Diagnosis: Expecting Boss's Baby

She still believed she’d made a wise choice. It was impossible to imagine her life without this job, without the staff at Doctors Circle who’d become like a family, and without Patrick.

Yet she was ashamed, too. Well, the heck with that! Natalie thought in a surge of defiance. Let other people walk a mile in her shoes before they passed judgment.

Restlessly she wandered into her living room, which was dominated by rabbits. There were china rabbits, stuffed rabbits, crocheted rabbits, plastic rabbits and even one rabbit said to be carved out of moon rock, although she doubted it. They crowded the shelves and several end tables.

Her collection had begun at the age of ten when her father gave her his one and only gift: a stuffed rabbit he’d won at a carnival ring toss. Two months later he’d disappeared from her life. Although she’d long ago outgrown her childish belief that the gift proved he loved her, images of rabbits still boosted her spirits.

She desperately needed a boost now. How would Patrick react to the news that he was going to be a father? Would his dark eyes glimmer with anticipation, or would he simply be shocked?

With his strong sense of honor, he’d probably feel obligated to marry her. Maybe, she hoped, he might even be glad for the excuse. But she had too much pride to marry Patrick without admitting what she’d done, and she knew what that would mean.

A few months ago he’d fired a lab technician for lying about his qualifications. He wouldn’t tolerate deception, he’d said. Despite their close relationship, what were the odds he’d give Natalie a break?

If she leveled with him, she’d destroy everything: Patrick’s trust, their future together, maybe even her ability to work for him.

She needed advice. The person to consult, she decided, was her friend Amy Ravenna, a patient counselor at Doctors Circle. Amy had good common sense and, at thirty-three, four more years of experience in life than Natalie did.

Picking up the phone, she dialed Amy’s number. With luck, her friend’s advice would prevent her from making some stupid mistake that might ruin everything.

Chapter Two

“Are those flowers for me?” Patrick’s sister paused in the high-ceilinged foyer to sniff the elaborate arrangement. Her sweatpants and T-shirt were damp where they covered her swimsuit. “I don’t suppose so, since you didn’t know I was coming over.”

Patrick finished knotting his tie in front of the hall mirror. “I’m afraid they aren’t, but I knew you’d be here. You use the pool every Saturday.”

“How’d you figure that out?” Bernie squawked. “Usually I swim and leave without bothering you. I figured you didn’t know I was here.”

“I can see the pool from my bedroom,” Patrick reminded her. “Sis, I enjoy having you over, and the house is yours as much as mine.”

“You bought out my half, remember?” She pushed back a curly strand of brown hair. “Honestly, I’m all grown up and married now. Mike and I have our own house. I just like to borrow the pool.”

“Anytime.” He meant it. Having grown up in the shadow of their older sister’s stillbirth, Patrick had treasured the strong-willed baby who came along when he was four. There’d been times during his teens when he was embarrassed to be seen with his kid sis, but the two had become close over the years.

They’d comforted each other after their father’s death five years ago, and again after their mother succumbed to cancer three years later. Bernie, a natural mother, liked to bring over casseroles, make sure Patrick kept healthy food in the refrigerator and examine the sprawling Barr mansion to make sure his latest housekeeper was properly cleaning the expanses of glass, tile and blond wood.

“So who’s the lucky lady?” Bernie indicated the flowers again.

“Noreen McLanahan called in sick for today’s luncheon.” The event to honor volunteers, of whom Noreen was one of the most prominent, was scheduled for noon at the Serene Beach Yacht Club. “I figured a widow who lives alone could use some cheering up, so I’m going to visit her and give them to her.”

It wasn’t merely a matter of charity. Mrs. Mc-Lanahan, one of the center’s biggest financial supporters and a member of its board of directors, was a peppery personality whose wry observations always kept Patrick laughing. He’d have treasured her even if she was penniless.

“You’ve got a kind heart for a grumpy old bachelor,” Bernie said.

“Gee, thanks.”

To his surprise, his sister wrapped her arms around him. Although tall and athletic, she only came to his shoulders. “Excuse me for being sentimental, but I’m proud of you.”

“For taking flowers to a sick woman?” Patrick teased as Bernie stepped back, her cross-training shoes squeaking on the marble floor. “I must be a real creep most of the time if you’re impressed by this.”

