New York Doc, Thailand Proposal / The Surgeon's Baby Bombshell

It would take hours sometimes, and she’d always asked his opinion. Do you like me in this? Is this one better than the other one? It always made him feel a part of something other than the jungle or his parents’ life. Something he liked, even though it was temporary.

“Never more than forty, Arlo. Unless you count boots.”

He laughed out loud. Couldn’t help himself. Even though they weren’t a couple, something about the old familiarity was sinking back in, making him feel like, well—what he hadn’t felt like since they had been a couple. “Well, no worries about that here, since this hut doesn’t have a closet.”

“To think this is where you expected me to live. And that was back when I only had thirty pairs of shoes.”

“Sixty,” he teased.

“We’ll compromise at twenty,” she said, smiling.

“Well, for what it’s worth, I never expected you to take me up on my offer. But in a few of my more stupid moments, I did hope.”

“Not stupid, Arlo. Hope is never stupid.”

“Except when it came to us.”

Layla smiled, but it was tinged with sadness. “So, is a hose for a shower and no closets what you still want? I know you feel an obligation to stay here, but has anything changed?”

“No, not really. Because this is where I’ve always worked from the time I was five or six, just like little Chanchai. It’s everything I knew I wanted, probably because this is the kind of medicine my parents practiced, and I respected what they did. I mean, I was raised in the jungle, Layla. Conceived here, born here. It’s what I know. What I want. Taking care of people who wouldn’t otherwise get medical help—I could have gone in with Ollie after I graduated, but it wouldn’t have made me happy, not the way my practice here does.”

“Then you’re where you belong. Following your heart is always the best way.”

“Have you ever done that, Layla? Followed your heart?”

She shook her head. “That’s not who I am. I follow my choices, but you already knew that.”

“I hope your choices have made you happy so far.”

“They’ve made me what I want to be—successful.”

And somehow Layla seemed almost as vulnerable as she had when they’d first been together. The girl who’d been afraid to approach him. The girl who’d never fully invested herself in life. Was it because of her money? Did she still rely on that the way she had when they’d been together? Trusting that rather than trusting people?

There’d been so many times when she’d found it easier to buy her way into a situation rather than rely on her intellect and amazing abilities to come up with a better way. Was that who she still was? Because that was a part of Layla he’d never understood. So independent, yet so willing to fall back into habits she’d said she wanted to be rid of. Even if they hadn’t been going in separate directions, that’s the thing that would have killed them.

“I suppose I thought that after you’d spent so much time back in the States during medical school, then residency, maybe this wouldn’t have the same appeal you remembered.”

“It has more, now that I’m an adult and can fully appreciate what I have here—like the freedom of doing what I want to do without a lot of interference from anyone. My patients are the best, which makes up for my less than spectacular accommodation. And it’s nice caring for people who are grateful for my services and not ones who make unreasonable demands.”

He laughed. “Remember the surgical patient who wanted me to do both a hernia repair and a nose reduction in the same surgery? The guy actually reported me to Administration because I refused, not that my attending would have allowed such a thing even if I’d wanted to. Which I didn’t. But he made my life miserable for a couple of weeks, calling and complaining over and over.”

“If I recall, he thought he’d get a discount that way. Two surgeries for the price of one anesthesia. Guess he didn’t consider that general surgeons aren’t plastic surgeons. Or maybe that didn’t matter to him. You were pretty agitated at the time.”

“And you made me chicken noodle soup—from a can.”

“Because it was supposed to make you feel better.”

“When you were ailing, Layla. I wasn’t ailing. I was angry.” He smiled. “But it was a nice gesture, having someone take care of me like that. Did I ever tell you how much I appreciated that?”

“No. You told me it wasn’t hot enough, then told me to reheat it in the microwave. But you did leave me that flower the next day—the one you picked from the garden at our apartment building. I pressed it and kept it until, well—I probably still have it tucked in a book somewhere. It was the first gift you ever gave me.” Layla smiled, and leaned her head over on his shoulder, a natural thing she’d always done once upon a time. “I’m glad it’s working for you, Arlo.”

