Bluegrass Baby

Milla blew out a weary sigh and drew back the comforter that covered her twin bed. Then she climbed between the freshly laundered sheets, hoping to get an hour or two of sleep before dawn. But it was a hope that didn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell.

An overactive mind kept her awake, taunting her with heated memories of a passion-filled night in the competent hands of an Adonis, a man she never should have kissed, let alone…

Had she clawed his back? Cried out in orgasmic release?

Yes, she had.

Kyle had brought out something wild and wicked in a usually levelheaded Milla. It both pleased and disturbed her.

At sunrise Milla gave up the struggle for rest. She showered, then started her workday sleep deprived—something she never did.

Even when she’d stayed up all night with a woman in labor, there was a sweet rush that came with delivering a baby into loving arms. A pleasant release of adrenaline that kept Milla going, awake and alert, ready to start the day.

But this was different. There was no adrenaline rush, no sense of self-satisfaction.

And Milla wasn’t at all ready to face Kyle again.

Going through the motions at work, Milla wondered whether her shift at the clinic would ever end. All she wanted to do was go home, climb back into bed and crash.

Just before noon, while Milla checked her list of afternoon appointments, Crystal Hendrix, a nurse at the clinic, handed her a note. “Dr. Bingham called while you were with Mrs. Thompson. He’s in the E.R. at the hospital and would like you to give him a call.”

“Thanks.” Milla hoped Crystal hadn’t noticed her hands shake when she took the note. She glanced at it briefly, then shoved the paper into the pocket of her white coat.

Milla wasn’t ready to speak to Kyle. What was she supposed to say? “Thanks for the great sex?”

Most women would be dying for another date, a repeat performance. But not Milla. And her reasons were legion, as were the vast array of emotions she’d grown tired of contemplating.

Maybe she’d just state the simple truth.

Dr. Kyle Bingham and Milla Johnson shouldn’t have become involved. For professional reasons.

Yes, that’s what she would tell him. When she returned his call, of course.

But that wouldn’t happen today. Not when her mind was rheumy and her body tired.

Milla glanced at her wristwatch, then back at her list of patients. Maybe she could cut out early today, after seeing Sue Ellen Henderson at three o’clock. Then she could zip over to the school, pick up Dylan and head home.

She would call Kyle tomorrow.

Or maybe the day after that.

Milla pulled her car into the parking lot at Daniel Boone Elementary, where the school district sponsored a summer program for kids. The gray brick building with dirty white trim sat before her like a ghost town. It was summer and the kids were all out on the playground or in one of the four white trailers that served as temporary classrooms. She wondered if the school district planned to paint and repair the building before fall.

She hoped so. A bright and clean learning environment would benefit all the kids, not just Dylan, who struggled academically. Her eight-year-old cousin was bright and sweet, but for some reason he couldn’t seem to stay focused and on track. Neither could he stay out of trouble.

Milla had asked his pediatrician about an organic cause to Dylan’s behavior and had been assured there wasn’t one.

Dylan was as cute and sweet as a kid could be, with blond hair, an unruly cowlick, big blue eyes and a splatter of freckles across his nose. And he was affectionate, too. But he just seemed to gravitate toward mischief.

Since the car accident that left her mother with chronic back and neck pain three years ago, most of Dylan’s care had landed on Milla’s shoulders, but she didn’t mind. She’d fallen in love with that little boy when he was just a scrawny, seven-pound, red-faced infant who’d been placed in her arms. And from that day on, the two of them had developed a closeness, a special bond. But even Milla couldn’t seem to help Dylan stay out of trouble.

As she reached the playground, she spotted Mr. Rick at the sign-out table, talking to a little boy Milla didn’t recognize. She’d always thought Rick was the man’s first name and the mister was a way of affording him more respect. But just the other day, she’d learned that Rick was a shortened form of Rickentaffer or Rickelstoffer or something like that.

As she approached the table, the tall, gangly man stood, and the serious look on his face spoke volumes. He didn’t have to tell her that there’d been trouble again today.

