The Heart Doctor and the Baby. Lynne Marshall

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      “I wouldn’t run out on you.” He squeezed her shoulder.

      “I know that, Jon.” She ducked her head against his chest, something else she’d never done with him before tonight, then quickly lifted it.

      “I guess I’d better be going.” It was almost midnight.

      “When you make your decision, if it’s yes, all you have to do is give me the nod and I’ll have my attorney draw up a contract. If you do decide to help me with this, I won’t hold you responsible in any way, Jon. You have my word. I promise.”

      He took a breath and got a goofy look on his face. “In that case, we could save all kinds of trouble and do this the old-fashioned way,” he said with a devilish glint in his eyes.

      An absurd laugh escaped her lips, and she socked his arm. Jon thought more like most men than she’d imagined. “You’re such a joker.” Though in the five years she’d known him, joker was never a word she’d use to describe him.

      They’d had a conversation about creating a life without sex. He’d recited the statistics on success rates depending on his motility, and her fertility considering her age. They’d taken it to the scientific level, which made sense since they were both doctors, and he’d almost agreed to the plan. She wasn’t about to throw one major potentially mind-blowing wrench into the mix, no matter what he suggested in jest. The old-fashioned way? No way. No how.

      She bit her lip and stared at him. As their gazes fused, a new understanding bridged between them. Under the most unlikely circumstances, they’d taken their business relationship to a new level. Whether Jon decided to take her up on the deal or not, things between them would never be the same.

      Jon could run a hundred miles and still not work out the crazy mix of emotions sluicing through him. He’d woken up early—hell, he’d never officially fallen asleep by true sleep study standards—and after tossing and turning he’d gotten up before sunrise and hit the Santa Barbara foothills. What little REM time he did manage had been cluttered with vivid dreams about babies and doctor babes, outlandish propositions and some interesting positions, too. At one point, René had straddled him. He liked that part of his dream, yet it had made him sit bolt upright, disoriented. And poof, the sexy vision had vanished.

      A sudden steep hill forced him back into the moment, and he hit it with determination, refusing to slow his pace. Last night, in another transition from non-REM to early REM, he’d seen René as if looking through the wrong end of a telescope, motioning to him to follow her as she floated farther and farther away toward a baby. A tiny baby. In a test tube.

      Crazy dreams matched by crazy thoughts.

      His lungs burned with each stride, his leg muscles protested with aches and near cramps, but he refused to stop, refused to give in to the hill. That damn proposition. He had plans, for crying out loud! He was going to take a sabbatical and travel to the Far East. He’d study with Asian healers and cardiologists and learn their methods while imparting his knowledge. His daughters had reached the age where they’d be going out into the world, and he dreamed about doing the same. Finally!

      It still seemed unreal that two years ago his wife, out of the blue, had asked for a divorce after seventeen years of marriage. It had sent him reeling in disbelief; even now the thought released a thousand icy needles in his chest. What had he done wrong? How had she fallen out of love with him? If he couldn’t trust her to keep her word in marriage, what woman on this planet could he ever trust?

      He’d withdrawn and lived the life of a recluse since then, even going so far as to take up long-distance running, anything to avoid other people. His medical practice and plans for a sabbatical had kept him going when he didn’t think he could go on. That and his relationship with his daughters.

      René had asked him to consider this “deed” a special gift to her, and that he wouldn’t be involved beyond the initial donation. He could tell by the solidly sincere look in her eyes that she wanted a chance to have a baby, but would it be a passing whim?

      And more importantly, based on his experience with his ex-wife, could he trust that giving his sperm would be the extent of his involvement with René?

      That afternoon, the MidCoast Medical staff meeting dragged on. René stealthily tapped her foot under the table and listened to Jason recite the quarterly reports.

      Her mind wandered, dying to know if Jon had made his decision yet, but doing her best not to make eye contact with him. She didn’t want to pressure him.

      “We’ve balanced our budget, which means we’ll be able to buy that new lab equipment we’ve been wanting,” Jason said, using a laser pen to highlight the slide behind him. “And if things keep up this way, in a few more months we won’t have to send our patients to the local hospital for bronchoscopies. We can do them here.”

      “That would be fantastic,” Phil Hansen said. “I’ve been waiting a long time for that.”

      The clinic, housed in a renovated Victorian mansion in downtown Santa Barbara, was thriving. The four-doctor practice had taken a risk and prevailed against the odds. They’d built a clientele from nothing and reached out to the community, and their hard work had finally paid off.

      Jason gave his signature broad smile—the one he’d been wearing ever since he’d fallen in love with and married Claire, the nurse practitioner. “Who’d have thought that five years ago when we conceived the idea to join forces and build our own clinic, we’d come this far?” he said, glancing toward his partners, then at his pregnant wife.

      “Me,” Jon raised his hand. “We did our homework, studied the demographics, discovered the perfect location and need for the clinic. We had your money, Jason,” Jon added with a smirk, “and business expertise. We were bound to succeed.”

      He analyzed everything and, genius that he was, always did a fine job. René glanced fondly into his luminous brown eyes, which softened ever so slightly when their gazes met. She nodded and smiled. He smiled back—a masculine take on Mona Lisa. The kind of understated yet proud smile that made René react in her gut whether she wanted to or not.

      Was he sending a subtle message? Had he made his decision?

      Claire shifted in her chair, her brows knotted together and lips slightly pursed. René had seen that same look hundreds of times on the faces of her third trimester patients. Toward the end of the pregnancy, constantly searching for comfort, all they longed for was to get that baby out of there! René offered a smile of encouragement as she locked gazes with her newest friend in the medical group.

      Claire attempted to smile back, then tossed a glance toward the ceiling as if searching for moral support. Though considered a high-risk pregnancy since Claire also had lupus, René had seen her patient through nothing but smooth sailing from the first day she’d examined her.

      Claire was expecting her second child—Jason and Claire’s first together—and their newfound love was nothing short of a miracle. It gave René hope that anything was possible. Even for her.

      As René listened to the rest of Jason’s report, she stared at her lap, at the hands that had delivered countless babies…and the noticeably empty ring finger. Her thirty-sixth birthday was next month and this year, for the first time in her life, she’d become aware of distant keening. That ticking biological clock had never bothered her before, but now consumed her thoughts, drove her crazy with the desire to be a mother. Even to the point of making a fool of herself СКАЧАТЬ