Expecting The Doctor's Baby

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“Samantha is easily impressed,” he said, with a sardonic look at his daughter.

“No,” she said. “When I was there for his precounseling observation he saved a drowning victim the paramedics brought in. A little boy. Two years old.”

Arnold slid his hands into the pockets of his tux trousers. “It’s a good thing he was there.”

The sarcasm in his tone told Mitch he was indeed one slipup away from the door hitting him in the backside on the way out. He wasn’t sure why this guy disliked him, but the feeling was becoming more mutual by the minute.

“Dad, it was the most amazing thing to watch the E.R. staff work together to save that child.”

“The E.R. staff is very good at what they do,” Mitch informed her father. “They have to be because we see everything from car accidents to the common cold. But I don’t have to tell you that.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Mercy Medical is lucky to have a doctor with his skills,” Sam said.

“And he definitely has them. Along with a finely tuned abrasive streak. If only rudeness saved lives,” Ryan snapped. “We’re still dealing with the fallout from your confrontation after that particular incident.”

“I hate waste,” Mitch said, anger knotting in his gut. “Makes it hard to be diplomatic.”

“That’s where my profession comes in,” Sam said quickly, looking very uncomfortable. “Smoothing out the rough edges will make him even better at what he does.”

“What he does is take the rules and bend them into oblivion.”

“Just give the counseling time, Dad. Darlyn Marshall is also very good at what she does. Sometimes people don’t realize how they come across and simply need to learn coping techniques to keep the little things from turning into big issues.”

“If I hold my breath waiting for that,” her father said, “I would be in urgent need of emergency services myself. Either someone fits in or they don’t. Talking it to death is an exercise in futility.”

“You do realize you’re referring to your daughter’s profession,” Mitch said, eyes narrowed.

“Indeed I do. More’s the pity for her.”

When Mitch felt her tense, his edges turned rougher and he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. “If that’s the way you feel, why bother with the program?”

“It wasn’t my idea. Believe me.” Without giving his daughter a look he said, “If it was up to me, you’d be out. And frankly this is all just a waste of time and money, in my estimation. I don’t expect any results and we’ll be back to square one, which is asking for your resignation.”

“What if I prove you wrong?” Mitch asked, barely able to rein in his anger.

“I’m not wrong. And if my daughter would stop wasting her time and take my advice to find a real profession, one worthy of respect, she would be much better off.” His mouth thinned in distaste when he looked at Sam. “Now if you’ll excuse me, there’s someone I need to talk to. I’ll see you later, Samantha.”

Mitch was about to follow and felt Sam’s hand on his arm. “Don’t,” she whispered.

“Just one good shot,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Please. No—” Her voice caught and abruptly she turned and walked in the opposite direction.

Mitch didn’t realize she was leaving until she stopped at the table, grabbed her purse and wrap, then hurried toward the exit. He followed her out the double doors, down two sets of escalators, through the casino and past the registration desk. For a small woman she went pretty damn fast in her high heels. Before he knew it she was through the front doors and outside. When he caught up with her, he heard her say something to the attendant about a cab.

“Sam—”

“Go away, Mitch.” She wouldn’t look at him.

“I’ll walk you to your car.”

“It’s not here. I came with him.” Her voice was unsteady and she caught her top lip between her teeth. “I think…it’s better if I take a cab home.”

“Ignore him.”

“Easy for you to say—” She had her back to him.

“Okay. It is easy for me. I’m an objective observer. In spite of the fact that you think I have the sensibility of a water buffalo, I realize that you’re dealing with an emotional component. But, Sam—” He put a hand on her shoulder and gently turned her toward him.

Her eyes were moist with tears and something tightened in his chest.

He’d been susceptible to a woman’s tears a time or two. His ex-wife. His mother when she pleaded with him time and again to help Robbie. Pain sliced through him at the memory. He didn’t trust tears. Female tears were tools of manipulation. Interesting the first syllable of that word was man. He should just walk away and let her get a cab. Let her deal with the real water buffalo in her life on her own terms. The words were on the tip of his tongue until he saw her mouth tremble and her struggle to control it.

Instead of “good night” he said, “I’m taking you home.”

