Babies in the Bargain (20 page)

“I hate to put so much pressure on you and Paulito.”

“We’ll be fine.” This baby and his dad had become the focus of her life now. As important as her career. “You won’t be able to live with yourself if you don’t see your grandmother before...while she still can talk to you.”

“Thank you, Holly. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He squeezed her hand. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw the flame shining in his eyes. She could swear it wasn’t only gratitude. More like warmth and tenderness.

Could it be love? God, could it be love?

Wrong time to find out. She sighed. Somehow, it was always the wrong time for her and Marc.

“Maybe you should call home and find out exactly what happened?”

“I will. Later. It’s only three a.m. I can’t call now.”

They entered the NICU where a depressing scene brought her back to the reality of her profession.

Holly joined Dr. Carmichael and the hospital cardiologist as they examined the baby. Together they studied the echocardiogram. Transposition of the great arteries, just as she thought.

“He needs an atrial septostomy ASAP, before his ductus starts to close off,” the cardiologist said.

Holly knew the risks involved in perforating a hole in the baby’s heart to allow oxygenation of the blood.

“And then of course he’ll need an arterial switch within the next week or two. Unfortunately, as you are well aware, there’s still a relatively high risk of mortality,” the cardiologist added bluntly. There was no need to soften the painful truth between professionals.

Dr. Carmichael tapped the side of the warmer. “Not if Dr. Morey from the Cleveland Pediatric Cardiology Center performs the surgery. He’s the best. The only one who can save Brendon.”

Marc arched an eyebrow. “The pediatric surgeon who does heart transplants on babies? Would he come all the way out here?”

“He owes me. I’ll call him right away.” Grandpa Director was going to pull some strings. The guy was omnipotent. He stepped out of the NICU with the cardiologist to place his call but paused at the door. “Hold on both of you, please. I may still need you,” he ordered, raising his hand to Holly and Marc.

Why? She’d done her best so far. It was up to the cardiologist to take over. A sense of dread jolted down her spine. She looked at Marc. He had his share of problems at the moment and was probably anxious to get out of the hospital, call his sister, and then jump on the first plane to San Juan.

A few minutes later, Dr. Carmichael returned and pinned them with a stern look. “Dr. Collier, Dr. Suarez, the septostomy will take place at eleven in the morning.”

Wow, that was the Carmichael’s connection at work, all right.

“You’re already familiar with the case. I want you both on Dr. Morey’s team.”

Marc’s eyes narrowed.

Hers opened wide.

What about Marc’s trip to San Juan? His Abuelita might die before he could see her.

“You should both go home and sleep right away. I’ll have the administrator find you subs for the night shift. I want you alert tomorrow morning,” Dr. Carmichael said in a voice that brooked no argument.

“Yes, sir.” She glanced at Marc.

His arms crossed on his chest, he scowled and nodded.

Holly left the NICU, Marc on her heels. “Let’s go home right away. I don’t have a car seat here,” he said, as he strode down the hallway. “I’ll take the Jeep to bring back Paulito. We’ll pick up our clothes later.”

“Marc, I’m sorry you’re not going to San Juan today.” Although he kept a calm front, she knew he was seething.

“I can’t leave.” His lips set in a thin line, he urged her out.

They went directly to his car. Holly settled in the passenger seat. Marc took off at high speed. A lousy habit, but she didn’t dare comment. She buckled her seatbelt. As the Porsche whizzed through the dark streets, she held on for dear life. Eyes closed and jaws clenched so hard they hurt, she shrank into her seat. She’d been concerned about his problem, yet she had a huge one of her own to tackle.

While Marc knew his presence in surgery tomorrow would improve Baby Brendon’s chances to live, she was terrified of spoiling those same chances.

I can’t work on an open heart surgery or even a septostomy
. Not ever again.

Attending a delivery, even a C-section with toxemia was part of her routine, but assisting in an open-heart surgery or a brutal procedure on a blue baby was a different ballgame. She’d done it once. The stress had been unbearable. The baby had died, and she’d almost quit Neonatology. Holly vividly remembered the tiny body, pierced by tubes, barely visible in its crib. Her head slumped in dejection.

It was just before Thanksgiving three years ago, she had landed in the program director’s office and presented her resignation. She had stood rooted in front of the large desk, dejected and dismayed, while the director had studied her tired features. The older doctor had peered straight into her eyes, misty from concealed tears, and found the right words to soothe and encourage.

“Don’t quit, Holly. Give yourself the time to ease into this highly demanding profession.” The director had reached for her hand and squeezed it. “Don’t blame yourself. You are a new fellow
¾
still under training. Two attending doctors were working on the case with you. And I was consulted. There was no way to save this baby.”

Her hands shook on the seatbelt. Tomorrow her whole body would shake even more.

She shouldn’t attend Brendon’s surgery.

Marc had given up going to see his dying grandmother to increase the baby’s chance during surgery. Holly doubled up in her seat. How could she tell the almighty Dr. Carmichael she was afraid to attend the procedure that might help his grandson live?

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

“We’re home.” Marc turned off the ignition key and glanced at Holly. “What’s wrong?” Eyes shut and lips pinched, Holly gripped the seatbelt with rigid fingers and didn’t answer. He touched her arm. “Holly,” he said, raising his voice. “Are you in pain?” Buried in a whirlpool of disturbing thoughts, he hadn’t talked to her during the drive home.

She opened her eyes. A mix of fear and anxiety troubled their limpid blue-green. “Aren’t you worried?” she asked, her lips quivering.

“Of course, I’m worried about Abuelita but—”

“I mean about tomorrow’s surgery. You know, Baby Brendon?” She shivered, crossed her arms over her chest, and hunched her shoulders.

