His Baby Dream (Safe Harbor Medical) (2 page)

They’d tried to start a family for over a year before consulting a specialist. As one of six children, Angela had expected to conceive easily, and they’d attributed the delay to stress from her busy schedule.

Maybe if they’d gone in earlier, they’d have caught the ovarian cancer soon enough to save her life. The symptoms—bloating, lower back pain, persistent lack of energy—had been so vague that even Angela’s regular doctor hadn’t found them alarming. Only later had they learned that one of her grandmothers had died of ovarian cancer, and an older sister had been diagnosed with breast cancer in her twenties but survived.

Six years of happy marriage had been followed by six months of suffering and pain. Hope would flare at word of an experimental treatment, only to fade. Peter still had trouble believing he’d never again hold his loving wife in his arms.

Only recently had he followed up on another discovery they’d made during their fertility workup: his low sperm count. The doctors he’d originally consulted hadn’t been able to pinpoint the problem. Then, recently, he’d contacted men’s fertility specialist Cole Rattigan, who’d diagnosed Peter with a rare allergy to his own sperm.

According to Dr. Rattigan, his condition shouldn’t stop him from becoming a father. Via a high-tech medical procedure, doctors could inject his sperm directly into an egg.

The chance to cherish a son or daughter from infancy filled him with excitement. He could hardly wait to shower a child with love, and to see the light of understanding dawn as words and concepts became real to that tiny new person.

Peter’s parents, retired teachers who also lived in Orange County, supported his plans. His sister, a lawyer who lived in Maryland, enjoyed her high-power career and didn’t want kids, so when he’d informed his parents of his intention to become a single father, they’d been thrilled. His child or children would grow up with loving grandparents, family holidays and the security of being part of an extended family.

In the den, he opened his laptop and grumbled at the slowness with which it booted up. As soon as it did, he navigated to the fertility program’s website and entered his password.

Despite his eagerness, he went first to the roster of surrogate moms. Dr. Rattigan had suggested that, as a legal precaution, Peter use both an egg donor and a separate surrogate. That way, the woman carrying the baby wasn’t giving birth to her own genetic child and, if she changed her mind about relinquishment, had no legal grounds for claiming custody.

He’d already chosen the woman he would employ, a married homemaker and mother who, during a previous surrogacy, had given birth to a healthy baby girl. Peter reviewed Vanessa’s description and photo, which showed a friendly woman with strawberry-blond hair, above the caption I Love Being Pregnant!

When he’d interviewed her, he’d been impressed by her enthusiasm and good nature. He had no doubt she’d nurture his child, providing a loving start before birth.

The most difficult decision lay ahead. Previously, while studying the profiles of egg donors, he’d been keenly aware that he was choosing a woman to provide half of his child’s genetic makeup. Her personality, her intelligence, her strengths and her weaknesses would strongly influence his future child. While Peter believed in the importance of the home environment, there was no denying the role of heredity.

Unable to make a choice, he’d postponed the decision. Then, today, he’d seen Harper Anthony.

Clicking on the section that listed egg donors, he found her photo at once. The first time he’d viewed it, he’d experienced a vague sense of familiarity, and assumed he must have seen her around town. He hadn’t connected the woman identified only as Mrs. H.A. to his late colleague, nor—given her sweep of long hair—had he been struck by the resemblance to Angela, although he could see it now.

Why was she willing to do this? Peter wondered. Her statement contained the usual remarks about wanting to help others, loving children and treasuring the miracle of life. Perhaps working in the medical profession had influenced her decision.

She offered to meet with prospective recipients. How awkward would that be? Besides, having a woman he knew as the egg donor was asking for trouble, Peter conceded. They would no doubt continue to run into each other after the child was born, and what mom could resist feeling possessive toward her genetic child, even though she hadn’t carried it in her body?

Yet he’d observed what a caring mother Harper was, and he’d taken an immediate liking to her outspoken, bright little girl. This way, his child’s background wouldn’t be such a question mark.

He wouldn’t have to inform her. He’d been assured that he could maintain complete confidentiality if he chose. With the surrogate, that hadn’t seemed important—indeed, Peter wanted to experience the pregnancy with her, to view the ultrasounds and to hear his baby’s heartbeat—but the donor would be out of the picture once the pregnancy became established.

Still, he’d see Harper around town, and he didn’t like keeping her in the dark. Moreover, as the years went by, she might learn he’d had the child with a surrogate, notice the resemblance and put the pieces together.