Chapter Four

Mitch was driving on Interstate 15 south and nearing the turnoff to the 215 Beltway before Sam said anything. The only reason she did was to give him transition directions.

“Take the Beltway east. Toward Henderson.”

“Okay. Which exit?” he asked.

“Green Valley Parkway.

She’d been a blubbering idiot; there was no recovery from that. Except that after speaking she felt the lack of conversation.

“Nice car.” It was a two-seater Mercedes. Red. Hot. A chick magnet.

He glanced over. “Thanks.”

She glanced over at him, all sexy in the driver’s seat. He’d taken off his black tie and released the first button on his pleated white shirt. Lights from the freeway danced over the angles of his handsome face and created enigmatic shadows as he aggressively guided the purring machine along the transition curve to the 215 and home.

She couldn’t believe she’d let her father get under her skin like that. He was the same thoughtless man she’d learned to compensate for a long time ago. He hadn’t changed, but she’d lost it, and that hadn’t happened for a very long time. The only variable was Mitch. Something about being criticized in front of him had pushed her over the edge.

Yet Mitch had come to her rescue. Sir Galahad in a hot, red car. She should probably make conversation, but her emotions were still unstable and held together by a thread. The best thing she could do was gut it out until she was alone. Finally, Mitch exited the freeway.

“Turn right. It’s the last apartment complex before Horizon Ridge.”

He did as she directed, then slowed to a stop at the gate. She gave him the number code and the gates swung open, allowing him inside. A few more directions later and he parked in front of her unit.

“I’m sorry about—” Tears welled in her eyes and emotion thickened in her throat. One humiliating incident tonight wasn’t enough? Another meltdown was pathetically close. She was two for two. It was time to give Sir Galahad the night off. “Thanks for the ride,” she whispered.

That was all she could manage without losing it. She slid from the car and shut the door, then hurried to the stairway leading up to her apartment. Grabbing her long skirt in one hand so as not to trip, she quickly climbed the stairs to the second floor. Behind her she heard a car door close and footsteps following. She stopped at Unit 27 and opened her purse, then moisture blurred her vision. But Mitch was there, big and strong and smelling so good, so masculine.

Without a word, he took her bag and easily located her key. After opening the door, he reached in and flipped the light switch on, then rested his warm palm on the small of her back, guiding her inside.

She took a deep breath and met his gaze. “You’ve certainly gone above and beyond the call of duty tonight.”

“It’s the least I can do.”

No, the least would have been to let her take a cab. And she wished he had. “Thank you for everything. Good night—”

“Are you throwing me out, Ms. Ryan?”

“Yes. I’d really like to be alone.”

He set her purse on the sofa table in the entryway, then noticed the decanter of brandy and glasses. Without asking permission, he poured some of the liquor into two snifters and handed one to her.

“No, thanks, I—”

“Doctor’s orders,” he said, touching his glass to hers, before glancing around. “Nice place.”

Following his gaze she took in the beige-and-maroon chenille corner group, the circular oak table and four chairs in the dining area, distressed mahogany buffet with battered copper accessories on top. She’d painted the walls a harvest gold with one wall covered in a bold burnt orange. It was colorful, warm and inviting.

“My father h-hates it,” she said.

Mitch moved closer and the spark of anger in his eyes was clearly visible in the dim light. In spite of the simmering hostility, his touch was gentle when he crooked a finger beneath her glass and urged it to her lips for a sip.

“Your father is a first-class idiot.”

Maybe, but he was the idiot who’d raised her and she loved him for that. She owed him a lot. “Thanks for getting the valet to let my father know not to wait for me.”

His mouth pulled tight for a moment but all he said was, “You’re welcome.”

“And thanks for not giving me too hard a time when I insisted the valet tell him that I wasn’t feeling well.”

“As opposed to you’d rather walk barefoot on glass than get in the car with him?”

“Yes,” she said. “I know you don’t understand—”

“You’re right. I don’t get it. You’re bright and beautiful and witty. I don’t understand why you let him get away with treating you like a ditz.”

“He’s entitled to his opinion about what I do.”

“That doesn’t give him the right to be vicious.”

She took another sip of brandy and felt it warm her inside. The look Mitch was giving her heated her, too, in an entirely different way.