Читать книгу The Brennan Baby - Barbara Boswell, Barbara Boswell - Страница 8

Two

Gillian was wrong.

Devlin did think about her, especially when he was alone in his apartment, right across the hall from hers. His mind would drift from the plot of “I Dream of Jeannie” or “Three’s Company” or whatever rerun was airing on TV to ponder why Gillian had ended their relationship so abruptly, so irrevocably, all those months ago.

He acknowledged that he had done his part to keep the split irrevocable. After Gillian told him it was all over between them—offering only a maddeningly ambiguous “this isn’t working out” as the reason why—he hadn’t said a word or done a thing to make her change her mind. He hadn’t called her or attempted to see her.

Was that what she’d expected him to do? To go crawling to her, begging to be allowed back in her life? The prospect appalled him, and he rejected it now as he had then. But suppose he had made one phone call to her in the days following their breakup? Just one. A single phone call hardly constituted crawling or begging. Twenty months later, Devlin finally conceded that point.

He frowned, remembering the night she’d called it quits. After dropping her bombshell, Gillian had gone home, leaving him alone to absorb the shock. And what a shock it was... For the first time in his charmed, blessed, golden life he’d been dumped!

Compounding his woe was his lack of anyone to share it He didn’t consider confiding anything about the breakup to any member of his social circle. Why bother when he could easily predict their responses?

The attitude of the jaundiced nonromantics in the group would be a cavalier “so what?” The others would proclaim that it was about time he felt the sting of rejection, that everybody else in the world had been dumped at one time or another and now, finally, it was Devlin Brennan’s turn.

He could have told his sister. Kylie definitely would’ve provided sympathy, but she might have expected him to cry on her shoulder while she offered words of solace and advice. That was too ghastly to contemplate. He was the big brother, ever cool, ever confident, and he wasn’t about to relinquish his own image of himself.

So he’d opted for silence, answering the occasional question about Gillian Bailey with a nonchalant, “Haven’t seen her for a while.” Everybody who knew Devlin Brennan knew what that meant—he had moved on to another woman. Details weren’t requested or supplied.

“For every man who breaks hearts, there is a woman who is his match,” declared Holly Casale, his friend since their early med school days, who was currently completing her residency in psychiatry here at the hospital. Devlin did not appreciate her diagnosis or prophecy or whatever that cryptic observation of hers was supposed to be.

He didn’t consider himself a heartbreaker; he simply wasn’t ready to settle down, a point he made to any woman who tried to assume otherwise. He was honest and up-front about his commitment to staying uncommitted, which was hardly characteristic of those deceptive smoothies who deserved the title of heartbreaker.

As for Gillian breaking his heart, that premise was laughable. His heart hadn’t even been bruised by her rejection, Dev assured himself. He’d set out to prove that being dumped wasn’t the trauma all those sad songs and movies and books proclaimed it to be.

He forgot all about Gillian Bailey. He continued with his life, which was full and busy with his fourth-year residency in orthopedics, a specialty that continually fascinated him, with his many friends and with various women who provided him with sex whenever he wanted it

Funny how he hadn’t wanted it lately.

That was because he was taking a hiatus from sex, Devlin reminded himself. He’d seen some therapist-guru on a talk show who extolled periods of chastity as time to recharge energy and creativity. Dev didn’t run that particular theory by Holly, but decided that his body had chosen to be chaste for a while.

Didn’t he feel more energetic and creative?

Seated in front of his television set, Devlin proceeded to channel-surf through eighty-six channels, pointing his remote like a divining rod. Nothing caught his interest, and his thoughts drifted back to Gillian.

He allowed himself to admit that in spite of his busy, full life he hadn’t completely forgotten about her. He’d given her an occasional thought during the past twenty months When he had learned about Gillian’s marriage, only a couple weeks after their breakup, he had been stunned. It stood to reason that she must have been dating her future husband all the while she’d been with him. Or maybe her three-month fling with him had been a rebound romance for her, something to pass the time until the groom-elect came through with a wedding ring.

Either notion rankled.

Dev vaguely recalled getting drunk with some of his buddies around that time and referring to Gillian as a “two-timing slut.” The memory, dim as it was, now made him cringe because it implied that her quickie marriage bothered him, and of course, it had not. He’d had a good laugh when Holly Casale told him that he was “in denial” and ought to acknowledge his repressed feelings.

Repressed? Him? Devlin had found the “shrink jargon” hilarious and told Holly so. As a would-be Freudian, she’d shaken her head silently and tried to look inscrutable.

His thoughts circled back to Gillian. Who was now divorced. Obviously she’d shed her husband with the same hasty ease she had acquired him. And now she was a single mother with a baby girl.

The baby, little Ashley. He wasn’t the type to go ga-ga over babies, but she was very cute. Cade, his brother-in-law, had certainly been captivated by that baby. He’d mentioned her several times over their weekend visit and yesterday, too, when Kylie had called to get an old friend’s address.