“Yeah, right.” His sister traced a finger along the front table. It came up clean, to her evident satisfaction. The last housekeeper, who’d lasted only six months, had left dust so thick Bernie could write notes in it, and did. “The truth is, you make me feel guilty. I compensate by fussing over you.”

“Guilty? About what?”

“About my choosing to give up medical school to stay home and have kids while you’re shepherding our family’s legacy,” she said.

“You made the best choice for you.” Patrick adored his two young nephews. More than that, his sister’s happy home served as an emotional anchor for him.

“What about your right to make choices? You never wanted to be an administrator, but you stepped up to bat when you saw the clinic falling apart,” Bernie said.

“I just wish I’d done it sooner,” Patrick said.

For as long as he could remember, he’d been fired by a sense of mission inspired by his older sister’s stillbirth. Initially, it had been his motivation for applying to medical school, but later he’d discovered he enjoyed practicing medicine for its own sake.

He’d been so caught up in his pediatric practice that he hadn’t noticed the toll Doctors Circle was taking on his father. Even the Barr fortune, earned from Joe’s invention of self-cleaning window glass, wasn’t enough to underwrite all the center’s charities and compensate for Dr. Grier’s sloppy management. As chairman of the board, Joe had thrown himself into fund-raising with a frenzy, with the result that he dropped dead of a heart attack.

Patrick should have realized that the aging man was pushing himself too hard. He should have given up his practice sooner to take on the administrative job.

He couldn’t turn back the clock. He’d spent five years reorganizing the day-to-day operations and putting the budget on a sound footing, and now he was ensuring the future of Doctors Circle by establishing an Endowment Fund.

“No one could have forced Dad to slow down,” Bernie said. “He was obsessed with the center, even more than Mom was. I know he was upset about their losing a child, but these things happen to lots of people.”

“Dad didn’t see it that way,” Patrick said. “Did you know he blamed himself for Melissa’s death?”

Bernie’s face scrunched in surprise. “No! Why would he do that?”

“While Mom was pregnant, he spent all his time either at his janitorial job or out in the workshop, fiddling with his inventions,” Patrick explained. “He told me that if he’d paid more attention, he’d have seen how she was suffering and insisted on better care.”

“They couldn’t afford it,” Bernie said.

“He’d have borrowed the money if he had to.” Patrick could still see the lines of pain etched in Joe Barr’s face as he’d made this confession. Melissa’s stillbirth had been fresh in the aging man’s memory, even though decades had passed since the unhappy event.

How ironic that Joe had pulled himself out of poverty, gaining a fortune from marketing his self-cleaning glass, yet had never really enjoyed the money. He’d poured much of it into Doctors Circle, which he’d established fifteen years ago. For Patrick’s father, it had been both a form of atonement and a sacred obligation.

“I wish I’d known so I could have set him straight,” Bernie said. “Problems with the placenta can’t always be corrected, even now. Mom never blamed him.”

“I guess when we feel guilty, logic has nothing to do with it,” Patrick said.

“Are you speaking of yourself?” she asked.

“Me?”

“Well, you’re the one driving yourself like a maniac for the Endowment Fund,” she said. “It won’t bring Dad back.”

“Thanks for trying to make me feel better,” he said. “The truth is, I enjoy my work.”

“You used to whistle more when you were in pediatrics.” Bernie straightened a large, modern canvas that faced the curving staircase.

“I whistled?” Patrick didn’t recall that particular habit.

“You also told more jokes,” his sister said.

“I collected jokes to make my patients laugh,” he protested. He’d loved working in pediatrics, but what he was doing now was crucial. “Sis, I’ve got to get going. I want to allow plenty of time to visit with Mrs. McLanahan.”

“Don’t let me stop you. I’m leaving, too. There’s a pot of orange-glazed chicken in the refrigerator, by the way,” Bernie said. “You can eat it tonight or tomorrow.” With a wave, she went out the front door.

Patrick locked up, then carried the flowers to his car and set them on the rear seat. He eased the finely tooled sedan along the driveway, past the glistening pool.

He stole a glimpse at the high bluffs. The rear of the estate provided a spectacular view of Serene Beach and its harbor. Far below, September sunlight played over a butterfly swarm of sails.

