A Baby for the Doctor

“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.”