Baby, Baby

The how fell into place before Faith reached the sidewalk. Local newspapers had built a headline story out of the death of Michael Cameron’s first multiple-organ transplant patient. Faith had briefly glimpsed today’s front page. At the time, she’d only registered pain—to think Lacy wasn’t to be allowed dignity in death. Her sister had despised the condition she thought had stolen her independence. Lacy had been terrified of becoming a burden to others. She would have hated having her weaknesses exposed to the world.

As she hailed a cab, it struck Faith that the who—the two men making demands at the hospital—wasn’t really any great mystery. One of them would be the great Dr. Cameron himself. The other, probably the married playboy. Kipp, the sailor with no last name.

It wouldn’t be long before Faith ferreted out the why, she thought grimly as she paid the driver, and quickly entered the hospital by a side door. Not that anything either man had to say would change the facts. Lacy’s last request had been for Faith to keep her baby safe from the likes of those two. She had papers saying so.

For good measure, Faith stopped by the admitting office and ran off two copies of the custody document. If, by the time she reached the nursery, she still felt as hostile toward the men as she did now, she’d rub their noses in the truth. Neither one of them had loved Lacy enough to stick by her during her pregnancy. As far as Faith was concerned, the jerks didn’t deserve to set eyes on the twins—and that went for the actual birth father, as well as Michael, who must suffer delusions of being the dad. Why else would Dr. Cameron be here throwing his weight around?

Staff members glanced at Faith curiously as she hurried along the corridor and took the back stairs two at a time. Obviously the grapevine had spread the word. An interested crowd would be lurking behind the potted plants in the expectant fathers’ waiting room.

Thanks to one of the larger rubber plants, Faith was afforded a good view inside the room before anyone noted her approach. Her breath did a half hitch that she couldn’t control. Michael Cameron stood near the window. His brown hair, still dark and thick, was mussed as if he’d run a hand through it several times. The inscrutable Dr. Cameron, who rarely, if ever, had a hair out of place.

No matter how hard Faith tried to control her feelings, her heart always did a slow somersault when she came across Michael unexpectedly. It irritated her that she never seemed to have that reaction to other men—eligible men.

Today Faith commanded her heart to be still. She wanted to study these two analytically—the men who’d been her sister’s lovers. Cameron’s summer khaki suit looked new. He wore a pale cream shirt and a tie that matched the gold flecks in his hazel eyes. He appeared more gaunt than when she’d last seen him more than a year ago, the previous May, at Lacy’s twenty-sixth birthday.

Good. Faith hoped his new leanness had something to do with the breakup of his marriage and wasn’t because he’d joined a fancy health club. She couldn’t tell if he was suffering. His smoldering regard centered on the room’s other occupant. But the man at whom Michael glared appeared oblivious of the daggers coming his way.

Sun-bleached hair fell in a perfect cut above the second man’s well-tanned brow. An expensive navy blazer hung loose over pristine white pants. Faith couldn’t determine the color of the stranger’s eyes. They were trained on a magazine with a sailboat on the cover.

Both men exuded an air of comfortable wealth. Faith could only hope their behavior would be as civilized as their appearance. Taking one last deep breath, she moved around the plant and into the room.

Michael was the first to notice her. He uncrossed his arms and straightened away from the window, feeling a jolt of recognition. Faith Hyatt had always been so different from Lacy. He doubted he was alone in finding it hard to believe they were sisters. Tall, blond Lacy had had an athletic build—or rather she had before she’d decided it was chic to be model-thin. She wore makeup with flair and was always experimenting with hairstyles. His ex-wife had been happiest when surrounded by people. Faith, however, was small-boned and quiet to the point of being difficult to talk to. She seemed content to spend hours on her own, yet she had a rare ability to calm the sick with a touch. If she wore any lipstick at all today, she’d chewed it off. Her fresh-scrubbed look made her seem much younger than her thirty-four years. Something about this woman had always fascinated him.

Michael had first met Faith the year before he’d completed his residency. Even then, she’d worn her walnut-brown curls in a pixie cut that emphasized her huge dark eyes. Serious eyes that studied him now as if he were an unwanted specimen under her microscope. Not surprising. She’d played mother bear too long. Lacy had been her cub. Naturally she’d transfer those nurturing habits to Lacy’s babies. His babies.

