Pregnant Nurse, New-Found Family

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If she was frigid, what could she call what had happened with Gavin that night? He’d taken her on a rocket trip to bliss in record time.

And now her period was late.

Was that her reward for finally cutting loose?

Damn.

If she did wind up being pregnant and she didn’t miscarry, she’d keep the baby and figure out what to do about Gavin later.

The moment Beth opened the doors to the allergy department on Wednesday morning the phone rang. She swooped up the receiver, assuming it was the supervisor from the ER to tell her her fate.

“Allergy, this is Beth.”

“You owe me dinner.”

She heard Gavin’s deep voice, loud and clear. Her heart rushed a beat or two.

“Are you there?” he asked when she paused.

“May I ask who’s calling?” Lame!

After a brief hesitation he said, “It’s Stud Muffin.”

Her cheeks flamed faster than a brush fire. Obviously his son being present had kept him from saying what had been on his mind yesterday.

She stifled a giggle.

“I’ll pick you up in front of the hospital on Friday night at seven…Sweet Cakes,” he said.

How could she not smile? The guy was being silly and going overboard, trying to get her to laugh.

She played with a pen she’d picked up from the counter. Two could play this game. “I’m afraid ‘Sweet Cakes’ isn’t available on Friday night. She works at the teen clinic in Venice.” The pen shook in her hand.

“How late?”

She clicked the pen several times and heard an impatient sigh on the other end. She’d taken it too far. It also occurred to her that the poor man might have been up all night working—if the overflowing ER when she’d left last night had been any indication. Did he deserve her giving him a hard time? “I work until ten. You might be awfully hungry by then. I suggest we take a rain-check.”

“Then let’s have a drink and get to know each other. You can buy me dinner another night. I know where that clinic is—I’ll pick you up from there on Friday.”

She faltered. Had he just finagled two dates out of her? What about her plan to avoid him?

He sighed again. “Just say yes, Bethany. I need to get some sleep.”

“Yes, Bethany, I need to get some sleep,” she parroted softly, her mind swirling with what-ifs.

“Have a good day…Sweet Cakes.” She heard a smile in his voice.

Would it be a good day after the lab called?

“Wait!” she said.

“Yes?”

“How’s that boy, Andrew?”

Gavin cleared his throat. “The surgery went well. We’ll have to wait and see if the hand will be functional. By the way, what you did with his sister was commendable. And my son. Thanks for that. I’ll see you Friday.”

She’d agreed to get-to-know-each-other drinks with a man she’d already had sex with. Well, what would “Stud Muffin” think about her predicament? He might change his dating tune if a certain lab test came back you-know-what. And more importantly, if she was pregnant, would she have the guts to tell him?

No sooner had she hung up than the phone rang again. On automatic reflex she gave the department name, followed by her own.

“This is Rick from the ER. I’m not sure if this is good news or not…but it’s definitely news.”

For the second time in two days Beth felt faint. “I’m pregnant?”

“Most definitely.”

She couldn’t remember afterwards if she’d said thank you and goodbye or had just hung up, but suddenly she was standing in the allergy clinic with her arms tightly folded across her stomach to keep from falling apart. Her eyes stung. Nervous tingles made her skin prickle. Tears brimmed. She bit her lip to keep from crying out.

Maybe this third time the pregnancy would stick. Could she afford to be hopeful, again? Or should she be horrified? I’m not married and I got knocked up on a one-night stand with a stranger.

She’d always wanted children, but only under the right circumstances, in a loving relationship and preferably married. Talk about bad timing. Hell, she’d worked at the teen clinic long enough to know life threw everyone curve balls, but in this case she’d been the accomplice who’d helped the pitcher wind up and let fly.

And now, oh, God, she was pregnant.

On Thursday afternoon Gavin pushed through the swing doors into the allergy waiting room. At the nursing podium, Beth was in the middle of giving shots to one of her regular weekly patients. She’d just finished drawing up antigen from a vial when she spotted him.

