Mission Creek Mother-To-Be

A moment passed before he spoke again. “Miss Tourbier, I’m not going to play games. I am aware of your financial advantages. One of my concerns, though, is that a baby might seem to you to be a fun thing to have around, something to cuddle and play with, when in fact a baby is only a baby for a short period of time. Having a child is a lifetime commitment.”

“Dr. Cross, I’m not a teenager looking for something to comfort adolescent angst. I’m a grown woman who has contemplated this and made a careful decision.”

“And I want to help make sure it’s the right one.”

“But I don’t need help with that, since, as I’ve said, I’ve already made the decision.” Half an hour ago she’d hoped she’d meet this man again. Now he was turning into the biggest obstacle to her plan. Be careful what you wish for, she thought.

“Please understand, here at the clinic we like this to be a cooperative process.”

“Well, I’m trying to cooperate, but I feel like I’m up against some stiff opposition and I’m not sure why.”

He kept his gaze steady on her. “What you perceive as opposition is simply caution.”

“And what is it about me that makes you feel so cautious?”

“You are a young woman seeking to raise a child alone.”

“Why is that so shocking?”

“Not shocking,” he said in a measured tone. “But only about five percent of our cases are single mothers.”

“And do all of them undergo such scrutiny?”

“Every one of them.”

“It’s a wonder you’ve stayed in business, then.”

“It’s one of the reasons why business is thriving here. Our standards are high for both our patients and—” he paused “—our donors.”

Melanie’s face felt very hot. She knew they were picky about their donors, of course. That was why she’d chosen this particular clinic. She didn’t want sperm from some guy who was trying to make a quick five bucks to support his drinking or drug habit. She wanted the father of her baby to be someone who was carefully screened.

“All right, let’s cut to the chase,” Melanie said. “What are you worried about in my case?”

“It’s not easy to be a single mother. I’m afraid the reality of parenting might be a bit different from what you expect. Although you’re not the first single woman to want to conceive, you are young and clearly used to a lifestyle that allows you unusual freedom.”

“What’s your point?”

“What happens if it all turns out to be much harder, and maybe a lot less enjoyable, than you expect?”

“I’m sure at times it will be,” she said steadily. “And at those times I will love my child just the same.” She chose her words carefully. “Dr. Cross, life is often not what we expect. I have learned that several times over. But I would never, ever take on a responsibility like this if I wasn’t ready to give it one hundred percent.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” His voice softened and he scribbled something in her folder. “Honestly, I am. However, I’m sure you understand that we need to explore this further. It’s our standard operating procedure.”

She glanced at the desk. Did he have some sort of checklist he had to go through? “Okay,” she said, resigned. “Explore away. We’ll do it your way. I want you to feel as comfortable with this as I do.”

He gave her the look a teacher might give a mischievous child. “Now you’re suddenly feeling cooperative?”

“I’m suddenly feeling that I have no choice.”

He shrugged and gave her a quick smile. “That will do, I guess. So tell me, do you have any experience with children?”

She felt her cheeks grow warm. “Not exactly.”

“Hmm.” He leaned his elbows on the desk and steepled his fingers before his face. “What do you mean ‘not exactly’?”

“Does a person have to have experience with children in order to have one?” she countered.

“Not necessarily—”

“Good. Because I’m perfectly willing to learn on the job.”

He kept his eyes on her for a moment, then made another note. She tried to see what he was writing but couldn’t.

“Am I getting points against me for that?” she asked. “What are you writing?”

He looked at her with exaggerated patience. “I’m just making a few notes to myself.”

“Care to share them?”

He looked at his pad, then set it down. “Okay. You want me to be blunt, I’ll be blunt. I don’t think you know what you’re getting into. It may not be what you expect, and if it’s not what you expect, your disappointment may become evident to the child. The best way to fix a mistake is not to make it in the first place.”

“Dr. Cross.” Melanie used her most authoritative voice. “While I do appreciate your candor, it doesn’t sound to me as if you’re trying to help me make this decision at all. It sounds as if you’re trying to talk me out of it.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Does it?”

