Harlequin American Romance May 2014 Bundle: One Night in Texas\The Cowboy's Destiny\A Baby for the Doctor\The Bull Rider's Family (43 page)

Case in point, when Jack had asked her to find a project where they could spend a summer together providing medical care to impoverished women and children, she’d sent him a list of websites. Then off she’d gone on her latest cause, raising funds to buy whistles so women in Haiti could summon help when attacked.

Yes, Mamie Ryder did a lot of good. But only in ways that suited her.

Rod was waiting by the side exit. “You and Anya had sex. When and where did
that
happen?”

Jack switched off the hall light. “Boundaries,” he reminded his uncle.

“Don’t dodge the question.”

“None of your business.” That seemed plain enough.

“Must have been New Year’s Eve.” Rod strolled beside him toward the elevators. “That would put her pregnancy at about seven weeks. Hmm. Looks like I’ll be an uncle by the end of September.”

“Great-uncle,” Jack amended.

“I am, aren’t I?”

“Rod,” he began in a warning tone.

His uncle pressed the down button. “Okay. I’ll shut up.” About two seconds later, he said, “One more thing.”

Jack narrowed his eyes.

“If you don’t sign the paper and she insists on adoption, what then?” Rod asked.

“How do you feel about turning the living room into a nursery?” Jack retorted. When the elevator door opened, he stepped inside, grateful there was another person in the elevator to stifle the conversation.

He appreciated that his uncle, apparently lost in thought, barely spoke the rest of the way home. Jack hadn’t meant to propose they raise the baby themselves; how could they? Yet, how could he give his child away?

Chapter Seven

Feet propped on the worn coffee table in the den, Anya skimmed her email on her phone. Her favorite department store was having a sale—how frustrating since she’d soon be shopping at The Baby Bump instead.

Beside her, Zora swore under her breath at the square she was crocheting, or trying to crochet, from a baby blanket pattern. “I keep messing this up. I wish I could call Betsy. She’s the expert.”

“I don’t need a baby blanket,” Anya reminded her.

“Who said it’s for you?” her friend muttered. “It’s for Harper.” Nurse Harper Gladstone and her husband were expecting twins via a surrogate in June.

Lucky peered at them both from his laptop. Although the table was ostensibly part of the kitchen, it bordered the family room. “Speaking of Betsy, how’re you getting along with your ex-mother-in-law, anyway? Or should I say, almost ex-mother-in-law?”

Safe Harbor Nursing Supervisor Betsy Raditch was, in Anya’s opinion, much too nice to be the mother of the faithless Andrew. “Why do you care?”

“Zora can answer for herself,” he said.

“Why do you care?” Zora echoed.

Their housemate grinned. “You guys are like a brick wall. I can’t make a dent.”

“That’s the idea.” Anya missed their old living room, where she and Zora had been able to relax without male intrusion. Also, she was too restless tonight to concentrate on her own task, reading a book.

Edmond Everhart had promised to present the waiver to Jack by the end of the week. She hadn’t heard any explosions or seen flames rising from the central part of town, but neither had Edmond called or messaged to say Mission Accomplished.

Had Edmond put it off? He seemed trustworthy, although Melissa refused to discuss her ex-husband in a personal manner, which implied that he’d sinned in some major and irredeemable way. Still, Anya felt a twinge of guilt that she’d let him assume that she’d already informed Jack of the pregnancy. Although she hadn’t lied, she hadn’t corrected his obvious mistaken impression either.

Lucky flexed his shoulders. On his right bicep, exposed by his sleeveless T-shirt, a colorful dragon writhed. “It’s Friday night. Let’s throw a party.”

“At the last minute?” Zora sniffed.

“Lame,” Anya told him.

“We should plan a housewarming, at least,” he returned, unruffled.

“Bring it up on Sunday,” Zora said. All five housemates had agreed to hold weekly meetings to coordinate schedules and nip any problems in the bud.

“Fine. But you guys are way too buttoned-up,” Lucky said. “Live a little.”

“I thought you got enough of that lifestyle with your old roommates.” Anya had heard him complain more than once about his party-hearty pals.

“They were noisy slobs,” he said. “And inconsiderate when I was trying to concentrate on my thesis.” He’d almost completed work on a master’s degree in medical administration.

“If your thesis is so important, why are you talking to us?” Zora asked.

“I’m taking a break.”

The doorbell rang. “Who could that be at eight o’clock on a Friday night?” Zora dismissed her own question when she added, “Maybe a friend of Karen’s.” Karen, whose longtime friends occasionally dropped by unannounced, was attending a play at South Coast Repertory with Melissa.

“I’ll get it.” Lucky pushed back his chair.

But Anya had a pretty good idea who it might be. “Stay there,” she commanded and hurried to the front hall.

When she opened the door, there towered Jack, dark hair mussed and green eyes as hard as emeralds.