From the minute Michael had seen the article in the New York Times, describing Lacy’s pregnancy and her reputed refusal to take her anti-rejection meds, many things that hadn’t made sense to him before the divorce fell into place. For instance, Lacy’s little speech about normal women her age having kids. Her odd behavior that day. The unused packet of birth control pills he’d found after she’d virtually attacked him at the door, frantically initiating sex. A lot added up now—now that it was too late to help her. But it wasn’t too late to help their babies. The infants were said to be about four weeks premature, and that made them his. Period. Nothing left to discuss. He scowled in the other man’s direction.

Because Faith’s steps slowed as she entered the room and her uneasy brown eyes seemed to be searching for an escape route, Michael took pity on her and softened his harsh expression. Crossing the room in long strides, he reached for her trembling hand. “I’m sorry Peterson disturbed you, Faith,” he murmured. “You must have a million more important things to do today than rush down here. I can’t tell you how shocked I was to read about Lacy’s death in the Times. The report indicated she’d stopped her anti-rejection meds. I wish you’d called me when her pregnancy became obvious, Faith. Whether or not Lacy was mad at me, someone on her transplant follow-up team should have followed her prenatal care.”

Faith swallowed. “Lacy never contacted me. She never returned any of my calls. The first I knew she was pregnant was when they admitted her to the hospital. She’d had no prenatal care, Michael.”

The other man in the waiting room rose and glanced at the couple engaged in conversation. Closing his magazine, he walked to the center of the room. “You’re Faith, Lacy’s sister? I’m Kipp Fielding III. The news story I read in our paper said you’d spent time with Lacy before she, uh, went into surgery. She and I were…ah…quite close in January and February. Did she by chance mention me?”

Faith’s head snapped up. She tugged her hand from Michael’s fingers. “As a matter of fact, Mr. Fielding, she did have a few things to say about you. Except that she never revealed your last name—so you could have remained anonymous.” A rustle near the room’s entrance forced their heads around. Two nurses stood in the hall, chatting with a technician who was rearranging items on a lab cart. Faith knew at once that all ears were tuned to what was being said inside. Gossip lightened the tedious work at the hospital, provided a distraction from pain and death. In the past, Faith had been as big a participant as the next person. However, now that it involved someone she loved, she had second thoughts about the passing of possibly harmful rumors.

“Gentlemen, let me call Dr. Peterson and see if there’s a conference room available where we can talk with more privacy.”

Kipp buried his hands in his pockets. “I don’t see what there is to talk about. That baby boy is my son. He’s a Fielding. I intend to take steps to insure his birthright.”

“Now wait a damn minute.” Michael wrapped long fingers around Kipp’s jauntily striped tie. “Maybe you can’t add, Fielding, but I can. Lacy and I were still married in January. Those are my children she carried.”

A shrill whistle split the air. Both men swiveled toward the source. They gaped at Faith, who calmly removed two fingers from unsmiling lips. “Maybe you two don’t mind airing your dirty laundry in public. It so happens it’s my recently deceased sister you’re maligning. Have you no decency?”

Michael dropped his hand. “You’re absolutely right, Faith.” He cast a scowl at the eavesdroppers. “I agree we need a private place where we can settle this issue.”

Confident that she’d soon set both men straight, Faith went to the house phone and punched the hospital administrator’s number. “Dr. Peterson, please. This is Nurse Faith Hyatt. He phoned me at home earlier. I’m here in the hospital now.” She tapped her toe while she waited for him to come on the line. When she’d explained the problem, he told her the conference rooms were all in use but offered the use of his office. “Thank you,” Faith said. “We’ll be right down.”

Peterson brushed her effusive thanks aside. “It’s an honor to have Mike Cameron here. I’m on my way to the cafeteria. I’ll have them send over a tray of coffee. Oh, Nurse, when your business winds down, perhaps Dr. Cameron might take a moment to tour our new heart wing. His stamp of approval would be a boon to Good Shepherd.”

Faith sighed. “I’ll tell him.” She had no doubt he’d prefer a tour of the heart wing over a trip to the funeral home. Of course, she was probably foolish to even think Michael might ask to pay his last respects to his former wife. Hadn’t Lacy said Michael loved his work more than he loved her? If that was how things stood between them when they were married, why would he alter his attitudes after their divorce?

“Does Peterson have a room or not?” Michael spoke near her ear, making Faith jump.

“Um, yes. His office. He also said he hoped you had time to tour our new heart facility when we’ve completed our business.”

“Not today. Maybe later in the week. I’ll catch him and explain. Once we iron out this mess, I plan to spend an hour or so with my babies. And after that…” He swallowed. “Uh…if you have no objection, Faith, I’d like to see Lacy.”

His chin dropped to his chest and his eyelids closed, and she realized she’d misjudged him.

