Читать книгу The Miracle Twins - Lisa Bingham - Страница 9

It took a moment for Nick to absorb what he was seeing. The photo was of two children placed close enough together that their bodies touched and appeared to be entwined. No, not entwined.

Conjoined.

As Nick peered at the picture, he could see that the tiny, naked bodies were fused from the breast-bone to the abdomen. Otherwise, the little girls, no more than a few weeks old, looked fairly healthy, if a little underweight.

He was so absorbed in studying the twins that he couldn’t even remember how he’d come to be holding the photograph. “Where did you get this?”

“The children—the twins—have been placed in my care.”

His forehead creased. The twins were dark as the finest chocolate. Wisps of black fluff dusted the tops of their heads and eyes bright as new coins stared curiously in the direction of the camera’s lens. Judging by the clarity of the shot and the haunting quality of the image, the photo had probably been taken by Lucy. During her undergraduate studies, she’d made a name for herself with her stark portrait photography—a sideline job that had helped Lucy pay her way through college.

With a wave of shame, Nick realized that Lucy had been honest in insisting that she’d come to him for medical reasons rather than personal ones. He could only imagine how much it had cost her pride to approach him.

Nevertheless, as he traced a thumb over the photograph, a part of Nick urged him to say no once again and send Lucy on her way. He’d be a fool to put himself into a position of working closely with her. But even as he considered refusing, he knew the children’s plight couldn’t be ignored.

“Where were they born?”

“In Zaire, in a village along the Congo River. They were left in an orphanage after their mother died in childbirth.”

“How old are they?”

“Nearly three months.”

“They’re awfully small for three months.”

“They are underweight for their age. When their mother died, the hospital had a hard time obtaining breast milk. The children have had some difficulties adjusting to formula. A good portion of their food has to be administered through a feeding tube.”

Bit by bit, the significance of Lucy’s visit began to sink in. Nick knew instinctively that Lucy hadn’t come to him merely for advice. She wanted more than that. Much more.

“You’re here to see if they can be separated.”

It wasn’t a question, but Lucy nodded.

He took a deep breath. “I don’t know if I can help.”

“Don’t say no. Please. I trust you. I trust your skills as a surgeon. You have to examine them at least. I’ve already made arrangements for their travel. They’ll be arriving by chartered plane tomorrow evening.”

His eyes narrowed, moving from the picture to Lucy’s anxious face. “You took a lot for granted.”

“Yes. Yes, I did. I don’t want just anyone to operate on them. I want the best. Someone I can trust.”

Nick fought the warmth that followed her statements. He found it incredible that after everything that had happened between them, she still felt she could trust him.

Yet she hadn’t trusted him enough to marry him.

“Please say you’ll consider my request, Nick. That’s all I ask.”

Nick knew in his gut that he should refer her to another surgeon altogether, but he held back. There was only a handful of pediatric specialists in the country who might be willing to take on an assignment like this.

But as he confronted the hope shining in her eyes, he admitted that his reasons for resisting weren’t entirely professional.

Nodding his head, Nick reluctantly agreed. “I’ll do a cursory evaluation when they get here, but I can’t make any promises about surgery. Not until I’ve seen them.”

Relief flooded her eyes, darkening them to a rich mossy shade. It was those eyes—which changed from icy sage to rich green with her emotions—that had first drawn Nick’s attention so long ago. Lucy had once told him she’d never been any good at lying because she couldn’t keep her gaze from revealing her true state of mind. Nick was glad to see that moving from one hot spot in the world to another hadn’t changed that.

Unable to keep back the words, he murmured, “It is good to see you, Lucy.”

She suddenly became aware of the palm she’d laid on his forearm. When she would have backed away, he cupped his hand beneath her chin, holding her face up to the light.

“Are you happy?”

He didn’t know what had made him ask, but he waited tensely, half dreading her answer. For all he knew, she might reveal that leaving him had been the best thing she’d ever done.

Ignoring his question, she released herself and said, “I’ll let you know as soon as I have the twins’ exact arrival time.”

“Fine.”

Knowing Lucy meant to leave, Nick held the picture out of her reach. The expression on her face was so similar to the one she’d worn seconds before she’d darted out of the courthouse five years ago that he experienced a rush of déjà vu.

“Don’t go yet. I need to know some specifics on the children so I can check into things at the hospital.”

She frowned. Obviously, she dreaded the thought that he might delve into their past relationship. In an attempt to reassure her, he pointed toward his office. “We can talk in there.”

She preceded him slowly into the room. As he followed her, Nick wondered why he’d been so insistent on making her stay.

Because you’re a fool, that’s why.

IT WAS CLOSE TO ten o’clock when Lucy shut the hotel room door behind her, then sagged against the panels.

In her career as a foreign correspondent, she had interviewed kings, potentates and dictators. She’d grilled criminals and mercenaries. But never, ever, had she endured a more uncomfortable two hours.

Summoning what little strength she had left after days of traveling by jeep, bus and airplane—all the while preparing for her upcoming confrontation with Nick—she peeled off her jacket, kicked off her shoes and fell onto the bed face-first.