Peter took another look at the woman in the picture. Her skin glowed, and her delicate necklace resembled a daisy chain. The impression was natural and healthy, which matched the woman he’d seen today.

Troubled, he closed the site. He’d hoped to make a decision. Instead, he’d simply raised new complications.

Well, he’d only decided a little over a month ago—once he received his diagnosis from Dr. Rattigan—to proceed with becoming a father. Peter had quickly passed the screening process and background check required by the hospital’s surrogacy program. Now he faced one of the most important decisions of his life.

He’d have to think about it.

Chapter Two

Mia was jumping up and down, her tennis shoes springing off the living room carpet. “Hold still,” muttered Harper, taking aim with a brush and achieving only a passing swipe at the messy honey-colored strands.

“Good thing you cut her hair,” observed Stacy, who looked feminine and comfortable in a peach knit top and maternity jeans. Only halfway through the first trimester, her pregnancy was already beginning to show, since she was carrying triplets. “It’s adorable even when it’s rumpled.”

“I’m going to Disneyland!” the little girl crowed. Although she’d been to the amusement park in nearby Anaheim before, it never lost its appeal.

“And we appreciate your keeping us company.” Stacy’s fiancé, Dr. Cole Rattigan, grinned with anticipation. He had honest brown eyes and a sturdy build that he maintained by bicycling to and from the hospital almost every day.

“I’m sure the park will be full of kids.” Harper set the brush aside. “Saturdays in summer tend to be jammed.”

“That’s half the fun. Anyway, we want to experience this through her eyes,” Stacy said. “It’ll be years before our kids are old enough to go on rides. And with three of them, I doubt
we’ll
have a chance to relax and enjoy it.”

“My first trip definitely requires a kid.” Having moved to Safe Harbor from Minneapolis the previous year to head the men’s fertility program, Cole evidently hadn’t found time until now for the county’s best-known tourist attraction.

“Mia, stop jumping! This isn’t sports camp.” Harper restrained her daughter before she crashed into the dark-wood entertainment center.

“We’ll be honing our parenting skills,” the surgeon added. “This is as much a learning experience as a pleasure trip.”

While that might seem an odd attitude, Harper had grown accustomed to Cole’s refreshingly naive view of personal interactions. Brilliant in his medical practice, he’d only recently emerged from an emotional cocoon after falling in love with Stacy. Raised by a surgeon mother who’d purposely chosen an uninvolved father, he’d missed out on many of the usual childhood rituals, such as birthday parties and trips to theme parks. “I wish you’d at least let me pay for her ticket.”

“It’s her birthday present,” the doctor responded cheerfully. “Besides, we like spending time with Mia.” He and Stacy had babysat previously, allowing Harper to attend a seminar on digital photo editing.

“Her birthday isn’t for two weeks. But thank you.” Harper took a final peek inside Mia’s backpack. Additional sunscreen, tissues, a water bottle, school ID and the cell phone that doubled as a camera. Everything checked out.

As her friends escorted the bouncy girl to their car, Harper stood in the doorway of her ranch-style home. Around the front steps, geraniums, miniature roses and marigolds brightened the flower bed, and the scent of jasmine drifted from a neighbor’s yard.

As for Mia’s upcoming birthday, Harper hoped the Disneyland visit might compensate for what she feared would be a lackluster party. She couldn’t afford a costly celebration like some of her daughter’s school friends had thrown, with hired entertainers or a trip to see Cirque du Soleil. The rent on this house already strained her budget.

The car vanished down the street. Harper stood for a moment longer, letting herself adjust. As much as she relished a rare free day, it felt weird not to have her daughter with her.

She went inside for her camera. As a teen, in addition to shooting for the high school website, she’d taken pictures for the sheer pleasure of seeing the world afresh. Since then, she’d been too busy to do more than record key events. That was changing, however.

Harper packed snack items, applied sunscreen and set out extra food and water for Mia’s black-and-white kitten. Then she locked the house behind her with the buoyant sense of going on a holiday.

Rather than take her car and have to pay attention to driving, Harper strolled a few blocks to the bus stop on Safe Harbor Boulevard. En route, she paused to photograph a spray of yellow blossoms on a tree and a climbing rose blooming across an arched trellis. Typical of early summer weather in Southern California, the sky was overcast. That would burn off later, but for now a breeze cooled the air.