“Ium” Arlo pulled away from her so quickly she almost fell sideways to the ground. “We’ve got work to do,” he said, his voice suddenly stiff.

“Did I do something?” she asked, trying to recover from his abruptness.

Arlo shook his head as he stood. “We did something a long time ago and I don’t want to repeat it. You’re not easy to resist, Layla. God knows, I was never able to. But not anymore. My work—my practice here won’t allow me that kind of distraction.”

“That’s right. I was just your holiday girl, wasn’t I? Well, don’t worry. I’m nobody’s holiday now, and I never will be again.” Without another word, Layla marched out of the hut and across the road to the hospital, grabbed the schedule off the desk at the front and saw that the next three patients due in needed general care—a wound check, an antibiotic shot and a maternity appointment. They weren’t there yet, but when they arrived they would find Dr. Layla Morrison waiting for them in the exam.

And Dr. Arlo Benedict standing outside in the road, in the rain, wondering how two people who’d gotten it so right could have also gotten it so wrong.

CHAPTER THREE

IT WAS GETTING ON in the day when Layla finally gathered up the courage to go back to the hut to face him. Overall, seven patients had come to the hospital and she’d managed to figure out what each one wanted. Luck had been with her on that one. That, plus some translation help from Samron, who seemed genuinely pleased to be useful.

“Have you eaten yet?” she asked Arlo, who was heading back to the hut at the same time she was.

“A couple of times. My house call patients always like to offer food.” He handed her a wooden plate covered with a cloth napkin. “Khao pad. It’s a fried rice with several different vegetables and pork in it. There’s also some mixed fruit.”

“I, um—I don’t know what to say except thank you and I’m sorry. This is awkward and I know it, and I shouldn’t have gotten so familiar. Leaning against you that way was inappropriate, but just for a few minutes we were almost—us. The way we started anyway. From now on I’ll keep my distance.”

“And I never meant to imply you were a holiday girl. You were my break from reality, and you knew that. But I never thought of you as someone who was there only for a good time, someone to use at my convenience, and I’m sorry that’s how it sounded.”

“I know who we were, Arlo. From the very first day until the last one, I always knew. I also know that’s not what you thought of me but, like I said, it’s awkward now.” She peeked at the food under the cloth, and her mouth practically watered. “Mind if I heat this up on your yakitori?”

“Communal property while you’re here, Layla. What’s mine is yours.”

“So, where do I put my fifty pairs of shoes?”

He laughed as they went inside together, she straight to the yakitori, to lay the fire beneath it, and he to his mat on the floor. But when he lowered himself to it, he winced.

“I really do need to have a look at that,” she said, pulling a matchbox from a shelf and lighting the fire. “Even if I can’t see anything, maybe I can feel which muscle is giving you problems and manipulate some of that soreness out of it. Strictly medical, of course.” She turned around and studied him for a moment. It wasn’t quite dark in the hut yet, but it wasn’t quite light either. Yet somewhere in the ebbing of the day she saw traces of the man who’d shared her bed for nearly two years mingling with traces of a man she didn’t know.

“You’ve changed,” Layla said, not caring that he could see her assess him. His hands—yes, she was a handsy type. Always looked at the hands second. Neck first. Eyes. Mouth. But right now she was wondering if his hands would still be soft. They looked soft, and she wondered what they would feel like on her skin again. Caressing her. Causing her to tingle

No, this wasn’t allowed. No memories. No fond thoughts of what they’d had. Still, Arlo Benedict, for his un-trendy ways, was a rugged and well-proportioned man. A head-turner. Always had been, and she was pretty sure he’d never even been aware of it.

“How?” he asked. “And if it’s in a bad way, please lie to me. I know the jungle can be harsh.”

“Quite the contrary. You lookmore mature. Not so much in the physical sense as what I can see in your eyes.”