Dev had kidded Kylie that Cade’s interest in the baby across the hall was indicative of his desire to become a daddy, that she was going to find herself pregnant sooner rather than later. Kylie countered that Cade’s interest in the neighbor child stemmed from his concern for his younger sister, currently in the middle of a bitter divorce and solely responsible for her baby. According to Kylie, Cade possessed a kind of global sense of elder brother responsibility for the children of struggling single mothers.

Devlin guessed it made sense, Cade being Cade and all.

Truth to tell, it was something of a relief to know that his brother-in-law was hyperresponsible. That was exactly the kind of husband every brother wanted for his kid sister. If Kylie were pregnant, there was no question that Cade would take care of her, would stick with her and their child. Unlike Gillian’s husband, who’d been quick to split after the baby was born.

Undoubtedly that creep hadn’t been much help during her pregnancy, either, Devlin concluded, and remembered the one and only time he had seen Gillian pregnant.

He’d spotted her during a rare chance encounter in the hospital cafeteria. It had been late in her pregnancy and her tiny frame seemed ready to topple forward from the bulk of her swollen abdomen. Dev had cracked to the gang at his lunch table that she looked like an overinflated balloon and probably would’ve made another witticism or two except he caught Holly Casale observing him with her most annoying psychoanalytic stare. So he’d lapsed into silence and purposefully directed his gaze away from the very pregnant Gillian.

Had it been Holly or someone else who’d informed him when Gillian had given birth? He had merely shrugged his indifference. What was he supposed to do, go visit her on the maternity floor with a bunch of mylar balloons? He hadn’t, of course. She was married and a mother and lived her life in another universe from his.

And now it seemed their separate worlds had intersected, thanks to the random assignments made by the housing department. It was weird but entirely coincidental, a bit of computer-generated idiocy. He and Gillian could‘ve—should’ve—shared a laugh about it except she had been inexplicably hostile upon learning they were neighbors.

And they hadn’t seen each other since that day. Out of sight, out of mind, Dev reminded himself. It was more than a cliché, it was downright good advice.

He turned his attention back to the TV set, bypassing all the current reality based dramas and sitcoms for a black and white rerun from the early sixties. “The Dick Van Dyke Show.” Relaxing, he settled back to enjoy a half hour of vicarious living in a far more simple era.

In the apartment across the hall from him, Ashley Joy Morrow wouldn’t stop crying. Gillian knew the baby was teething, and she had done everything recommended in the infant and child care manual to soothe her. But nothing had worked and finally, m desperation, she called her foster mother, Dolly Sinsel, in Detroit.

“Do you think there could be something really wrong with her, Mom?” Gillian asked anxiously. “Should I take her to the emergency room?”

“She’s not hot, not cold, not wet, not pulling at her ear, not throwing up, her nose isn’t stuffy, her stomach isn’t hard, her muscles aren’t rigid,” Dolly Sinsel recited the lack of non-symptoms that Gillian had relayed to her. “That baby isn’t sick, Gillian. Sounds to me like she’s just overexcited or overtired. Put her in her crib with a bottle of juice, close the bedroom door, and then you sit down and turn on some music or the TV.”

“You mean, just ignore her? Keep her in there alone and crying?” Gillian shivered, remembering how it felt to be small and scared and all alone. “Ashley has never cried much and never like this. She—”

“She is exerting her independence. Babies need to cry to exercise their lungs,” Dolly said calmly. “Now put Ashley in the crib and make yourself a nice cup of tea, honey. You two need to unwind away from each.”

Gillian attempted to follow the advice. After all, who knew kids better than Dolly Sinsel, who’d raised four children of her own and taken in hundreds of foster children down through the years? Gillian had lived with the Sinsels from the age of twelve until her graduation from high school and had never seen her foster parents fazed by anything. Or anyone Not even the most hardcore adolescent veterans of the foster care system.

Gillian still marveled at Mom and Dad Sinsel’s unshakable aplomb as they dealt again and again with the young fire-setters, the kid thieves and liars, the screamers and marauders who’d been placed under their roof by the State of Michigan. The Sinsels were impervious to upset and insult, and while Gillian was able to emulate their attitude in her career as a medical social worker, she couldn’t muster such calm in dealing with Ashley. When Ashley was upset, so was her mother; when Ashley was happy or excited or fearful, her mommy was, too.

“Grandma Dolly says you’d rather be alone,” Gillian told Ashley as she carried the howling baby into the small bedroom filled with toys and baby furniture and bright posters of cartoon figures on the wall.

She put Ashley into her crib with its cheery Winnie the Pooh sheets and handed her a bottle of apple juice. Shrieking her displeasure, Ashley pulled herself to her feet and threw the bottle out of the crib. Distressed, Gillian put it back in, then quickly left the room, closing the door behind her.

While Ashley’s roars of infantile fury echoed in her head, Gillian turned on her TV set. Nothing claimed her interest, not even the hurricane currently being tracked in the Caribbean by the Weather Channel. She decided to forego the suggested cup of tea. Her stomach was in knots and her throat felt too tight to swallow. The baby’s cries continued unabated, sounding less angry and more and more piteous.

Gillian looked bleakly at her watch. Only six and a half minutes had elasped but it felt like an eternity. Poor little Ashley, exiled to her crib. Gillian wondered if she felt unwanted, alone in the dark world without anyone who cared.

