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Well, damn. Briefly, Jack considered buying lunch at the cafeteria, too. He wouldn’t sit at the nurses’ table, of course; the only doctors who did that were married to nurses, and even then they usually respected each other’s separate social circles. Still, he was curious about what he might overhear.
Don’t be an idiot. She’d said everything was fine between them. Furthermore, having been up since before dawn, he could use a nap. The shortage of office space at Safe Harbor forced newcomers like Jack to see their patients on evenings and weekends in shared quarters. It was after one o’clock now, and he had to return by five.
Why should he care about Anya and her chums? Whatever they were doing, he’d find out soon enough via the hospital grapevine and his uncle. So why did he feel as if he was missing something?
* * *
SO JACK COOKED, Anya mused. It gave him a certain domestic appeal—as if a guy with bright green eyes, thick brown hair and a million-watt smile needed or deserved any further advantages.
As she accompanied Luke—Lucky to his friends—to the cafeteria, Anya felt propelled by her own mental kicks in the butt. Downing two drinks on New Year’s Eve was no excuse for jumping into bed with her handsome neighbor. His clumsy attempts to score a second time—which is what she assumed he was doing, given his reputation—were mildly amusing, but she wasn’t that big a fool.
She had a more pressing problem—her period being three weeks late. The pill was 99.9 percent effective when used properly, which she did. She ought to take a pregnancy test, but she was almost certain it would prove negative. When it did, Anya preferred to have expert advice on hand because there was definitely something wrong with her.
She doubted it was stress. She wasn’t that upset about her stupidity in bedding Jack, nor about her roommate pressuring her to move to a cheaper place rather than renew their lease. So was this a hormonal imbalance? An autoimmune disease? At twenty-six, surely she was too young for early menopause.
She checked her phone. No text from Dr. Cavill-Hunter’s nurse about working her into today’s schedule.
In the cafeteria, Anya studied the posted menu. “What’s the special? I don’t see it.”
“They’re out of it,” Lucky told her. “It’s nearly one-thirty. Just grab a sandwich, will you?”
Anya folded her arms. “What’s the rush?”
“People have to get back to work.”
She hated pressure. It usually inspired her to go even slower, but she was hungry. Also, across the busy room, she spotted a halo of short ginger hair that identified her roommate, Zora Raditch, sitting across from patient financial counselor Karen Wiggins. Karen’s hair color this week: strawberry blond with pink highlights.
The third woman at the table, Melissa Everhart, projected pure gorgeous class with her honey-blond hair in a French twist. Melissa worked with the hospital’s recently opened egg bank as egg donor coordinator.
They weren’t sharing a table by accident, nor from longstanding friendship. They had serious business to discuss, and it included her.
By now, Lucky was jogging in place. Anya chose a pastrami pita sandwich with avocados and sprouts, sweet-potato chips and iced tea. She paid the cashier and followed her impatient companion.
The three women huddled over a sheet of paper. “You could have this room in the front and Anya this one on the side,” Karen was saying as they approached.
Glancing over her roommate’s shoulder, Anya saw the floor plan of a two-story house. “I thought you were all set for renters, Karen.”
Zora swung around, braced for action. “We’re getting a second chance, Anya. Come on! We’ll never find a more fun place to live than Karen’s house, and it’s really quiet and backs onto a park.”
Here we go again. For the past year, Anya had relished both the close companionship and the comparative privacy of living with just one friend. Having grown up in a crowded household where her family’s expectations, assumptions and criticisms weighed on her constantly like a heavy coat in summertime, she had no interest in sharing quarters with a group.
“That isn’t a park—it’s wetlands. Mosquito central,” Anya responded, setting her tray on a clear spot. “What happened to the two guys who’d signed on?”
“Ned Norwalk decided he prefers living alone.” Ned was a fellow nurse. “I wish he’d told me sooner.” Karen scowled at Lucky.
“I had nothing to do with that.” Turning a chair backward, he sat at the other open space. “I like him.”
“But you hate Laird,” Melissa noted.
Lucky shrugged. “Karen, I’m sorry, but you know how he is. A few drinks and he’s making passes at random women.” Catching Karen’s eye roll, he added, “Unwelcome passes.”
“So you chased him off,” Karen grumbled.
“Once you come to your senses, you’ll thank me,” Lucky replied.
Quietly eating her sandwich, Anya conceded that she didn’t like Laird either. He might be a psychologist and family counselor, but in her opinion, he could use some counseling of his own.
“How’d you get rid of him?” Zora asked.
Lucky addressed his response to the others, ignoring Zora, as usual. “I may have implied that I’d make his life miserable if he moved in. That’s all.”
Karen smacked the table. Anya had to grab her iced tea to prevent a spill. “This may be a game to you, Lucky, but I can’t make the payments by myself. Now that the renovations are finished, I need a full house. Otherwise, I either have to raise everyone’s rent sky-high or sell.”
For years, Karen—now in her early forties—had cared for her ailing mom while medical expenses ate up their savings. They’d had to defer all but the most essential maintenance on their five-bedroom home. A few months ago, though, following her mother’s death, the counselor had taken out a loan to upgrade the electrical, plumbing and appliances. Then she’d solicited her friends and coworkers to move in for what Anya had to admit was a very reasonable monthly rent.