“Dylan is in the rest room,” Mr. Rick said. “He’s got a bloody nose, and Mr. Gordon is cleaning him.”

“What happened?”

“He and another boy were fighting behind the handball courts. They’ve been given a time out. If that doesn’t work, we’re going to ask them both to stay home for a few days.” Mr. Rick took a deep breath and sighed. “Dylan’s not a bad kid.”

Milla knew that. But trouble seemed to follow him like a swirling, funnel-shaped cloud of dust. And when it caught up with him, Dylan couldn’t seem to stay out of the way.

“He fought with Kirk Brower,” the young man added, as though that explained it all.

Several times this summer, Kirk, a heavyset, redheaded kid with a reputation for being a bully, had taunted Dylan about being one of Billy’s brats.

Like Dylan, the other third-grader hadn’t known Billy Bingham and couldn’t possibly have been aware of the man’s reputation. The only logical explanation was that he’d overheard an adult comment. And Milla found that idea irritating. If she knew who to confront or how to quiet the gossip, she would have taken action. As it was, she could only hope that the whole thing would die a quick and easy death and that Dylan could ignore the comments until it did.

“Here he comes now,” Mr. Rick said, nodding toward the rest room.

The two boys, Dylan and Kirk, came out of the bathroom with Mr. Gordon. When Dylan spotted her, he dropped his eyes and kicked the toe of his worn tennis shoe at the dirt, then continued to trudge toward her, head hung as though making his way down the long green mile.

Dylan’s cheeks were red from exertion—or maybe remorse. His face, still damp from being bathed with a paper towel, bore dirt streaks near the hairline and over his brow. Blood splatters stained a torn white T-shirt. When he looked up at her, his blue eyes grew watery, but he blinked rapidly, as though trying to keep his feelings a secret.

Milla glanced at Kirk, who wore a smirk on his pudgy face. Like a big sister, she wanted to throttle the bully herself, but she took on the role of parent instead. “We’ll talk about this in the car, Dylan.”

Then she led the boy away, wishing she’d arrived sooner, before the scuffle that had bloodied his nose, before the cruel words had been spoken.

She doubted Dylan was the only one of Billy Bingham’s illegitimate children to suffer taunts growing up, but it hurt her to see her young cousin teased for something that wasn’t his fault. She ran a hand along the blond strands of his hair, felt the dirt and sand he’d accumulated during the day, probably during the fight.

“I’m sorry for getting in trouble again,” he said. “But Kirk the Jerk is the stupidest kid in the whole school. In the whole world.”

To say the least, Milla thought. “I hate to tell you this, but the world is full of Kirk the Jerks. And you can’t fight them all. You’re going to have to learn to hold your temper and ignore the cruel words.”

The childhood ditty came to mind. Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.

She didn’t mention it to Dylan. Because she knew it wasn’t true. Some words could do a lot of damage to a small boy’s self-esteem.

“I know it hurts when kids tease,” she added.

“He said I was a nobody. That I didn’t have a real family because I don’t have a mom or a dad.” The boy’s pain hung in the air, belying the next words he spoke. “But who needs a mom or a dad?”

A kid needed both. Milla knew that from her own experience. She’d only been ten when her dad left. She could still hear the slamming of the screen door. Could still remember running after him, hanging on to the door handle of his pickup truck, begging him to stay. “Daddy, wait!”

“I can’t take it anymore,” he’d told her, before pushing her aside. Then he’d rolled up the window and revved the engine. And when she stood back, he’d driven down the graveled drive. Out of town. Out of her life forever.

She’d never learned what it was that he couldn’t take. Marriage to her mom? Responsibility? Milla had asked her mother, but the woman had refused to discuss it.

As a child, Milla had wondered what she’d done wrong, what she could have done to make her daddy stay. As a grown-up, she knew better than to blame herself for a choice her father had made. But every now and then, if she allowed herself to dwell on it, she still felt the pain of abandonment.

