Read HER BABY'S SECRET FATHER Online

Authors: LYNNE MARSHALL,

Tags: #ROMANCE - MEDICIAL

HER BABY'S SECRET FATHER (5 page)

BOOK: HER BABY'S SECRET FATHER
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Terrance went to the counter, insisting on paying the entire bill, and Jaynie took the opportunity to admire his broad shoulders and narrow waist. Not to mention the threadbare denim slash high on the back of his thigh. Forcing herself to look away, she noticed the money left on the table.

Sheesh, he rescues stray cats, insists on paying the bill and is a generous tipper. Same old Terrance.

After settling the check with the owner, he met her at the restaurant door. Heavy rain, steady and cool, spilled in glass sheets from the awning. Bursting through the downpour together, he rushed her to the car by putting a protective arm around her back and holding a throwaway newspaper over her head.

When she got inside her car, she lowered the window and noticed his hair had gone wavy, plastered wet against his head. And even that looked appealing. Embarrassed, she could only imagine how
her
hair must look.

He’d led the way over the hill to the restaurant in his own hybrid car, so she wouldn’t have to drive him back home.

“I’ll follow you—make sure you get home safely.” He didn’t seem to mind standing in the weather one bit. “Angelenos don’t know how to drive in the rain.”

She shot him a look. “I’ll be fine. You don’t have to do that.”

“I’m not taking no for an answer.”

Too tired to think of anything smart-alecky to say, she agreed. Besides, she didn’t feel like dragging that bulky car seat around. And she liked the idea of not having to set foot inside her house all by her lonesome.

On the drive home, after thinking about Tara most of the way, and Terrance part of the way, Jaynie took the opportunity to think about snuggling up in bed and reading the book she’d borrowed from the hospital library,
Your Special Preemie.
By morning, she vowed to know everything there was to know about caring for a wee one like Tara.

Using tried and true nursing psychology, deciding to reframe the negative feelings she’d been carrying around inside, she opted to look at this particular ordeal as a great new adventure. Tara was growing in an outside womb for the last part of her gestation, and Jaynie had the privilege to watch.

Amazed by her sudden shift in attitude, and by how much better she felt, she smiled and relaxed as she rolled into her driveway.

* * *

After Jaynie had parked the car in the garage, Terrance pulled his car behind hers. The rain had let up to a fine drizzle. She popped open the back of the SUV for him, and he grabbed the box and followed her to the porch.

“Where do you want this?” Terrance angled through the front door after wiping his feet. He saw a sedately colored knitted afghan draped across an off-white overstuffed couch in the center of the room. That was new. Several matching throw rugs scattered across the hardwood floor. An old rocking chair, with flowers stitched onto the padded seat, sat beside a standing lamp complete with colorful stained glass shade, adding the only real color to the room. None of that had changed. The entire wall of bookcases, filled to capacity, seemed to be bulging with more volumes than before. And a tiny phone table with a huge vase stuffed with dried flowers was definitely new. But the feminine house seemed mostly unchanged, and he remembered how much he’d liked this older California craftsman bungalow in Glendale.

Jaynie pointed him through the large arch toward the hallway and Tara’s room. “If you don’t mind, I can’t bring myself to go in there without her, so just set the car seat anywhere and close the door on your way out, okay?”

Little did she know how much he could relate to her concerns.

“Sure,” he said, and headed down the hall.

Terrance flipped on the switch and saw a bright and happy room that sparkled and smelled of fresh paint. He grinned, even as melancholy ached in his heart.

Stenciled-on ducklings marched around yellow walls at the chair-rail line. A white enameled baby crib with an attached colorful mobile was the focus of the room. A changing table was tucked into the adjacent corner, and a tall matching dresser was placed in the other.

What a lucky kid to have a mother like Jaynie.

He eased the box to the floor, then stood with hands on hips to survey the nursery more closely. It already smelled like baby lotion and fresh fabric softener, and a vision of his daughter Emily’s toothless grin appeared. He pined, and took a sniff of the baby blanket hanging across the bed rail, resisting rubbing it against his cheek—better not to wallow—and then noticing a beautifully framed picture on the wall.

Impeccable sea-blue calligraphy spelled out some words on rice paper, surrounded by a dark blue frame. It looked specially made, and he couldn’t resist reading it.

And if, in the end, I’ve done anything worthwhile with my life, nothing will compare to this. For the greatest achievement I will claim is giving you the opportunity to exist.

His stomach dropped toward the floor when he recognized the words, no longer needing to read from the paper.

Astounding!