Sleep. She needed sleep. Perhaps then, she wouldn’t cringe when she thought of her embarrassing reaction to the man. It was a testament to her mental weariness that she hadn’t been able to control her body’s wayward response.

Heaven only knew there was no reason for her to have behaved in such an adolescent fashion. At thirty-six she was too old to grow weak in the knees at the sight of a man with whom she’d once been intimately involved. She should have left as soon as he’d agreed to look at the girls. But something had caused her to linger.

As if she’d been waiting…

For what? For the conversation to become more personal? For a familiar glance? A touch?

Groaning, she pressed the palms of her hands against her eyes. Perhaps the most surprising moment of the evening had come when Nick offered her the use of his guest room. Naturally, she’d refused. Staying at his home would have been too…unsettling. Too dangerous.

Sleep. She needed sleep. A few hours of uninterrupted sleep should be enough to shake off her strange reaction to an old relationship.

Lucy pushed herself up, dragged her suitcase to the foot of the bed and located an oversize T-shirt. Minutes later, she had taken the fastest shower on record and climbed between the sheets.

But the moment her head touched the pillow, her mind began replaying the evening’s events. Even more disturbing, her body ached with an unmistakable sensual awareness—one she’d sworn she wouldn’t feel again.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Lucy made herself remember all the reasons she’d ended her relationship with Nick years ago.

At the time, Lucy had still been a struggling graduate student intent on becoming a reporter. She’d known that making it to the top of her field would require constant travel, unyielding stress and overt danger. Such a lifestyle would never mesh with Nick’s. His profession as a surgeon would entail remaining in one place and leading a life dominated by his own challenging schedule.

But even as she’d insisted that this was why she couldn’t marry him, she’d been aware that there were deeper reasons. Reasons she hadn’t fully understood herself, let alone been able to explain to Nick. It had taken her years to understand that part of her motivation for remaining alone and working so hard had been to escape all vestiges of her childhood.

When Lucy was asked how she could tolerate living in a war zone, she was often tempted to tell people that she’d grown up in one. For as long as she could remember, Lucy had felt as if she were a hostage in her own home. She was an only child caught in the battleground of her parents’ loveless marriage.

George Devon had been a stern, critical man for whom nothing was ever good enough. He’d ruled his wife and his daughter with an iron hand, dictating what they would wear, what they would eat, how many pennies they would be allotted for their personal needs. He’d demanded immediate and complete obedience.

But George wasn’t the only person at fault. Although he’d ordained himself taskmaster of her parents’ relationship, her mother had become the self-appointed martyr.

Lucy grimaced. Not one day had gone by without Lucy being reminded of her mother’s unhappiness. Lillian had constantly spoken of her woes. She’d complained about the way she’d denied herself any possibility of following her own dreams in order to keep the marriage from falling apart. Yet in her zeal to retain their conventional family unit, she’d been blind to the fact that her own unhappiness had been as ravaging as George Devon’s anger. Year by year, Lucy had watched her mother wither away. Where once she’d been a joyful, loving woman, she’d soon become a sad, embittered ghost of herself. And as she’d descended into despair, she’d brought her daughter along for the ride.

When Lucy had agreed to marry Nick, it hadn’t been without misgivings. Her greatest fear had been that she wasn’t capable of sustaining a loving relationship. After all, she’d had no role models as a child. She wasn’t even sure if she believed in true love. But Nick’s exuberance had allowed Lucy to push her own concerns aside.

Lucy groaned, remembering those horrible few weeks leading up to the wedding. With each day that had passed, her worries had increased, not diminished. She’d become paralyzed with fear, certain that she’d fail to measure up to Nick’s expectations.

Finally, when she’d been sure she was about to shatter into a million pieces from the stress of it all, Lucy had realized she couldn’t be the person Nick wanted her to be. Marriage had felt like an impending prison sentence, personally and professionally. In being totally honest with herself, she’d acknowledged that her drive to succeed was as necessary as breathing. She couldn’t live without the thrill of hunting down a story. And she wouldn’t subject her loved ones to the pressures her job demanded.

And nothing had changed since then. Nothing at all.

Rolling onto her side, she pounded her pillow into shape with more force than was necessary.

Enough. She wouldn’t think about Nick or the past. She had more important concerns to occupy her thoughts—such as two little girls who’d been entrusted to her care.

Tomorrow, the twins would arrive. The nuns from the orphanage had christened them Faith and Hope, and the names fit. Not quite three months old, they had overcome enormous obstacles just to survive. So much was riding on whether or not they could be separated. They deserved the very best medical attention Lucy could provide. She couldn’t allow herself to forget that.

THE NEXT EVENING, Nick stood with his palms braced on the shower wall, the hot spray beating down on the cramped muscles of his shoulders.

There had been a time when he could complete a full day of surgery, then play a game or two of basketball at a local gym afterward. But he was beginning to discover that—try as he might to ward off the effects of turning forty with diet and exercise—his stamina wasn’t what it used to be.