“It’s perfect timing. I understand Anya’s lease is up for renewal.” Lucky didn’t mention Zora. Anya wondered how the two of them expected to share a house. The potential for conflict added to her distaste of the idea of moving in with them.
“You can have the bedroom on the side,” Zora wheedled. “I’ll take the noisy one in the front.”
Everyone stared at Anya. The combined pressure was so strong, she half expected her chair to tilt. Fortunately, she was used to resisting pressure. “Zora and I will discuss this in private,” she said.
“Coward,” Lucky teased.
“Sharing a kitchen shouldn’t be a big deal because you hardly ever cook,” Zora pointed out. As Anya had explained to her friend, she’d grown up shouldering more than her share of household duties in her large family. Heating a can of soup and eating a premade salad felt like a heavenly indulgence.
“And I gather the rent will be considerably lower than what you’re paying for your apartment,” Melissa added.
Anya calmly started on the second half of her sandwich. She had shared her objections with Zora, and the polite refusal she’d voiced several times previously ought to be enough for the others.
Karen drummed her fingers on the table. “Contrary to what you may believe, a wetland is not a swamp. It’s a vibrant ecosystem. A healthy wetland actually reduces the mosquito population thanks to the thriving birds, frogs and fish.”
“And other insects that feed on mosquito larvae,” added Lucky, who’d clearly heard this speech before.
“I just love frogs, fish and insects.” Anya’s irony didn’t extend to birds. She did enjoy those, except maybe pigeons in the vicinity of her car.
Zora widened her eyes in mute appeal. Fortunately, there was little danger of her jumping ship on Anya. Until recently, Zora, an ultrasound technician, had occupied a pariah-like status around the hospital because she’d stolen a popular nurse’s husband a few years back. Then, a year ago, Zora had needed a place to go after her husband cheated on her, too, and Anya had agreed to move in with her. Zora had burst into tears of gratitude and they’d had each other’s backs ever since.
“I can give you until Sunday night to decide,” Karen said. “Monday, I’m posting the vacancies on the bulletin board.”
“Oh, come on, Anya,” Lucky said. “You haven’t given us a good reason. My bedroom’s downstairs. You ladies will have plenty of privacy on the second floor, and I can do guard duty.”
Anya ignored him and moved on to her sweet-potato chips.
The others shifted to regard someone approaching, as if the short, uniformed woman with thick glasses might be their salvation. Instead, Eva Rogers zeroed in on Anya.
Smiling and holding up her phone, Eva said, “Just got a cancellation. Dr. Cavill-Hunter can fit you in at 6:45. How’s that?”
“Fine,” Anya replied, trying to keep the bite out of her voice. The other nurse should have more discretion than to approach a patient in front of others, but Anya was grateful for the appointment.
“See you then.” With a wave, Eva sauntered off.
Around the table, four very interested faces turned to Anya. “Is anything wrong?” Lucky asked.
“It can’t be routine or there’d be no reason to jump at a cancellation,” Karen observed.
“Need me to come along for moral support?” Zora asked.
Anya stood. “That’s the other reason.”
“The other reason for what?” asked her roommate.
“The other reason for not moving into the house.” Anya picked up her tray. “Gossip.”
She left without waiting for their reactions. Although she’d rather not offend anyone, she had bigger issues to deal with.
Chapter Two
“How is this possible?” Sitting on the examining table, Anya hugged herself through the thin gown.
Mercifully, Dr. Adrienne Cavill-Hunter had broken the news without Eva in the room. Anya’s skin was prickling with apprehension so one skeptical look, or even a sympathetic murmur, and her blood pressure might soar to dangerous levels.
The blonde obstetrician rolled her stool over to sit beside Anya. She had chosen this doctor not only because she saw patients in the evening, but for Adrienne’s quiet, rational manner.
“Are you taking any over-the-counter medications that might interfere with your birth control pills?” the doctor inquired.
Now, there was a question Anya hadn’t considered. It was almost reassuring in its medical focus. And it didn’t imply that she’d screwed up by missing any pills.
“The only thing I took was St. John’s wort after spending Christmas with my family,” she said.
The obstetrician tilted her head questioningly. “Why St. John’s wort?”
“It was kind of a depressing experience, and I heard it might help.” Anya had chosen the herb, widely available in capsule form, after reading that it was as effective as standard antidepressants with fewer side effects. “Can it interfere with birth control pills?”
“Yes, it can.” Dr. Cavill-Hunter—who’d expanded her name after her marriage last month—answered in a level, nonjudgmental tone. “St. John’s wort decreases the level of estrogen in the body, which reduces the effectiveness of the pill.”
Anya smacked her forehead. “That’s why I’m pregnant.”
“Not entirely,” the doctor said wryly.
True, there’d been no immaculate conception. If only she and Jack had used a condom, too. But in the heat of the moment, they hadn’t been able to find one.
Now here she was, stuck in a massive, life-changing situation that Anya couldn’t wrap her mind around, except for one important point. “I can’t have a baby by myself.”
