truly ugly sofa. Dare I hope you’re taking that purple monstrosity to the Dumpster?”

“It isn’t purple,” said Anya. “It’s orchid.”

Her roommate’s thin face poked out from behind the couch. “It’s for the second-floor landing.” She blew a curl of reddish-brown hair off her temple. “Nobody has to see it but us.”

“Hauling it upstairs is going to be a fun job,” Lucky muttered. Served him right for playing rooster in the henhouse, in Jack’s opinion. “Are we blocking you doctors?”

“Yes, and we’re hungry,” Rod answered.

Show no weakness in front of Anya. Especially not while this guy was hefting furniture and rippling his muscles. “I’m not that hungry. We can pitch in.” As if to defy his speech, Jack’s stomach rumbled. Hoping no one had heard, he marched over to boost the women’s end of the couch. They released it willingly.

Reaching the van, the men maneuvered it inside. A few minutes of grunting and shifting later, they’d fitted it in place. By then, Anya and Zora had disappeared between the buildings.

As Jack jumped down, the male nurse said, “I’ll get the van out of your way. We don’t want to inconvenience you lords of the realm.”

Did the man resent all physicians or just the two of them specifically? Jack had learned—more or less by chance—that Lucky worked for the distinguished head of the men’s fertility program. He doubted the fellow leveled snide remarks at the famed Dr. Cole Rattigan. But apparently an anesthesiologist and an ordinary ob-gyn were fair game.

“Don’t bother,” Jack said. “We’re fine.”

Rod rolled his eyes. “What if they run out of waffles?”

“Honestly!” Jack growled.

“Go ahead. I can handle this,” Lucky assured them.

Jack refused to let Anya see him as a lazy slug who whisked off for a leisurely meal while others, especially her, labored. “With a few more hands, you’ll finish faster.”

Lucky rolled his shoulders, producing loud cracks. “Suit yourself.”

The women reappeared, arms full of mismatched towels and sheets wrapped in clear plastic bags. “Amazing. The ladies copied our color scheme,” Rod said.

Zora peered dubiously at the linens in hues ranging from pink to purple to olive-green. “This is a color scheme?”

“Dr. Vintner has a dry sense of humor.” Anya lugged her towels to the open van.

On the upper level, Lucky took them from her arms. “Didn’t I mention we should bring out the chairs and table before the small stuff?”

The women exchanged glances. “Huh,” said Anya. “Did he?”

“Maybe, but these were on top of them,” Zora responded.

“And you couldn’t put them on the floor?” Lucky asked.

The guy was blowing his opportunity to appear heroic, Jack thought. And although the man’s peevishness appeared to be aimed at the redhead, Anya was the one who spoke up. “Don’t make a federal case out of it. Pile them on the couch.”

With an annoyed click of the tongue, Lucky obeyed.

Rod, still planted on the sidewalk, smiled pleasantly and said to him, “It’s nice when roommates get along so well.”

“I’m sure they’ll work it out,” Jack told him. “Once they’ve moved in and all.”

“They might end up with blood on the sofa,” his uncle answered. “Which would be an improvement.”

Another tenant, backing out of the opposite carport, glared at them while maneuvering around the van. Lucky waved in a friendly manner, and the man tilted his head in grudging acknowledgment.

“Out of curiosity, how many bathrooms does this house have?” Rod inquired, eyeing the towels.

“Three and a half,” said Zora.

“For how many people?”

“Five.” Lucky jumped down from the van.

“That’s not bad, but you’ll have a traffic jam if you work the same hours.” Rod adjusted his fedora to block the sunlight.

Anya sighed. “I’d have killed for that many bathrooms when I was growing up. We had two for nine people.”

“One of our bathrooms is in my suite downstairs,” Lucky said. “You’re welcome to use it whenever you want.”

“Thanks.” She gave the nurse a vague smile.

Jack tried not to scowl. “Why don’t we bring down the rest of the furniture?”

“Sounds like a plan.” Anya gave Jack a vague smile, too.

Half an hour later his muscles were throbbing, but he would have rather worked to the point of collapse than admit defeat.

Fortunately, he was in the right place when Anya, approaching the parking lot with a box marked Dishes, halted abruptly, the color draining from her face.

“Are you okay?” Jack rushed to relieve her of the box but had to dodge a near-collision with Lucky.

“I’ve got it.” The male nurse snatched the container from Anya’s shaky grasp.

Zora approached, struggling antlike with a crate much too large for her. “Anya? Are you sick?”

“Go on,” her roommate told her. “I’m fine.”

“Well, okay.” Zora staggered toward the truck. Lucky ignored her.