It was a horrible feeling that Gillian knew all too well. To imagine Ashley having to experience such despair was unbearable. She rose to her feet and fairly flew into the nursery. With all due respect to Dolly Sinsel, isolating the baby felt all wrong.

After all, it wasn’t as if Ashley had tried to burn down the house or stone a neighbor’s dog; she didn’t need a stint in solitary confinement as punishment. Ashley was cutting a tooth and she was uncomfortable. Why shouldn’t she cry?

Gillian arrived at the cribside just as Ashley succeeded in pulling the rubber nipple off the top of her bottle and turning it upside down, emptying the juice The baby was so shocked by her sudden soaking, she stopped crying and looked up at her mother with astonished blue eyes.

“Oh, Ashley, you’re all wet and so is the bed!” Gillian was dismayed.

Ashley was furious that she’d been doused. She began to howl again.

“It’s all right, sweetheart.” Gillian picked her up and cuddled her. “I’ll put you in nice dry jammies and then I’ll change the sheet.”

She sponged the sticky juice from the baby, then dried and dressed her in fresh, aqua cotton footed pajamas. And discovered that there were no more clean crib sheets. The other six were in the laundry basket waiting to be taken to the washer and dryer in the basement of the building.

“I’m sorry, Ash. I didn’t realize how low we were on crib sheets and we’ve been so busy after work, I haven’t gotten around to doing the laundry,” Gillian lamented aloud.

Ashley babbled a few syllables in response. Gillian was so relieved that the baby had stopped crying, she felt almost giddy. “We’ll go next door and ask Shelly or Heather if they’ll stay with you while I go downstairs to do a load of laundry now, okay? You like Shelly and Heather, they’re operating room nurses at the hospital, and they gave you some ice cream the other day, remember?”

She carried Ashley into the hall and walked to the apartment on their left, talking to her daughter all the while. Gillian knocked long and loud before she conceded that neither Shelly nor Heather was there.

Gillian sighed. She’d hoped to avoid having to tote Ashley and the laundry basket down to the basement laundry room but with no one to watch the baby, she had no other choice. She wasn’t about to leave Ashley alone in the apartment and she hadn’t met any other neighbors yet... Her eyes flicked to the apartment door across the hall from her own, Devlin Brennan’s door. Assistance from that quarter was not an option. She would never ask him to watch her baby, not even for a moment.

And then the door opened and Devlin stepped into the hall.

Gillian froze. It was as if her thoughts had conjured him up! She stood stock-still, clutching Ashley, and staring at him. He was wearing a faded Detroit Lions T-shirt and jeans, simple and common enough clothes but the way they showcased his male attributes—his muscular arms and broad chest, his long lean thighs and flat belly—evoked a reaction within Gillian that was neither simple nor common. His face was darkened by the shadow of a beard, reminding Gillian of how sexy he looked in the morning when he awakened, unshaven and aroused.

She scowled at the renegade memory. This was no time to recall anything about her three-month lapse of sanity that had characterized her affair with Devlin Brennan.

Her dour expression did not go unnoticed. “I bet the bubonic plague got a less hostile welcome,” Dev said dryly.

“I, uh, I was just seeing if Shelly and Heather are home.” Gillian started toward her apartment. His mere presence threatened her.

“Neither one is there. They’re both working till midnight for the next few weeks. I saw their names on the OR schedule,” he added.

“Oh.”

“I heard knocking out here.” Devlin felt obliged to explain his appearance. She was looking at him as if he were a serial killer closing in on his latest target—which happened to be her. “Anything I can do?”

Gillian shook her head no. She was almost to her door....

Devlin crossed the hall to block her entry, positioning himself in the frame the same way he’d done on the day he had moved into the building. But that time, at least, she’d been inside with Carmen and Mark as allies. Now Mark was back in L.A., Carmen was in Detroit, and here she was, stuck in the hall with no buffers against Devlin’s intimidating presence.

“No friends around as backup this time, huh?” He arched his dark brows.

Gillian was disconcerted that their thoughts were so similar. It was almost as alarming as being trapped with him like this, face-to-face with their child in her arms.

“I’ve been thinking about those friends of yours,” Devlin continued. “How did they know who I was? You never introduced me to them and I know I hadn’t met them before.”

Gillian said nothing.

“Did you tell them about me?” Devlin pressed.

He looked quite pleased by the possibility that she’d been discussing him with others. Such egotism deserved to be quashed! “I told them that some jerk I used to date had moved in across the hall,” she said with asperity. “When you showed up at the door, they drew their own conclusions. And they’re more than friends, they’re my family,” she added proudly.

“Your family?”

“You find it so hard to believe that I could have a family?” Gillian was instantly, angrily on the defensive.

“No, of course not, but—”

“But you visually stereotyped Carmen and Mark and decided that we don’t fit together genetically. Well, so what? We can’t all be whitebread chromosonal clones, like you and your sister ”

And Ashley. Gillian gulped. Why had she ever introduced the potentially explosive topic of genetics and family? Being in Devlin Brennan’s presence seemed to scramble her wits and remove the usual barrier of caution between her thoughts and words. All the more reason why she must avoid him. “Move, Devlin. I have things I have to do and—”

“Are you all adopted or something?” Devlin studied her with an intensity that unnerved her.

