Читать книгу Her Baby Out of the Blue - Алисон Робертс - Страница 8

HOW could he have done that?

Walked out and left her—literally—holding the baby?

An incredulous huff left Jane’s lungs as she scanned the now deserted corridor outside her office.

‘Shh!’ She jiggled the baby but, if anything, the decibel level increased.

Jane stepped back into her office and shut the door with her foot. Perhaps it was lucky the corridor was deserted. What would her colleagues think of this?

Jane Walters—dedicated paediatric surgeon who was letting nothing interfere with her meteoric rise through the consultant ranks. An accidental mother? Without ever having had sex with the baby’s father or having been pregnant?

There would be an endless stream of jokes about immaculate conceptions and stress-free pregnancies. People would be sniggering at her instead of giving her the respect she had worked so hard to earn.

With an inward groan, Jane recognised the kind of single-minded focus she had given her career taking over yet again. This was rather bigger than being labelled a nerd because she wanted to study instead of partying, however. She was turning the spotlight on herself and her career instead of what actually mattered in this moment of time.

Izzy…

No. She couldn’t go there and imagine a world without the person she loved the most. Falling to pieces here and now wasn’t going to help anyone, and if it became known it might do more damage to her credibility than producing an unexpected baby.

Izzy’s baby.

One that she had wanted desperately enough to beg her for help. What if Izzy could see her now? It was too easy to imagine her friend’s passionate expression. To feel the bond that had made them so close.

Please, Izzy would say. You have to help me here, Janey. You’re the only person who can.

‘Shh!’ Jane tried to push away the echo of Izzy’s voice. She looked down at the tiny, screwed-up face amongst the folds of fuzzy blanket. ‘Goodness, you’re red!’ she exclaimed. ‘Is there something wrong with you, baby?’

She could deal with that. Jane sat on the edge of the chair and leaned forward to lay the bundle down carefully on the floor. She peeled back the blanket.

Izzy’s baby, she reminded herself as she looked at tiny starfish hands and a miniature body in a soft, stretchy, pink suit.

‘Maybe you’re too hot.’

It certainly felt hot. And damp. And the smell was a lot less than pleasant. Jane found herself automatically looking up, half expecting a nurse or parent to step in and deal with this.

Jane diagnosed things. She saw babies when they were clean and awake. Often when they were crying like this, in fact. She saw them later, when they were sedated and quiet and again when they were recuperating and, of course, the time she almost loved the most—when they were completely asleep.

Anaesthetised.

A time when she could use her not inconsiderable powers of concentration and learned skills to fix whatever was wrong and make life a whole lot better for them.

Jane Walters did not change dirty nappies. Or feed babies. She cuddled them sometimes. Once she got to know them—inside and out—they were a part of her professional life and she cared passionately about those children. So much so that she’d never once regretted her decision not to have children of her own. She didn’t have the time or need for them. Being able to go home and have a complete break was what enabled her to give everything she had—and more sometimes—to her patients.

This baby had sprung from her personal life, not her professional one. Jane didn’t cuddle babies like this. Not when they needed the kind of attention a nurse could deliver much more effectively. Not when they needed their mothers.

Oh….God!

Jane stared down at the miserable scrap of humanity on her floor.

Was it really possible she was the closest thing to a real mother this child would ever have? No. Being a mother had far more to do with what happened after the biological chemistry took place. She wasn’t a mother. She couldn’t even begin to feel like a mother. She didn’t want to!

The ringing of her desk phone took a while to penetrate both the noise of Sophie crying and Jane’s stunned thought processes. By leaning back in her chair she could reach the phone on the corner of her desk.

‘Dr Walters?’

It was her registrar. ‘Mike. How’s it going?’

‘Did you get my pager message?’

Good grief. Jane had completely forgotten her pager had even sounded. Her life was in chaos.

‘Hang on.’ She unclipped it from the elastic band of her scrub suit pants. ‘You’re in ICU?’

‘Yes. Where are you?’

‘Um…’ There was no way he wouldn’t be able to hear the background noise. ‘I had to go down to Emergency.’

‘Sounds like you’ve got an unhappy customer.’

‘Yes.’ The baby was still howling but it was a tired sound now, with an occasional, miserable hiccup. Jane’s gaze slid towards the car seat Dylan McKenzie had also left behind. To the bag with the visible nappy. Was there a bottle in there as well? Formula?

‘A neonate?’ Mike sounded interested at the prospect of a new patient.