“‘Never take life for granted,”’ he repeated to himself. “‘It will always outsmart you. Consider each day a challenge. Dream big, love with all your heart and think positive. Only you can write the story of your life. Make it a great one.”’

A jolt of realization struck his chest and knocked the wind from his lungs. His throat went dry and he practically lost his balance. He backed out the door, almost stumbled, trying to hide the turmoil that roared inside his head and heart.

“Are you okay?” Jaynie asked, when he returned to the living room.

“Yeah,” he answered, sounding distant, as though he’d left his voice in the nursery. He brushed fingers through his wet hair. “Listen, I’ve got to go,” he said, heading for the door. “I’ve got studying to do.”

Terrance vaguely registered Jaynie looking confused, and thanking him for dinner on his way out. She reached for him, and he touched her fingertips with his own while backing away and wondering if she felt the shock radiating from his core.

The next few moments were a blur, until he found himself sitting in his car with the engine running.

He knew the words in the picture over Tara’s bed.

Waxing poetic one afternoon in the cryobank clinic, he’d written them for his donor package.

He shook his head in disbelief.

This is astounding. I’m Tara’s father.

CHAPTER FIVE

J
AYNIE
took Dr. Marks’s suggestion and showed up at the NICU nursery at a quarter to eight—just in time for Tara’s morning bath—and was rewarded with being allowed to assist while the nurse wiped and swabbed clean the baby’s thin, almost transparent skin.

How feather-light she felt, and, oh, did she squirm and protest when they moved her from side to side. Jaynie grinned and giggled until tears ran down her cheeks.

This is just the way the book said bathing would go. I can’t believe I’m finally almost holding her.

An amazing flood of motherhood and love overtook her, along with a hormone rush, and her eyes welled up. She bent over and pecked Tara’s cheek with the softest, sweetest kiss she’d ever given.

“I love you, Peanut.”

Tara opened her puffy little eyes and stared straight at Jaynie, and she thought her heart would explode with joy.

“Hi, honey. It’s Momma.”

Even knowing that babies this young could only distinguish between light and dark, Jaynie still swore Tara recognized her. Her gaze seemed serious and her expression intelligent. So precious was the moment, Jaynie thought she might walk on air the rest of the day. Optimism bloomed in her heart.

All too soon the bath came to an end, and Tara got settled back down inside the incubator.

Progress. This is good.

* * *

Terrance had lain awake all night, staring at the ceiling, wondering what in the world to do about the situation. Everything had changed in the blink of an eye. He was a father again—something he’d never intended to be after losing his little Emily.

He understood the point of donating to a sperm bank was to create babies…but not for himself. Preferring to think of it as his anonymous legacy, merely sprinkling seeds in the countryside, he had never expected to know and care about the recipient or his offspring.

Jaynie and Peanut?

He’d been told that people traveled from all over the country to use that cryobank. That was supposed to be the safeguard, and knowing whom the beneficiary was definitely wasn’t part of the bargain.

He pictured tough little Tara in his mind—his daughter—and fought a smile. He
knew
he’d felt a special connection with her in the hospital nursery.

And now, though he’d resisted all night, he thought about Jaynie. She had a way of hijacking his thoughts and making his mind go blank with her natural sexy ways.

Daydreaming about a newly delivered mother? Come on. That’s almost sick.

Yet he couldn’t deny the lure she had for him.

The same thing had happened last night, over dinner. She had been talking away, relaxed and comfortable with their surroundings, like they were old friends. Well, hell, they
were
old friends.

If quizzed about their conversation, he’d fail. All he could remember was staring into her soft brown eyes and watching her creamy complexioned face, and the annoying warm squeeze he’d felt in his chest.

Friend
wasn’t the word that had come to his mind when his hand had crept dangerously close to hers on the table. Why did he always feel the urge to plant a big kiss on her? Was it the delicate groove of her upper lip that some people called a Cupid’s bow? Or the sensual curl of her lower lip that drove him crazy? He remembered how they’d felt, pressed against his mouth. He shook his head and scrubbed his face, determined not to go there in his thoughts. But it wasn’t just that. He knew better. It was the whole package. Jaynie was just…well, Jaynie.

He’d been infatuated with her for over a year, not giving a second thought to the fact she was four years older than him, and when he’d finally decided to do something about the crush they’d had several terrific dates. Only problem was, she’d put herself on a fast track to motherhood. He’d had to respect her wishes, and, with him knowing he could never handle being a dad again, they’d kissed one last time and had gone their separate ways.

A few months after they’d broken up, he’d heard the hospital gossip. Jaynie was pregnant. He’d known he wasn’t the father, but had privately envied whoever was.