She looked away from him, focusing on Ashley, who was gnawing on her tiny fist. “We were unadoptable but we did share a foster home together for a number of years.” Stop staring at me, she silently ordered.

If he received her telepathic command, he did not obey it. He continued to gaze thoughtfully at her. “Thinking back on it, you never mentioned your family while we were seeing each other. Not a word. I don’t even know the names of—”

“There are too many names to name,” Gillian said flippantly. “At one time or another I was probably a foster sister to everybody who passed through Family Services in Detroit.”

“But how did you end up in foster care? What happened to your—”

“Devlin, these questions are pointless. And too late,” she couldn’t resist adding.

“Maybe I should’ve asked them before,” he conceded. “And maybe you should’ve volunteered some information, Gillian.”

“Maybe I sensed that learning my family history wasn’t exactly a priority of yours,” Gillian retorted defensively. Telling her family history was never a priority of hers; she was ashamed of it. “As I remember, you wanted to do other things than talk.”

“True, but we sure spent plenty of tune talking anyway.” Devlin smiled slightly. “I told you about my folks and my sister and all the places we lived, among other things. For that first month we were together, I sometimes wondered if we were ever going to do anything but talk.”

“I know, I know. You expected sex on the first date and I held out for a whole month. Well, if you were so bored, you shouldn’t have called me back.”

“I didn’t say I was bored, did I? I liked talking with you. You’re the only other person I’ve ever met who knows as much about TV shows as I do. The only other person I’ve ever met who’s seen every single episode of ‘Lancelot Link, Secret Chimp’ and remembers all the plots. Or at least the only one who’ll own up to it.”

“Well, you’re the only other person I’ve ever met who knows all the words to every song in the five volume set of TV theme songs,” countered Gillian. “You actually used to ask to hear it. Most people beg for mercy if I try to play it.”

“I ended up buying my own five volume set,” Dev confessed wryly. “I missed listening to yours when you took it back.”

“I bet your TV theme songs aren’t kept anywhere near your ultracool CD collection with all the right titles. After all, you like to pretend you’re such a blues fan ”

“I am a blues fan!” insisted Devlin.

“Sure you are.” Gillian arched her brows. “And I’m Lancelot Link, Secret Chimp’s secretary.”

“Everybody but you pays homage to the blues, Gillian. The blues are universally cool. You are the first and only person I’ve ever known who says they’re dull and dreary.”

“Which they are. I like to listen to cheerful, peppy music.”

“Cheerful, peppy music is insipid.” Devlin grinned. They’d had this pseudo-argument many times before.

“You’re saying that the ‘Brady Bunch’ theme is insipid?” Gillian feigned shock. “That’s blasphemy!”

He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Guilty as charged.”

They both laughed. Ashley regarded them curiously and said something that sounded like “Glx.”

Devlin smiled at the baby. “Are you offering an opinion, Ashley? What does ‘glx’ mean?”

Gillian stared from the child to the man, and apprehension shivered through her. What in the world was she doing, laughing it up with Devlin Brennan, her daughter’s father? Who had no idea that he was her daughter’s father!

And she fully intended to keep it that way. She’d known from the moment that the stick in the home pregnancy kit had changed colors that she was going to have and to raise her baby alone. Mark and Carmen and the others might tease her about being an optimist, but Gillian knew that she was actually a realist.

Which was why she’d chosen not to involve anyone else in her pregnancy and Ashley’s existence, except her beloved “fosters” who’d already proven themselves to be loyal and trustworthy. She knew they wouldn’t hurt her, and she was equally certain that Devlin Brennan would. So she hadn’t given him that chance. Nor would she.

Ashley started to bounce in Gillian’s arms, leaning toward Devlin. He interpreted the baby’s movements as a bid to go to him and held out his arms, ready to take her.

Gillian was not about to hand over the baby to the man who’d fathered her. She pulled back, tightening her arms protectively around her child. “Good night, Devlin.”

Her voice, her expression, was cold enough to freeze fire. Devlin stared at her, baffled by her abrupt shift in mood, from laughing to glaring. From accessible to icily remote He placed a hand on Gillian’s shoulder She was rigid with tension.

Their eyes met. “Why?” he asked quietly.

A flash flood of fear surged through her. What had she given away? He couldn’t have figured out the truth about Ashley, could he? “W-what do you mean?”

“Why did you break up with me?” He amazed himself by asking the question he’d vowed never to ask her.

Her panic dissipated. There was nothing to worry about, his question was all about ego. His own sizable one. “Like you care.” Gillian laughed coldly.

“Maybe I’m curious After all, you never gave me much of a reason why.” Even to himself, he sounded frustrated and accusing, but he couldn’t stop now. “Until that night, you never even gave a hint that you were unhappy or—dissatisfied. Right out of the blue, you said ‘things aren’t working out’ and you left me.”

