The Surgeon's Surprise Twins (16 page)

Now Dr. Sam—whose sometimes touchy friendship with Mark had blossomed and resulted in a very happy marriage—was one of his favorite people here at Safe Harbor. The fact that, as a pediatrician, she didn't have to work directly with Owen probably helped their friendship, he admitted with an inward smile as he drove through the quiet streets.

How easy it had seemed last December, with his lofty sense of remoteness, to imagine that one could easily control the press. Tonight, Owen had come within a knife's edge of lambasting O'Donnell on camera. Once your emotions got involved, everything changed.

He'd had half a mind to punch the guy out for that crack about the harem. It irked him that legally he'd be the one guilty of assault—not to mention the risk to his surgeon's hands—whereas in the old days a gentleman was expected to stand up for a lady's honor.

The closer Owen drew to the house on the cul de sac, the more he missed Bailey. And the more indignant he became on her behalf. Pregnant because she loved her sister, robbed of the savings that should have upgraded her career to nurse practitioner, and now belittled in the media—how utterly unfair. Why couldn't everyone see what a shiningly honest soul she was?

The sight of her unassuming compact in the driveway lifted his spirits. To be on the safe side, he glanced around for any sign of the press. No news vans cluttered the curb, and he doubted anyone would bother lurking in the bushes simply to watch him walk into a house where he'd already admitted he lived.

No one approached, and he let himself inside without incident. Everything lay quiet. Bailey's door was firmly shut, with no light showing beneath.

He knew he ought to mind his own business, but he couldn't resist opening it to peer in. A small figure lay curled on the futon, lightly covered. Nights tended to be cool this close to the ocean, but pregnant women generated heat. Speaking of her condition, someone ought to buy her a decent bed, or else a crane to help her in and out of this one as she grew bigger.

She didn't stir.

They had a lot to discuss. Owen wondered if she'd seen him on TV, and what she thought about that.

As he slid the door shut, he told himself they'd talk in the morning. He was looking forward to it.

The odd sound of a baritone voice singing, “I am sixteen going on seventeen…” in the shower woke Bailey, or perhaps she'd been rising into consciousness and that was simply the final straw. Why was a grown man singing a song written for a teenage girl?

She'd forgotten to wear earplugs. But she doubted that would have helped with him right in the next room.

As August sunlight slanted through the vertical blinds, she registered that she was back in the house on Morningstar Circle. Owen was here too, and in a fine mood.

In the shower, the melody shifted to “Oh, What a Beautiful Mornin'.” Someone ought to slap that man. No one had a right to be so cheerful at seven o'clock in the morning.

Yet Bailey lay there relishing the deep reverberation of his voice and the sense of his nearness. It occurred to her that making love in the bathroom might have been a mistake, in the sense that she had a hard time putting those vivid scenes out of her mind when she ought to be thinking about ordinary stuff like brushing her teeth or whether she could sneak in there and use the facilities while he was otherwise occupied. She kept thinking about inviting herself into the warm water and his arms…

Except that she couldn't afford to be blithe, impulsive
Bailey any more. Her easygoing nature had landed her in a huge mess and, like it or not, Owen was part of it.

Unhappily, Bailey lay there until the water stopped. She followed the sounds as he dried off and moved away, humming. Finally, she heard his closet door open, which meant the bathroom was free.

With speed born of desperation, Bailey lumbered out of bed, opened the door on her side, stumped across the small bathroom and locked the access to his bedroom. She did the same to hers, for good measure.

“Hey!” came a laughing protest. “Share!”

“You had your turn!”

“I need my blow-dryer. My hair's going to dry all messed up.”

“Run your fingers through it like any normal guy. Buy an extra brush.” Why was she giving suggestions to a grown man? “Suck it up.”

He laughed.

When Bailey emerged half an hour later, she followed the scent of cinnamon into the kitchen. Two gooey bear claws dripping with sugar and other enticing, health-free enhancements were warming in the toaster oven, while Owen sat drinking coffee and reading the morning paper.

If only the front page hadn't been staring her in the face, Bailey might have enjoyed a few more minutes before reality intruded. Instead, she had to stomach the sight of Boone's defiant expression beneath a Fugitive Captured headline.

Owen lowered the paper. He looked nothing like his brother, she reflected. His eyes brimmed with welcome and he gave her an off-center grin. “Welcome home, princess.”

“Better be careful. Someone might see you talking to me.” Bailey hadn't meant to snap at him. “Tell me one of
those pastries is mine and I promise not to bite you at least until I finish eating it.”