“I think that’s called wisdom. Before I went to medical school I was here with my parents, working as their helper. They had everything under control and that’s what I expected to come back to. But when I did come back, my mother was gone, and my dad wasn’t the same. He stayed around long enough to help me find my way, then he went to live his own life, leaving me here with a lot of expectations that weren’t mine to have. I expected what my parents had but my reality was that I had to build my own place here, gain trust that was mine and not my parents’. So I wised up pretty fast. Had to in order to survive.”

“Well, it looks good on you.” Layla turned back to the yakitori, pulled a metal pot off the shelf above it and dumped in her fried rice. While it heated, she ate large chunks of papaya and mango with her fingers.

“You’ve changed, too,” Arlo said, still wrestling to find a comfortable position. “You used to bereserved. Or at least not as sure of yourself. You grew out of that a little while we were together but now you’re this dynamic ball of fire that plows through everything. Instead of talking about what you wanted to happen, you’re making things happen in your life, and I’m glad it’s working out for you.”

She pulled the rice off the little stove then turned back to face him. “Care to share?” she asked, thinking of the many times they’d ordered one meal and shared it, both eating from the same plate. Sometimes feeding each other. Often with just fingers. So nice. Sensual. So much intimacy in such a simple gesture.

Patting his flat belly, Arlo shook his head. “When I make evening calls, I have to pace myself with what I eat because everybody wants to cook for me.”

“And I usually grab something from the hospital before I leave for the evening.” She wrinkled her nose. “Haven’t learned to cook properly yet.”

“Well, I didn’t move in with you because you were a domestic goddess. And I did know that you sneaked in a maid to do the cleaning.”

“Seriously?” And she’d thought she’d been so stealthy about it.

“Remember that vacuum we bought? You didn’t even know how to turn it on. It was a flip switch. On and off. And you didn’t know how. Yet the apartment was always spotless.” He laughed so hard it caused a spasm in his back. “I let you keep your secret because you were trying so hard to be domestic that I didn’t want you to know I was well aware of the real you.”

“Only once a week,” she said, taking her plate of rice across the room and sitting down across from Arlo. At a safe distance. So there was no way to lean, or touch, or even accidentally brush up against him. “And I really thought you didn’t catch on.”

“Oh, I caught on. But it wascute, how you’d try to hide things. Like more shoes, when you bought them. I was always wise to you, Layla.”

“But I was never wise to you. So, how did that happen?”

“I think we see what we want to see. Or we don’t see what we don’t want to see. I don’t think you wanted to see the real me.”

“Yet you wanted to see the real me.”

“Because there was so much to see. So many facets.” He smiled. “And secrets.”

“Secrets? Besides the shoes and the maid, and the takeaway food. Oh, and the laundry”

“You had someone do the laundry?”

She nodded, watching his face for a reaction. Which happened immediately in a broad smile and a loud laugh. “Are you kidding me? Because I never knew that.”

“I didn’t want you thinking I was too incompetent. But I didn’t know how to sort laundry or even turn on a machine.”

“So, who?”

“The woman who worked for my mother. She’d stop by a couple times a week, grab what needed to be cleaned and leave what she’d already done. So, is there a secret behind those sandals?” She referred to the well-worn pair sitting on the shelf outside the door. “Because I don’t see another pair of shoes in here.” Traditionally, shoes were left outside on a rack, and houses were entered either barefoot or in socks. It was interesting that Arlo respected tradition enough to do that in his own hut, where he wouldn’t have to if he didn’t want to. It was a nice quality, paying homage to a tradition that wasn’t his. Yet he fit this place so well. Much better than any place she’d ever tried to fit. She envied him that as it was something she doubted she’d ever have.

“Until I can afford a new pair, it’s them or nothing.”

“And I’m betting that once you have enough money for a new pair, you put that money to what you would consider a better use.” Arlo was like that. Always taking care of others before he took care of himself. Even when they’d been together and Layla had been struggling through a particularly difficult lesson in physiology or couldn’t quite remember the function of every bone in the body, he’d stop his studying to help her through hers.

There were so many little details she’d taken for granted then, which were coming back to her now. To think she’d had so much yet couldn’t hold onto it. And maybe, in some ways, she’d pushed it away, knowing she came in second to his dream—a dream that would never include her.