She’d had enough therapy after her parents’ deaths to recognize the basic psychological trick of making her reveal some hidden truth by encouraging her to talk. In this case, presumably, the truth he had in mind was her secret wish to be talked out of having a baby.

“Yes, it does,” she said. “I’m willing to discuss this with you and reassure you and the clinic that I’m a good candidate, but it seems to me that in order for this to work, you must be impartial. To insure that I’m committed to the child’s welfare, not to waste valuable time—yours and mine—trying to talk me out of my decision.”

“Are you afraid I will talk you out of it?”

“Not at all.” She tried to maintain her calm. “Look, as you are aware, the timing of this treatment relies on…” She searched for a delicate way to put it. “…my monthly cycle. I’m afraid that we will waste so much time driving down this dead-end road that we’ll miss this month’s, er, window of opportunity, that the entire process will be delayed. You’ve got my chart there, I assume. So you know I might need many attempts and that, even then, the chances of it working are slim. I don’t want to wait. Surely you can understand that.”

He looked at the chart, and his expression, when he looked back at her, was more compassionate. “I do sympathize with your concern. But surely you understand that I can’t rush things simply because a patient may have trouble conceiving.”

“If it’s possible at all,” she said, her voice wavering slightly with emotion. Stay calm, she told herself. Breathe.

“If it’s possible at all,” he agreed.

She took a moment to collect herself, then asked, “All right, what do I have to do to convince you?”

“Slow down a little. Truthfully, Miss Tourbier, I’m less concerned with your complete lack of experience with children than I am with your all-fired determination to do this so quickly despite the inexperience.”

He didn’t think she could do it. He wasn’t even going to give her a chance. He was going to take his little notes and then recommend to the clinic that she was a bad candidate for the treatment. Her dreams for a child, or children, would be blown out like a match, on this one man’s whim.

“Please, Dr. Cross,” she said, her heart beginning to ache. “What can I do to prove to you that I’m ready for this?”

He tapped his pen on the paper a couple of times, then let go of it.

Melanie watched it clatter on his desk.

“I have a suggestion,” he said.

Hope surged in her. He hadn’t written her off yet.

Not that he had the right to simply write her off.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Actually, it’s more of a challenge. Or—” he lowered his chin and looked at her seriously “—you might even call it a dare.”

Two

“A dare?” Melanie repeated, frowning. “Okay, I’m listening. What is it?” She looked like a gambler, waiting to see where the ball would settle on the roulette wheel.

Jared Cross sensed that this was a woman who was used to taking chances, who perhaps even relished them.

His mind strayed to the tabloid newspaper article he had in his file. His secretary had showed it to him, thinking it was cool that such a major celebrity was coming to the clinic. Jared hadn’t shared her enthusiasm, particularly once he’d read the article. Granted, it was a tabloid and he took everything he read with a grain of salt, but several facts were unrefuted: one, that Miss Tourbier’s lover was married, and two, that they’d behaved indiscreetly in front of the man’s children.

Of course, it had been a couple of years ago, according to the article, which described a book that was coming out detailing the affair. Perhaps she’d learned something from it. Perhaps she was more responsible now, at least about what she did or did not do in front of children.

That was the kind of thing he needed to determine.

He would be fair, despite her obvious and unfounded fear that he was against her.

He leaned toward her, elbows on his desk. This plan, he knew, would benefit everyone involved. “I challenge you to volunteer for, say, two weeks in the hospital day-care center.”

“Two weeks!”

He nodded.

“With ill children?” Her bravado was gone. She looked doubtful, and suddenly more vulnerable than he would have imagined possible. “Do you think I’m qualified to help out with them? I’d hate to say the wrong thing and make things worse.” She gave a half smile. “I have a tendency to talk before I think. Sometimes it gets me into trouble.”

He couldn’t help but smile back. He felt as if this was the first thing she’d said to him since coming in that wasn’t a previously devised closing argument. “No kidding.”

She gave him a withering look.

“Okay, okay. Here’s the deal. The day care is for the use of staff members, and sometimes the children or siblings of patients. There’s nothing particularly challenging about it. Like all kids, they just need care and kindness and attention.”