‘Yes.’ Jane needed to change the subject. To find out what Mike wanted and then get off the phone so she could try and think of how to cope. ‘What’s happening with William? He looked stable when I saw him in Recovery.’

‘He’s tachycardic. Blood pressure’s dropped a bit.’

‘Any abdominal signs? What’s happening with drainage?’

‘I can’t see any indication of bleeding. Drainage is minimal. There’s no distension.’

‘Urine output?’

‘Also minimal.’

‘Oxygen saturation?’

‘Good. Ninety-eight per cent.’

‘Increase the rate of IV fluids and see if you can get his BP stable. I’ll be up as soon as I can. I just need a few minutes to sort this…’

What—this baby? The situation? The feeling like she’d been sideswiped from her chosen path through life and was falling into a huge crevasse?

Mike didn’t wait for an explanation. As always, he was eager to impress. ‘I’ll be here. I’ve finished on the ward for now. Everything’s looking good.’

‘Fine. I’ll pop in there later.’

Jane ended the call. The ward wasn’t far away. The charge nurse, Margaret, was experienced and unflappable. Just the person Jane needed right now.

My friend’s in trouble, she practised silently as she wrapped Sophie back in her blanket and took the bag from the car seat. A family emergency. I’ve got to look after this baby for a little while and I really need some assistance. Just until I’ve seen all my patients.

And possibly taken one back to Theatre, but even so it shouldn’t be for more than an hour or two. Jane eased the safety strap over the lumpy bundle and secured Sophie into the carry seat.

And what then?

Jane carried the seat in one hand and the bag in the other, leaving her office and heading towards the paediatric wards. What if Izzy’s brother-in-law didn’t come back and take over the care of this infant?

She couldn’t very well leave it in the hospital over-night. Questions would be asked. Social Services might be contacted. The truth would emerge.

At least it was Friday. At worst, if she had to take the baby home, all she had to deal with workwise tomorrow was a morning ward round. Then she would have until Monday morning to get this mess sorted out.

And she would get it sorted out.

There was simply no alternative.

Nine p.m.

Dylan McKenzie returned the smiles from a group of young girls who teetered on their high heels as they passed the park bench he was sitting on. The ones who weren’t flat out texting absent friends on their mobile phones turned their heads for another look.

‘Come with us,’ one of them called cheekily. ‘It’s Friday night. Time to party!’

Dylan shook his head, his smile fading. ‘I’ve got a date,’ he responded. ‘But you have fun. And take care,’ he added.

They were far too young to be heading for a night on the town in their skimpy tops and tight jeans. No more than fifteen or sixteen, surely? Did their parents know where they were and what they were up to?

Would Sophie be off doing things like this when she should still be safely under adult supervision?

Dylan sighed. Funny how one’s view of the world changed so dramatically when one became a parent.

Or an almost parent.

He sighed again. More than twenty-four hours of travelling to get from Edinburgh, Scotland, to Christchurch, New Zealand, were taking their toll. He’d never felt this tired.

Or this despondent.

Okay, he’d hardly expected Jane Walters to fall over herself in delighted surprise at being presented with her baby but she’d been so obviously uninterested. Appalled, in fact.

She didn’t want Sophie.

She’d offered him money to try and make the problem go away.

Not many things made Dylan really furious. He prided himself on being able to see both sides of any conflict and being able to retain dignity, if not a sense of humour, in dealing with adverse circumstances, but that had made him angry.

So angry that walking out had seemed the only way to make his point. That Dr Walters had to shoulder at least some of the responsibility. And he’d been worried sick ever since.

What was happening? She might have left Sophie in the care of someone else. It wouldn’t be impossible for someone in her position to engage the help of the paediatric ward staff, for instance, and knowing that had been why Dylan hadn’t immediately turned round and gone back after his dramatic exit.

But she might have called the police. They might be hunting for him right now, with a warrant for his arrest for having abandoned a helpless baby. If so, he’d be easy enough to find, sitting here in public view beside the river only a few minutes’ walk from the hospital. With a backpack beside him to advertise that he wasn’t a local.

He’d been sitting here for a very long time now. Hours. Trying to see a way forward. A future he had never envisioned. It wasn’t that he wasn’t prepared to turn his world upside down to care for his niece because he was quite willing to do that. So was his father, but they’d both agreed that what Sophie really needed was a mother.

Preferably her own. The woman who was genetically closer to Sophie than either her uncle or her grandfather. It had been worth a try, anyway, but it certainly wasn’t looking a likely prospect.