The first time she’d seen him, she’d had to catch her breath. Then she’d found out she’d been chosen to assist this brilliant surgeon with movie-star looks, and a tremor had gone through Anya’s knees. In the year since then, he’d grown more handsome, more confident and more terrifying, especially when he was angry, like now.

The impulse to apologize nearly wrenched a “sorry” from her lips. She bit down so hard her teeth hurt. Okay, he had good reason to be mad, but ultimately, there was no debate. He had to sign the waiver.

She ought to warn him that they had an audience within earshot. But Anya couldn’t force out the words. Guilty twinges about sending Edmond in her stead, and about taking St. John’s wort, quivered through her. Or possibly that was morning-and-evening sickness.

He was waiting for her to speak first. Finally, she managed to say, “I gather you met Edmond.”

“I can’t believe you did that.” When Jack glared, his body seemed to grow to mammoth size, like a genie released from a bottle. “How do you think I felt when a
lawyer
informed me I was going to be a father? Oh, and here, sign away your rights on the dotted line while we’re at it.”

“You don’t have any rights. It’s a legal dodge dreamed up by male legislators to oppress women.” Anya had no idea if that was true—it might have been a court ruling. But the point was the same.

“You think I’d dismiss having a child that lightly?” he demanded.

“Think about the alternative,” she retorted. “Have you ever raised a baby? I helped raise three of them. They stole my adolescence. That was enough.”

“I didn’t realize it was such a burden.” Her anecdotes about her sisters, which she’d shared in bits and pieces during their operating room discussions, had often been humorous.

“They’re sweethearts,” Anya conceded. “But when they were little, I used to cry myself to sleep thinking about the stacks of diapers and the endless chores around the house.”

Jack’s manner softened slightly. “I can imagine that colored your assumptions rather darkly. But you’re not an adolescent and we aren’t discussing your sisters.”

“To me, adoption is the only reasonable choice,” she told him.

“We’re having a child,” he replied quietly. “This is not something you just throw away.”

Providing a child with an adoring family hardly constituted throwing it away. But that wasn’t the point. “What’s your assumption—that I’ll raise it because you say so?” Anya asked. “That I’ll be a robot you can order around for the next twenty years?” She’d lived through that experience already. Once was enough.

“Of course not.” Jack shifted uncomfortably. “How about inviting me in?”

Because there was nothing to be gained by rudeness, she moved aside. As he entered, Jack peered around and gravitated to the now-empty living room. Good. All the same, their voices could carry.

“I should warn you...” she began.

He took up a stance in front of the curio cabinet. “I won’t sign the waiver until I’m sure the baby is mine.”

His statement drove all other considerations from Anya’s mind. “You think I sleep around?”

“I didn’t mean that.” Jack stuck his hands in his pockets. “But I’d like confirmation.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“It’s a simple blood test,” he said.

“You have incredible nerve!” Her earlier hesitation evaporated in the face of this insult.

“Then my consent will have to wait until after the baby’s born so we can test it on its own.” His level tone proved just as maddening as his outrageous demand.

“I can’t wait that long. I need to choose an adoptive family who’ll pay my bills.” The attorney had explained that it was customary for the adopting parents to pay expenses related to the pregnancy, such as medical care, maternity clothing and other necessities.

“I’ll pay your bills,” Jack told her.

“I don’t want your money!” Accepting his support would put her completely at his mercy.

Even though his hands were in his pockets, she could see them form into fists. “Why do you refuse to acknowledge that I have a stake in this pregnancy?”

“Because any stake you have is nothing compared to...” Anya broke off because her stomach was in full rebellion.
Please don’t let me throw up in Karen’s living room.
Losing her balance, she grabbed an end table, an unfortunate choice. The thing wobbled and then tipped, sending her and a lamp crashing to the floor.

“Anya!” Jack rushed to catch her, too late to prevent a painful bump on her hip. Still, his strong arms prevented any further tumbling.

Had she broken Karen’s lamp? Mercifully, it appeared intact on the carpet.

Footsteps thudded. Around the corner rushed Zora and Lucky, colliding by the stairs. “Back off, you big oaf!” Darting under his arm, Zora hurried forward.

Lucky stayed in place, surveying the scene. “I guess this answers the question of who the dad is.”

Jack’s lip curled. “You told them you were pregnant before you told me?”

“It slipped out.” Anya wiggled free from his grasp. Her stomach had subsided, thank goodness, but her temper hadn’t. “You see what I have to go through? My tummy hurts, my feet hurt and I can’t imagine how I’ll feel when I’m as big as this house.”

Zora helped her up, with Jack taking the other side and assisting her to the couch. “Men have it easy,” her friend added.

“He wants me to take a DNA test,” Anya said.

“She hired a lawyer to break the news to me,” Jack defended himself to their audience of two.