She slipped an arm around the boy, her heart going out to him. Even though neither Aunt Connie nor Billy had abandoned Dylan on purpose, the child was left without either parent.

Sure he had a loving guardian, but her mother’s chronic back and neck pain didn’t allow her to play catch or take him camping.

“I know I’m just your cousin,” Milla said. “But if you want me to be your mom, it’s okay with me.”

“It is?” he asked, glancing at her with seeking eyes and a quivering lip.

“Sure.” Milla stopped walking and turned to face the boy, cupping his cheeks with her hands. She kissed his sweaty, dirt-streaked brow, then pulled him close, savoring the kid-size strength of his hug. “I’ve always wanted a son like you.”

“You have?” he asked, voice incredulous. “I’d like you to be my mom, Milla. That would be way cool.”

A tear dripped down her cheek, but she didn’t see the need to brush it away or hide it.

There wasn’t much she could do to change the reality Dylan lived with each day. But in her own way she could make a difference. She could take a more active parental-type role with him, create the kind of family she’d never had but always wanted.

The kind of family Dylan needed.

Minus a dad, of course.

A concise excerpt of the words Dylan had spoken only moments before came to mind.

Who needed a dad?

Not Milla. And not Dylan. Men like their fathers were often more trouble than they were worth.

She’d be selective when it came time to choose a husband. For some reason a certain blond doctor came to mind. A man whose smile warmed her soul, whose touch heated her blood. They’d had something special that night, something fulfilling.

But Milla quickly shoved the sexual memory aside. Wants and needs were two different things. She might want to spend another night in Kyle Bingham’s arms, but she needed to have a working relationship with him. And she needed him to testify on her behalf.

Yet a little voice spoke in the stillness, reminding her there was one more reason to stay away from a man like Kyle, a very important reason.

Milla didn’t need anyone with the power to turn her life on end.

Or to walk away when he grew tired of her.

Chapter Four

Kyle wasn’t sure what had gone wrong between him and Milla, but he sure as hell didn’t need to chase after her. Not when he wasn’t after any kind of commitment from her. Or from anyone, for that matter. He enjoyed being free to come and go as he pleased, to date whomever he wanted.

But Milla had left his bed without saying goodbye, without asking for anything—whether he was willing to give it or not.

And that bothered him more than he cared to admit.

He’d called her at the clinic the next morning, while she’d been with a patient, but she hadn’t returned his call. He supposed there was always the possibility that Crystal, the nurse who’d taken the message, had neglected to tell Milla.

The idea that his one-time lover might be avoiding him left him a bit bewildered, if truth be told. Women had a tendency to cling to Kyle, to make him set boundaries in a relationship.

They didn’t ignore his calls.

As he stepped outside the hospital for some much-needed fresh air, he spotted Milla outside the Foster Clinic, sitting under a tree and eating a sack lunch. She hadn’t seen him yet. And she seemed lost in her own thoughts. Maybe now was a good time to talk to her.

He cut across the lawn, felt the sunlight on his face, caught the sound of a lark in one of the trees overhead. As he approached, she glanced up.

Had her eyes widened in surprise?

“Hey,” he said by way of greeting. “You look comfortable.”

She didn’t, though. She looked more like a skittish fawn caught in the meadow alone. She offered him a shy smile that looked forced. Brittle. “Hi.”

Okay, so his instincts had been right. She’d been avoiding him. For some reason, that didn’t sit well.

“Let’s talk about the other night.” The words flowed from Kyle’s mouth without any effort on his part, surprising him. He usually wasn’t one to bring up intimate subjects.

But he didn’t like the idea of Milla going her own separate way without talking to him. He didn’t like it at all. Even in his love-’em-and-leave-’em days he had shown more courtesy than that.

She set her sandwich on the napkin covering her lap. “You’re right. We should talk about it.”

“Are you having regrets?” He wasn’t sure why he asked, since regret was written all over her pretty face.

“We shouldn’t have become involved like that, under the circumstances.” She bit her bottom lip, then looked at him as though he should know exactly what was on her mind.