And now he discovered he
was
the father of her child.
Astounding.

Could his mind be blown any more thoroughly?

He pressed his fingers tight against his eyelids and thought about his loss. The unending pain he felt every time he remembered Emily ripped at his heart. Clear and simple: he couldn’t handle being a father. Yet everything he’d never planned or wanted in the way of parenting had already happened. He was a father. And the crazy thing was…he’d never even slept with Jaynie.

The question remained: Was he man enough to accept it?

Grateful to escape on a three-day weekend, he had big plans to rock-climb and hang-glide with Dave—far, far from Mercy Hospital. It was the personal reward he’d promised himself for doing so well on his biochemistry midterm, and he deserved it.

Jaynie—and his new responsibility as a dad for Tara—would get put on the back burner until he felt ready to deal with it.

Would he ever feel ready?

The mere thought of being a father again forced him from his early-morning torpor and out of bed to pack.

* * *

Por Por Chang entered Jaynie’s house like an ancient Chinese empress. Accompanied by Kim, she bowed her head magnanimously to Jaynie. She smelled like mentholated vapor rub and sandalwood. Gray hair, pulled severely back into a tight bun, rested on a shiny Mandarin-collared, red dragon-patterned jacket.

“Welcome,” Jaynie said.

Wasting no time, the bird-frail old woman walked through the house, eyes darting, hands gesturing, tongue clucking and spewing hard foreign sounds to her granddaughter.

Jaynie worked up courage and showed her into Tara’s room. Again, the old woman’s eyes snapped from corner to corner. More words flew out of her mouth, and Kim kept answering with, “Yeah-yeah-yeah.”

She said what sounded like a mantra, “Om Ma Ni Pad Me Hum.” And she made a gesture with her hand, middle fingers pointed downward, pinky and index straight out. Her thumb flicked the middle fingers and she continued to repeat the words while she paced the length and breadth of the nursery.

Fifteen minutes and a full home inspection later, Por Por Chang smiled, nodded graciously, and bowed when Jaynie offered her a cup of green tea. She sat primly on the sofa and sipped while Kim filled Jaynie in.

“First off, she did a cleansing mantra to rid the nursery of any negative energy.” Kim brushed her long straight hair behind her thin shoulders, looking serious and sincere. “The crib shouldn’t face the doorway. Por Por says to move it to the other wall. Negative Chi energy otherwise.” Kim gave a petite swallow. “She says the color of the room is good for creativity. Add some green for health.”

Jaynie smiled, feeling uplifted and encouraged about something at least.

“Overall, the
bagua
of this house is sufficient. You have good energy—Chi—flowing. But you’ll need to bring more color in for happiness and health.” She glanced toward her por por, who encouraged her with a nod. “Bring in more of the five elements: fire, earth, metal, water, wood. And never keep anything dead inside. You must replace your dried flowers with a real plant to intercept the bad energy. And put a fountain somewhere. Even a small one will do.”

Por Por Chang pinched her lips into a tiny smile, pleased with her granddaughter’s interpretation. Only then did Jaynie realize the older woman could understand English.

As they left, Kim whispered into Jaynie’s ear, “I’ll fill you in on my date later.” They hugged goodbye. “Do you want to have lunch Sunday at the hospital? It’s my weekend on.”

“Sure,” Jaynie said, knowing she’d be visiting Tara, and glad to have plans of any kind to keep from rattling around in her empty house.

Once they’d left, she set to work rearranging the nursery. She hung the special essay from her sperm donor on another wall and reread its content, feeling a wealth of emotion.

What kind of wonderful man could write those words?

And, when she was done, she made plans to visit the local bookstore the next day, to buy a book on Feng Shui.

* * *

On Sunday, Jaynie found herself looking for Terrance in the NICU, but he was nowhere in sight. Tara fidgeted and squirmed when she first arrived, fussed while she bathed her and then settled down when Jaynie pressed her hand gently over her tummy and spoke soothingly to her in mommy language. Unknowingly, they had already slipped into a routine.

When Tara was fast asleep, Jaynie called Kim in Pulmonary and met her for lunch.

She continued to watch for Terrance in the hospital cafeteria, where she dined with her friend on macaroni and cheese, salad, and canned fruit cocktail in jello.

“Tommy finally asked me out for a Saturday night— a weekend date. Can you believe it?” Kim’s dark almond eyes sparkled with excitement. The totally white uniform seemed to make her glow.

“Fantastic.” Jaynie realized how different their situations were. Kim dreamed of finding the right man, and Jaynie needed to learn to live completely without one.