“You really expected a detailed in-depth analysis?” Gillian mocked. “Is that what you do every time you break up with someone, Dev?”

Devlin thought of all the relationships he had ended down through the years. There had never been a detailed in-depth analysis exploring the whys and wherefores of breaking up, not even one. His modus operandi was simply to never call the woman again and to avoid returning her calls. His rejectees eventually got the hint—it was over. It was up to them to figure out why, if they wanted to.

Now he was the one who had been rejected for no discernible reason.

What goes around, comes around, he recalled his late grandmother Brennan warning in hushed ominous tones. It seemed old Grandma had been on to something.

“Point taken,” he murmured. “Just one question before we close this discussion for good. Why are you so angry with me, Gillian?”

Gillian flinched. “How can you even ask me that?” she blurted.

“Because I don’t know. You broke up with me because you wanted to, so why should you be mad at me? Unless you’re bitter toward all men since your divorce?”

Gillian stared at him, wondering what to say. Far from being embittered by her divorce, she tended to forget all about it, just as she tended to forget she had ever been married. Certainly she and Mark had never lived together as man and wife. He’d never even visited her during those months they had been legally wed because round trips to and from Los Angeles were beyond both their budgets. Mark had saved his money to afford plane fare to see Ashley as a newborn No, she could never view Mark as either her husband or her ex-husband. He was her sweet, loyal, foster brother and always would be.

But Devlin had asked a logical, valid question, one that required a response to allay suspicion. Luckily, he’d also supplied her with the answer.

“Yes, I guess I am bitter toward all men since my divorce,” she echoed nervously. “I, uh, hadn’t realized it until now. I wasn’t even aware I was acting that way.”

“Well, trust me, you are. I take it the divorce wasn’t your idea?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I can respect that. I have an aunt and uncle who were divorced years ago and they still take every opportunity to regale anyone who will listen with all the details.”

“I’ll never do that,” Gillian pledged. Never had a promise been so easy to make.

“Do you share joint custody of the baby?” Devlin asked.

“No!” Gillian quickly turned aside, as if to shield her child from him. “Ashley is mine! No more questions,” she added sternly.

“Okay.” He moved away from the door but seemed reluctant to leave. “Now that we’ve ascertained that your hostility isn’t personal, can I offer whatever help you needed from Shelly and Heather?”

Devlin looked from little Ashley to her vigilant, wide-eyed mother. “You did need something, didn’t you? And don’t automatically say no,” he added. “I don’t think you and the baby were paying a social call at this hour, were you?”

Gillian stole a glance at him. She couldn’t fathom why, but it seemed that he wasn’t about to be fobbed off. And since he now believed that her hostility toward him wasn’t personal, she really ought to foster that delusion. Making him suspicious of her could be disastrous. Hesitantly, reluctantly, she explained her laundry dilemma.

“It’s just as well the girls weren’t here to stay with the baby. You shouldn’t go down to the laundry room alone at night, Gillian.” Devlin frowned. “The security in the building is too lax to ensure safety.”

Gillian had to smile at that misplaced concern. “Compared to some of the places I’ve lived in, this place is as secure as a fortress. But if...if you want to do something, you could carry my laundry basket downstairs,” she dared add. Asking him for anything was difficult for her, but since he’d insisted on offering aid she might as well take him up on it.

“Why don’t I do the crib sheets while you stay in your apartment with the baby?” Devlin suggested instead. “Don’t look so shocked. I mastered the use of washers and dryers years ago from sheer necessity.”

He could tell that she didn’t want to accept any help at all from him. Though she kept her face poker-straight, her eyes were expressive, revealing her internal struggle. Gillian needed his assistance, and she hated that she did. She desperately wanted to say no—but the baby had to have clean, dry crib sheets.

Her maternal instincts won out. “Okay, you can do the crib sheets,” Gillian said grudgingly.

“Thank you, gracious lady,” quipped Devlin. “Doing laundry for you is both a privilege and a dream come true.”

Gillian fought a smile because she knew he was trying to make her smile and she didn’t want to grant him even that small victory. “I’ll get you some quarters,” she said repressively.

Devlin told her not to bother, that he could afford to feed the machines with his own quarters, but Gillian was insistent. She did not want to be beholden to him in any way, not even for a few quarters.

Ninety minutes later Dev carried the seven freshly laundered crib sheets to Gillian’s apartment. Inside, he could hear the baby howling at the top of her lungs and when Gillian opened the door, she looked tired and frazzled and on the verge of tears herself She held the flush-faced, shrieking Ashley in her arms.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with her,” Gillian blurted, too desperate and worried to exert her usual control. “I know she’s getting a tooth—see, right here, her top left incisor—but she never had trouble when her four front teeth came in.”

“Incisors can be tough to cut.” Devlin recalled that fact from a long-ago child development class during his med school pediatric rotation. He rubbed his finger over the swollen bud in the baby’s mouth. Ashley tried to chomp down on his finger. “Have you tried rubbing ice on her gum?”

“Yes. My foster mother suggested whiskey, but I didn’t have any so I tried some of Carmen’s cold beer. Nothing’s given her any relief.”