The driveway curved left, away from the view. Patrick stopped at the estate’s ironwork arch and waited for traffic to clear on St. Michel Drive.

In his childhood, this street had been little used. That was before the two-story medical buildings had sprung up on the far side, with their white stucco exteriors and red-tile roofs.

The family had built Doctors Circle on the land where an orange grove once stood, situated so that the back entrance to the Birthing Center faced the front of their estate. As a result, Patrick didn’t have to commute far to his office.

Seeing no more cars, he turned right and drove the few blocks to Mrs. McLanahan’s home. To his disappointment, the houseman reported she was sleeping. Patrick left the flowers with a note wishing her a speedy recovery.

He had plenty of time before the luncheon. All dressed up and nowhere to go. It was a rarity not to have every minute committed, and against his better judgment, he knew what he wanted to do.

It would be childish to head inland toward Natalie’s apartment. For heaven’s sake, he had almost no chance of glimpsing her unless he parked and rang her doorbell, which he wasn’t going to do.

This past month, he’d watched for any indication that she hadn’t meant it when she pushed him away. Like an inviting smile, a touch on the shoulder, a mention of their night together.

There hadn’t been any. He kept telling himself it was for the best, yet he missed their closeness with an unaccustomed ache.

He was better off alone, though. Work absorbed and energized Patrick, and relationships only interfered.

Both of his previous involvements had failed miserably. During his internship, a girlfriend had broken off with him because of his inattention. Years later, a lawyer he’d dated had also called it quits, citing his long hours and frequent cancelations of their plans. She’d told him she hoped he never had children, because he’d make a lousy father.

She was right. Much as Patrick enjoyed being around kids, his work came first, and always would.

Natalie was right to keep him at arm’s length. Patrick certainly didn’t want to lose her the way he’d lost the other two women. But like a teenager with a crush, he was going to cruise by her place in the hope of catching an unguarded glimpse of her. A man was allowed the occasional bit of foolishness as long as it did no harm, he told himself.

He drove inland to the flat mesa area of Serene Beach. Palm trees, azaleas and calla lilies dressed up the modest homes and apartments.

Along the sidewalks clattered kids on tricycles and preteens on skateboards. Patrick drove cautiously, remembering from his emergency-room rotations what could happen when children darted into the street.

The fourplex where Natalie lived lay in the middle of a block. Patrick had dropped her off once when her car was in the shop, and he’d never forgotten the location.

A rental van stood double-parked in front of the building. As he swung past, he saw stacks of furniture through the open rear door, from which someone had lowered a ramp. Obviously these amateurs didn’t realize or perhaps didn’t care that they were blocking several cars.

At the next corner, Patrick made a U-turn and swung back. This time, he spotted Natalie’s small green hatchback at the curb, hemmed in by the truck.

What now? He had time to kill and a strong desire to see her. Irresolutely, he parked across the street and sat considering his options.

Before he could decide how to proceed, Natalie emerged on the upper balcony of the apartment building. With her blond hair floating in the breeze, she took his breath away.

Even from here, he could see the sweet fullness of her mouth and the way a T-shirt clung tantalizingly to her rounded breasts as she descended the exterior stairs. His body reacted with a jolt of arousal.

Natalie was halfway to her car when she stopped to glare at the truck. It looked as if she was saying, “What the heck?”

He got out and strode across the street. “Looks like you’ve got a problem.”

She blinked up at him. “Patrick?”

“I was driving by.” That sounded unlikely, didn’t it? “I was on my way to being early,” he explained, and decided that was even worse. “Never mind why I’m here. Need some help?”

“I’m going to visit Amy Ravenna. I’d like to know what idiots left this here,” she said, then answered her own question. “They must be moving into the ground-floor apartment. The tenants moved out last week.”

He followed her to the unit. The door stood open, a few items of furniture visible inside. A preteen girl and a little boy sat watching cartoons on a television placed on the floor.

“Hi! I’m Natalie,” she said. “We need for somebody to move the truck. Where are your parents?”

“They went to get lunch,” the girl said.

“And left you alone?” Patrick asked.

“I’m twelve.” She kept her gaze fixed on the screen.

“When will they be back?” Natalie asked.

“I don’t know.”

The two of them retreated. “Are you in a hurry to meet Amy?” he asked.

