Читать книгу The Doctor + Four - Jacqueline Diamond, Lori Copeland, Jacqueline Diamond - Страница 11

Standing on the porch, Sonya was relieved when Lourdes Garcia herself opened the door. It had crossed her mind, after she’d so blithely dismissed Barry, that the midwife might have moved. Or might refuse to let her in.

On the woman’s round face, relief warred with anxiety. “Doctor, please hurry!”

The long room across the front of the house resembled a makeshift infirmary. Obviously, the woman treated clients here more often than Sonya had realized.

To her right, empty couches and plastic resin chairs faced a TV set in an overstuffed living room that probably doubled as a waiting area. To her left, two cots were wedged into the dining area, where a wheeled cart held basic obstetrical equipment including medication and syringes, baby scales, plastic sheets and clean towels, and a device for reading blood pressure.

The sole patient, Gina, lay across a cot with a cold cloth on her forehead. Duke must have hidden when the bell rang, either in a hallway or via a swinging door that Sonya assumed led to the kitchen.

Mrs. Garcia gestured toward the girl. “Her blood pressure is too high. She jumps when I touch her. Must go to hospital.”

“How high’s the pressure?”

“One-forty over ninety.”

That alarmed Sonya, as did the hyperreflexivity, a sign of eclampsia. “How frequent are the contractions?”

“Four minutes.” Good. That meant delivery could still be hours away.

“Have her waters broken?” A negative response. That was good, too. “Other symptoms?”

“Headache. Also, her eyes hurt.”

“Everything’s blurry,” Gina broke in, near hysteria. “My head’s splitting. What’s wrong, Dr. Vega?”

“You have a condition related to your high blood pressure. I explained earlier that this could happen. If we don’t get you to the hospital, it could be very, very dangerous.” To Lourdes she said, “She hasn’t suffered any seizures?”

“No, no, thank the Lord.”

An angry male voice interrupted. “She’s fine.” Duke appeared in the hallway, a knife in one hand. “Deliver the baby and quit fussing.”

“She could die. I’m calling an ambulance.” Sonya took out her cell.

“Put it down!” Angry, jittery, clearly suffering from drug withdrawal, he thrust the knife toward her. It barely missed her arm.

Sonya jerked back. Unwillingly, she folded away her cell. In the throes of a drug craving, he might kill her and scarcely remember it.

“Duke, I’m scared,” Gina wailed. “My head hurts and…oh, no!” She swore mightily as a contraction hit.

Lourdes rushed to her side, giving instructions on how to breathe to distract from the pain. Sonya attached a blood-pressure cuff and took a reading.

Labor had worsened the pressure. Even in an operating room, there was a possibility the girl might suffer a stroke or other deadly complications. “You have no idea how serious her situation is.”

Duke’s lip curled. “You have no idea how serious I am, Doc.”

Sonya couldn’t stand by any longer. “If you don’t want to be involved, then leave.” Into her phone, she tapped 911. “I’m not letting my patient die to suit your ego.”

From the device, a dispatcher’s voice announced, “Police and fire emergency.”

Sonya barely had time to shout the address before the man lunged at her. Gina screamed.

Desperately, Sonya searched the medicine cart for a weapon. A cord scissors fit into her hand. Terrified, knowing the instrument was inadequate, she waved it in front of her.

In that instant, someone shoved the kitchen door outward and Duke turned in a flash. Barry! Thank God he’d come.

The thug dived forward. Barry kicked his wrist and sent the knife skittering, then tackled his opponent.

The two of them skidded across the floor. With a crunch, Duke’s head smacked the wall. As he lay dazed, Barry twisted his arms behind him.

Sonya spoke into the phone. “This is Dr. Sonya Vega. We have a medical emergency. And we need the police.” She repeated the address.

On Barry’s face, she read a mixture of dismay and understanding. He didn’t relish the prospect of dealing with law enforcement again, but someone had to take custody of Duke.

Gina gasped. Another contraction, so soon? Sonya could only pray that intervention would arrive in time.

MIDNIGHT WAS APPROACHING when Sonya finished the C-section and sent Gina to the recovery room. The young mother had pulled through surgery without difficulty and, after holding her baby for a long, joyful moment, was sleeping deeply. Baby Girl Lenox weighed a healthy seven pounds eight ounces, had good color and showed excellent reflexes.

In the maternity waiting room, Sonya explained about the night’s events to Gina’s mother and stepfather. “I hate that boy!” her mom, a fortyish woman named Alana Martin, declared when Sonya had finished.

“He’s facing charges of assault,” she assured the couple. “Gina swears she’s finished with him.”

