Читать книгу Finding Her Forever Family - Traci Douglass - Страница 11

WENDY FELT AS if a fireball had exploded in her body. With one brief touch, this guy had turned her insides into a puddle of goo. An electric charge raced upward from where his palm pressed against hers, warming her, making her throb in parts that had no business throbbing.

She doused those flames fast.

Poor Aiyana was upstairs, about to give birth, and here she was drooling over a hot doc—and Sam’s father to boot! Not good. Tom shifted his stance, his arm brushing hers, and fresh sparks fizzed through her body. Trying not to fidget, Wendy studied the metal doors in front of her, doing her best to ignore the hunk beside her and failing miserably.

At last the elevator dinged, and the doors opened.

While Tom talked with one of the delivery nurses, Wendy snuck a closer look at Dr. Tom Farber. Shaggy blond hair—with highlights of wheat and gold. Bright, intelligent blue eyes that sparkled when he smiled. Tanned, chiseled face, high cheekbones and a shadow of dark stubble on his jaw. Her gaze moved downward to his broad shoulders and muscled arms. He obviously worked out, his faded green scrubs fitting like a glove, not too tight but not baggy either.

Carmen rushed over, her lilting Trinidadian accent low and calm. “Thanks for coming so quickly, Dr. Farber. I need your opinion on a multiple birth.”

They all went into Aiyana’s room, where she was sitting on a large therapy ball, rocking back and forth. Ned rushed to his wife’s side, his emotions written all over his face—panic, compassion, anticipation and a hint of excitement. The guy might be Wendy’s own tough older brother, but when it came to his wife’s labor, he was a nervous dad-to-be like every other man.

Wendy was there for emotional support, not in a professional capacity. Thankfully, when she’d called Jake earlier he’d told her not to worry about her shift tonight in the ER and to take off all the time she needed to be with her family. Wendy never used her vacation days, so she had plenty saved up.

She and Tom stood at the end of the bed and he reached across her to grab the chart. Golden hair peppered the tanned skin of his muscled forearm, his fingers long and tapered. Surgeon’s hands. God, there was something about a man with sexy arms and hands...

Nope. Wendy shook her head, driving away those errant thoughts. She needed to concentrate on providing comfort and coaching to her sister-in-law. That’s why she was here. Still, Tom’s scent wafted around her—citrus, spice and a hint of soap—smelling better than any man had a right to, darn him.

“Are you okay, uuman?” Ned asked Aiyana, rubbing his wife’s back.

Tom leaned closer to Wendy, his breath tickling her ear. “What does uuman mean?”

She smiled. “It’s Iñupiat. It means heart. An endearment.”

He nodded, his eyes glittering with interest. “Your family’s Native American, then.”

“Yes. Half, anyway. Our mom was white.”

“I see.” He went over Aiyana’s chart again, frowning.

Wendy forced her tense shoulders to relax. “Anything to be worried about?”

“No, not that I see. She can continue with Carmen, but I’ll keep a close eye anyway.” Snapping the file shut, his hand brushed hers and awareness zinged through her once more. Wendy stepped a bit farther away from him, from unwanted temptation.

This was all about birthing the twins, not drooling over Dr. Tall, Blond and Beefcake.

The sooner she got her priorities straight, the better.

* * *

Tom put the chart back in the holder, then fiddled with the papers and notes sticking out the sides, ensuring they were all neat and tidy, grateful for something to do with his hands that didn’t involve brushing up against Wendy again.

Going over the history and physical, he’d noted that the husband, Wendy’s brother, had a family history of Huntington’s disease. It was a rare condition and one that had given him pause for a moment. Not out of fear for the patient and her babies—he’d seen that Ned’s test results for the mutation had been negative, so there was no concern of him passing it on—but out of concern for Wendy.

He didn’t know her that well, neither did he know that much about the disease, only that it was a genetic disorder and that there was no cure. If something that horrible ran in Wendy’s family, he couldn’t imagine what that must have been like for Wendy, how difficult it would be to live with that hanging over your head.

After the patient returned from the restroom, Ned Smith helped his wife get settled on the bed then tenderly held her hand, calming her. From the chart, Tom had also seen this was their first birth and they were doing well. Aiyana’s twins had yet to drop. Between the multiple gestations and the fact that she was a first-time mother, it was going to be a while.

Wendy moved to stand behind her sister-in-law as well, rubbing a tennis ball up and down her lower back. The patient was bent slightly, supported by her husband, her posture stiffening as another contraction hit. They were closer together than Tom had predicted, and he and Carmen exchanged a glance. The midwife tapped her watch and shrugged. He nodded and backed out of the room. If they needed an OB, they’d call him.

Meanwhile, his pulse drummed a steady beat as he studied Wendy more carefully. His respect and admiration for her grew, knowing what she’d dealt with given her family history, while his immediate awareness of her was unsettling for a man who prided himself on being cool, calm and rational. He’d built his life on the known, on facts and science and things that could be measured and tested and applied to provide relief, remedies and comfort.

As Tom rode the elevator back down to the ER, his mind continued to churn—with the case, and with Wendy. Since her father was still alive, according to the chart, he assumed it had been her mother who’d been afflicted with Huntington’s. How scary must that have been for young Wendy, being raised with that kind of uncertainty?

The situations were completely different, but the fact Wendy had lost her mother too had Tom’s thoughts returning to his own daughter as he went downstairs to his stack of charts and scribbled note after note in the files, working on autopilot as he searched for new ways he might get Sam to open up and let him in.

His heart ached, though, every time he thought about it—the distance between him and his daughter, the fact his late ex-wife Nikki had blamed him for all her troubles and had kept him and Sam apart. Regret wasn’t a strong enough word for the thick soup of recriminations that swam inside him when he remembered his short, tumultuous eighteen-month marriage.

After Tom had returned to Alaska, he’d tried to stay in contact with Sam, but Nikki’s less-than-stable lifestyle had made communication difficult. He’d even flown back to Boston a few times, hoping to see Sam in person, but Nikki had gone out of her way to keep them apart.

Then Tom had gotten the crushing news from the Massachusetts Department of Family and Children that Nikki had overdosed. He’d returned to the East Coast in a daze, to find Sam in shock. His daughter had looked different than he’d expected, taller, skinnier, tougher.

After the funeral, he’d brought her back to Anchorage, vowing to give her the kind of fairy-tale childhood she’d never had with her mom. New clothes, new school, new whatever she wanted. But with his busy schedule and the emotional trauma she’d suffered, their reunion had been bumpy, to say the least. Between all the social workers and her counselor here at the hospital, he’d expected to see more improvement, but so far it wasn’t happening.

It was ironic, really. The fact that he couldn’t connect emotionally with his own child, since that was the whole reason he’d gone into obstetrics. That connection that he hadn’t been able to have with his own child, that incredible moment when new life emerged.

He wanted to be that bridge of transition forever.

Obstetrics was his calling.

Speaking of his calling, he soon got a page on another case, a VBAC—vaginal birth after C-section.

Glad to stay busy, he headed back upstairs.