“She said I could drop by any time in the next hour or so,” she said. “But I hate waiting. I’m also afraid I’m going to chew out those blockheads when they get back. That’s not a good way to meet my neighbors.”

“I’d be happy to give you a ride.” There was nothing wrong with enjoying her company as long as they kept it light.

Natalie considered his offer. “Amy did say she’d like to go shopping later. I guess she could drop me back here.”

“Done.” Taking her elbow, Patrick guided her toward his car.

“Why did you say you were here?” she asked as she slid into her seat.

“Passing through,” Patrick mumbled, and closed the door as soon as she was tucked inside.

When he climbed behind the wheel, he felt Natalie’s presence surround him like an embrace. “It smells nice in here,” she said. “Do I detect a hint of flowers?”

Patrick started the engine. “I took some to Mrs. McLanahan while she’s laid low.”

“Her arthritis is really painful,” Natalie said. “I dropped by last night with Chinese food. She says it’s okay to cheat on her low-cholesterol diet once in a while.”

“That was kind of you.” He hadn’t realized it was a flareup of arthritis that had sidelined the usually vivacious widow. “You’re always doing things for people. I know they appreciate it.”

“My sister Alana says I help too much.” She snuggled against the soft leather upholstery. “She calls me an enabler, but that’s not true.”

“Helping people doesn’t mean you’re underwriting their bad habits.” Patrick stopped the car at Serene Boulevard. “Which way?”

“Amy lives down in West Serene, near the Black Cat Café.” The club was known for its large deli sandwiches and funky music. “Is that too far out of your way?” She knew, of course, about the luncheon.

“Not by much.” Patrick didn’t mind a little inconvenience. He had plenty of time.

From the corner of his eye, he caught Nat studying him. She pressed her lips together, then touched them with the tip of her tongue as if she had something to say but wasn’t sure whether she wanted to say it.

“You feeling okay?” he asked.

“Why, do I look different?” Natalie said.

“Your cheeks are kind of flushed,” he said. “You aren’t ill, are you?”

“I feel great.”

“Good.” That conversation had gone nowhere, he thought, and wished he knew what else to say. In silence, they headed south on Serene Boulevard, passing the intersection with Bordeaux Way that led to the main entrance of Doctors Circle.

“How do you feel about kids?” Natalie asked out of the blue.

The question stopped him cold. “That’s funny,” Patrick said. “My sister made the same point earlier.”

“What point?” It was her turn to look confused.

“She believes I was happier when I was in pediatrics. Although I don’t understand how you’d know that, since we weren’t working together then,” he said. “I do miss the children. But in the long run I’m helping more of them in my current position.”

“I meant…” She let the sentence trail off. “Look, there’s a crafts fair at Outlook Park.” Ahead on the right, Patrick saw a cheerful cluster of booths amid the greenery. “Can we stop for a minute? I need to get a couple of presents.”

“Fine with me.” He rarely browsed through crafts sales, but with Natalie, it ought to be fun.

They parked in the lot and joined the shoppers. Quickly Natalie selected a set of enamel earrings for one friend and a fanciful hat for a niece.

“I’ve got lots of nieces and nephews,” she explained as she chose a couple of extra items for future occasions. “Oh, this one’s for me!” She picked up a stuffed bunny.

“You’re loyal to your rabbit motif, I see.” Patrick had given Natalie a bunny paperweight for Secretary’s Day, along with lunch and flowers. Thank goodness his sister had reminded him of the event and pointed out the bunny images on Natalie’s coffee mug.

“It’s too bad I didn’t pick a rarer animal,” his secretary said, skirting a stroller. “If I collected hedgehogs, I wouldn’t buy so many curios. But rabbits appeal to me.”

When she stopped at another booth, Patrick volunteered to carry her rapidly filling shopping bag. “I can at least make myself useful.”

“Thanks.” She handed it over. “You’re not bored, are you?”

“I enjoy watching you shop,” he said truthfully.

“Are you sure—Oh, what a cute little coin-box wishing well! I’ll buy it for Amy.”

She looked far more animated here than at work. Younger and more relaxed, too, the way she had that day on the yacht, Patrick noted as Natalie added yet another item to her purchases.

He imagined he could still smell the sea breeze in her hair. With her, that afternoon, he’d forgotten everything except the joy in her eyes and the luminous pleasure of their coupling.