“Sit down.” Jack took Anya’s elbow. “I’m speaking as a doctor.”

“Yes, a nurse couldn’t possibly figure out what she should do.” Lucky sent him a poisonous glare and carted off the dishes.

“I can manage.” All the same, Anya leaned on Jack as he escorted her to a wrought-iron bench bordered by flowering bushes.

From around the corner, Rod appeared, carrying a toilet plunger and a pack of bath tissue. “Doing my bit,” he announced, waving the lightweight items in the air and strolling on his way.

Jack gladly refocused his attention on Anya. How vulnerable she looked, sitting there twisting the hem of that huge T-shirt. “Can I get you some water?”

“No, thanks. I just drank half a glass.” She sucked in a breath, as if gathering strength from the fragrance of the flowers. Despite the cool air, she must have overheated from her exertion.

To distract her, Jack said, “I’ve been meaning to tell you how terrific you were with Tiffany.” They hadn’t had a chance to talk privately since Thursday.

“How’d things work out for her?”

His niece’s freckled face popped into his head. He’d been thinking about Tiff a lot these past few days. “When her parents learned she was safe, they were relieved for about thirty seconds before they became furious.”

“Understandable, I suppose,” Anya said. “They must have been worried sick.”

“Helen said they blistered the phone. She refused to let them talk to Tiffany until they calmed down.”

“Good for her.” Anya tucked a wedge of dark hair behind her ear. She’d lost her clip, he noticed. “Did they drive up?”

“They flew into Orange County in their private jet.” John Wayne Airport, the closest to Safe Harbor, accommodated both commercial and private aircraft.

“That’s a short hop.” Anya swallowed, still struggling with whatever was bothering her.

“Twenty minutes in the air, I gather.” Judging by how tense she’d become when he’d just sat beside her, touching her wouldn’t be welcomed, so Jack folded his arms and went on talking. “However, with all the arrangements, it took them about two hours, roughly the same as if they drove. But that wouldn’t have satisfied Vince’s sense of importance. That gave us time to order pizza and play a round of Monopoly.”

“Who won?” Anya asked.

“Rod.” Jack smiled at the memory of his uncle battling for turf with Tiffany, both of them relishing each small victory and flourishing every Get Out of Jail Free card. “He’s a tough customer.”

“He didn’t cut a twelve-year-old any slack?”

“Kids can’t deal with life if parents pave every step of their path,” the anesthesiologist responded, sauntering back from the truck.

“I don’t imagine her parents are making her life easy,” Anya said.

“A reasonable point.” He stepped aside for Lucky and Zora to file by. “However, there’s a difference between berating a child, as they do, and teaching her that concentration and strategy pay off.”

Hoping his uncle would move on so he could have Anya to himself again, Jack narrowed his eyes. “Yes, Monopoly is an excellent metaphor for life.”

“Also, I like to win.” With a grin, Rod departed.

“You didn’t run into the parents, did you?” Anya’s cheeks had regained some of their healthy pink color. “Considering the legal issues, that would have been awkward.”

“We aren’t suicidal,” Jack assured her. “Helen asked Portia to phone when she landed, so we knew when to clear out.”

“Then how do you know what happened when they got there?”

“Helen called.” Rod had said the older woman had been near tears on the phone.

“Was it bad?”

“Vince stormed into the house and called Tiff a spoiled brat.” Although Jack had never met the man in person, he’d seen pictures. Vince came across as large and intimidating, even in a headshot.

“He sounds awful.” Anya’s dark eyes smoldered. “What a bully.”

“Tiff’s not easily cowed.” Jack was proud of his niece. “She had to work hard at appearing contrite, according to Helen. Then she took your advice and cried to her mom about how much she’d missed her grandmother. That it was cruel to deprive an old lady of her grandchildren. Also, she mentioned something about spiderwebs and dust.”

“Did it work?”

“Helen thinks her daughter was swayed, but there’s no telling what Vince will decide.” Jack’s aunt had always struck him as a strong person—maybe a little too strong, in view of the way she’d treated Rod—but she seemed unwilling or unable to stand up to her second husband. “Even if he agrees, they might choose to fly Helen to San Diego rather than letting Tiff and Amber come here.”

“Let’s hope not.” It was Rod, toting a small reading lamp. “The girls need a break before those people crush their spirits.”

“Tiffany doesn’t strike me as crushable,” Anya said. “But if she runs away again, she might end up who knows where.”

Jack had no intention of allowing that to happen. “I made it very clear that if she can’t reach Rod or Helen, I’d meet her anywhere, anytime.”

Her hand fluttered to his arm. “You really care about her. That’s so sweet.”

He fought down the instinct to gather her close. “Of course.”