“Yeah-yeah-yeah. He’s taking me to see
Mamma Mia!
Don’t you think that’s a step up on the dating scale?”

“Definitely.”

A flash of a cozy Greek café and a handsome male face popped into Jaynie’s mind. In the midst of discovering motherhood, an odd craving for something beyond Mediterranean food, something in tight jeans and a blue polo shirt, puzzled her. Now was definitely not the time for such fantasies.

* * *

Terrance squinted into the early-morning glare on this crisp, clean Sunday in Joshua Tree state park. Making like Spiderman up the side of a cliff was exactly where he wanted to be. Elevated two hundred feet, and concentrating deeply on each fissure in the wall of rock, he chose a crack and inserted the fingers of one hand. Next he planted his smooth-soled boot on a cleft below, and placed his other hand in a chink slightly above the opposite hand, moving the second foot to a credit-card-thin ledge. His friend Dave followed.

So far, so good.

He searched and reached up to a split in the granite, but his hand slipped on slick rock and his foot slid off. He swung loose, left to dangle in his harness on the sturdy rope he’d anchored above. It gave a couple of inches.

With skyhook in hand, and ready for action, he felt adrenaline rush through his veins. He swung, to latch on to something…anything. This was what he lived for—the excitement of man against the elements, the draw of danger.

“I’m okay,” he called out to Dave. His eyes swept below and noticed a huge crevasse. If he fell right now, at the height and angle he was hanging, he’d be seriously injured. Maybe even killed.

Two thoughts popped into his head. Jaynie and Tara.

Astounding.

* * *

Arriving back to work early Monday morning, Terrance came to find out that three of his respiratory therapists had decided to make it a three-day weekend. The night shift supervisor had pre-arranged for registry staff to fill in, but that meant that
he
would have to work the NICU and face his demons—namely the cherubic Tara and her sexy mother.

Fighting off an illogical desire to run directly to Tara’s incubator and coo at her, he went systematically through each baby in the unit. He checked the ventilators and performed the daily arterial blood gases, having to prick tiny capillaries in the preemies’ heels and causing general uproar around the unit. Finally, he reached his secret daughter.

He approached with a smile, but it quickly faded when he saw that Tara wasn’t sedated enough, and that her efforts to breathe weren’t synchronized with the ventilator pressure. Her oxygen saturation read right at the ninety percent mark, occasionally dipping below.

“Natalie?” he called to the nearest NICU nurse. “When was baby Winchester last medicated? She’s way too active.”

First he checked for air leaks, making sure the tube in her trachea fit properly, and that there was no need to place a larger one. No problem there.

The ventilator made peeps and pings as he adjusted the pressure down and the oxygen concentration up a minute amount. He knew how important the right combination was to maintain proper lung function without causing injury to the delicate tissues.

Over-oxygenation in a preemie could also cause damage or scarring to the tiny capillaries in the eyes. He kept that in mind, and only made the smallest adjustments.

He used his stethoscope to listen to Tara’s lungs and heard a disturbing sound in her right lower lobe. Nothing. He listened again. No movement of air in or out suggested a collapse in a portion of her lung. Air collected and trapped in her chest could interfere with her heart and lung function, and he knew the condition needed immediate attention.

“Did they do today’s chest X-rays yet?”

The nurse nodded, while drawing up some medication to insert into Tara’s intravenous line.

Terrance paged Dr. Shrinivasan, rechecked Tara’s pulse-ox readings, and then went searching for the latest chest film.

Instead of answering the page, Dr. Shrinivasan appeared, almost miraculously, on the ward.

“Doctor S.” With a grim look, Terrance handed the X-ray to the specialist. “It looks like a pneumothorax has developed.”

“How large?” The doctor raised his brows and slapped the film into the bright viewbox on the wall. He clicked his tongue while he studied the X-ray. “We’ll need to insert a chest tube.”

Terrance alerted Natalie, who brought a prepackaged chest tube tray and suction machine, while the doctor scrubbed his hands and placed sterile gloves on. Terrance did the same.

“Call the mother—let her know what we’re doing,” Dr. Shrinivasan said to the nurse.

Consulting the X-ray, he drew an “x” where it would be best to insert the tube, into the space between two ribs on Tara’s side. She’d already settled down from the sedation, but squirmed when Terrance put a cold betadine swab next to her skin.

He wiped in a circular motion, starting at the center and moving concentrically outward. Then he repeated the process two more times, to make the procedure as close to sterile as possible. He put a blue paper sterile field with a hole in the middle over her body.

BOOK: HER BABY'S SECRET FATHER
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