She still looked reluctant. “I’m sure I could handle it, but how would the parents feel about having me there? I’m sure they didn’t leave their kids with the idea that just anyone could come in and work with them.”

“I’m not asking just anyone,” Jared said, glad that she’d raised the issue. It showed she was thinking the right way. “I’m asking you. But if you don’t think you’re up to it—”

“Of course I’m up to it.” She bristled at the challenge, as he knew she would. “In fact, I think it sounds like fun.”

“Good.”

“But I know what you’re up to,” she added, jabbing a finger toward him in the air. “This isn’t a little dare, it’s a test. So I want to know your criteria for passing.”

“Look, Miss Tourbier, I’m not playing games. You can’t simply connect the dots and win a child.”

“Win a child?” she repeated incredulously. “Dr. Cross, even if you believe that’s what I’m here to do, I would imagine you could find a less crass way to express your feelings. You’re not only disparaging me, you’re demeaning the child I hope to have, and I will not stand for that. Besides—” she threw her arms up “—you’re the one devising this silly scheme to prove myself.”

“Miss Tourbier, I’m trying to help you, to give you a little taste of motherhood while there’s still time for you to decide it’s not what you want at this time.” He saw her objection coming and raised a hand. “If there’s even the possibility that you might decide that. I know you say there isn’t. If that’s so, then this is just a little practice for the real thing. No harm, no foul.”

She looked at him with narrowed eyes. “Tell me, do you make every prospective mother jump through these kinds of hoops? Is this how the hospital gets volunteers?”

He was quiet for a moment. “Every case is different. I don’t make this particular suggestion to everyone, although everyone does undergo a waiting period with counseling to make sure they’re making the right decision. Not every clinic does that. But not every clinic cares the way Mission Creek does. I suspect it’s our reputation for being cautious that brought you here.”

“Among other things,” she agreed. “But I still feel you have a prejudice against me particularly.”

“I’m not punishing you by asking you to work with the kids. I’m trying to help you, to allow you a taste of the real, everyday process of caring for a child. If it arms you with a little experience for your future child, I’ve done you a favor. If it gives you pause and causes you to wait on your plan, then I’ve done you and the child a favor.”

Melanie took a long breath, then expelled it. “That makes sense,” she admitted. “I just wish I believed you were even a tiny bit open-minded about my plan.”

He smiled. “I wish you were a little more open-minded about it, too.”

She looked at him for a moment, her blue eyes as light as the summer sky, but the expression in them dark. Dangerous. “This is not going to change my mind, you know.”

“Maybe it will, maybe it won’t.” He had to admire her determination. Truth was, he had nothing against her personally. He merely knew what it was like to be an unwanted child. Fifteen years in the Drumoldry Orphanage had given him all the evidence he’d ever needed.

His birth mother had kept him for the first three years of his life. All he remembered of her was the smell of alcohol, a lot of yelling, and cockroaches crawling around the floors of the succession of cheap motels they slept in.

Oh, and the boyfriends. His mother had had a lot of them. He’d seen more than any kid should have to see.

It wasn’t just his own experience that made him so protective of childrens’ rights, it was the experiences of the children he’d known in Drumoldry: Mary Cassidy, whose father was unknown and whose mother lost a battle with cancer when Mary was the undesirable-to-adoptive-parents age of eleven; Bobby Miller Nordell who had come in at four years of age, then was returned at six by a couple who had managed to have their own children and didn’t want him any longer; Alex Jergen, who’d been left in the orphanage parking lot at age three and who stayed with them until he gave in to his depression at fifteen.

Jared knew too many stories just like theirs.

“It’s not personal,” Jared repeated. “It’s about the child. Please work with me on this so we can make sure we do what’s best for him or her. And what’s best for you. A couple of weeks isn’t a long time to wait when you’re talking about creating a new life.”

She studied him for a moment. He didn’t know what she saw there, but her expression softened suddenly. “Okay. We’ll do it your way. When can I start at the day-care center?”

“How about tomorrow morning? I’ll call and arrange it with them, let them know you’re coming. Say, nine o’clock?”

She nodded. “I’ll be there at nine sharp.”

She was late.