“Of c-course,” she stammered. Seeing Michael so emotional triggered her own bleak feelings again. “The service is tomorrow. It’s very small.” She named the funeral home. “Lacy didn’t have many friends left in Boston. Although…I’m not sure of that.” Suddenly flustered, Faith clasped her hands and frowned at her fingers. “Perhaps I should have an official funeral notice placed in the afternoon paper.” Peering up at Michael through her eyelashes, she asked him, “Were you aware Lacy had moved back to Boston?” Unexpectedly her eyes filled. She had to blink hard to contain the tears. “That’s another thing I don’t have any explanation for—why she didn’t let me know. It might have made a difference if she had.” A tear did creep out and slip down her cheek.

Michael gently clasped her upper arms. “Don’t beat yourself up, Faith. It’s taken me some time since she asked for the divorce to realize that Lacy always did what Lacy wanted, and to hell with how it affected others. I believe she planned this pregnancy from the getgo. It wasn’t accidental.”

Kipp broke into the conversation. “Look, I need to catch the three-o’clock shuttle back to New York. Do you suppose you two could take care of family business after we settle my parental rights?”

Faith felt like hitting his supercilious jaw. “I imagine your wife is expecting you home at the usual time. Does she have any idea where you are and what you’re doing, Mr. Fielding?”

“Wife?” Michael repeated, bristling.

The well-placed barb brought a wave of crimson to Kipp’s tanned cheeks. “Shelby doesn’t know yet, Ms. Hyatt. I assure you she’ll welcome the boy into our home once the details here are finalized and I have a chance to tell her. Shelby has wanted to adopt a child for some time.” Lowering his voice, he said hesitantly, “My father hasn’t favored adoption. He’s pressed for a blood grandson. And now he has one.”

Faith cocked her head to one side. “Lacy had twins, Mr. Fielding. A boy and a girl. You’ve only mentioned her son. But then girls can’t carry on the family name, can they?” she said coolly. In an even colder tone, she added, “Lacy’s son will never be Kipp Fielding IV if I have any say in the matter. And I have a lot of say.”

Michael stepped between the two combatants before Kipp could rebut. “Shouldn’t we go to Dr. Peterson’s office before we shed blood on this shiny tile?”

Faith clammed up immediately. She hadn’t intended to lose her temper. And she’d forgotten their audience. Aiming pointed glances at the bystanders still lurking in the hall, she squared her shoulders and marched past them. Michael and Kipp fell in behind her. Michael, though, paused at the nursery window and leaned his forehead against the glass. He cupped both hands around his eyes in order to see better.

“Lacy’s babies are in the premie unit,” Faith informed him stiffly.

Backing away from the window, Michael joined her. “The paper said they were approximately four weeks early. Are they well, Faith?”

Kipp halted midstride. “They are, aren’t they?” he demanded. “The article I read said the boy was under-weight.” He stuffed his hands into his pants pockets. “Lacy never told me she’d had organ transplants. Is there a possibility her son will inherit her medical problems?” he asked, sounding both worried and unsure.

Michael shot him an incredulous stare. “I’m a good surgeon, Fielding, but no one is that perfect at cracking open a chest. If you and Lacy got down to bare skin, fella, it’d be hard to miss her scar.”

A flush streaked up Kipp’s throat. He fingered his tie.

“Stop it, you two.” Faith pasted a smile on her face for the gray-haired woman seated behind a desk outside Dr. Peterson’s office. “The world doesn’t need to know all the sordid details of Lacy’s history. Both babies are in good health. Hal Sampson examined them. Michael, you remember him—he was pediatric chief when you were here.”

“Yes, I remember. Sampson’s top-notch.”

The men dropped back and let Faith address Peterson’s secretary. “Mrs. Lansing, I phoned Dr. Peterson a few minutes ago. I’m Faith Hyatt.”

Nodding, the woman rose and led the trio into an oak-paneled room. She pointed out a tray with a coffee carafe and cups that sat on a low table. While she withdrew, but before she closed the door, Michael poured Faith a cup of coffee, and then one for himself. “Still take cream in yours?” he asked, passing the carafe to Fielding so he could pour his own.

“Yes,” she said, surprised he’d recall such a mundane thing. “Too much straight caffeine gives me jitters. Today, especially, I’ve got enough acid running in my stomach to charge a battery.”

Michael gazed at her over the rim of his cup. “I’m sorry so much has fallen on your shoulders, Faith. How is Dwight handling Lacy’s death? Has he been any help, or are you having problems there, too?”