“What circumstances are those?”

She paused for a while, trying hard to be tactful, or so it seemed. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to date, since we work together.”

She was implying professional ethics played a part in her rejection, but he figured there was more to it than that. She’d known the circumstances before this…this affair or whatever it was. She’d known it when they’d had dinner, while they’d made out like teenagers in the parking lot. And she’d known it after following him home.

If it hadn’t bothered her then, why now?

Because of your father, you idiot.

Where had that archaic insecurity come from? Kyle had put that bastard stigma out of his mind years ago, ever since going off to college.

But he’d moved back to Merlyn County. And for some damn reason, the memory of the scorn he’d grown up with rushed to the forefront of his mind today, reminding him of who he was and where he’d come from.

His mom had been ostracized from her community, a small town outside of Binghamton, after falling for Billy Bingham’s charms and bearing his firstborn son without the benefit of marriage.

As a kid, Kyle had felt as if no one truly accepted him, including his father and the entire legitimate branch of the Bingham family. It had seemed as if they were all waiting for him to screw up.

He’d since come to grips with his illegitimacy, but Milla’s comment ruffled the shame he’d tried hard to bury. “Does this have anything to do with my father?”

“No,” she told him, yet she worried her lip, suggesting she might be lying or holding something back. Suggesting that her predawn disappearance did have something to do with his paternity.

“But?” he prodded her to continue, to admit what was really bothering her. And he almost hated himself for doing it.

What did he care? Milla Johnson wasn’t the only pretty young woman in Merlyn County.

Yet, right now, she was the only one who interested him.

She blew out a sigh. “I’m not sure whether you know this or not, and it certainly doesn’t make a difference to me, but my aunt Connie died giving birth to one of your father’s kids.”

Kyle’s footloose daddy had sure gotten around. A carefree bachelor who spent money like water and captured the heart of almost every girl in the county, the late Billy Bingham had fathered a passel of kids, all of whom he’d taken care of. Three carried the Bingham family name, while several others preferred not to be acknowledged.

Growing up as one of Billy’s brats, Kyle could certainly understand why. In fact, he’d often thought his own life would have been a hell of a lot more tolerable had his mother chosen not to give Kyle his father’s name.

Milla’s cousin was one of the siblings Kyle hadn’t known about.

“So, sleeping with your cousin’s half brother makes you uneasy. Or is it more than that?”

“No, I’m okay with it.” Milla wrapped the remains of her sandwich in the napkin and dropped it into the paper bag resting on the lawn beside her. She stood and met his gaze. “My mom still harbors a lot of resentment toward your father. But I don’t. The reason we shouldn’t see each other is because we work together. A relationship would make things…sticky.”

He supposed she had a point, but regret clogged his throat.

That was weird. He’d never had a woman turn him down before. And not for a reason like Milla had given him. Hell, they could remain discreet at work.

Or was it something else? Something she hadn’t admitted?

Could their lovemaking have disappointed her?

Kyle had never had to worry about whether things had been good for the lady in his bed. And he doubted that was the case now. But maybe things hadn’t been as great as he’d thought they were.

He could ask her, he supposed. But she didn’t seem to want to talk about it anymore. And he wasn’t sure he wanted to, either.

Kyle Bingham didn’t chase after a woman. Never had; never would.

It wasn’t his style.

As Milla watched Kyle go, his white coat flapping in the summer breeze, tears welled in her eyes and the bitter taste of regret lingered in her mouth. She felt as though she’d thrown away the winning ticket to the lottery.

But a woman couldn’t lose what she’d never really had.

Milla certainly didn’t love Kyle Bingham, but he was the kind of man she could easily fall for, a man who had the power to hurt her. Deeply.

It was better this way.

Really.

But there had been an undeniable attraction between the two of them. Okay, there still was, on her part. And what was worse, the sex had been great. So great that it would probably haunt any relationship she might have in the future, since she doubted another man could measure up.

Still, there was more to a relationship than hot sex. At least, that was the rose-colored dream she clung to.