She hadn’t even opened her eyes until ten that morning. It was jet lag, of course. Melanie had never been a late sleeper and she certainly wasn’t lazy, but she knew it would be hard to convince Dr. Jared Cross of that.

How many points was this going to count against her?

She scurried around the bedroom of her rented apartment in The Aldon Towers, throwing on the most conservative, June Cleaverish clothes she could find. She gave her long dark hair the quickest once-over with a brush and pulled it back into a long pony-tail. Forget makeup; the kids wouldn’t care. Besides, the less conspicuous she was, the better. Remarkably, no one in this little town had taken much notice of her so far. She only hoped that would continue to be the case.

She pounded out to the street where her car was parked, wondering if there was even a chance that Dr. Cross wouldn’t discover she was late on her first day there.

Nah. He was probably there right now, she thought as she forced herself to keep to the twenty-five-mile-an-hour speed limit on Mission Creek Drive while the clock on the dashboard seemed to move at double speed. Ten-ten, ten-fourteen, ten-nineteen.

With luck she found a parking space in the street and hurried up the sidewalk, passing a magazine kiosk. The tabloid headline seemed to jump out and grab her by the throat: A Wild Heiress! And there was that stupid photo again—the one that managed to make it look as if she and Robert were in a very compromising position when, in fact, he had knocked into the edge of her chaise longue and fallen, or pretended to fall, right on top of her. In reality, the children had screamed with laughter at their father’s “clumsiness.”

In the photo, though, it looked as if the children were screaming with horror at what they’d found their father doing with Melanie.

Truth was, Melanie and Roberto had never done more than kiss, but there was no convincing the world of that. People didn’t want to believe that nothing salacious had actually occurred.

It just wasn’t as interesting.

Melanie ducked her head as she passed the vendor and kept a low profile as she dashed through the hospital door. Ten twenty-three.

By the time she’d asked at the information desk and followed the directions to the day-care center, it was ten twenty-eight and Melanie was out of breath from running through the maze of corridors.

The first person she saw was Dr. Jared Cross.

In fact, she ran smack into him as she entered the center.

“Oh, sorry!”

He helped her regain her footing, placing his hands on her shoulders until she’d righted herself. “Miss Tourbier,” he said in a voice better suited to an elementary school principal. “What a surprise.”

She couldn’t fault him for being angry, even if she didn’t like his attitude. “I’m so sorry I’m late. This really isn’t like me, honestly. My internal clock is all out of whack at the moment. Jet lag. I couldn’t get to sleep until three this morning and then I guess I slept through my alarm.” She tossed her hands up and tried to catch her breath. “I’m sorry.”

“You have trouble when you don’t get enough sleep?” he asked.

Oh, give it a rest, she wanted to say. “No more than anyone else. I swear I’m never late for things,” she said, damning her luck. “This is very unusual for me.”

Before he could give her the kind of superior response she could see was coming, they were interrupted by a buxom woman in her midsixties, with pale hair piled atop her head.

“Dr. Cross, is this the young woman you told me about?”

“Yes, Emily, this is Melanie Tourbier. Melanie, this is Ms. Woods, the day-care director.”

“Call me Em,” she said, extending her hand and smiling warmly. “We don’t stand much on formality here.”

“Em, I’m so glad to meet you.” Melanie tried to ignore the chill from the icy Jared Cross next to her. “As I was explaining to Dr. Cross, I’ve just flown in from London—”

“And are your arms tired?” Em finished with a laugh. “I apologize. That kind of joke goes over big around here. You might as well get used to it. As for your being late, I’m aware that you’ve come from overseas and am frankly impressed that you were able to get yourself together as early as you did. Jet lag can be ferocious.”

Melanie’s shoulders sagged in relief. “I won’t be late again,” she promised sincerely.

“Please don’t fret about it.” Em lowered her voice for a moment before she added, “I have to say, you’re even more beautiful in person than you are in your pictures.”

Melanie thought of the pictures the woman might be referring to and blushed.

Em continued, “I saw photos in House and Home from a party you gave for the king of Jordan.”

“Oh,” Melanie breathed. “Yes, I remember those.”

“It looked so lovely. I hope our humble hospital doesn’t seem too dull to you.”

