To Have the Doctor's Baby

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“How did you talk him into it? Not the moving-in thing, the fathering thing.”

“I think he feels guilty. For his part of what went wrong in our marriage. But there were also tears involved. I just couldn’t help it when I saw the babies in the nursery. And he happened to be there.”

Ryleigh hadn’t faked the emotion and couldn’t be sorry it helped convince him. But she’d never forget how good his arms had felt around her. The comfort he’d offered without hesitation. She had no illusion that it came from anywhere besides friendship, but that didn’t diminish her appreciation.

Avery nodded thoughtfully, processing everything. There was a gleam in her blue eyes when she asked, “You know that having a baby with Nick will require you to have sex with him?”

“Yes. That’s part of the logistics. So when I’m—you know—he’ll be…you know.”

“Handy?”

“Yeah.”

The expression in her friend’s eyes turned the tiniest bit wicked. “So you haven’t done it yet?”

“No. Not quite the right time in my cycle.”

“And I’m going to be Auntie Avery?”

“With a little luck.”

“And sex.” Her expression turned serious. “This is me and I’m there for you. Whatever you need. Count on it.”

“I have no doubt about that.” Ryleigh knew there was more. “But?”

“I saw what you went through when you and Nick fell apart. I held you when you cried. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t help you look at this whole thing from every angle?”

“Just spit it out,” Ryleigh said.

“Okay. I have to ask. Do you really think you can go through with this and come out unscathed?”

“By ‘this,’ I’m assuming you mean sex without complications.” When her friend nodded she said, “Men do it all the time.”

“If God wanted women to be like men, He’d have given us the same equipment. If you have sex with Nick, I’m pretty sure there will be feelings involved. On your part, anyway. I just don’t want you to get hurt again.”

“I won’t.”

“Famous last words.”

“Don’t you see, Avery? From the time I was a little girl, I’ve wanted to be a mother. I want it more than I can put into words and it’s this close.” She held up her thumb and index fingers, a fraction of an inch apart. “Please don’t rain on my parade.”

“That’s the last thing I’d do.” Avery finished the wine in her glass and set it on the table. She slid closer and leaned in for a hug before saying, “I love the idea of you having a baby, getting what you want. And I’m serious about having aunt status. I just want to make sure you know what you’re doing with Nick.”

“I appreciate that and if it were you, I’d feel the same way.” Her friend’s eyes darkened for a moment, and she quickly added, “Don’t worry. I’ve thought this through.” Ryleigh met the other woman’s gaze. “I’ve been there, done that. Now I’m over him. Nick can’t hurt me, which makes him the perfect guy.”

And by her calculations, the perfect time in her cycle was tomorrow.

Chapter Four

Today was Monday.

Nick got out of the shower and dried himself off, then tied the towel around his waist while he shaved—a habit left over from when he was married.

Normally Monday was his least favorite day, as it was for most people. But his schedule wasn’t like most people’s and he often saw patients seven days a week, blurring them all together.

Except Monday.

That’s when the paperwork, billing and loose ends from a busy weekend had to be managed and cleaned up. Between seeing sick kids in his office and the ones admitted to the hospital, the hours from nine to five were all spoken for. That left the evening to sort out everything else.

At least this Monday would start out better than most. If the smell of coffee drifting to him was anything to go by, Ryleigh was in the kitchen. He’d missed her last night when she’d gone to see Avery. Stupid to miss her. He’d pushed the feeling away after she moved to the East Coast. Why would it get through now when she was back? But questioning the why of it didn’t make the reality any less true.

She’d been living with him—correction: she’d been living under his roof—for two days, and one evening without her had felt lonelier than any he could remember since the divorce. In hindsight, asking her to move in was probably a bonehead move, but there was no way to undo it without looking like a complete ass. He wasn’t willing to go there.

He combed his hair, spritzed cologne on his bare chest, then dressed in jeans and a cotton shirt. It was his belief that a suit and tie intimidated little kids, or maybe that was just rationalization. Either way he was comfortable.

At least he was until walking into the kitchen. His body went hot and hard at the sight of Ryleigh. Her back was to him, but she had a pretty spectacular rear view. She was wearing a red suit and four-inch come-and-get-me heels. The skirt probably hit her just above the knee and left what seemed like a mile of leg showing. Her shiny brown hair teased the jacket collar and he ached to nudge the silky strands aside and kiss her neck.

She used to moan and quiver, then rotate into his arms when he did that. This was one of those times that hindsight was twenty/twenty. He hadn’t kissed her neck often enough when he’d had the chance and the right.

Moving farther into the room, he cleared his throat.

“Hey.”

“Good morning.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Want coffee?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

She poured some into two mugs, then brought one to him where he stood by the granite-topped center island. Her black leather Coach purse was there with her red cell phone beside it.

“Here you go.”

He took the cup and blew on the steaming liquid before taking a sip. “Good. Better than mine.”

“That coffee maker hardly looks used. Do you even make any for yourself?”

“Not much,” he admitted. “I usually have it at the office or the hospital.”

But having it with her was so much better. Maybe the taste wasn’t so excellent as much as just looking at her sweet, fresh, beautiful face made it seem that way.

“I picked up a few healthy food items from the grocery store.” Ryleigh set her mug beside her cell phone. “And I’m making oatmeal. Want some?”

“Is that a trick question?”

“No trick.” A laugh bubbled out as she pulled a pot from under the cupboard beneath the cooktop. “I’m fixing it anyway. I’ll double the amount if you’re interested.”

He was interested all right, but not in dry oats hydrated with water. “I’d rather poke myself in the eye with a sharp stick.”

“I bet if there was bacon, sausage, ham or steak involved your attitude would be different.”

“You’d win that bet because none of the above have the taste and characteristics of wallpaper paste.”

In a warning gesture, she shook a wooden spoon at him. “One of these days, Doctor, your cholesterol and triglycerides will go through the roof and you’ll be singing a different tune.”

“I’m willing to risk it.”

She shrugged. “Your body.”

True enough, and it was much more interested in hers. The fitted jacket hugged her waist and hips like a lover’s hands. He’d seen her naked and some things you couldn’t un-see just because the marriage was over. Too many times to count, a vision of her in his bed wearing nothing but a sexy smile had haunted his thoughts, filled his dreams.

But not once in the visions had she been standing in front of a stove stirring mush. Although he liked having her there, it would have been nicer if she’d been doing it minus the red suit and anything she was wearing underneath it.