“Sweetie, don’t be scared.” He unsnapped his seat belt and hers and stretched his arm behind her back, gathering her against his side. “It’s not difficult. One has to be careful and accurate.”

“Careful and accurate?” She snorted. “I killed a baby in my first month of fellowship.”

He frowned, looking at her. “If it was only your first month, there should have been an attending responsible.”

“There was. But the preemie died at my hands.”

“Don’t blame yourself when a senior staff was in charge. There was probably nothing more he could have done.”

“That’s what he said, still...”

“I’ll be standing beside you this time.” He gently rubbed her shoulder. “You’ll be fine.”

The confidence in his tone must have seeped inside her. She nodded with a weak smile. “Thank you. How come you changed your mind and decided to stay? What about your grandmother?”

His mouth twitched as he stared at the windshield. It had been one of the most difficult decisions he’d had to make. Almost as difficult as his decision to leave Holly seven years ago to help his sister and family in San Juan.

“This newborn is holding onto his life by a tiny thread. I thought about his father and mother and their horrible angst. What if this baby were Paulito?”

“Oh, my God. Paulito?” Her body trembled against his side.

“You see what I mean? I guess being a parent makes us better doctors. As much as I’m worried about Abuelita, I couldn’t turn my back and abandon our little patient.”

“But what about your Abuelita?”

“I know her cardiologist. He’s the best in San Juan. I pray she can hang on until I arrive.”

“So you’ll go?”

“Right after the surgery. Only for a day. Now, go inside while I pick up Paulito. We need some sleep. I’ll call my sister in a few hours.”

* * *

In her bathroom, Holly shed her scrubs, showered, and slipped on her blue nightgown and robe. The French satin soothed her overheated skin. After blow-drying her hair, she stretched on her bed and switched off the light, grateful for the reprieve from nightshift.

An hour later, she was still awake, chewing on her lower lip in the dark. What were the chances of survival for her little patient?

In spite of Marc’s reassurance, the nightmare came back to haunt her. Her baby brother’s death and the preemie she’d lost in her first month of fellowship. Tomorrow she’d be the neonatologist in charge. The one to assume responsibility.

Would she also be the
incompetent doctor
who couldn’t save a baby? Tears of stress streamed down her cheeks.

She slipped out of bed and tiptoed to the baby’s room. She needed to see Paulito, to hold a healthy baby in her arms and erase the terrible images of dying infants from her mind.

Without turning the light on, she picked up Paulito. “I love you,” she mumbled with a broken voice and sniffled while cradling him.

“Holly?” In the dark, Marc’s murmur reached her like a caress. She turned around with the baby in her arms and collided with his chest. His naked chest. “Paulito wasn’t crying. I was sitting in the rocking chair. What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing.” She tried to suppress the quivering of her lips. The silk of his boxers rubbed against her thighs. She forgot about the next day’s surgery, a stronger anxiety storming into her belly. She was almost in Marc’s arms. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“I couldn’t sleep either.” He took the baby and lowered him into his crib. “Come,” he said as he tugged at her hand and led her out of the room.

 In the hallway, Marc switched the light on. Holly’s sexy blue nightgown skimmed the middle of her thighs. The strap of her nightie drifted from her shoulder down her arm. He swallowed. Hard. Where was the Mickey Mouse shirt when he needed it to douse his lust?

He trailed a finger on her cheek, along the wet path of her tears. “You’ve been crying.”

“I’m...just so worried about tomorrow’s surgery.”

He cupped her face between his hands, keeping her at arm’s length from his taut body. It would be the wrong time for her to feel his erection pulsing against her belly. Not when she needed professional reassurance. He’d help her get over her fears. Then he’d rush under the shower. Even if his arms itched to close around her waist. Even if he’d die a slow death to control his yearning.

He sucked in a deep breath and cleared his throat. “Listen to me, Holly.” He hoped his voice sounded assertive, business-like. “You’re an excellent neonatologist. I saw you at work. You can do it. Carmichael knows it. That’s why he insisted that you be there for his grandson.”

“What if the baby dies? The cardiologist said he had only a fifty percent chance.”

“You have to distance yourself from the case.”

She closed her eyes. He felt her shiver and realized she’d always suffered when losing a patient. It was the downside of their profession.

He dropped his hands to her shoulders, gently squeezing them to reassure her. “We’ll do everything possible to save him and help his parents deal with the stress.” With a superhuman effort to control his lust and cope with his own torture, he added, “Now, you need to sleep to be fresh tomorrow.”

God almighty, he deserved a medal for this self-imposed sacrifice. She stood clothed in only a flimsy nightie, not ten inches from his hot, burning body. He’d been aching to hold her for the past two months. And now he was urging her to go to bed. By herself.

She shook her head. “I tried. I couldn’t.”

Caramba!
Don’t tempt me, sweetheart.
He wasn’t competing for sainthood.

He slipped his hands behind her head. “I could massage your neck to help you sleep.” Only her neck. He damn well hoped his fingers wouldn’t wander. “I mean if you want.” He’d give her the opportunity to refuse and protect them both from a sleepless night.

She opened her beautiful eyes wide. “I want...you.” She mouthed the last word. His jaw dropped. He wondered if he’d heard correctly, but there was no doubt about the passion simmering in the blue-green eyes fixed on him.  

He slid a hand along her back and brought her tight against his pulsing body. “
Querida
, I want you too. But tomorrow—”

“Forget tomorrow. Now.” She raised her head, her lips inching dangerously close to his.

“Are you sure?” he asked in a last attempt to remind her—and himself—he was her guest, the housemate who’d promised to maintain a business-like arrangement between them.

As he gazed at her face, she whimpered, “Kiss me, Marc.”

It was precisely what he had in mind. The only thing he could think about.