“Many women do,” the doctor said gently.
“Not me.” Just supervising her three younger sisters had often overwhelmed Anya.
She still had nightmares about one afternoon when she was twelve. After her mother’s arthritis had worsened, it had been Anya’s responsibility to walk the seven-year-old triplets home from school each day. But Anya’s period had arrived unexpectedly and she had to borrow a pad from a teacher, causing her to be late. When she finally arrived at the elementary school, there’d been no sign of Andi, Sandi or Sarah. For a painful half hour, as she traced the path they should have taken home, frightening scenes from TV newscasts had rolled through her mind. What if someone had taken them?
Realizing they might have stopped for a snack at their grandmother’s house around the corner, Anya had run there and rung the bell with her heart pounding. Her grandma’s gaze had been reproving, but she’d been greatly relieved to find her sisters safe.
Until she faced her father’s fury later that night. You need to take your responsibilities seriously. Why can’t we depend on you to do things right?
Dr. Cavill-Hunter asked a question, jerking Anya back to the present. The doctor had asked about the father and was waiting for an answer. Anya said sharply, “We aren’t even dating. It was a mistake. Do you have any resources about adoption?”
“You can take several avenues in that regard.” Choosing her words carefully, the doctor continued. “But there’s no reason to rush this decision. This is a shock. It’s wise to consider what it means to have a child and what kind of family support you might receive.”
Anya shuddered at the thought of her family. Returning to Colorado this past Christmas to visit her parents and six siblings had reawakened painful old feelings and reminded her forcefully of why she’d moved to California. “Forget that.”
The obstetrician didn’t argue. “All right. You can choose a private adoption—either open, with continuing contact, or closed. Or perhaps you have a family member who might take the child.”
“No family.” Nor did Anya care to deal with a social worker. This was her decision, and she wouldn’t be lectured or questioned about her motives. “Can you recommend a lawyer?”
“The hospital’s staff attorney could give you a list of family attorneys in the community.” The obstetrician cleared her throat. “I’m adopting a child myself, a relative. We’re using a lawyer named Geoff Humphreys.”
That name rang a bell. “His associate is handling Zora’s divorce.” She’d have to tell her roommate anyway, so that seemed convenient. “Thanks for mentioning him.”
“There’s something else.” The doctor laced her fingers. “As I’m sure the attorney will inform you, the father has to sign a waiver of parental rights before the child can be released for adoption.”
“He what?” Anya would pull all her hair out by the roots before she’d involve that—what was the legal term she’d read?—casual inseminator.
Okay, that wasn’t fair to Jack, although other nurses had described him as a playboy. In her observation, his dramatically good looks simply attracted a lot of women. In her case, despite their joking around in the O.R., he’d always kept a respectful distance. Until New Year’s Eve.
That night, while they were dancing at the party, she’d imagined she saw a spark of tenderness in his gorgeous, sparkling green eyes. That, combined with a couple of unaccustomed drinks, had worked magic on her nervous system. Plus, she’d been feeling lonely and estranged from her family after that unhappy Christmas visit.
Jack had been wonderful in bed, fierce and gentle and very skilled. Too skilled, maybe. Anya hadn’t had much time for men in her younger years, and her college boyfriend had been sweet but fumbling. Now, her vulnerability scared her. Losing control of her emotions reminded her of how little power she’d had over her life until she left Colorado two years ago.
So over the past few weeks, she’d kept things cool with him, strictly business. He’d gone along at first, as embarrassed as she was, she supposed. Then he’d started flirting again. But she doubted he meant anything by it. He was notorious for avoiding relationships.
And now she needed his permission to choose adoption for her—their—baby? “It’s outrageous,” she added for good measure.
“It may seem unfair, but that’s the law,” Adrienne said. “Discuss this with your lawyer. I’m sure he can handle the paperwork.”
“So Doctor...Mister Dad gets the news via the U.S. mail?” That was likely to provoke unpleasant repercussions. “I’ll deal with him some other way.”
Judging by the obstetrician’s expression, she hadn’t missed the reference to a doctor. She let it go, returning to the pregnancy.
“Based on the dates you gave me, you’re about six weeks along, which means you’re due in mid to late September,” she said. “In case you’re interested, the baby’s eyes and limb buds are starting to appear at this stage.”
Too much information. Anya performed the mental equivalent of closing her ears and skipped to a more bearable topic. “Six weeks? It’s only been five weeks since we...since conception.”
“We measure pregnancies from the date of the last menstrual period,” the doctor reminded her.
“Oh. Right.” All this theoretical knowledge seemed quite different when you were the patient, Anya reflected glumly. “I haven’t had any morning sickness. Well, maybe a tiny bit. I thought it was some chorizo I ate.”
“Let’s talk about a healthy diet during pregnancy,” the doctor said, seizing on the topic. “Or are you already familiar with all this?”
Being a scrub nurse, Anya didn’t deal with maternity on a regular basis. Also, in her state of shock, she could scarcely recall her own phone number, let alone the rules for moms-to-be. “Refresh my memory. Do I have to eat anything weird?”
