Читать книгу The Nanny Proposal - Donna Clayton, Donna Clayton - Страница 10

Greg Hamilton patted a healthy splash of aftershave on his smooth jaw as he stared into the mirror. Habit had him brushing his damp palms over his bare chest, then he picked up a comb and ran it through his wet hair.

He felt good. Like a man who had put in an intense week at work and was ready for a little fun on a Friday night.

His patients had kept him on his toes this week. He’d treated Mrs. Brown, with her just-give-me-a-pill attitude. The elderly woman he had just diagnosed as borderline diabetic refused to believe that her diet played an important role in her continuing a healthy life. He’d spent a great deal of time explaining the condition to her. But it seemed none of his arguments could curb the woman’s taste for sweets.

And little Bobby Lee, whose bed-jumping escapade had earned him a fall that needed three stitches. Greg grimaced into the mirror, wondering why these kinds of things always happened right around eleven o’clock at night.

There had also been a myriad of coughs, colds, upper-respiratory infections and bouts of flu he’d treated. However, none of his patients concerned him more than young Tracy Morgan. The teen had an eating disorder. He was sure of it. But he’d had a devil of a time convincing her parents that their daughter had a problem at all. He’d begun explaining his diagnosis calmly, but their refusal to open their eyes and minds to the potentially deadly prognosis had frustrated him. He’d ended up frightening them into really listening to what he’d had to say. He’d felt badly when he’d seen the fear in their eyes, knowing he’d put it there. Parents never wanted to believe their child was in danger. But Greg had only acted out of concern for young Tracy. In the end, Mr. and Mrs. Morgan had agreed to take Tracy to see a specialist that Greg had recommended.

He sighed, tugging a fresh T-shirt over his head. Enough about his patients, he thought. He’d worked hard. Now it was time to relax and enjoy himself. And he had a date with a raven-haired beauty who was going to help him do just that.

As he fastened the buttons of his crisp white dress shirt, Greg once again thought about his medical practice—a practice he shared with his two best buddies in the whole world. He thought about his great apartment, positioned in the best possible location in the city. The hot little sports car he’d purchased just a few months ago.

Ah, yes, Greg sure did have the world by the tail.

And the very best part of being a successful bachelor doctor? Why, that would have to be the seemingly endless number of lovely ladies willing to spend Friday and Saturday evenings with him. A little dinner, a little dancing, a little kissing in the moonlight. He loved being a single guy.

It wasn’t that he used or abused women. No way. In fact, he had a rule: no sex on the first—or second—date. The morning after the one and only time he’d broken the rule, he’d felt like a bum. A real heel. And on principle, he’d ended up reaffirming his faith in the “no sex without meaning” law. He simply enjoyed the company of females. Luckily, in this very enlightened age, there were plenty of women who felt free to enjoy the company of a man.

He buckled the belt around his waist, smoothed his palm over his taut abdomen, hand-pressing the pleats of his dress trousers, and then he slipped his feet into black Italian loafers. After one last glance at his reflection, he grabbed his suit jacket off the hanger, reached for his wallet and keys—and was stopped dead in his tracks by the doorbell.

Greg glanced at his watch, wondering who could be at his door as he shrugged on his jacket. Travis and Sloan, his friends and partners, knew he had a hot date tonight. Absently brushing his hand over one lapel, he moved down the hall and into the living room.

He heard the baby’s cries before he even grasped the door handle. The child’s wails had his brow furrowing. None of his neighbors had kids. A patient, maybe? But why hadn’t his answering service notified him there was an emergency? Why wouldn’t the baby’s parents go directly to the hospital ER? Why would they show up here—

As the questions churned in his mind like the swirl caused when a boat oar is forced through river water, he gave the handle a quick twist and pulled open the door.

The woman was clearly annoyed. And vaguely familiar to him. Irritation pulsed from her in palpable waves. The baby girl in her arms was so upset her sobs were actually being released in tiny hiccups.

The professional medical practitioner in Greg immediately took over. Instinctively reaching for the child, he asked, “Is she ill?”

“No,” the child’s mother answered as she handed over the baby. “She’s yours.”

Greg’s mouth dropped open as the baby squirmed in his arms. Shock paralyzed his vocal cords. Where did he know this woman from? he wondered. He racked his brain, trying to recall her name from the depths of his memory. And what on earth did she mean by what she’d said?

The woman then dropped a small suitcase at the threshold of the door and let the overstuffed diaper bag that hung on her shoulder slide to the floor beside it. Relieved of what seemed an overwhelming weight, she smiled for the first time, a gleam shining in her gaze—a gleam Greg could only describe as…triumphant. He got the distinct feeling she’d succeeded in some goal. Met some terribly stubborn and hundred-pound-weight-off-the-shoulder objective.

“Your daughter’s name is Joy,” the woman continued, “and I’ve decided it’s high time for you to take her off my hands.”