Duke’s willingness to jeopardize her life had apparently removed the young woman’s blinders. Maybe she finally understood that he was incapable of loving anyone.

“We’ve arranged for her to stay with my sister in Oregon, if she agrees,” Alana went on. “Mary would like to adopt the baby, but even if Gina decides to keep her, she can stay as long as she wishes.”

Adopt the baby. Sonya felt a twinge of envy. Oh, how she’d love to be the one…but getting involved on a personal level with a patient would violate her professional ethics. Besides, she was in no position to adopt. Not yet.

When? asked a small inner voice.

Tonight had shifted Sonya’s priorities, she realized with a start. She’d discovered at the gut level that life might end at any moment. After she’d been held hostage, nearly kidnapped and attacked with a knife, putting her dreams on indefinite hold seemed an unbearable prospect.

She wanted…well, more than she had any reason to expect. For two years, she hadn’t let a man close in any sense, yet tonight she’d found herself drawn to a stranger.

And the way she’d isolated herself, far from family, too overworked even to think about adopting—she couldn’t go on like that. She had to start living while she had the chance.

At the moment, however, she was in no position to contemplate specifics. “Your granddaughter should be available for viewing in the nursery once the pediatrician finishes his exam. Or you can return in the morning. You must be tired.”

The stepfather stifled a yawn. After a glance at his eager wife, however, he volunteered. “We’ll stay here.”

What a good husband, especially considering he might have to work in the morning. Where did a woman find a guy like that?

“Congratulations,” Sonya added.

“We’re deeply grateful,” the fellow said.

“And thrilled!” his wife added.

Sonya had collected her purse and was on the way out before she remembered that she’d left her car at the burger joint. She proceeded to the nearly empty lobby, one of the few spots in the hospital that permitted cell-phone use, and was about to dial a cab company, when a tall figure uncoiled from a seat.

Barry Lowell greeted her with a crooked grin. “Care for a ride?”

Rumpled suit. Dark stubble sprouting on his jaw. She felt an uncharacteristic impulse to rub her palm across his cheek.

He must be crazy to stick around, especially after the trouble she’d put him through. Yet having him here felt wonderful. She couldn’t resist a knight in shining armor, especially one who’d saved her life more than once tonight. He’d also waited for hours in what had to be the world’s most boring lobby.

She’d wondered where a woman found a guy like this. Well, she’d just stumbled across one. What was holding her back?

“I’d love a ride.” She smiled with pure gratitude. “If you’re sure?”

“I didn’t hang around all evening to admire the decor,” he said wryly.

She accompanied him toward the front entrance, grateful for his strength. “I can’t believe you gave up your sleep simply to do me a favor.”

“I’m used to pulling all-nighters.”

“Me, too.” An ob-gyn had to be able to subsist on catnaps.

“Besides, I wanted to hear how the whole thing came out.” He regarded her inquiringly.

“Gina’s fine. So’s the baby.”

“Mission accomplished.” He adjusted his long stride to her shorter one, limping a little, perhaps from the blow he’d suffered at the park. The struggle at the midwife’s house must have hurt like fire.

Sonya hoped he’d had a doctor examine the damage while she’d been in surgery. But if he hadn’t chosen to, she didn’t intend to volunteer. Suggesting he remove his shirt might raise possibilities she wasn’t ready to explore.

The double doors opened automatically. Outside, a chilly spring breeze made her shiver. “Cold?” Barry asked.

“Not very.”

“My jacket’s available.”

She experienced a hunger to be surrounded by fabric bearing his scent and his warmth. Bad idea. “Really, I’m fine.”

“I’ll crank up the heater. Hey, how often do you get to use those things in Southern California?” He appeared remarkably cheerful. Clearly a night person.

“Fairly often, after dark.” Just thinking about the chill made Sonya begin shivering in earnest. Inside the car, waiting for the blast of the heater, she recognized that her reaction didn’t stem entirely from the temperature.

She kept visualizing the glimmer of a knife and hearing Duke’s threats. Just before the police had arrived at Mrs. Garcia’s, he’d sworn to get revenge on Sonya for interfering. Thank goodness he was locked up.

But for how long? Once he learned Gina had flown the coop in earnest, he’d be doubly infuriated, which made Fullerton potentially a very dangerous place.

Not tonight, though. Not with Barry beside her.

“You okay?” He upped the heater another notch.

“Delayed reaction.” She forced the violent images from her thoughts. “I expect I’ll have nightmares. Par for the course.” After the accident, they’d haunted her for months. “I’d rather not have to go through therapy again.” Although she’d found it helpful, her practical nature hated devoting so many hours to her own problems.