Slowly, she relaxed into an easy rhythm that contrasted with her usual hurry. A whole day to take pictures. How precious was that?

On the bus, a family clustered with a large picnic basket. A group of girls chattered and laughed, while a young couple sneaked kisses. After observing her fellow riders, Harper turned to gaze out the window, studying shapes and patterns of light and shadow.

They rolled past stores, offices and the occasional bicyclist on a trail that paralleled the boulevard. Off to the right Harper glimpsed the six-story medical center and the adjacent office building where she worked.

Even though she’d loved being a full-time mother, Harper treasured her life now. It was busy, yes, and demanding, but she and Mia had a lot of freedom. If she didn’t feel like cooking, they ate sandwiches and salads for dinner. On weekends, they took spur-of-the-moment trips.

Harper had never experienced this kind of independence before. Stunned by her father’s death in a car crash when she was sixteen, she’d clung to her boyfriend, Sean. She’d leaned on him through college and their four-year marriage, adapting her interests to his. Hiking and motorcycle riding—until her pregnancy—had replaced photography, and being a wife and mother had replaced nursing. She’d had no idea to what an extent her reliance on him had preempted her sense of self until after his death.

Although Harper would always treasure their years together, she didn’t care to repeat the experience with anyone else. Today, she felt liberated.

When the bus crested a rise, before them spread the U-shaped harbor from which the town took its name. Small boats and a scattering of yachts lined its edges, while sailboats and catamarans headed toward the jetties that protected it from the Pacific Ocean.

Along a harborside quay lay shops and a café. Farther down the shore, past the yacht club and some private waterside homes, Harper noted beach umbrellas and blankets staking out areas of sand. So far, however, only a handful of wet-suited surfers braved the chilly waves. It was always colder at the ocean, even compared to a few miles inland.

Zipping her jacket against the wind, Harper descended at the bus stop and made her way onto the beach. No one seemed to mind when she captured their images: an older couple holding hands as they strolled, a man tossing a beach ball with his little boy, a woman in a floppy hat pouring a steaming cup of liquid from a thermos. Thank goodness for memory cards that stored thousands of images.

A clump of palm trees framed the subtle colors of sea and sky. Walking and clicking, Harper lost track of time—a rare luxury. As the day warmed, she removed her jacket and tied it around her waist.

A man caught her eye—a muscular fellow, head down, wind ruffling his hair and sweat darkening his T-shirt as he jogged toward her along the sand. Athletic shorts emphasized his sculpted thighs and, admiring the classic impression of masculinity, Harper snapped a couple of quick pictures.

Then his chin lifted and familiar blue eyes met hers. Startled, Harper lost her grip on the camera, which was saved from a fall by the cord around her neck. At the same time, the man slowed.

“Peter. Uh, hi.” She debated whether to apologize for photographing him, but that might require an explanation. And her only reason had been that she found him attractive.

Breathing hard, Peter halted in front of her. Since their conversation the previous Monday, Harper had glimpsed him several times at sports camp. He’d always been surrounded by mothers asking questions about their children and sometimes, judging by their body language, flirting with him. Who could blame them?

He indicated the camera. “Is this for a project?”

“Nothing in particular.” In his presence, Harper instinctively tossed her hair, only to find that she missed the accustomed weight of it. Anyway, she didn’t mean to react with flirtatious moves like those other women. “Photography used to be my hobby. I’m rediscovering it.”

“Mind if I take a look?”

“Not at all.” Harper switched the camera to display mode and handed it over.

Peter leaned toward her as he flicked through the pictures. “You have a terrific eye.”

Shifting closer to see the shots, Harper caught the appealing scent of clean male sweat. “Isn’t that a cute little boy? Something about him reminded me of...” She broke off.

“Of Sean?” he asked.

Harper examined the image. “Not really. Just—oh, it’s not important.” She wasn’t ready to share her dream about little boys.

He shifted away. “Mind if we walk? I’d like to keep moving while I cool down.”

“Sure.” Glad of the company after a morning alone, Harper fell into place as they strolled toward the pier. She adjusted her stride to his without difficulty, since he was only a bit taller than her five foot nine inches.

“Where’s Mia?” he asked.

Guiltily, Harper realized that she hadn’t thought about her daughter in over an hour. Still, she’d resolved not to be a helicopter parent, and Mia could reach her by phone if necessary. “She went to Disneyland with my friend Stacy. It’s her fiancé’s first visit and they thought it would be more fun with a kid.”