“Pretty cold,” Lucky agreed from across the room. “Seriously, Anya, a lawyer?”

“I can’t believe you’re taking his side.” Zora straightened the table while Jack gingerly lifted the lamp. “Or maybe I should expect that. After all, guys stick together, don’t they?”

“There are no sides,” Jack said. “I’m here to help Anya, not hurt her. But getting back to our topic, how else can I declare legally that I’m the father? I’m not her husband or even her steady boyfriend. If I sign those papers without proof that I’m the father, I could be guilty of defrauding the adoptive parents. If some other guy shows up later and claims paternity, it would be a painful mess.”

Judging by Lucky’s nods, that argument must make sense from a male perspective. Anya was insulted all over again. However, much as she resented Jack’s attitude, the alternative—waiting until she gave birth before choosing adoptive parents—was unacceptable. “If I take a DNA test, you’ll relinquish your rights?”

That stopped him briefly. “I’ll consider it.”

“Not good enough.”

“Once the baby’s born, he can get a court order for the test,” Lucky reminded her.

“What kind of judge would let him stick a needle in a helpless baby?” Zora flared.

“All newborns have a few drops taken from their heels to screen for serious medical conditions,” Jack informed her. “It’s no big deal.”

The discussion swirled around Anya as if she weren’t there or weren’t the primary person carrying this baby. It reminded her unhappily of her family’s behavior at Christmas as they discussed why she ought to move back to Colorado.

Suddenly queasy again, she gripped the arm of the couch. No one had bothered to ask if she’d like a cup of tea or anything else.

That gave her an idea.

* * *

F
RUSTRATED
, J
ACK
wondered how to penetrate the guard Anya had raised around herself. He’d stated his case, including his willingness to support her. Now he had to deal with her roommate fluttering around, raising objections. Thank goodness the male nurse had grasped his point. The guy was improving on closer acquaintance.

Jack’s request was perfectly rational, and Anya would realize that if she weren’t so—well, not irrational but far from completely objective. Pregnancy hormones were well known to affect moods.

Stop thinking like a doctor, and pay attention.
What was it that lawyer had recommended? Oh, yes, communicating, listening and weighing all aspects.

Focusing on Anya, Jack saw that she’d gone pale again and was hanging on to the arm of the couch. “You obviously feel lousy,” he said. “Should I get a basin?”

Her chin came up. Although he wished she were less stubborn, he admired her spirit.

“Ice cream,” she told him. “Lucky ate the last of it earlier.”

“There was only one scoop,” protested her housemate from his post by the stairs.

“Two scoops. The one in your bowl and the one you ate standing over the sink,” Zora corrected. “Lucky should go out for more.”

“Jack can do it.” Resolve strengthened Anya’s words. “If I have to go through this, you shouldn’t get off scot-free. It’s only fair that you share some of the burden.”

“You mean earn the right to a DNA test?” he asked drily.

“I wouldn’t exactly put it that way,” Anya said, “but you should be willing to help out.”

“I can make grocery runs.” He nodded. “What else?”

“Foot massages would be nice.” She regarded him as if testing the waters.

That might be fun. “I’m happy to.” And after the stories she’d told him about the work she’d done for her sisters and mother, Jack supposed it was about time someone—namely, him—did the same for her. “Sure, bring it on. Whatever you need.”

“My favorite flavor is butterscotch,” Lucky said.

“Chocolate,” Zora put in.

“Take a hike,” Anya told them both. “It’s vanilla with caramel ripples.”

“Hold on.” Jack had no intention of becoming the household puppet. “I’m helping Anya and only Anya. But how long before you take the blood test?”

“You’re the doctor,” she said. “How soon is it feasible?”

That would be at about nine weeks. “Rough estimate, two weeks from now. Do we have a deal?”

“Maybe.” To the others, she said, “This is between Jack and me, guys.”

With a shrug, Lucky retreated. Zora wrinkled her nose, but she, too, departed.

Sitting beside Anya and taking her hands in his, Jack found them unexpectedly warm. Blood volume increased during pregnancy by as much as 50 percent, but mostly in the later stages.

You’re thinking like a doctor again.

“Let’s agree on terms,” he said.

“Terms?”

No sense risking a misunderstanding. “If I do as you ask, do you promise to take the test as soon as your OB approves?”

“Yes. And then you promise to sign the paper,” she countered.

Jack’s chest squeezed. He remembered Tiffany and Amber as toddlers, running to him with hugs and butterfly kisses, playing horse by climbing onto his back and tumbling off with shrieks of glee.

But that wasn’t the same as being a single father. Parenthood was a commitment that should take priority over everything else. How could Jack meet the child’s emotional and practical needs while building his medical practice and paying off educational loans? It would be different if Anya were willing to participate, but alone, how could he provide the kind of loving, attentive home this little one deserved? As much as it hurt, he couldn’t.