“Many people recommend it,” he advised. “Personally, I prefer getting even.”

The remark startled a laugh from her. “I like your style.” After providing directions in case he’d forgotten the restaurant’s location, she added, “Did the police hassle you?” She’d left with the ambulance while Barry had been suffering through yet another interview

“Happily, no.” He adjusted the vents to send more heat in her direction. “Guess they didn’t check me out too thoroughly, or maybe they don’t have access to out-of-state records. I’m glad they left Mrs. Garcia alone, too. Think they’ll pester her later?”

The situation could prove delicate. “They can hardly ignore the fact that she’s operating an illegal clinic in her house. They’ll have to include it in their report.”

“Do you suppose she’ll be charged?” He sounded a little angry. But then, the prospect of the midwife’s being arrested disturbed Sonya, too.

“Since no one was hurt, it should be treated as a misdemeanor. The sentence may be suspended if she agrees to stop practicing.” Ironically, Sonya reflected, California law allowed a woman to give birth attended by an untrained friend or relative, but not by a woman like Lourdes.

“She certainly doesn’t belong in jail.” Barry fell silent, staring through the windshield into the dark.

Sonya wished he’d say what he’d been convicted of, but, since he didn’t, she considered it rude to ask. Probably ancient history, and besides, he’d proved his true worth tonight.

A single street lamp illuminated the exterior of the restaurant. The lot was empty except for her compact, and the windows had gone dark.

Barry halted. “I’ll wait till you get it started.”

“I’m grateful. You’re quite a gentleman.” Despite the absence of a ring, she supposed he might have a girlfriend or a wife. “The lady in your life had better appreciate it.”

“The only ladies in my life are my sister and my mother.”

She felt a ridiculous jolt of pleasure. For heaven’s sake, their acquaintance was to last at most another minute, Sonya mused as she got out.

When her feet hit the pavement, her knees went wobbly. A powerful sense memory swept over her of rough arms, dragging her.

She clung to the side of the sedan. If only her legs would stop shaking! She hated this weakness.

A door slammed and Barry strode around. His arms surrounded her.

“Panic attack,” she mumbled against his chest, and tried to declare that it was already past. Too bad the clattering teeth gave her away.

“I’m surprised you held up this long.” His baritone soothed the tremors. “Get back in and I’ll drive you home. You can collect your car in the morning.”

“They might tow it.”

“We’ll leave a note.” From an inside pocket, he retrieved a pad and jotted Medical emergency. Will return in the a.m. He stuck the note beneath the wipers. “If you drive in this condition, you’ll cause an accident. Which, I gather, is yet another trauma you should avoid.”

He was right. Sonya huddled into her seat. “Sorry for acting like a wimp.”

Barry took the wheel. “Are you kidding? You went through hell for that girl.”

“I’d do it again.”

“Not tonight you won’t.”

After explaining how to reach her condo, Sonya closed her eyes and luxuriated in the illusion of being cherished and cosseted. Having Barry drop into her world just when she needed him was an amazing fantasy.

A man who understood her implicitly. A man she would never have to tell about her inability to bear a child because he’d be flying across the country and out of her life tomorrow.

Cocooned in the car, she released her anxiety. Perhaps because the moment seemed divorced from reality, a sense of euphoria replaced her fears and worries. A trick of the mind, no doubt, in reaction to the unexpected support, but hey, it beat taking Valium.

The condo complex lay silent in the moonlight. Barry escorted her along a walkway lined with white-flowered bushes.

“Is that jasmine?” He indicated the landscaping. “The scent’s overpowering.”

She inhaled deeply. “Jazmín,” she confirmed, instinctively pronouncing it haz-MEEN.

“Is Spanish your native language?” He waited as she stopped outside the unit and fumbled for a key.

“I’m bilingual. My parents are from Costa Rica. They were little when their families fled, though, so they grew up here, and so did I.” She found the key in a side compartment.

“Fled?” he queried. “Costa Rica doesn’t sound like a place you’d want to run away from.”

“There was a revolt about fifty years ago. Both sets of grandparents were forced into exile.” Her world history classes hadn’t mentioned the event, but it certainly mattered to her family. “The U.S. granted them asylum.”

“Did they ever go back?”

“Only to visit. They brought me with them when I was about ten. I remember beautiful beaches and a bustling marketplace. And friendly people.” She eased inside. Barry hesitated only a beat before accepting her unspoken invitation.

Inviting a man into her home at this hour might not be the wisest choice. With her mood elevated, however, Sonya didn’t see the harm.