Dylan’s legs felt stiff as he finally got up from the bench. According to the business card in his hand and the map now stuffed into the side pocket of his backpack, he was about at the halfway point between the hospital and the address where Jane Walters lived.

She would be home by now. If she had even a spark of responsibility or humanity, she would have taken her baby with her. If she hadn’t, that would be that as far as Dylan was concerned. He would find where Sophie was and take her back to the other side of the world.

Why wouldn’t she stop crying?

Margaret had said she had just been fed and changed when Jane had collected her from the ward around 8 p.m. Tucked into the car seat, the baby had been happy enough until the short taxi ride to her apartment block had ended. The miserable wailing had started as Jane had slipped the key into the lock of her penthouse door and it hadn’t stopped since.

This baby knew it was in the wrong place and with the wrong person and there was nothing Jane could do about that because that’s how it was. She paced the distance of her open-plan living, dining and kitchen area. Round and round. Rocking the baby. Talking to her. Trying to reassure both the baby and herself. Trying to unravel the knot of anxiety that could morph into something close to panic as it sat there, like a stone, in her stomach.

She actually felt sick. There had been no time to boil a kettle for a hot drink, let alone think about making any dinner. Jane still hadn’t even pulled the drapes that covered the wall of glass overlooking the huge central city park across the road.

‘It’ll be OK,’ she told Sophie. ‘He’s coming back. You were happy enough with him before, weren’t you?’

A lot happier than she was with her biological mother, that was for sure.

‘He’ll look after you. He loves you.’

He had certainly given the impression that he loved this baby. She had looked so comfortable and safe in those strong, male arms.

‘He looks like a very nice man.’

His brother had been at any rate. Jane had never allowed a serious relationship to interfere with her life goals. No, that wasn’t entirely true. The men she’d been attracted to were like herself. Highly intelligent, focused and ambitious, and she was not the type of woman they wanted in their lives. Those men wanted support and admiration, not competition.

Izzy had loved her work and had been smart enough to find it easy, but she had been more than willing to give up any notion of a high-powered job as a consultant to be a wife and mother. She’d been planning to work as a general practitioner. To share a practice and life and parenthood with the man who had captured her heart so completely.

And while Jane couldn’t think of anything worse as far as a career went, she’d been envious of that overwhelming kind of love. Like being a mother, it was something she knew she’d chosen not to allow room for in her life.

Sophie was still crying. The knot in Jane’s stomach was like a cramp now and thoughts of Izzy were crowding in on her. Izzy and Josh. She could imagine how incredulous they would have been to discover the IVF treatment had succeeded. How special it must have been to keep their secret and wait. She could see them so clearly. Josh with his hand on an expanding belly and Izzy with her face shining with hope and excitement and love…

And now Jane had tears streaming down her own face as she kept walking, and she was holding Sophie more tightly, her head bent so that the fuzzy duck blanket soaked up her tears. The baby’s crying was like an echo of her own grief and Jane hardly heard it until she became aware of the insistent knocking on her door.

Was she disturbing the elderly tenants that lived below? Had they come to see what on earth was going on? To complain?

Jane scrubbed her face with the corner of the blanket and took a deep, shuddering breath, determined to gain control. Her neighbours were going to have to deal with this temporary inconvenience.

Just like she was doing.

The ice queen had been crying!

Dylan gave himself a mental shake. The title was inappropriate.

His anger and anxiety had left in a rush a few minutes ago when he’d been standing over the road and had seen Jane walking past her windows, her head bowed over the bundle she was holding in her arms.

She’d done the right thing and had taken her daughter home with her and she was holding her. Cuddling her. Hearing the sound of the baby crying had been a surprise. Seeing how wrecked Jane Walters looked when she opened the door was disturbing.

She was still very pale and now there were dark circles under eyes that were reddened and had drops of moisture clumping the lashes. Wordlessly, Dylan stepped inside and took Sophie from her arms.

‘Hey, hinny,’ he said softly. ‘What’s the matter? It’s all right. Everything’s all right.’

The door closed behind him as he rocked the baby. From the corner of his eye he saw the way Jane leaned back against the door and closed her eyes, folding her arms around herself as though she still needed something to hold. Dylan had to fight the urge to use one arm to draw her close. To…comfort her.

Instead, he pretended complete focus on Sophie and kept his tone neutral.

‘Is she hungry?’

‘She was fed about an hour ago. And changed.’ Jane was straightening up now.