“It is. I bought them at the cafeteria last night. Two-for-one because they were past their prime, but the toaster perks them right up.” He transferred them onto plates he'd set out.

“Thanks.” Bailey sat down.

“Don't take this the wrong way, but why are you back?”

“Phyllis is being a jerk.”

“I assumed something of the kind,” he said, and waited.

Bailey relished a long, delicious mouthful before admitting, “She actually proposed that I split up the babies. Give her the girl and keep the boy. As if they were a litter of puppies!”

“Be honest,” Owen said. “If she'd offered to let you keep the girl—”

“Absolutely not!” she flared.

“That was a joke.”

“Not funny.” Glumly, she peered out the window into the side yard. Old gardening tools, a decrepit ladder, a hideous lawn gnome…left by former renters, she presumed. A gorgeous fuchsia hung in a pot, hooked up to the automatic watering system.

“Did you catch me on the news last night?” he asked.

Surely the man didn't expect praise! “I learned quite a few things,” Bailey said.

“Oh?” He fixed his full attention on her.

“Such as that we hardly know each other.” To her dismay, she felt the sting of tears. What was wrong with her?

“That's true as far as it goes. We only met a few weeks ago. And that was more or less by accident.”

“In other words, you didn't choose me.” Bailey took a couple of quick breaths to regain control.

“Choose you for what?”

To be your lover. I was convenient, that's all.
But he'd never said otherwise, had he? Hadn't made promises or claimed to be in love with her. Hadn't even bothered to tell her that these babies were his. “Anything.”

“Why won't you look at me?” he asked.

She was staring out the window, trying not to cry. And getting mad. Why was he torturing her? “I answered your question. Yes, I caught you on the news.”

“You don't sound like yourself,” Owen said.

Time to quit dodging his gaze. Stiffening her resolve, Bailey faced him. “That's right. I've changed. I've become a person who has two children that depend on me and nobody else.”

He laid his hand gently over hers. “You don't have to handle this alone.”

In her heart, hope stirred, painfully, like blood circulating through a limb that had fallen asleep. “What do you mean?”

“I can help you figure out a plan,” Owen said.

“A plan?”

“Financial arrangements. So you can keep the twins.” He spoke with satisfaction, as if he'd worked everything out.

“I don't want your money, if that's what you're offering,” Bailey snapped, and got to her feet. “These are your kids, but that doesn't seem to matter to you.”

She couldn't bear to be around this man for one more minute. He didn't love her, and he never would. She wasn't his type, just some woman who'd gotten pregnant with his children through none of his doing. A woman he'd taken to bed since she happened to live in the next room. As far as she could tell, the man didn't have a heart at all, whereas
hers was aching and throbbing as if it might burst right out of her body any second.

“Don't be unreasonable,” Owen said. “We have to keep things quiet, at least for now.”

“Don't worry!” she snapped. “I'm not going to embarrass you. I'm sure we've all been publicly humiliated enough to last a lifetime.”

Then she stomped away.

 

“K
EEP HER AT ARM'S LENGTH
.”

Yes, he'd done a great job of that, hadn't he? Owen reflected grimly as he drove to work. Much as he hated seeing Bailey in pain, he hadn't gone after her. Not that it would have done any good, under the circumstances. Besides, he had surgery scheduled.

He had no idea what he could have said. How to explain, to her or himself, this powerful urge to shelter her and the babies, even though the timing was terrible and he had an overriding responsibility to the hospital's program.

If Owen publicly revealed his paternity, the scandal would explode far beyond anything he'd imagined previously. With Boone's arrest making headlines nationally, the press would have a field day. The fallout wouldn't just tarnish his reputation or hurt Bailey, it would harm a lot of other people, too.

That day, Owen found himself regarding his colleagues in a new light. Erica Benford had moved from Boston to work with him. Alec Denny had relocated his daughter and was planning to marry and settle down, secure in his position as director of laboratories. Jan Garcia had likely given notice at her cryobank in Houston after accepting his job offer. Even Ned Norwalk was turning himself inside out to learn Owen's preferences and keep his medical office running smoothly.

All these people depended on him, as did the patients who put themselves in his hands. They trusted him and the team he was pulling together to bring their dreams to fruition.

Difficult as it was, he had to hold back. Bailey had friends who'd loved her and cared about her long before Owen came on the scene. In a few months, after the press turned its attention elsewhere, there'd be plenty of time for him to step back into the picture and help her figure out how to proceed with the twins.

That night, when he arrived home late and found her possessions gone, the house shivered with her absence. Owen nearly changed his mind. If he called enough people, surely he could find her.

But his brain told him that was the wrong step to take.