Rod cleared his throat, but apparently reconsidered whatever he’d been about to say and vanished toward the parking lot. For once, he’d picked up on the vibes around him and showed a trace of sensitivity. And I’m sure I’ll hear about it later.

Anya lifted her hand. “Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about,” Jack told her.

“Listen.” In the dappled sunlight, she raised her face to his. The soft light emphasized the velvet texture of her skin and the fullness of her lips. “We should meet for coffee. Or tea. Or juice.”

Finally, she was ready to move past this tough patch in their relationship. “Any beverage will do.” Encouraged that she’d taken this step of her own volition, Jack cupped her hands in his. “Now that you’re moving to Karen’s house, we won’t be running into each other outside of work. I’d like to remedy that. I miss you.”

She swayed closer, then slid her hands free and scooted back. If he’d been paying attention to their surroundings, he’d have heard the footsteps, too. Jack would gladly have kicked Lucky and Zora, except that might have made them drop the TV they were carrying.

Agonizing seconds passed. When they were alone again, he asked, “What day is good for you?”

“For what?”

“Drinks.”

“Oh, that.” Anya studied him as if seeking the answer to an unasked question. “Just suppose...what if Tiffany and her sister had to move away somewhere that you and Rod would never see them? I mean, if it was best for them. Like, witness protection.”

What a bizarre idea. “There are no circumstances under which my nieces would not need their father,” Jack responded vehemently.

“Oh.”

She seemed to shrink away.

What was that about? Surely she knew his anger wasn’t directed at her. “I could meet you tomorrow afternoon when you get off.” Jack worked an overnight shift on Sundays in labor and delivery, so he had Mondays free. Well, free aside from sleeping.

Rod bustled past on the walkway, whistling and keeping his gaze trained ahead. He didn’t have to be so obvious about ignoring them, but it was better than if he’d stopped to gab.

“No, the whole thing is a bad idea.” Anya stood up. “We work together. Let’s keep it professional.”

“Wait a minute.” She was the one who’d proposed to meet for a drink. “Is this a game?”

“I beg your pardon?”

Jack brushed off his slacks as he stood. “I realize you weren’t feeling well...”

“Probably low blood pressure,” she said.

“Regardless, that’s no excuse for jerking me around.” He’d interrupted his breakfast plans and overtaxed his muscles, which would now probably hurt like hell during the long night ahead. That was all fine—she hadn’t requested his assistance, and he didn’t begrudge a few aches and pains—but it was unfair to suggest they meet for coffee and then behave as if he had pressured her. “If you’d rather I kept my distance, fine. But don’t issue invitations you don’t mean.”

“I didn’t...it wasn’t like that.” A familiar pucker appeared between her eyes.

Jack nearly softened. She had an astonishing ability to stir his protective instincts. But no one had appointed him her guardian. She had plenty of friends, and if she’d rather drink coffee or simply hang out with the other nurses, male or female, that was her business.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better,” he told her. “If it’s low blood pressure, you should eat something.”

“Crackers.” She swallowed. “I think we packed them. But that’s okay. Karen and Melissa promised to fix sandwiches.”

Lucky strode by. “The first of many meals. I don’t suppose you’ve seen the updated kitchen? It’s impressive.”

“No.” Jack was sure he had a much better idea of how to make the most of a kitchen than Lucky did.

“And all that space!” the man crowed. “Once we settle in, it will be a fantastic party house.”

“Knock yourself out.” Jack had endured enough veiled taunts for one day. Also, he realized, the apartment must be nearly empty by now. “I’ll let you folks finish on your own. Enjoy your sandwiches.”

“Thanks for the help,” said Anya.

“Don’t mention it.”

He’d reached the parking lot before he remembered that the van still blocked their cars. Then he spotted Rod’s distinctive fedora. His uncle was facing a statuesque lady in formfitting green slacks and a halter top. Golden-brown hair floated around a determined face as she waved.

“Hi,” Jack called. What was the Realtor’s name? Della? Danielle? It always reminded him of old-fashioned countertops. Formica. No, that wasn’t right.

“Danica was just mentioning she had a couple of very lonely apple pies,” Rod informed him.

“There’s more than I can eat,” Danica confirmed. “It’s my mother’s closely guarded recipe. Homemade crusts, too.”

“With whipped cream, they’ll be better than waffles,” Rod said. “There is whipped cream, isn’t there?”

He noticed a mischievous glint in her eye, hinting that the whipped cream might be put to all sorts of creative uses. “Absolutely. And espresso.”

He’d struck out with Anya, so why not? “Sounds wonderful,” Jack said. “Very kind of you.”

“My pleasure.”