‘And have you eaten?’

‘N-no.’ She sounded surprised that he would ask.

‘Neither have I.’ Dylan was still rocking Sophie and her cries were fading. ‘Have you got enough of something for both of us?’

‘I…ah…’ Jane was staring at the baby whose eyes— and, mercifully, her mouth—were finally closing. ‘How did you do that? What was I doing wrong?’

Dylan smiled. ‘Don’t take it personally. She knows me, that’s all.’

Jane didn’t return the smile. Her chin came up and a flash of anger sparked in her eyes. ‘So why did you abandon her, then? Leave her with total strangers?’

Dylan’s sympathy with the way Jane was looking evaporated. Had she missed the point here entirely? Had he been worried sick for hours for no good reason?

‘I wanted you to think about the part you have in this wee lassie’s life.’

Jane wasn’t looking at Sophie now. She was glaring at Dylan and she had the nerve to look self-righteous.

‘I could have called the police. Or Social Services.’

‘But you didn’t.’

‘No. Lucky for you. There are laws about child neglect. Abandonment.’

‘Why didn’t you call them, then?’

Her gaze slid sideways. ‘Because I didn’t want people knowing about this.’

‘Why not?’

‘It’s private.’

‘Maybe you don’t want people knowing that you’re not prepared to acknowledge your own child?’

‘I am prepared to acknowledge her! I’m prepared to support her in whatever way I can. I want what’s best for her—just like you do. And…’ The glance at the sleeping infant was triumphant. ‘Being with you is clearly what’s best for her.’ Jane walked past Dylan. ‘Have a seat,’ she instructed. ‘Make yourself comfortable. I’m make us something to eat and we can talk. Scrambled eggs all right with you?’

‘Fine.’ But Dylan did not obey the command to be seated. He might be prepared to do anything for wee Sophie but he’d had enough of Dr Walters giving orders. And assuming that she had control and had just made all the decisions that needed to be made. Seething quietly, Dylan walked towards the windows, turned and surveyed what he could see of this luxurious apartment.

Jane was busy in the kitchen area. Opening cupboards and a gleaming stainless-steel refrigerator. A saucepan and a bowl and a tray of eggs were already on the spotless black bench top.

‘Very nice,’ he said eventually, into a silence that was being broken only by the sound of Jane preparing their meal.

‘Thanks. I like it.’

‘Close to the hospital.’

‘Yes. I take a longer route through the park in the summer and get my exercise that way. It’s beautiful.’

‘Must be hard—keeping white furniture so clean.’

Jane was cracking eggs into the bowl. ‘Not at all. I live alone, have no desire to keep pets and I have a cleaner who comes twice a week.’ She turned her head as she reached to pick up a whisk. ‘My apartment, like my life, is exactly the way I like it. The way I planned it to be.’

Dylan said nothing. It figured. An important position in a large hospital would leave little time to create a home and this was nothing like a home. It looked like a set for a photo shoot by some house-and-garden publication. The perfect city pad for the young professional. Tasteful, modern, comfortable and…completely without soul.

Had the interior designer chosen the artwork hanging on the walls? Random splashes of colour that were echoes of carefully positioned items like cushions and rugs to try and tone down the sterile white on white of everything else. Here it was well into November but there was no hint of Christmas coming. Did she have a white, artificial tree packed away somewhere? With white icicle lights to hang on it, maybe?

It was all so unsuitable for a baby it was a joke. As funny as trying to imagine Jane changing nappies or playing with a baby in a bath. Blowing bubbles or swimming a plastic duck through the water and making quacking noises.

Except it wasn’t funny, was it?

It was incredibly sad.

The eggs were fabulous. Lots of chopped parsley and freshly ground black pepper and thick, toasted whole-grain bread. Jane hadn’t realised how hungry she was. Normally, she would have poured herself a nice glass of chilled sauvignon blanc to go with the meal but it didn’t seem appropriate tonight. You didn’t quaff alcohol when you were looking after a baby, did you?

Except that the responsibility had now been handed back. The relief and release of tension was as good as several glasses of wine could have achieved. Jane took another mouthful of the eggs and savoured it, then glanced up to see Dylan picking up some egg-laden toast with his fingers.

‘All right?’

‘Wonderful. You can cook.’

‘You sound surprised.’

Dylan’s grin was charmingly shamefaced. ‘I guess it’s not a skill I associate with important, busy surgeons.’

‘How many important, busy surgeons do you know?’

