Secrets Of A Shy Socialite. Wendy S. Marcus

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      “Hello, Justin.” He shook Justin’s hand. “And who do we have here?”

      “My daughter.” It came out a little easier that time. “She’s six weeks old.” Although he couldn’t take credit for anything more than having strong, determined swimmers, he actually felt kind of proud to have fathered such a perfect baby. Two of them, since he assumed Annie was identical.

      “If she grows up to look anything like her mother you’d better keep a loaded shotgun handy at all times.”

      For sure. And he’d aim it at any man who looked at the twins like Dr. Charmer—the staff’s nickname for him—was looking at Jena. A ripple of possessiveness surprised him and he imagined aiming that shotgun at Dr. C.

      Jena smiled sweetly, totally taken in by the man’s spiel. “There are actually two of them. Abbie’s twin sister is at home with my twin sister.”

      “Twin girls.” He patted Justin on the shoulder. “Better you than me.” He turned to Jena. “What brought you here tonight?”

      As Jena recounted Abbie’s medical history and the events leading up to their visit, Justin watched her, determined to learn the differences between her and Jaci. Right away he noted Jena was softer, more feminine and well-spoken. Proper. And, apparently easily taken in by a handsome, sweet-talking male as she hung dreamily on every word Dr. Charmer uttered. “It’s none of your business what’s going on between us,” Justin intervened, feeling unusually territorial. Jena was the mother of his children. And he’d be damned if he would stand by and watch her fall prey to some hound dog doctor, or allow any other male a spot in his daughters’ lives. They were his.

      Life had just gotten infinitely more complicated.

      “Just making small talk,” Dr. Charmer said finally getting down to the exam. If nothing else, the nurses all agreed he was an excellent doctor with a superior—albeit a bit flirty—bedside manner.

      Abbie did not like Dr. Charmer’s stethoscope in contact with her skin or his fingers pressing on her belly or having a scope shoved in her ears and she screamed in protest.

      Granted, Justin was no doctor, but based on what he could see and hear: Lungs: healthy. Vocal cords: working fine Temper: check plus.

      Tough stuff, like her namesake, and his Grandma Abbie would have loved her at first glance. Justin had a sudden urge to hold his daughter and protect her from the man upsetting her, like a dad should.

      Probably better to wait until she had some clothes on.

      “She looks good,” Dr. Charmer said. “You can get her dressed.”

      “Would you hand me the diaper bag?” Jena asked Justin.

      He placed it on the head of the exam table.

      Jena took out what she needed.

      “Her ears look fine,” Dr. Charmer said. “Her lungs are clear. She has good bowel sounds. No abdominal tenderness. No visible injuries. She’s moving her extremities freely. If I had to guess, I’d say she had a bout of gas. If it happens again, it may be colic. Talk to your pediatrician.”

      “Can you recommend a good one?” Jena asked. “I’ve done some inquiring but haven’t decided who to use. Two more weeks and the girls will need their next round of immunizations.”

      “You know in addition to urgent care cases we handle routine pediatrics by appointment, if you’re interested.”

      She wouldn’t be. The urgent care center wasn’t near upscale enough for Jena.

      “That’d be great,” she said with a smile brighter than any he’d ever seen on Jaci. “Would it be okay if I requested you?”

      No. Dr. Blake was a much better choice. Portly, married, Dr. Blake.

      “I’d be insulted if you didn’t.”

      He was going to be a lot more than insulted when Justin got finished with him.

      What the heck was happening? Jena was the quiet one. The mousey one. The stuck up one. People didn’t like her. Yet Mary did. And Dr. Charmer did—to the point Justin felt it necessary to attend every pediatric appointment from today on to prevent Jena from falling victim to his charm.

      With Abbie diapered and dressed, Jena struggled to hold her and pour water into a bottle.

      “I can hold her,” Justin offered.

      “It’s okay,” Jena said, taking a can of formula out of the diaper bag.

      “I want to.” She was his daughter and a good father would want to hold her.

      Jena looked up at him. “Thank you,” she said. “For not questioning if I was sure they were yours. For taking this much better than I’d thought you would.”

      Frankly he still felt sort of numb. But one thing he knew for certain, he’d do right by his girls.

      Jena placed Abbie in his arms. So small. Delicate. He felt awkward, his hands too rough, too big.

      “Hold her head.” Jena positioned his hands where they needed to be then measured the formula powder and dumped it into the bottle. “I need a microwave.”

      “Down the hall to the right, third door on your left will be the staff break room.”

      Alone with his crying daughter for the first time the responsibility of parenthood hit him. What did he know about being a father? To girls, no less. About feeding them and dressing them and getting them to stop crying? Absolutely nothing. He swayed and rubbed Abbie’s back the same way he’d watched Jena do it. “Daddy’s got you while mommy’s heating up your bottle.”

      Daddy and mommy. One of each. How he’d wished for a real mommy of his own when he’d been little. Grandma Abbie had tried. But she’d been old and tired. To be honest, he’d wished for a real daddy of his own, too. One who showed an interest in his kid by visiting his classroom on career day and attending baseball practices and games. One who took his kid out to dinner and enjoyed spending time with him instead of constantly looking for places to dump him so he could entertain women too numerous to remember any one in particular without interruption.

      Jena returned. “Mary said they don’t have anyone waiting for the room so we can take as long as we like.”

      He looked at the bottle and saw his hand reaching for it.

      “You don’t have to—”

      Something strange happened. The man who had never before felt an inclination to hold or feed or have any contact with a baby said, “I want to,” be the one to get his daughter to stop crying, which feeding her at this moment would hopefully do.

      “Okay. Sit down.” He did and Jena repositioned Abbie in his arms. “Keep her head elevated.” He touched the nipple to Abbie’s lips and she latched onto it like she hadn’t eaten in weeks.

      They both stared at their daughter, her eyes closed, the slurping of her contentedly sucking the only sound in the quiet room. It was a moment he’d never forget. And an opportunity to ask a question СКАЧАТЬ