The real estate agent linked one arm through Rod’s and the other through his as if laying claim to them both. That didn’t last long, though, since it was impossible to climb the exterior steps in that formation. As they were separating, he caught Anya’s expression from behind the truck.

She looked...hurt. Or was he kidding himself?

Much as Jack enjoyed her company, he was done behaving like a teenager with a crush. If she chose to retreat from what they’d shared and return to acting strictly professionally he respected that.

Besides, he was starving.

Chapter Five

Empty of furnishings, the apartment had a pathetic air, Anya thought as she took a last look around. Matted patches of carpet revealed the shapes of their sofa and chairs. But after the management had the place professionally cleaned, those marks would vanish, leaving no sign of the two women who had spent a year within these walls.

When she’d agreed to pair up with Zora, Anya had been happy to bid farewell to the motel suite she’d been living in since her arrival from Colorado. Anya had found a sympathetic soul in her roommate, who’d been licking the wounds of her husband’s betrayal. The women had formed a team as they popped corn, shared movie nights and, playing on their names, joked about being experts on everything from A to Z.

Now that transitional period of their lives was ending. Maybe that explained Anya’s rush of nostalgia. Also, she would no longer enjoy the awareness that just around the corner of the next building dwelled a guy with a devilish grin and the most skillful hands she’d ever encountered, in or out of an operating room.

She hadn’t meant to drive him to that rapacious woman who flaunted her surgically enhanced breasts at every opportunity. Right now, they must be sitting at that woman’s table with their legs bumping underneath. Anya hoped Rod was bumping his legs in there, too.

And she still had to break the news of her pregnancy to Jack. That comment about his nieces needing their father, no matter what the circumstances, didn’t bode well for gaining his consent to adoption. Yet surely he wouldn’t raise a baby by himself. And he couldn’t force Anya to take on a role for which she was completely unprepared.

Their child deserved better. Surely he’d see that eventually, but she dreaded the confrontation. His attitude only reinforced her belief that she should entrust the task of informing him to someone else.

After checking her bedroom for overlooked objects, Anya peeked into the bathroom. The medicine cabinet was empty, no leftover shampoo in the tub...oh, wait. There on the windowsill sat the remarkably robust African violet. Far from withering away, it was thriving. Perhaps, as she’d read on the internet, it really did prefer humidity and filtered light.

She’d intended to toss it in the trash, but it would be cruel to kill a blossoming plant. Lowering it, Anya admired the dark fuzzy leaves and tiny purple flowers. “You deserve another chance, no matter who gave you to me,” she murmured as she exited the bathroom. “It isn’t your fault Jack knocked me up.”

A gasp from the kitchen was followed within milliseconds by a crash. Dismayed to realize she’d been overheard, Anya stared at a shocked Zora as she rushed into the kitchen.

Freckles stood out against her roommate’s face. “He what? You’re what?”

“Forget you heard that,” Anya commanded, despite the futility of such a request.

“See what you made me do!” Zora transferred her distress to the shattered millefiori vase, its delicate colors and swirling, kaleidoscope-like neck reduced to shards on the kitchen floor.

“I thought you gave that away.” The beautiful vase had been an anniversary gift from the treacherous Andrew, who’d bought it on a business trip to Italy.

“Like you said, there’s no sense blaming an object just because a jerk gave it to you.” Zora scraped up the broken pieces with paper towels.

“You have to get over him,” Anya told her.

“He’s still my husband,” her friend retorted. A few months ago, Zora had gone so far as to throw a divorce party in the hospital cafeteria, proclaiming how happy she was to be free. But clearly she was neither happy nor, technically, free.

Anya refused to act as an enabler. “Andrew hasn’t signed the final papers only because you haven’t forced him to. He enjoys keeping you dangling. It’s a power trip.”

“Maybe he hasn’t signed them because he still has feelings for me.” Zora dumped the shards into a plastic trash bag.

Lucky stomped through the front door, which they’d propped open. “Did I hear what I think I heard? You’re hanging on to that cheater? You’re an idiot.”

Zora shot him an unladylike gesture. Anya wished Lucky would quit meddling in their business. Just because he’d overheard their conversation didn’t mean he had the right to pass judgment. Besides, whereas Anya’s criticisms were prompted by concern for her friend’s well-being, his motive was less charitable.

Most of the hospital staff had forgiven Zora for her husband-stealing once nurse Stacy Layne had happily remarried. But Lucky had taken the situation to heart because Stacy had married his beloved boss; therefore, he resented any and all harm that had ever been done to her.

“Let’s lock up, okay?” Anya said. “Melissa and Karen must be wondering if we had an accident on the drive over.”

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