A lamp brought out the room’s intense hues: pumpkin walls, a blue sofa with patterned cushions and a framed red-and-orange weaving above the corner desk. The intensity energized her.

“Whoa!” Barry pretended to shade his eyes.

“I’m going to rustle up an omelet. Care for some?” Until this moment, she hadn’t realized how hungry she’d grown.

“Sure. Can I help?” He tossed off the question as if accustomed to accompanying women into kitchens. Perhaps he was.

At the restaurant, Sonya’s mother had supervised the cuisine while her father had run the service operation. As for Reuben, he wouldn’t have dreamed of offering to cook. Yet Barry struck her as genuinely interested in helping. “Well, sure.”

He caught her off guard a second time by rinsing the breakfast dishes in the sink and loading them into the dishwasher. As she pulled a bowl and a frying pan from beneath the counter, Sonya was surprised to find him so domestic.

He joined her at the refrigerator to study the contents. Although they didn’t touch, her body registered his sheltering nearness with pleasure.

“Potatoes.” He indicated a bag in a lower bin. “Those would fry up nicely.”

“I wasn’t planning to fix an entire meal,” she protested.

“I’ll do it.”

She met his amused gaze. He’d assumed she would understand what he meant.

“This ought to be interesting.” Sonya retrieved the ingredients she’d sought: eggs, milk, jalapeños, cheese and mushrooms.

In addition to the potatoes, Barry fetched olive oil, garlic salt and a couple of onions from the cupboard. After tossing his coat across a chair, he found a peeler and got down to business. They worked side by side, him at the cutting board and her setting up by the stove.

He stripped away the skins with practiced speed. The possibility that he’d been assigned to a prison kitchen crossed Sonya’s mind. Again, she dismissed any such discussion as disrespectful of him.

“What’s your kitchen like at home?” she asked, instead.

“Large and old-fashioned. My sister and I share a house.” He didn’t appear to resent her curiosity. “Mostly we eat carryout or Karen fixes dinner, but once in a while the spirit moves me to get creative.” A peeling landed on his shirt. He plucked it off, leaving a damp spot.

“Aprons. I should have thought of that sooner.” From a drawer, Sonya produced a pair of large ones. She set a red-and-white check beside him on the counter and adjusted the pink flowered one over her top and jeans. “Do you do laundry, too, or foist that on your sister?”

He rinsed a couple of spuds, splattering water on his shirt in the process. “She’d skewer me if I tried. Would you mind putting that on me? My hands are dirty.”

She’d never tied an apron on another person before, Sonya mused as she assessed the logistics. “You’ll have to bend a little.” When he complied, she slipped the upper loop over his head and let the apron fall in front.

Reaching for the strings required putting her arms around him. A large, hard-muscled shape filled Sonya’s grasp, and she hesitated to let go. Not only because she’d missed holding a man, but because Barry simply felt right.

Then she heard his breath catch. If she wasn’t careful, she might inspire a thoroughly male reaction that she didn’t intend.

Or did she?

Sonya tied the ribbons, grateful that he couldn’t see her flushed face. “That ought to do the trick.”

“Thanks for the personal service.” A dry attempt at humor.

She got busy cracking eggs, her arms humming with the feel of him. When she adopted children, she vowed, she was going to hug their wiggly little bodies all day. But kids weren’t what she ached for right now.

Barry progressed from peeling to cutting up the vegetables. “May I borrow a jalapeño?”

She handed him one. “That’s an interesting recipe.”

“I’m inventing as I go.” He examined the spuds in front of him. “Hmm. Little red spots.”

What spots? At this late hour, they might be an optical disturbance. “You should sit down.”

“I meant, I’m visualizing them. What am I thinking of? Pimientos!”

She smiled at her goof. “Try the pantry.”

Barry returned with two small jars containing pimientos and capers. “A south-of-the-border theme.”

“Capers are more French or Italian than Latino,” she noted.

“My mother’s of French descent. Okay, it’s a multicultural dish.” He heated oil in a pan and transferred the ingredients before washing up. “This will take longer than the omelets. You should wait a few minutes.”

“I’ll set the table.” Sonya removed two plates from a cabinet. The motion tipped her off balance, right into Barry.

Two large hands clasped her waist and his breath tickled her neck. She wished he’d turn her around, lower his mouth and drive caution away.

Instead, he released her. A Southern gentleman, unfortunately.

She didn’t have the nerve to admit how much she wanted the embrace to continue. That could lead only one place, and she had better judgment. But almost wished she didn’t.

“Sorry I’m so clumsy.” After transferring the plates to the table, she arranged napkins from a basket.