“Natalie!” A woman with a small boy in tow stopped in front of them. “I never got a chance to thank you for last weekend.”

“It was fun,” Natalie said.

“Baby-sitting a toddler may be fun, but it’s also hard work.” To Patrick, the woman explained, “My husband was in the hospital. Thanks to Natalie, I was able to stay at his bedside. Are you one of her brothers?”

“A friend,” he said. “I hope your husband’s better.”

“He’s fine now.” The woman hung on as her little boy tried to pull free. “Natalie does more for people than anyone else in our church.”

“I do not!”

“We all know we can count on you,” she said. “And we appreciate it.”

Abruptly the little boy broke loose, lost his balance and fell. A wail tore through the air.

“What’s the matter, Joey?” His mother squatted beside him.

“Knee hurts!” He pointed to red scrape marks.

“Let me see.” Patrick knelt, set aside the shopping bag and took out his handkerchief. “Let’s wipe that off until your mom has a chance to wash it.”

“Please don’t get your handkerchief all—” The woman stopped, because it was too late.

Carefully Patrick cleared away the clinging bits of grass and pebble. “You’re very brave,” he said.

“Big owie,” Joey replied earnestly.

“This is a major owie in anybody’s book,” Patrick agreed. “You know what? You’re going to have a nice scab. Have you ever had a scab before?”

Joey started to nod, then shook his head. He watched the doctor in fascination.

“Don’t pick at the scab,” Patrick said. “Even if it itches. Any time you start to scratch it, clap your hands together, instead. Can you do that?”

“Yes.”

“Show me.”

Joey clapped his hands.

Still in a kneeling position, Patrick took a bow. “Thank you.”

Joey laughed. His mother scooped him up. “You’re wonderful with him. I figured he’d be screaming his head off for the next hour. Can I wash that handkerchief for you?”

“No, thanks.” He stuck it in his pocket. “Just make sure you wash and disinfect the scrape.”

“You bet!”

After the woman was out of earshot, Natalie said, “You were great with Joey. I’m impressed.”

“I’d forgotten how good that feels, working with a child,” Patrick said.

He prided himself on how well he knew his own nature. Yet today both his sister and his secretary had pointed out something that, until this moment, he’d pushed from his mind.

Pediatrics. Maybe he’d get back to it someday. The medical center came first, though.

“That wasn’t why I asked…” Natalie hesitated as they sauntered down the last row of booths. “I didn’t mean whether you like kids as a doctor. I meant…”

Ahead of them, an older woman at a booth waved vigorously toward them. “Look who’s here!” she called.

Pink hair floated around the woman’s head, and despite the warmth of the day, she wore a paisley shawl over a long, shapeless dress. Her booth was hung with wind chimes, while the counter overflowed with stuffed dolls.

Behind the booth, in a chaise longue, reclined an equally eccentric-looking man. His salt-and-pepper hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and the cutoff sleeves of his T-shirt revealed an eye-catching series of tattoos.

Beside him, Patrick felt Natalie grow tense. Who were these people? he wondered.

The woman gestured them toward her. Natalie released a sigh. “Dr. Barr,” she said as she led him forward, “I’d like you to meet my mother.”

Chapter Three

As Natalie made introductions, she hoped her unpredictable mother wouldn’t say anything offensive. Angie sometimes peppered her speech with four-letter words, and her attitudes toward everything from money to the law were anything but conventional.

Angie seemed too impressed by Patrick to fire off any wild opinions, though, and so did her longtime boyfriend. Although a former biker and drug abuser, Clovis had a good heart.

Only a surprised blink revealed Patrick’s reaction to her odd-looking mother. Otherwise, he was the soul of courtesy. Not that Natalie expected anything less from her diplomatic boss.

“Did you make these yourself?” he asked Angie, examining one of the dolls. “They’re delightful.”

“She makes everything except the wind chimes,” said Clovis. “I make those.”

“You’re both very talented,” Patrick said. “I especially like the dolls’ expressions.” They were appealing, Natalie reflected. “I’d like to buy one for my sister.”

“You think it’s her style?” Natalie had seen the ultramodern home Bernie and her ad-exec husband owned. She couldn’t picture the rustic doll fitting in.