 

“W
HY DIDN'T YOU HAVE
any more children? Or is that too personal a question?” Bailey curled up on Renée Green's dainty couch, trying not to disturb the hand-crocheted doily on the arm.

The room belonged in a fairy-tale cottage. One wall was lined with china cabinets displaying shepherdesses, biblical figurines and small animals, while plates depicting Alpine villages and pastoral scenes filled another. Stenciled curlicues embellished the top of each doorway, and vases and bowls decorated with flower designs topped the end tables. Even her petite footstool bore a colorful painted bouquet.

“I don't mind you asking.” The older woman leaned back in her armchair. “But it's hard to know where to begin.”

While Bailey waited for Renée to organize her thoughts, she gave silent thanks for her new friend. After this morning's scene with Owen, she'd recognized an urgent need
to find new quarters. She had lots of reasons, from the danger of being ambushed by the press to the fact that she no longer wanted to be dependent on Phyllis in any way. More than anything, she couldn't bear to keep waking up with only a thin wall separating her from the man she'd so unwisely fallen in love with.

At work, as she considered where to turn for a roommate, Bailey had found herself constrained in an unfamiliar way. In the past, moving in with friends had been a simple matter of finding out who had an extra bedroom. Now she had to consider what might happen five months from now when she gave birth. And she might be putting a friend in an awkward position.

Take Ned. He was Owen's nurse. How unfair to ask him such a favor when the result might be tension at work. She couldn't query a casual acquaintance like Erica, whose first loyalty was to Owen, while many other friends like Patty and Nora were now married or engaged.

At lunch, Bailey had checked bulletin boards in the nurses' lounges, only to catch a couple of women regarding her with a mixture of curiosity and something that made her squirm. It was the fascinated horror with which people stared at celebrities who got into trouble.

She'd fled into the corridor, where she ran into Renée, who was pushing an empty wheelchair toward a patient's room. When the older woman stopped to talk, Bailey blurted her dilemma about finding a place to stay. Renée immediately volunteered her spare bedroom.

“I can't promise anything permanent,” the older woman had said. “I'm a bit set in my ways and, as you'll see, my house is stuffed with my own possessions. But there's room in the garage to store your things and I'd love to have you there for however long it takes you to find the right place.”

“That could be a few months,” Bailey had warned.

“No problem.” Renée beamed at her. “It'll be fun to share such an exciting time with you. And I do get lonely. Having a guest for a few weeks or months ought to be a nice change.”

In response to the word
guest,
Bailey had insisted on paying rent. Reluctantly, Renée had named a modest amount that wouldn't do much more than repay her for extra utilities and other costs. Bailey had agreed with gratitude.

Ned and some of the other male nurses had helped move her stuff into Renée's garage. She'd thanked everyone by buying take-out, after which she and Renée had discovered they shared an affection for old TV sitcoms.

But Bailey never forgot that Renée had once faced a dilemma somewhat like hers. Pregnant and on her own, she'd given up a baby. That didn't explain why she'd never had other children.

“Didn't your husband want children?” Bailey prompted. Her hostess seemed lost in memories.

“He had no strong feelings either way, peculiar as that might sound.” Renée's gaze remained dreamy. “He was older than me and had never married before. In fact, he'd lived with his mother until she died. I don't think he felt comfortable around kids.”

Bailey recalled that the man had died two years ago. Judging by how thoroughly Renée had settled into this house, they'd probably lived here together. “He didn't mind all the figurines and stuff?”

Her friend chuckled. “You're going to think me strange, but this house belonged to his mother and so did a lot of the knickknacks. I already had a small collection of my own and they blended right in. Please don't read anything psychological into it. I was
not
a substitute for Hubert's mother, believe me.”

Bailey hadn't been thinking that. “The house is not exactly a kid-friendly place. You'd have had to pack away this breakable stuff.”

“True.” Renée straightened the lace doily on her chair's arm. “We quit using birth control for a while, but nothing happened. We had to decide whether to consult a doctor, adopt or accept whatever nature did or didn't send us. We went with option three, and that was that.”

“I'm sorry,” Bailey said.

“Hubert and I had a happy marriage for nearly thirty years. If I had children, that would be wonderful for me now, but I'm not so sure it would have been good for the two of us.”

Thirty years together. She couldn't imagine being so lucky. “I wonder if I'll ever meet a man like Hubert.”

Renée hesitated for a moment before asking, “You aren't involved with Dr. Tartikoff? Or is that too personal a question?”

Bailey didn't blame her for wondering. “According to him, we aren't involved, so there you have it.”