Thanks to morning sickness, which seemed to be lasting all day, she didn’t need any help with the sudden urge to vomit. Seeing him made her lose control and she dropped the vial. Damn. What could she do but try her best to act naturally? She felt out of control, as though someone had taken a hand mixer to her stomach.

She was pregnant and he was the father and somehow, some way, she’d have to tell him. But not now!

He nodded at her. “I need to set up an appointment for Patrick for asthma training.”

“Sure.” She managed to find her voice, nodding to the patient waiting for a shot and trying her hardest not to let the trembling of her hands show.

Navy blue slacks, pale blue shirt, colorful yellow tie, obviously just out of the shower with his hair still damp…he dripped confidence. And his woodsy scent had her thinking about being skin to skin with him and places she’d never been before. And though the smell soothed her queasy stomach, the memories whipped it right back up again.

Her patient cleared her throat. Right. The shot.

“I’ve been summoned,” he said, pointing down the hall and continuing on toward Dr Mehta’s office.

A few minutes later, just when Beth had calmed herself down, Gavin’s voice startled her when he snuck up from behind.

He tossed some paperwork onto the podium. “I’m signing up for immunotherapy. Bupinder talked me into it.”

Avoiding his eyes, she pretended to be engrossed with the doctor’s orders. “Is that so?”

He leaned his forearm on the stand. “Guess I’ll be one of your patients.”

How could she face him every week of her pregnancy—that was, if she didn’t miscarry this time? “I never read your test—how does she know what you’re allergic to?”

“RAST test.” A blood test where, if there was an allergy, the specific antibodies attached to a radioactive chemical. “You’re right, I should be a bubble boy, but that’s just me. I don’t do anything halfway.”

Recalling their crazy first encounter, she fought a blush. No. He definitely didn’t do anything halfway.

She glanced up and saw a knowing smile, then quickly concentrated on her folded hands on the podium. She couldn’t fall any deeper for his charm, not until he knew the facts and she knew where they stood.

“Be sure to pick up an EpiPen from the pharmacy and carry it with you at all times. We can’t treat you for food allergies, just the pollens, so you’ve got to be prepared for another systemic reaction if it ever occurs.”

She worked up the courage to make eye contact again. The tantalizing taupe stare forced a burst of nerves in her chest, and she caught her breath. She couldn’t go on like this, and changed the subject. “When is a good time for the asthma training for Patrick?”

He looked into her eyes and smiled. “Any evening. You can come over to my place.”

“Sorry, I don’t do house calls.”

“Not even for me?”

She sent him a pleading, exasperated glance—there were patients within earshot. He got the message. “What if I bring him in one afternoon next week?”

“Sure. Just bring him to the clinic. I’ll make time for him.” Putty in his hands.

“Sounds good. So is that all you need to talk to me about?”

Beth shot him a startled look. Why had he asked that? Did he know? Her mouth went dry. “After a systemic reaction like you had, we insist that you wait two weeks before starting the immunotherapy program. And don’t forget to pick up your EpiPen.”

“Sure thing.” He slanted her a smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

He pushed himself off from the podium and strode toward the lobby, pushed through the swinging doors like a cowboy in a saloon, and left. She shamelessly checked out his behind. What got into her whenever he was around?

Dread trickled down her spine and quickly replaced the attraction to him. She’d have to tell Gavin sooner or later, and as they had a date tomorrow night, “sooner” seemed to be the best option.

But sooner stunk.

CHAPTER THREE

ON FRIDAY night at ten, Gavin drove his car to the front of the Venice Beach Teen clinic and parked. An old school chum of Patrick’s had invited him to spend the weekend in Irvine, so Gavin was free. He needed a diversion from his inhumanly busy schedule and, having the night to himself, he looked forward to spending it with Bethany.

When he’d spotted her at the party last month, vibrant and appealing, he’d felt oddly energized by her spirit. This sweet young thing didn’t deserve his usual post-divorce routine of hard work, easy loving, then saying goodbye. Now, with Patrick living with him, those days were officially over. He’d changed for his son’s sake, and he didn’t need a woman complicating things between the two of them. So why was he parked outside of a clinic in a bad part of town, looking forward to taking her for a drink?