Barry studied her. “You don’t have to apologize. Just send clear messages, okay? Whatever suits you is okay with me.”

How could she send clear messages with her impulses in conflict? “I’m so off-kilter I’m not sure what I mean.”

“Given my record, I have to be careful not to misinterpret. So I’ll follow your lead.” He was in dead earnest.

He’d hit the ball into her court. Lob it back. Kiss him. Then what? Go to bed with a stranger?

A sizzling noise distracted Sonya. “The potatoes!”

Barry grabbed a spatula and flipped them. The bottoms had gone dark brown. “Another minute and I’d have let you down.”

“Let me down?” Sonya activated the burner under her pan.

“I promised to help with the meal,” he clarified.

“We could always pick the unburnt parts off the top.”

He grinned. “There’s a girl after my own heart.”

For reasons that didn’t bear examining, she hoped so.

She tended her pans in silence, keenly aware of the narrow space between them. Sonya wished he’d talk more about what he did in—where had he said? Tallahassee? The questions that popped into her mind, however, were inane: So tell me, are your palm trees taller than our palm trees? Do you get a lot of hurricanes? How’s the humidity in Florida?

At last they switched off the burners beneath the crisp potatoes and appetizing omelet. Sonya could almost taste the spicy aromas as they carried large servings to the table.

She sampled the potatoes first. “This is fabulous. You just woke up my taste buds.”

He’d started with her creation. “Your eggs beat anything at Tacos and Burgers, I guarantee you.” Indicating the plate, he added, “Folding an omelet this neatly is an art form.”

“I learned from my parents. They used to run a restaurant.” She lifted another large forkful of potatoes.

“Glad you’re not a picky eater.”

“Surgery always works up an appetite.” Physical activity didn’t stimulate her hunger nearly as much as the intense mental effort.

“I like a woman with passion.” He dug in, leaving the double entendre hanging in midair.

She decided not to touch it. Besides, she was eager to hear more about his world. “How long have you worked at the newspaper?”

“Six years, since my mother’s accident. She was the editor. I’m the only other remaining journalist in the family, so I replaced her.”

“The only other remaining journalist?” The phrase struck her as odd.

“My father used to edit the paper. He died while I was in prison.” For an instant, Barry grew cold and distant, a glimpse of an alternate self. The loss must have hit him hard. Then he shrugged. “I was lucky to find a job in my field.”

“You’re both a reporter and an editor?”

A nod. “It’s great not having anyone with veto power over what I write. Leaves me free to needle public officials and deflate the arrogant, although they show an incredible talent for reinflating.”

She could tell he enjoyed the subject. “You’re lucky to have found your niche.”

“I can’t complain.” Upon reflection, he amended, “Yes, I can. My dream was to establish myself as an international correspondent or an investigative reporter. I still fantasize about setting the world on fire—not that it’s likely to happen.”

“What’s stopping you?”

The hardness returned. “Lack of a portfolio, and a little something called a criminal record.”

“You don’t have to be an angel to work as a foreign correspondent.” She recalled movie images of seedy types in dinner jackets, lounging in tropical bars. Barry would look incredibly sexy in an outfit like that. A woman might be tempted to seduce him out of it.

“Anyone can call himself a reporter and post stories on the Internet,” came the reply, mercifully short-circuiting her thoughts. “I’m both more practical and more egotistical, which means I’d like a real news organization behind me, along with a paycheck. So far I haven’t come close to getting hired.”

“You should go for it anyway.” Sonya had no right to give advice, she supposed. “Sorry. I’m sure you’ve reviewed all the angles.”

“Yes. Besides, I’ve got a few things to prove down home.” Scooting away from the table, he transferred the dishes to the counter.

Meal over. Time to go.

She didn’t want him to. Especially not when he’d just turned stiff and remote again. He deserved a happier ending to the evening.

“In my book, you’re a hero,” she told Barry. “Sorry I forgot to mention that earlier.”

“Glad we both lived to tell the tale.” In the sink, he filled the pans with water. “These should soak.”

“Thanks.”

Watchfulness, ruefulness, resignation—she read those emotions on his face as he removed the apron and picked up his jacket. He’d earned so much more, and suddenly she yearned to share the sense of trust and closeness he inspired. Even if it only lasted for one night.

“Don’t go.” Her words stilled his movements.

“Be careful what you ask for.” He waited. I’ll follow your lead.

Sonya rose. “For once in our lives, let’s do what we want. No strings and no regrets.” In case that wasn’t clear enough, she added, “Make love to me.”

“You don’t have to ask twice,” he answered, and drew Sonya into the powerful, hungry embrace she’d been longing for all evening.