‘Oh, heaps.’

‘Oh?’

Curiosity about her unexpected visitor surfaced. He had shed the leather jacket now and looked…larger, somehow. Well-defined muscles on his bare upper arms suggested he was fit. The tan might mean he worked outdoors. The hair was too wild to fit with a white-collar job and…Good grief, she’d been right to suspect an ear piercing. It wasn’t a gold ring, though. Just a tiny gold stud.

‘So what do you do?’ Jane asked.

‘I’m a nurse.’

The statement was terse. Cut off by a mouthful of food, but Jane was being watched. Those dark blue eyes were on her face. Waiting for her reaction.

He was a male nurse. She was a female surgeon. Was he expecting some kind of put-down? Jane simply nodded.

‘So you and Josh both went into medicine, then. Do you have a specialty area?’

The hesitation was so brief Jane wouldn’t have noticed if she hadn’t been watching for his reaction to her reaction. She saw her words being registered and she saw the wariness leave his eyes and an approving gleam take its place.

And, for some inexplicable reason, she felt like she’d passed a test. Supplied the correct answer. Won a prize, even. A tingle of pleasure made her aware of just how tense and miserable she’d been ever since this man had appeared in her life with his devastating news and his alarming young companion.

‘I love kids,’ Dylan answered when he’d swallowed. ‘I’ve done a fair bit of time in Theatre but I prefer my patients awake. I’ve done everything over the years. Nursing’s a great job to travel with and I’ve got the world’s itchiest feet. I never stay in one place for more than a few months.’

So she’d been right about more than the ear piercing. He was a gypsy. Would he cart Sophie from pillar to post with him?

Jane opened her mouth to tell him how unsuitable a life that would be for a young child and then snapped it shut. It wasn’t her place to criticise. He loved the baby. She was happy with him. He was a nurse and he loved kids and he was Sophie’s uncle. End of story.

Any niggling doubt was erased by looking down to where Sophie was sound asleep in her car seat beside Dylan’s chair.

‘Is she all right, sleeping in there? Doesn’t she need a cot or bassinette or something?’

‘She’ll be fine. I’ll make up a bed with pillows and she can share my bed.’ Dylan was scraping up the last of his scrambled eggs. ‘When I find one, that is.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I came straight to the hospital from the airport. I was going to ask you for a recommendation for accommodation but we didn’t really get that far, did we?’

‘You mean you haven’t got something booked? It’s after 10 p.m.! What have you been doing for the last few hours? I thought you’d be getting yourself sorted. With a hotel and a cot and supplies and so on.’

‘Did you now?’ Dylan’s gaze was steady. ‘You hoped I’d be riding back in on my white charger to rescue you from any responsibility?’

Jane could feel the heat creeping up from her neck to her cheeks. It was exactly what she’d been hoping.

‘Um…how long are you expecting to stay?’

‘As long as it takes.’

‘As long as what takes?’ Dismay enveloped Jane. This was actually a very long way from being sorted.

‘You need time,’ Dylan said calmly. ‘A chance to get used to the idea that you’re a mother. Your only chance to be one, from what you’ve said.’ He pushed his plate away but he was watching Jane with that intense kind of focus he seemed very good at. ‘You never intended having a child and you’re not about to change your mind.’

Jane would have confirmed his statement but he didn’t give her the chance. He kept talking. Quietly. His voice was compelling.

‘If you send us away, we’ll go, but you’ll probably never see Sophie again. You’ll never know what it’s like to hold a baby in your arms and know that she’s yours. That she’s utterly dependent on you and that she’s going to love you in a way that no one else can ever love you. Don’t be in too much of a hurry to break that connection, Jane. It might very well be the only one you ever have.’

He’d called her Jane. In that soft, lilting tone he’d used throughout that extraordinary short speech.

He’d go away, he said. If she chose. He’d go away and take the baby with him.

She wouldn’t have to hear him tell her about the responsibility she should be taking on. She wouldn’t have to feel guilty or contemplate the shattering effect this child could have on her life.

She wouldn’t have to see him sitting here—so out of place in her perfect apartment—with his big, masculine body and his tousled hair. She wouldn’t have to listen to that accent that reminded her of Josh and…and Izzy.

She wouldn’t hear him calling her ‘Jane’ like that. Like he knew her.

Like she mattered.

Jane had to swallow hard. And move. She gathered up the empty plates.

‘Fine,’ she managed to choke out as she stood up. ‘You can stay here tonight.’