Maybe because something more than sex had passed between Bethany and himself. It had started with a shock of a kiss that had reached inside and grabbed him. The electricity had been so fierce that he’d considered checking to make sure they hadn’t been standing in water. Later, short-circuit sparks had turned into an all-out fire when they’d had sex. The way she’d surrendered to his touch, made him realize how special they had been together. It wasn’t everyday you found someone as responsive as that. Tonight he hoped to get to know her to find out if his hunch was right—that she was a woman a man could fall for.

He gave an ironic laugh. Wasn’t it just like life to dump the first woman in ages he’d really been intrigued by into his lap after he’d promised to be the father Patrick had never had but always deserved? And if he and Bethany did click tonight, how was he supposed to handle dating and Patrick?

He sat in the darkness of his car and watched a group of five young adults leave the clinic in a straggly line. Their clothes ran the gamut from black, gauzy gothic to pullover preppy sweater to the new retro 1980s rock-star hairstyle, wrinkled T-shirts and skin-tight jeans. What was little Miss Florence Nightingale up to? And why did he find her so damn intriguing?

He hopped out of the car and crossed the street to meet her in the lobby. Her slim figure appeared in the foyer just as he reached the front door of the clinic. The bright fluorescent glow threw a halo around her soft honey-colored hair. He let out an amused chuckle at the image. She’d acted anything but angelic the night they’d met.

Instead of smiling when he approached, her eyes widened and she took a deep breath before she locked up the office. She didn’t exactly look happy to see him.

Beth was the first to speak. “Feel like taking a walk? It’s probably beautiful at the beach tonight.”

“What happened to ‘Hi, honey, I’m home. How was your day?” ’

She gave him the requisite brief laugh for his sorry attempt at humor, but she still looked anxious. And it was beginning to rub off on him.

On impulse, he tugged her close and pecked her on the cheek. “Hi, honey, I’m home.” He inhaled her scent, peaches and vanilla, good enough to eat, then led her out the front door. “Would you rather take a walk than have a drink?”

“Well…” Looking flustered from the kiss, she brushed hair away from her face. “We could stop at the corner store and buy a couple of sodas and do both.”

They crossed the street. He opened the door and held it for her as she slid into the passenger seat. “I don’t want to accuse you of being cheap, but you’re easy on the pocketbook, Bethany. Not that I’m complaining.” He circled the car and got inside.

“It’s been a stressful week. I’m just thinking I could use a walk, if you don’t mind.” So far she’d managed to evade making eye contact with him.

“Whatever the lady wants. The sea breeze might do me some good, too.” He started the engine, liking the idea of a sultry beach walk with Bethany. Maybe it would help her shake those tense vibes she was giving off.

He pulled out from the curb into the boulevard bustle. Headlights from oncoming traffic illuminated the interior of the car and he glimpsed her expressive almond-shaped eyes watching him. She definitely looked anxious and quickly looked away. As she hadn’t said another thing, he’d start things off with small talk. “So, what do you do at the clinic?”

She cleared her throat. “Two nights a week, I’m an STD counselor for teenagers.”

He sputtered a laugh. Just his luck, she was a sexually transmitted disease counselor, and she’d probably preach about it non-stop. “A safe sex crusader, are you?”

“I do my best.”

“Does anyone listen?”

“Sometimes.”

“Is that enough?” Hmm. She’d probably just come from the clinic that Friday night last month, too. They’d used protection, and she’d been the one to produce it.

“Enough? It has to be. They sure don’t pay me much.” She smiled. “This counseling job comes with small rewards, not huge successes.” She tossed him a brief, resigned glance and returned to looking out of the passenger window.

Had he done something wrong? He liked the way things had started out between them at the party. Though he hadn’t exactly been a gentleman where Bethany was concerned, tonight he’d planned to begin making up for it, if she’d give him a chance.