Devlin frowned thoughtfully. “Why don’t I get my bag? I’d like to check her ears.”

“She hasn’t been tugging at her ears and her nose isn’t stuffy,” Gillian replied quickly. “And she doesn’t feel feverish.”

“Ear infections in babies can be tricky. Sometimes they don’t touch their ears or even seem congested. If Ashley has a fever, it’s only a slight one, a degree or two, but I’d still like to check...” He placed his hand on the baby’s head. Her dark curls were damp from perspiration. “I’ll go get my bag.”

He was back with his black medical bag before Gillian could protest. Not that she would have, not now. She wanted her child to be seen by a doctor, even if that doctor happened to be Devlin Brennan.

They sat together on the sofa, Ashley on Gillian’s lap, while Devlin checked the baby’s temperature with a thermometer that he slipped under her arm.

Gillian was trembling as she watched. “I didn’t think she was sick. I—I just thought she was fussy because of her tooth.” Tears stung her eyes. “Does she have a fever?”

“A low-grade one. One hundred point two.” Devlin. replaced the thermometer and took out an instrument to look in her ear. “I’m looking for bunny rabbits, Ashley,” he said as he turned on the light and cupped her head with his hand. “If I remember correctly, that’s standard pediatric lingo during ear exams,” he added dryly to Gillian.

“Her pediatrician says that same thing.” Gillian swallowed. “Except sometimes she’ll say puppy dogs.”

“Has Ashley had many ear infections?”

“A few.

Devlin nodded. “Okay. Let’s take a look at her ears.” He was Dr. Brennan now—“Any puppy dogs hiding in here, Ashley?” —resorting to standard pediatric lingo as he looked inside the baby’s ear.

Ashley screamed and wriggled and tried to get away “Oh. yeah.” Devlin took one more look as the baby continued to struggle. “The tympanic membrane is erythematous, all right.”

“What does that mean?” Gillian cried, horrified.

“Her ear is red,” Devlin translated, his smile slightly sheepish. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound like an alarmist.”

“Poor Ashley! She’s sick and she’s been in pain and I...I—” Gillian broke off in a sob. “She seemed fine when I picked her up at the day care center this afternoon. She started crying after dinner and...and Mom said she was just exercising her lungs.”

Devlin smiled. “Those Doctor Moms have some interesting theories. Look, Gillian, you can’t blame yourself. Little kids get sick fast, and this isn’t serious yet I’ll write a prescription for amoxicillin—she doesn’t have a penicillin allergy, does she?”

“Not that I know of.”

“I’ll give her something for the fever and pain, too, so she can get some sleep. So you both can get some sleep,” he amended. “Make an appointment with your pediatrician for a follow-up visit, okay?”

Gillian redressed Ashley in her aqua footed pajamas. The baby clung to her, sniffling and casting an occasional glare at Devlin as he delved into his bag for his prescription pad.

“If looks could kill, I’d be on life support with the transplant team ready to claim my organs,” he remarked, catching one of Ashley’s particularly baleful glowers. “One of the main reasons why I hated my stint in pediatrics was that I didn’t like being universally loathed by all those sick little kids who screamed when they saw a white coat coming.”

Gillian paced the room with Ashley in her arms. “The medicine.” She caught her lower lip between her teeth. “I—I’ll have to take Ashley with me to pick it up at the drugstore.”

Devlin stood up. “I think that’s as close as you’ll come to asking me to go get it for you, isn’t it?”

She didn’t meet his eyes. He was right, of course. She couldn’t bring herself to ask him, though she wanted him, needed him, to do it.

Dev heaved an exasperated sigh. “Consider it done, Gillian.”

He strode from the apartment and was back within half an hour with a bag from the hospital pharmacy. Ashley did not like the bubblegum-thick liquid medicine and promptly spit it out when her mother gave it to her.

“Time for me to show off one of the little tricks a warhorse of a pediatric nurse once showed me. Try this.” Devlin held Ashley’s small jaws open and funneled the medicine down her throat. He was nimble and swift, and the startled baby swallowed the dose before she could erupt in a howl of protest.

“You’re really good at that.” Gillian was impressed by his dexterity.

“Ashley was co-operating, weren’t you, sugar?” He patted the baby’s belly. Ashley eyed him suspiciously, then turned to her mother for comfort. Devlin watched Gillian cuddle the child close. “If you think she hated the amoxicillin, just wait till we try to get the ear drops into her. No self-respecting kid likes drops of any kind.”

Ashley proved herself to be a self-respecting kid by attempting to ward off the ear drops, turning her head from side to side and flailing her arms and legs while shrieking her protests. But it was two adults against one small, albeit enraged baby, and her parents prevailed.

After another dose of liquid medicine for pain and fever, Ashley was more than ready to let Gillian rock her while she sucked on a bottle of juice. The rocking chair was in the living room—the baby’s bedroom was too small to accommodate it—and while Gillian gave Ashley her bottle, Devlin sprawled on the sofa and observed them.

He was reluctant to leave and Gillian was too preoccupied with the baby to remember to tell him to get lost.

“You mentioned a day care center,” he said, finally breaking the long silence. “Is it the one in the hospital for employees’ kids?”