Granted, the morning hadn’t started out well. He’d had his whole day booked before he even stepped through the doors of Primary Children’s Medical Center. A six-car pileup on I-15 had resulted in two youngsters being air-lifted to the hospital before dawn. At six, Nick had been in one of the operating theaters, and he hadn’t left until after seven that night.

Which meant he was tired. Bone tired.

Normally, after a punishing day Nick treated himself to a quiet evening. He’d turn on some jazz or watch a game on television. But tonight…

Tonight, he felt edgy and anxious. His house was too quiet.

Grimacing at the melancholy turn of his own thoughts, Nick squeezed shampoo into his palm and vigorously scrubbed his scalp. If he was willing to indulge in self-pity, he was getting old. Now wasn’t the time to—

A muffled noise filtered into his musings. Frowning, Nick stepped away from the spray and bent his head in the direction of the bathroom door, sure that he was mistaken. But the muted sound of the doorbell left him in no doubt that someone had chosen this inopportune moment to visit.

Cursing, he rinsed the soap out of his hair, shut off the water and grabbed a towel. Max Garcia still hadn’t dropped off the case study, and it was possible that Nick’s colleague was waiting on the stoop, but Nick doubted it. Instinctively, he knew the identity of his visitor. Grabbing a pair of jeans from the dresser, he pulled them over his hips, zipped and fastened them and pulled on a button-down shirt, all while making his way down the stairs to the front door where someone was now pounding away on the other side. Grasping the knob, he threw open the door.

Lucy stood with her arm raised, poised to resume her knocking. The light spilled around her, playing up the copper highlights in her hair.

“Hello, Lucy,” Nick murmured.

“Nick.”

He couldn’t account for the pleasure her visit inspired. It was as if he’d been waiting all day for this moment.

Lucy said, “I need to talk to you again.”

“I can see that.” He worked on fastening his buttons, needing to finish at least that much before he let her inside.

“I have a telephone, you know,” Nick said, hoping for a halfhearted apology at the very least. But he was doomed to be disappointed.

“I hate talking on the phone.”

He looked at her questioningly. “Doesn’t that prove difficult as a reporter?”

Irritation flashed deep in Lucy’s eyes and she proudly tilted her chin. “Are you going to let me in or not?”

Nick briefly debated the merits of telling her to go away, but dismissed the idea just as quickly. If there was one thing he’d learned about Lucy, it was that she was tenacious. It was a quality that made her a top-notch reporter. Unfortunately, it didn’t go well with the weary throbbing of his head.

“Fine. Come in.”

Nick turned and strode into the kitchen. He had no doubt that she’d follow him.

The bang of the front door being slammed made his lips twitch in the beginnings of a smile, but he immediately wiped the humor from his expression.

“How long have you been skulking in my bushes?” He continued his lighthearted baiting as he flipped on the kitchen light.

“I have not been skulking in your bushes.” She planted her hands on her hips. “Frankly, I’ve got better things to do than spy on you. I just arrived.”

“Uh-huh.”

He opened the refrigerator, then scowled. Other than an inch of milk left in the jug, a whole shelf of condiments and a single slice of bologna, he was out of food.

“Listen, Nick, I’d like to have you—”

“Are you hungry?” he interrupted.

Lucy gaped at him, clearly nonplussed at his inability to sense her urgency. “I haven’t come to you to talk about—”

“Are you hungry?” he cut in again. “It’s a simple question.” Closing the refrigerator door, Nick allowed his gaze to slide down her frame, then back up again. “Because, frankly, you look like a bag of bones.”

Her face froze in response. “Don’t be rude,” she said when she recovered from the initial shock of his words.

“I wasn’t being rude. As I said the other day, you look like hell.”

A glint of temper appeared in her green eyes. “I’d forgotten how ill mannered you can be.”

“When was the last time you ate?”

“I had some vegetable—”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m not talking about rabbit food. I’m talking about a hot, fill-up-your-stomach meal.”

Her lips pressed together in a tight line, answering that question well enough.

Nick turned away to search through the pantry closet, hoping he might find something that could be pulled together into the semblance of a meal. But it’d been so long since he’d gone to the grocery store, he knew that nothing short of a miracle could help him now.

“I didn’t come here to eat.” Lucy said, her tone conveying her impatience. “I came to talk to you more in-depth about the twins.”

“A hotshot reporter like you can’t talk and eat at the same time?”

She folded her arms tightly beneath her breasts—and for a moment, Nick was distracted.

“I don’t want to eat.”

Knowing now wasn’t the time to be distracted, Nick dragged his eyes away from Lucy’s chest. “Are you hungry or not?”

She opened her mouth and hesitated, so he took it upon himself to answer for her. “Hell, yes, you’re hungry.”

He brushed past her on his way to the staircase. “Wait here while I get my wallet.”

“But I don’t want—”

“If you want me to talk with you, you’ve got to eat. That’s the deal.”

He was midway up the stairs when he glanced down at her. From this height she looked especially thin and vulnerable.

“Agreed?”

She clenched her jaw stubbornly then finally acquiesced. “Agreed.”