A Frisbee flew toward them from a group of teen boys. Peter caught it easily and skimmed it back. “You don’t worry about her?” Quickly, he added, “Not that you should.”

“Stacy’s a nurse and her fiancé’s a doctor, so she’s in good hands,” Harper said.

The crowd on the beach grew thicker as they approached the pier, forcing them to weave around sunbathers and picnickers. “Want to grab a bite at the café?” Peter asked. “I don’t mean to interrupt your photo session.”

“Oh, the light’s too harsh now, anyway.” Harper laughed. “That was rude, wasn’t it? Like I’d only join you because the light’s bad for picture-taking.”

Peter unfurled a smile. “I appreciate the frankness.”

“I’m sure Angela was
way
more tactful.” She halted, regarding him apologetically. “I’m running off at the mouth.”

“Nothing wrong with talking about Angela.” Peter held out a hand to help her up some large rocks that abutted the pier. “I mentioned Sean, didn’t I?”

“I guess you did.” His grip sent prickles along Harper’s arm. Reaching the wooden quay, she released his hand quickly.

They strolled past boat slips and, on the inland side, boutiques selling beachwear, surfboards, hats and anything else a tourist might buy. At the Sea Star Café, they were lucky enough to snag a booth by the window.

“I’ll get the food,” Peter offered, since the café served from the counter. “What would you like?”

Harper handed him a twenty-dollar bill. “I’ll have a cranberry muffin, a blueberry muffin and a cup of chai, and don’t even try to pay for it.”

Peter’s eyebrows drew together. “Okay, but—is that what you’re eating for lunch?”

“Why?”

“Not exactly a balanced diet.”

“Don’t tell me you’re a health nut.” She bristled at the idea of someone dictating what she ate. This was
her
free day.

“No, it’s just that as a...” He floundered for a moment. “I figured that, as a nurse, you’d be a stickler for nutrition.”

“Sean used to get on my case about carbs,” she responded testily. “It was all protein and vegetables with him. I’m making up for lost time.”

“Okay, okay.” Peter raised a hand placatingly. “Just asking.”

Harper hadn’t meant to start an argument. By the time he returned, carrying a tray between the crowded tables, she regretted snarling at him. “Thanks, Peter. I’m sorry about biting your head off.”

“I can take it.” He set her cup of tea and the muffins in front of her.

“Usually I eat healthy stuff, but today when Mia isn’t here, I don’t have to act like a grown-up.”

“No explanation necessary.” On his plate rested a whole-wheat pita sandwich bursting with sprouts, hummus and lettuce. “I wasn’t trying to control you. That’s what comes from being a teacher, I suppose.”

“Especially a biology teacher?” she teased.

“I’m glad you equate that with healthy habits.” Peter took his seat. “Some women draw other conclusions about my expertise in biology.” His cheeks reddened. “Man, that came out wrong.”

“Good thing this isn’t a date,” Harper told him. “Just think of me as Sean with, well, a few distinctions.”

“I’m trying
not
to think about those distinctions.” He turned an even brighter shade. “Seriously, I don’t know where this stuff comes from.”

“Most men wouldn’t apologize, they’d move in for the kill.” Harper had fended off more than a few piranhas, including men accompanying their pregnant wives to Dr. Franco’s office. She felt sorry for any woman married to a creep like that. “Um, as long as I have your attention, can I pick your brain?”

“By all means.” He regarded her over the pita.

“I’m planning a birthday party for Mia that won’t cost much.” As they ate, Harper explained the situation, concluding with, “Any ideas about what I could do in my backyard?”

She wasn’t sure why she expected a childless man to come up with an answer. Still, as a teacher and a sports camp leader, Peter had experience with groups of kids, Harper reflected as she watched him study the sailboats in the harbor. It was hard not to sneak glances at his appealing profile.

And hard not to notice that he’s all guy.
Confident, physically attuned men drew her, and Peter had that in common with Sean. Like Sean, he was also a little domineering, she reminded herself. It wasn’t a bad trait, just unsuited to her.

Clear blue eyes refocused on her. “My personal philosophy is Never Miss a Chance to Teach.”

“Even at a birthday party?”

“The average backyard is a paradise for biologists.” Pushing aside his empty plate, he planted his elbows on the table.

The only backyard biology that occurred to Harper involved a shady bower, protective bushes and activities wildly inappropriate for a children’s party. However, they’d already dismissed that topic, and thank goodness.