Gillian nodded, her eyes never leaving Ashley’s face. The baby’s eyelids were finally drooping and she seemed on the verge of falling asleep. “It’s a good place.” She spoke in a low voice, so as not to disturb Ashley. “She’s been going there since she was a month old.”

“You were on maternity leave till then?”

She nodded again. “I used my paid vacation time for the first two weeks and the rest was unpaid maternity leave. Then I had to go back to work.” Gillian stared into space, looking weary and dispirited. “Our foster mother is dead set against day care centers. She thinks I should hire a sitter to stay home with the baby, but I can’t afford it. When Mom hears that Ashley is sick, she’ll blame the center She calls them CDCs—Centers for Disease and Contagion.”

“Hmm, a wordplay on the Center for Disease Control. Not a bad one, either,” Devlin said lightly.

Gillian shot him a look. “It’s wordplay I don’t like to hear, not even as a joke. Not when my baby is spending eight hours a day there.”

“You have nothing to worry about The hospital day care center is fully accredited. I know plenty of people on staff whose kids go there. But if I may offer you a little advice, Gillian? Don’t tell your mom that Ashley is sick. Spare yourself the CDC puns. What you don’t need right now is an extended guilt trip.”

“Mom Sinsel isn’t like that,” Gillian protested. “But...maybe I won’t tell her about Ashley’s ear infection just yet.”

“No use worrying the dear lady,” Devlin said dryly.

Gillian looked up, a smile curving the corners of her mouth. Her eyes met his. And held. Her heart seemed to jump into her throat and then plunge deep into the pit of her stomach. Was she imagining it? Or was Devlin Brennan looking at her as if...as if—

Her internal gyrations picked up speed. The brooding focus of his gaze, the intensity in his deep blue eyes, were unmistakably sexual. Gillian knew that look well. He’d directed it toward her before, countless times during those three fateful months they’d been together.

Rather than attempting to conceal his desire, he was allowing her to read it in his eyes, on his face. Involuntarily, her gaze fell to his lap and she saw the hard bulge straining against the well-worn denim of his jeans. He was making no attempt to conceal that visible evidence from her, either.

Before she could suppress it, Gillian felt her own immediate response deep within the feminine center of her. It was so intense it bordered on pain, but it was a sweet pain, a tantalizing erotic combination of pleasure and searing ache. Gillian gulped for breath.

In a swift sensually explicit flashback, she felt the passion that had burned between them surface once again. It had been fierce and honest and real. With Devlin, she’d experienced the kind of enthralling lovemaking that only results from a mutual combination of trust and desire.

A definite first for her. She had trusted him and wanted him and fallen deeply in love with him, dropping her guard and her vigilance as never before. And for a while, it had worked. She’d been blissfully happy—emotionally, sexually, and every other way there was to be happy.

Physically, they had been in total accord, from the desire that flared hot and deep between them to the sweet afterglow of mutual satisfaction. But there had been more than good sex between them. They’d had fun together out of bed, too, talking and laughing and teasing each other. Devlin’s hours as an orthopedic resident were grueling and they’d spent much of his time off in his apartment where he could relax and unwind. Gillian had been content just to be with him, to he beside him while he was sleeping, to be there when he awakened, hard and hungry and wanting her.

Wanting sex, she amended quickly. Any woman would have served his purpose, she simply happened to be the one who was there during those three months. Afterward, Devlin had no trouble finding others to take her place in his bed and in his life.

Gillian had heard all about her successors. Though the hospital’s social work department was located in another wing from the orthopedic unit, the grapevine was extremely efficient, reaching all areas. Hospital gossip seemed to travel faster than the speed of sound, especially gossip about certain attractive, eligible bachelors.

Gillian remembered that time. The pain of wanting Devlin and not having him had been intense, but she had coped. She was accustomed to coping with pain—at least it was a familiar state. Happiness wasn’t, not really. Her foster sister, Carmen Salazar, had said it best when she’d once confided, “Being happy scares the hell out of me.”

Gillian understood all too well. As hard as she’d worked to overcome her troubled past, there were some lessons that were too deeply ingrained to be erased in only three months, however wonderful. Being wary of happiness, fearing its loss while waiting for it to be snatched away were only a few.

“You look scared to death.” Devlin’s eyes narrowed as he continued to watch her intently. “Are you still worried about the baby—or is it something else altogether?”

Agitated, Gillian began to rock the chair faster. She’d never credited Devlin with much emotional insight and he openly scoffed at what he deemed “those touchy-feely-guys-who-cry,” but suddenly he seemed far too perceptive.

She resolutely withdrew, blocking the memories and fighting her need for him. Years of practice made her adept at emotional shutdowns.

“I’ll put Ashley in her crib now. Thank you for all your help, Devlin.” Gillian stood up, careful not to awaken the sleeping infant. “I’m sorry we intruded on your off-duty hours with a medical problem. I can manage now.”

“No need for me to stick around, huh? In other words, take off.”

She flushed. “If I sounded rude and ungrateful, I apologize.”

