The Diaper Diaries. Abby Gaines

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      “Good morning, Dr. Hart.” His voice was part of the package, low and warm, as if she was the person he most wanted to see right now.

      Poised, calm, smooth, she cautioned herself. She shook his hand firmly, noted the gold links that punctured the crisp white of his cuffs. In his immaculately tailored charcoal suit he looked more put together than a GQ cover, and for some unspecified, illogical reason, Bethany disapproved. “Good to see you again, Mr. Warrington—Tyler.”

      “How is your research going?” he asked courteously.

      “Quite well, given the funding shortfall.” Not subtle, but definitely articulate.

      His lips twitched. “That shortfall would be my fault, I assume?”

      “Nothing you can’t rectify,” she said encouragingly, and he chuckled outright. Was he laughing at her again? She plowed on. “As you’ll have seen from my report, I’m on the verge of a breakthrough into therapies that interfere with antibody production. If the foundation would consider—” she thought of her parents, drew a shaky breath “—tripling its investment in my work, there’s every chance—”

      “I didn’t ask you here to talk about your funding.” His interruption confirmed her fears, sent her spirits into free fall. Bethany clenched her toes inside her shoes to counter the sagging of her knees. Less abruptly, Tyler continued, “But if you want to call Olivia next week and ask her to set up a time in my diary…”

      Bethany’s hopes shot back up again. Her first instinct was to grab the opportunity he offered. Then he favored her with that calculated smile that seduced socialites and beguiled beauty queens. And distracted Bethany? Not this time. She folded her arms and said deliberately, “And what will Olivia say when I call?”

      Tyler blinked. Olivia made a strangled sound. Bethany waited.

      Then he grinned, something much more genuine—as if to say, “You got me.” “She may say there’s no room in my diary,” he admitted.

      “Just like there was no room for you to visit the kidney patients I work with?”

      “I have a lot of demands on my time.” He spread his hands disarmingly. “You wouldn’t believe the number of people who want a piece of me.”

      Most of them female. Even before Miss Georgia, the newspapers had reported his dating exploits so comprehensively, Bethany wondered how he found time to make it into the office. But evidently he did, because lately the press had been covering the foundation’s charitable activities, and in that sphere, at least, it seemed Tyler was a saint. Albeit one untroubled by anything so pesky as a vow of celibacy.

      “I want a piece of you, too,” she said. Tyler raised his eyebrows, and she stuttered, “I—I want you to guarantee me that appointment to talk about my funding. Please.”

      For a long moment Tyler stared at her. Then he said, “I like a woman who knows what she wants.” Before she could decide if he was being provocative, he turned to Olivia. “Give Bethany some time next week. And when I tell you to fob her off, don’t listen to me.”

      That frank admission of his lack of interest in her work floored Bethany…and, amazingly, made her want to laugh. Which she was not about to do: she took her work seriously, even if he didn’t. She compressed her lips, picked up her bag. “Olivia asked me to bring this. I assume there’s a patient you want me to look at?”

      “In my office.” He held the door open for her.

      Tyler figured it was the oddness of Bethany’s skirt that drew his attention to the neat round of her bottom as he followed her into his office. That, and the same kick of awareness that had surprised him at their last encounter.

      He couldn’t think why he found her so intriguing. Yes, that polished-cherry-wood hair waved nicely around her heartshaped face. But her nose was too pointy, all the easier for her to look down it at him, and her mouth a trifle wide for that stubborn chin. She was pretty, but Tyler dated beauties.

      He was still puzzling over his attraction to her when she stopped; he almost bumped into her. She’d seen the baby.

      “Oh, you gorgeous little thing.” She sounded awed, breathless, as she dropped to her knees on the carpet. “Hello, precious,” she crooned. The baby’s face split in an enormous smile, and Bethany laughed out loud.

      Humor widened her mouth to even more generous proportions and revealed a dimple in her chin. All trace of obstinacy vanished, and she was much more the peach Olivia had suggested. A cute-but-not-his-type peach. Women who went gaga over babies usually had him hightailing it out the door.

      She looked up at Tyler, confusion wrinkling her brow. “Who’s this?”

      He shifted on his feet. Now that he had to explain, he realized just how weird this was. “Someone left it downstairs for me.”

      “It?” Her eyebrows drew together, and the effect in combination with that skirt was of a disapproving pixie.

      “Uh…her?” Damn, he should have had Olivia check.

      Bethany unsnapped the terry garment. She hooked the front of the baby’s diaper with one finger and peered inside. “Him,” she corrected as she refastened the snaps. “What do you mean, someone left him?”

      Tyler handed her the note. Watched curiosity turn to shock to alarm, all telegraphed across her face. She stared at him, mouth slightly open, apparently dumbfounded.

      “This woman…” She groped for words. “This child’s mother thinks you would make a good parent?”

      As if her intimate knowledge of children’s kidneys put her in a position to judge him. “I’m one of Atlanta’s favorite sons—and its most generous.”

      Bethany sat back on her heels. “You hadn’t even figured out he’s a boy.”

      “I believe in equal-opportunity parenting. Gender is irrelevant.”

      She pffed. “You need to call social services.”

      “My lawyer says I don’t.” He was glad he’d clarified the legality of the situation in the forty-five minutes that he’d waited for Bethany. “The mother’s letter effectively appoints me the baby’s guardian. According to my attorney, that may not carry weight long term, and I’ll need to meet with social services. But if they’re satisfied he’s well looked after and that efforts are being made to find the mother—which I’ll hire a private investigator to do…”

      Bethany leaned over to scoop up the baby, then scrambled to her feet. As she hoisted the infant to her shoulder in a casual, practiced movement, Tyler caught a glimpse of slim, winterpale midriff where her T-shirt pulled away from her skirt.

      “You mean, you plan to keep him?” she said. “What about your incredibly busy schedule? Babies take time and attention.”

      “I’ll organize a sitter.”

      “You can’t tell me you care about this baby.” She sounded suspicious and she was doing that looking-down-her-nose thing, one of his least favorite memories from the first time they’d met.

      “I care about families, СКАЧАТЬ