Bluegrass Baby

But the next accusation her conscience hurled at her struck hard, knocking the wind out of her like a tumble from a tree and a belly flop on the lawn.

What if the Canfields learned that Milla and the pediatrician who would testify in her defense were sleeping together?

Things were certain to get uglier than they already were.

Sure, Milla and Kyle both knew the Canfields didn’t have a case. But malpractice suits didn’t have to be based on medical logic. The Canfields could sue—and win—without having any concrete medical evidence. If taken to court, the publicity alone would hurt the Janice Foster Clinic, as well as Milla’s reputation. And the case would also result in higher malpractice insurance premiums for her and the clinic.

No, the problems the malpractice suit could bring hadn’t disappeared. And, in fact, they had probably been compounded by her decision to make love to the doctor who would testify on her behalf.

Kyle slept soundly, obviously having no qualms about their night of passion.

But Milla had plenty of reservations. And regrets. No matter how good it had been.

Carefully slipping away from his embrace, she quietly dressed and tiptoed from his room. She grabbed her purse and heels from the living room, not taking time to slip on her shoes, and stole out of the house.

A small, adolescent voice inside called out, Hey! What about Kyle? What about what we just shared?

But Milla needed to face the truth. There couldn’t be anything between her and Kyle. Not now.

What if he calls? the young voice cried. What will you tell him?

The voice of reason stepped in to answer. Kyle is probably a player, just like his dad—a guy who loved whatever lady he was with.

If Kyle called her—which wasn’t likely, given his playboy daddy’s blood—she’d tell him their…intimacy had been a mistake.

Milla Johnson had enough to worry about without the complications a relationship with Kyle Bingham would bring.

Chapter Three

Milla arrived home while the stars still glittered in the morning sky.

Once inside the small, darkened bedroom she shared with her mother, she moved quietly, but only as a courtesy—not out of fear of discovery. Milla had never had any trouble standing up to her mom when they’d had confrontations. But she was much too tired to stir things up now.

“Is that you, honey?” her mom asked, voice heavy with sleep.

“Yes, it’s me. I’m sorry for waking you.”

“It’s all right. Those babies never choose a convenient time to be born, do they?”

Milla bit her lip and held back a response. As a midwife, she’d spent many nights at the bedside of a laboring woman, providing obstetrical skill and support. It was a job she loved, a career in which she thrived despite its demands on her time.

It was natural for Sharon Johnson to assume her daughter had been working.

Milla had always been honest, even if that honesty ruffled a few maternal feathers, but she couldn’t bring herself to speak or to respond one way or the other.

She looked at her mother’s blanketed form and watched as her mom tugged at the covers, rolled over, faced the wall and blocked out the nocturnal intrusion, intending to go back to sleep. The woman was completely and blissfully unaware that her daughter had spent most of the night locked in Kyle Bingham’s arms.

Milla hadn’t lied—exactly. Of course, God probably kept a count of those pesky omissions, but she was too tired to think about that now. Too tired to feel guilty.

Well, too tired to feel guilty about anything other than making love to a man her mother wouldn’t approve of. An experienced lover who’d taken her to the heights of sexual pleasure, again and again, coaxing multiple orgasms with ease.

Milla blew out a weary sigh and drew back the comforter that covered her twin bed. Then she climbed between the freshly laundered sheets, hoping to get an hour or two of sleep before dawn. But it was a hope that didn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell.

An overactive mind kept her awake, taunting her with heated memories of a passion-filled night in the competent hands of an Adonis, a man she never should have kissed, let alone…

Had she clawed his back? Cried out in orgasmic release?

Yes, she had.

Kyle had brought out something wild and wicked in a usually levelheaded Milla. It both pleased and disturbed her.

At sunrise Milla gave up the struggle for rest. She showered, then started her workday sleep deprived—something she never did.

Even when she’d stayed up all night with a woman in labor, there was a sweet rush that came with delivering a baby into loving arms. A pleasant release of adrenaline that kept Milla going, awake and alert, ready to start the day.

But this was different. There was no adrenaline rush, no sense of self-satisfaction.

And Milla wasn’t at all ready to face Kyle again.

Going through the motions at work, Milla wondered whether her shift at the clinic would ever end. All she wanted to do was go home, climb back into bed and crash.

Just before noon, while Milla checked her list of afternoon appointments, Crystal Hendrix, a nurse at the clinic, handed her a note. “Dr. Bingham called while you were with Mrs. Thompson. He’s in the E.R. at the hospital and would like you to give him a call.”

“Thanks.” Milla hoped Crystal hadn’t noticed her hands shake when she took the note. She glanced at it briefly, then shoved the paper into the pocket of her white coat.

Milla wasn’t ready to speak to Kyle. What was she supposed to say? “Thanks for the great sex?”

Most women would be dying for another date, a repeat performance. But not Milla. And her reasons were legion, as were the vast array of emotions she’d grown tired of contemplating.

Maybe she’d just state the simple truth.

Dr. Kyle Bingham and Milla Johnson shouldn’t have become involved. For professional reasons.

Yes, that’s what she would tell him. When she returned his call, of course.

But that wouldn’t happen today. Not when her mind was rheumy and her body tired.

Milla glanced at her wristwatch, then back at her list of patients. Maybe she could cut out early today, after seeing Sue Ellen Henderson at three o’clock. Then she could zip over to the school, pick up Dylan and head home.

She would call Kyle tomorrow.

Or maybe the day after that.

Milla pulled her car into the parking lot at Daniel Boone Elementary, where the school district sponsored a summer program for kids. The gray brick building with dirty white trim sat before her like a ghost town. It was summer and the kids were all out on the playground or in one of the four white trailers that served as temporary classrooms. She wondered if the school district planned to paint and repair the building before fall.

She hoped so. A bright and clean learning environment would benefit all the kids, not just Dylan, who struggled academically. Her eight-year-old cousin was bright and sweet, but for some reason he couldn’t seem to stay focused and on track. Neither could he stay out of trouble.

Milla had asked his pediatrician about an organic cause to Dylan’s behavior and had been assured there wasn’t one.