“Can you make your tone any more impersonal, Gillian?” Devlin didn’t move from his position on the sofa. “I’m half expecting you to offer to write me a check for making a house call.”

Gillian’s temper flared. “Exactly what do you want me to say and how am I expected to say it, Dev?” she whispered crossly.

“Put the baby to bed and we’ll talk about it.”

“We have nothing to say to each other, Devlin.”

“Don’t we?”

“No!” It was hard to sound forceful while whispering She was at a definite disadvantage, trying not to disturb the baby while attempting to send Devlin on his way. It was imperative that she get him out of here before he could act on those impulsive amatory urges he’d suddenly developed. Because if she were to respond to him...

She glanced down at Ashley, sleeping peacefully in her arms. For her child’s sake, for her own sake, she had to keep Devlin Brennan away. She would play the role of nasty bitch, if she had to. A man like Dev, with women falling all over him, would have no use for a woman who didn’t treat him like a god.

“When I come back into this room, I expect you to be gone,” Gillian said coldly, all signs of appreciation and friendliness eradicated from her tone, from her expression.

She earned Ashley into her bedroom and laid the baby in her crib, staying there for a long time watching the child sleep. When she finally returned to the living room, it was empty. Devlin had gone.

Well, she’d figured that Devlin Brennan would accept nothing less than one hundred percent adoration in return for his golden presence. A man like him wouldn’t waste his time with the cranky mother of a sick baby. Not even if that baby was his own.

“Good!” Gillian said aloud. She had driven him away, just as she’d intended. The peculiar ache in her chest was the result of fatigue and worry about Ashley, not sadness. She was not sad because Devlin had left her.

She switched on her TV set, searching for something to watch. And bolted upright in her seat as a nattily dressed chimp appeared on the screen. Seconds later, her phone rang.

“You’ll never guess wheats on.” Devlin’s voice sounded over the line.

“I just saw him. A face from the past, Lancelot Link.” Gillian couldn’t help but chuckle. “I instantly thought of you.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” There was a smile in his voice.

The easy moment’s camaraderie turned awkward. Devlin cleared his throat “Ashley didn’t wake up when you put her in her crib?”

“No, she’s out like a light.”

“She should have another dose of the antibiotic in six hours, even if that means waking her to give it,” Devlin was all professional physician now. “She can also have the pain and fever meds at that time, if she needs them.”

“I’ll set my alarm.” Gillian drew a deep breath. “Thanks again, Dev.”

“No problem.”

They hung up, his nonchalant response ringing in her ears. Why did everybody say “no problem” instead of “you’re welcome” these days? she mused. “No problem” seemed so detached, so casual...and there, she’d just answered her own question about the popular usage. Everyone knew that detached and casual was preferable to even minimal involvement

Not that she had any reason to complain, Gillian conceded. She wanted Devlin Brennan to remain detached and casual toward her. God forbid he should ever get close enough to put together the obvious clues of Ashley’s parentage.

For just a few moments Gillian allowed herself to imagine that scene. Having once been an unwanted, unexpected child herself, she had no trouble predicting the outcome. Devlin would be beyond furious to learn he had a child. She shivered, remembering her own birth father—Craig Saylor’s—rage when his daughter Gillian had arrived, an unsolicited surprise, on his doorstep at the age of twelve.

Even worse than her father’s anger at her existence had been his complete rejection. He’d made it unmistakably clear he didn’t care that he had a twelve-year-old daughter who needed him. Craig Saylor didn’t want her and refused to have anything to do with her. As far as he was concerned, it was the state of Michigan that was stuck with Gillian Bailey until she turned eighteen, not him.

That particular memory had long ago lost the power to hurt her, but the experience of seeing Ashley roundly rejected by the man who’d fathered her was one Gillian knew she couldn’t bear. She loved her child too much to have her devalued as anybody’s unwanted mistake.

Restlessly, Gillian wandered back into Ashley’s bedroom and leaned over the crib. The baby was deeply asleep, lying on her back, her tiny fingers balled into fists. History was not going to repeat itself, Gillian promised her daughter—and herself, as well. Ashley Joy Morrow had a mother who loved her, who wanted her and would always be there for her.

Gillian stroked Ashley’s dark curls. She’d loved her child from the moment the nurse in the delivery room had placed the newborn infant in her arms. Maybe even before. She smiled, remembering Ashley’s gymnastics while in the womb She had cared about the baby then, of course, but when she’d gazed at that innocent little face, maternal instinct became something stronger. Her love was also an act of will, a vow to nurture Ashley and to keep her safe always.

She’d done that for eleven months without any help from Devlin Brennan and she would continue to do so. Gillian blinked back the sudden tears that burned in her eyes.

“You’re a smart girl, Gillian,” she remembered Dolly Sinsel telling her many times over the years. “You don’t go chasing after what you can’t have. You know what to want, and you make sure that it’s something you are able to get.”

But wanting Devlin Brennan hadn’t been smart. She couldn’t have him. After three months she had sensed him tiring of her, had felt his waning interest, and couldn’t bear the agony of waiting to hear him say he didn’t want her anymore. So she’d taken matters into her own hands and ended the unbearable suspense.