Milla wanted a man she could trust to love her, to make a lifetime commitment, to stick around long enough to have children and watch them grow up—unlike her own dad, who hadn’t called or dropped her a line since the day he’d driven away.

Besides, she and Kyle did work together, at least until he finished his residency. And that only made things awkward. Unnecessarily complicated.

And as if that weren’t enough, she still had that damned lawsuit hanging over her head, stealing her peace of mind.

No, letting Kyle go was the right thing to do.

But try as she might, she couldn’t fight her grief as she watched his departure.

“You sure are pensive for such a sunny day.”

Milla looked up to see Dr. Mari Bingham, director of the midwifery school and clinic. The attractive but unadorned physician seemed more serious and more thoughtful than usual.

Mari was not only the doctor who ran the clinic and women’s health center, she was also a talented medical professional who’d taken an interest in Milla, mentoring her while in school. They’d developed a closeness during those years, a bond the doctor didn’t seem to have with the other midwives. It wasn’t as though the two women were friends, but they had an understanding, a professional respect for each other.

Milla managed a smile, in spite of her own heavy heart. “It is a pretty day, isn’t it?”

Mari nodded. “How are things going?”

Milla figured Mari wanted to know how she was doing with the lawsuit. Again, she was reminded of the problems the charge of malpractice had brought upon the clinic, even if she hadn’t been at fault. “I’m doing all right.”

“I’d like you to talk to Lillith—Lily—Cunningham, who’s handling PR for the clinic. She’ll play a role in trial preparations, as well as controlling press coverage.”

The trial.

Press coverage.

The unfairness of the lawsuit slapped Milla again. Why did this have to happen? What had she done to deserve the unfounded accusations?

“I’ll work with the PR director,” Milla said. “And, by the way, Kyle has agreed to testify on my behalf. He was the resident on call the night the Canfields brought the baby in.”

Mari nodded. “I’m aware of that.”

Kyle was also Mari’s cousin, although they never socialized, as far as Milla knew. Maybe because of Kyle’s illegitimacy. Still, she thought it was kind of…sad. Kyle having cousins, a family and all, and not being close.

Milla tried to keep her thoughts on the trial. “Kyle said the Canfields had bandaged the umbilicus.”

“I’m aware of that, too.” Mari appeared preoccupied, stressed.

As much as Milla admired the OB/GYN, she didn’t ask what was weighing on the director’s mind. She figured Mari would mention it, if she wanted Milla to know.

“By the way, I’m going to be interviewing the staff tomorrow,” Mari said.

“Why?” Milla couldn’t mask the fear in her voice and hoped her mentor hadn’t noticed.

Mari offered a tired smile. “Nothing about the lawsuit. I just have a few questions I’d like to have answered.”

Milla nodded, hoping she would say more. She didn’t.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Mari said, “I have a meeting in ten minutes with Lily. I’ll tell her you’ll be speaking to her soon.”

“All right.” Milla gathered the remnants of her lunch and stood, watching as the doctor she’d grown to admire strode away.

Mari would be interviewing the staff? Why?

She’d said it didn’t have anything to do with the malpractice suit. Thank goodness. But what questions did Mari have?

Were the interviews a routine procedure? Or was something other than the malpractice suit creating a problem for the clinic?

There were rumors circulating, although there might not be much truth in any of them. There’d been a noticeable rise in the number of drug-addicted mothers and babies in recent months. Illegal use of prescription drugs, apparently, was on the rise in the community. And from what Milla had heard, the sheriff’s department was investigating a black market drug ring, which might or might not be connected to the Foster Clinic.

The drug in question was Orcadol, an effective and highly addictive medication used for relief of chronic pain or pain after surgery. Orcadol had become the latest rage on the streets of Merlyn County. Abusers referred to it as Orchid and often tried to get around the timed-release formula in the pill by crushing them, chewing, snorting or injecting it. In fact, Orcadol had become so popular that addicts and dealers had been known to attack pharmacies in neighboring communities with guns to obtain the drug.

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