Jared cleared his throat.

Melanie ignored him. “So far, it’s been a real treat to be here. Almost everyone has been so kind and gracious.”

“Almost everyone here is like that,” Jared interjected. “Isn’t that right, Em?”

“Yes, indeed. And, Melanie, we’re so glad to have you here. It was awfully good of Dr. Cross to suggest it.”

Melanie turned guilelessly to the doctor. “Yes, wasn’t it?”

His mouth cocked into the smallest smile, and Melanie could have sworn she saw a moment of laughter in his eyes. “I can the see two of you are going to do just fine together. So if you’ll excuse me, I have appointments.” He leveled a sea-green gaze on Melanie. “I’ll come back and check on you later.”

Something shivered through her and made her heart pump faster when he looked at her. “That won’t be necessary.”

“I think it’s best.”

“I’m not surprised.”

“In the meantime, if you need to get in touch with me, you can call through the hospital operator. They’ll know how to find me.”

She wondered if he was hoping she’d call him in half an hour and tell him she’d changed her mind about everything. Well, that wasn’t going to happen. “I’ll be fine. So will the children. I promise that at the end of the day there will have been no fatalities.”

“That’s reassuring.”

She watched him nod to Em and head for the door. She might have reaffirmed her decision that he was just as cold as ice, if it hadn’t been for what happened right before he opened the door.

A small child, a boy with carrot-red hair, who seemed to move faster and more steadily than someone his size should, ran up and clung to Jared’s legs.

“Nooo!” the child cried, clearly trying to stop Jared from leaving.

Melanie expected Jared to brush him off in a pleasant but firm manner. Instead he reached down and swooped the child into the air.

“It’s a bird…it’s a plane…it’s Superkid!”

The child screamed with laughter.

Jared laughed, too, and Melanie’s breath caught in her chest. The laugh completely transformed his face. He had dimples for one thing, not childlike little dents but manly smile lines. She hadn’t noticed them before, although he’d smiled politely once or twice yesterday. But not real smiles like this. His eyes crinkled at the corners, making him look as kind as a favorite grandfather.

In fact, for just one crazy moment, Melanie could see him as a grandfather many years down the road. In her mind’s eye, she saw him, a little older, a little gray at the temples, reaching down in the same motion for a little boy with dark hair and green eyes….

“Okay, sport, I’ve gotta go,” Jared said, giving the child a final toss-and-catch before placing him gently on the floor.

“Nooo!” the little boy cried again, clutching at Jared’s pant leg. “Don’t go, don’t go, don’t go! Play ba!”

Jared knelt in front of the child and took his tiny hands in his. “How about if I come back and play ball after lunch?”

The boy chewed his lip, as if considering. “Lunch?”

“After lunch,” Jared said. “If you’re a good boy till then, we’ll play a little ball before I go back to work.”

The child’s face brightened. “I be good!”

Jared laughed. “Then I’ll see you after lunch.”

Em walked up behind Melanie and watched the scene with her. “That’s little Johnny Souffel. Last month he turned three and still hadn’t said a word. Dr. Cross has been treating him for just over four weeks and the difference, as you can see, is remarkable.”

Melanie was surprised. Granted, she didn’t know much about children, but she wouldn’t have believed that a month ago Johnny didn’t talk. “So Dr. Cross does something here other than family planning?” she asked Em.

“Oh, my, yes. Dr. Cross is the finest child psychiatrist in all of Texas. Maybe even in the whole United States.”

Melanie turned to Em. “Child psychiatrist? Are you serious?”

“Yes, indeed.”

She wanted to ask why on earth he was wasting his time and talent trying to talk people out of having children, but she didn’t know Em well enough for that. “So he just volunteers at the clinic or something?”

“Oh, yes, he’s done it for years. He’s a fierce child-welfare advocate. He’s done a lot of good work at the clinic, and arranged more than a few very successful adoptions.” Em clucked her tongue like a proud mother hen. “The children are so lucky to have him.”

Melanie watched little Johnny go over to an older boy and hold a block out to him. “You play?” he asked, and the older child took the block and set it on the pile he’d already arranged into a wall.