“I might,” he confessed. “But the soles are still intact, the straps keep them on me, and with a little tape I’m good for now. Besides, I don’t have a closet, so where would I put them since you’ve got, what? Ten pairs lined up against the wall?” He tossed her a sexy wink.

There was something to be said for a doctor who devoted everything he had to his practice. She did admire that. Much more now that she could see it than before, when it had been mere words. And while none of this was for her in the long term, she was anxious to see how it worked. To see how Arlo worked. For his sake, she hoped everything was good for him because, despite their rocky time at the end, she did want him to be happy with his choice, even though his choice didn’t include her.

“You don’t happen to still have some of those socks I bought you, do you? They’d look stunning with your sandals.”

She smiled, thinking of all the outrageous socks and underpants she’d bought him over the course of their relationship, trying to loosen him up a bit. Not that he was stodgy. But he was a man of habit. Everything was the same—all his socks alike, the same with his underpants. So every now and then she’d thrown in something a little different and hidden one of his tried-and-trues.

At first, it had simply been colors. Red socks, plaid socks. Then figures—pickles, kittens. Santas for Christmas. Hearts for Valentine’s Day. Eventually came the unicorn socks, underpants and T-shirts. And that was when he’d finally commented. Actually, his comment had been to balk at wearing them, but by the time the unicorns had arrived he’d had no choice but to wear what she’d bought as she’d hidden everything else.

“Ah, yes. The unicorns. Those got dumped in the trash shortly after I left.”

“But you wore them.”

“Did I have a choice? You took away everything else. And did I ever tell you how badly I was ridiculed in the locker room at the hospital when I changed into my scrubs?”

“You never said a word, but I heard.”

“Everybody heard, and I was so”

“Cute. Maybe even a little bit sexy.”

“In unicorns? I was going to say I was so humiliated.”

“Yeah, but remember the night you came home and paraded those unicorns around the—” This was going too far. The memories were of something she shouldn’t be remembering. Yet being around Arlo seemed to knock down all her defenses—defenses she’d struggled to raise in the few days she’d had between knowing she was coming here until arriving. “You know what? Instead of tea, I think I’d like to go back over to the hospital to make sure I’ve replaced everything I used today.”

“You can’t run from it, Layla. We have history, and considering what we were together I’m not sure you should have come.”

She pushed herself off the floor and took the plate over to the bucket that was used for washing dishes. “I’m not denying what we had, Arlo. And you’re not the reason I’m here. I want that promotion and I thought that if Ollie saw how well I could function under adversity, that would put me one step closer.”

“Is the jungle the real adversity here, or am I?”

She didn’t answer him, because she didn’t know what to say. So maybe she’d deluded herself into believing that Arlo wouldn’t be a factor in her goals. Or maybe she’d simply hoped he wouldn’t. Whatever the case, he was an obstacle and she was going to have to be very careful. Because in the span of only one day a new truth about the way she’d felt about Arlo was trying to force itself in. And it was a truth she didn’t want to admit was there.

It was interesting, getting to again know someone he’d shared a bed with for two years. In many ways she was still the same, yet in as many ways she was different. She’d never really asked questions about how he’d live his life here when they’d been together. Mostly, she’d assumed what it would be, and had let that play on the way she accepted things. Now, watching her face his reality, she wasn’t overwhelmed the way she might have been years ago. Curious, yes. Even ready to be involved. But she was looking at things differently. Even seeing him differently. Of course, he was seeing her differently as well. Time and maturity, he supposed. And also a good dose of their own, personal realities.

“Tell me about Eric,” she said, from the other side of the curtain.

It was late, but he wasn’t ready to sleep. Neither was she, as he’d been listening to her over there for the past hour, settling in, making adjustments, arranging her belongings. Getting her cot well away from the drippy ceiling so she wouldn’t feel the splash as the leaking water hit the bucket. As he recalled, she’d never been the first to go to sleep. She was more of a polyphasic sleeper—sleeping in bursts, napping in between—while he was a hunker down and get to sleep as fast as he could kind of guy. He remembered the many nights when he’d waken briefly to find her simply staring at him. It was nice, knowing she watched him sleep.

“He’s got a good life going. Married, has a son. Living in Japan.”

“Did he ever get to see your mom before she—?”

“He did. It was difficult for both of them, especially with the way she left him when he was so young.”

“And you didn’t even know you had a brother until you were, what? Twenty?”

“Almost twenty-one.”

“I never knew how something like that could happen. I always wanted a brother or sister because I was so alone growing up. If I’d found out, only after I was an adult, that I had a brother or sister, I don’t know that I could have forgiven my parents.” She poked her head around the curtain. “Yet you’ve always seemed very calm about that.”

“Because I was.”

“But not Eric?”

“He had a lot of resentment, even after he knew the reason our mother walked away. I think being a married man with a family of his own has made it better for him. And I can’t even begin to understand what it would be like having a mother who walked away from me. But that’s what our mother did.”

“And you don’t resent her for keeping her secret?”

“What I resent was that Eric’s dad put her in the position that forced her to keep secrets from her sons. I don’t blame her for what she did, and in time I don’t think Eric will either.”

“But the good news is you have a brother.”

“And the relationship between us is getting better. Can’t say that it’s great yet. Especially since we live in two totally different worlds. But it’s nice knowing he’s out there.”

“So, did your mother ever tell you why? Or am I getting too personal?”

“It’s personal, but you lived through some of the ups and downs of it, so you have a right to know.”

She came around the curtain, with her hair up in a ponytail the ways she’d always put it up at night, but instead of the cute nightwear she used to wear—short shorts, barely there belly shirts—she was wearing knee-length cargo pants, a baggy T-shirt and boots. Still cute, in its own special way.

“She tried legally for partial custody, but Eric’s father wanted his legacy and my mother was only the means by which he could get what he wanted. After he had his son, he didn’t need her, so he kicked her out. Then after she tried to maintain a place in Eric’s life—let’s just say that in my own dad’s earlier days he wasn’t a saint. He smoked some weed, was arrested a couple of times—although he has no convictions.

“But Eric’s dad found out and used that to threaten my mother—told her he’d expose her husband, my dad, and by that time she’d had me and he also said he’d expose her as an unfit mother for allowing me to be raised by a man like my dad. Things were different back then. My mother was afraid of losing me, and afraid my dad could lose his medical license, even though there were never any real charges brought against him. Eric’s dad had a lot of power and he wasn’t afraid to use it. Also, because she’d been so abused by Eric’s dad to begin with, she simply didn’t have the wherewithal to fight him.

“So, because she feared losing both my dad and me, after she’d already lost Eric, she walked away.” He paused, then sighed. It was a sad sigh that resounded loudly through the hut, filling it with the same sadness. “My mother wasn’t a fighter, Layla. She was a very quiet, undemanding person. And after all she’d already suffered”

“I’m so sorry,” Layla whispered. “You didn’t know this when we were—?”

He shook his head. “My dad only told me the whole story a couple years ago. He kept my mother’s secret for a long time, then finally decided it was time I knew everything.”

“And you told Eric?”

“He had a right to know. He was settling into his new life and I knew he harbored a lot of resentment for our mother, but because his son was our mother’s grandchild, I thought for Riku’s sake—that’s his name—everybody needed to know the truth. And I did want my nephew to know how amazing his grandmother was. She was part of his heritage and he deserves to know the good about her. Eric didn’t want to know, but for the sake of his son I had to tell him.”

“I wish I’d known. Wish I could have helped you. Some things are so difficult when you’re alone. I really am sorry for that.”

“Well, the good news is Eric now has memories of a mother he can be proud of, and Riku has a grandmother who would have loved him more than life itself. He’ll understand that when he’s old enough. Eric will make sure.”

Layla wiped a tear siding down her cheek. “And your father?”

“In Cambodia. Doing well. Running a little clinic in a tourist area.”

“And I thought I had it bad because while I had my parents’ time, I never really had their love. At least, love in the sense that I think parents should have for their children.”