Wilder Hearts: Once Upon a Pregnancy

“You’ve got time to let your options simmer for a while,” Isobel said. “And, after you do, I’m sure you’ll make the right decision—whatever that might be.”

“Thanks.” Simone withdrew her hand and leaned back in her seat.

“There’s something else you should keep in mind,” Isobel added. “Just because you had a bad role model doesn’t mean you’re going to make the same mistakes. I happen to believe you’d make a wonderful mother someday—to this baby or to another.”

Unfortunately, Simone didn’t share the same faith or the same vision that Mike and Isobel had.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, but I can’t even begin to think of myself as a mom. Not with the mothering I had.” Simone chuffed. “And even now, our mother/daughter relationship is limited to Christmas cards and an occasional phone call.”

Isobel didn’t comment. Other than sympathize, what could she say?

Of course, maybe she was thinking about how close she’d been to her own mother and how tough it had been to lose her. From what Simone had gathered, Isobel had moved in with her dad after her mom passed away. The two were very close.

Simone could hardly imagine a relationship like that. She reached for the cellophane-wrapped packet of crackers that had come with her soup. “My mom recently found a lump in her breast, and even though I’ve tried to contact her several times and left messages, she won’t return my calls. She’s completely shut me out.”

“Fear of breast cancer can blindside a woman.” Isobel took a sip of water. “I’m not trying to make excuses for the mistakes your mom made when you were growing up, but she may find it difficult to talk to anyone right now. You might need to be patient with her.”

“You’ve got a point.”

They returned to their meal, but Simone focused on the saltines she’d unwrapped. Looking right through the little squares as she pondered the only real option she had.

“How do you feel about open adoptions?” she asked Isobel. “Do they work? Would it be difficult watching a child grow up in someone else’s home if everyone knows each other?”

“It depends upon the people involved. In my experience, open adoptions work out beautifully if the biological and the adoptive parents are able to put the child’s best interests ahead of their own.”

“I’ve got a couple in mind,” Simone said. “But you’re right. There’s time for me to think things through. And if I should decide not to give the baby to someone I know, I’d like you to recommend a good agency that will help me find just the right parents.”

“No problem. Tomorrow, when I have a chance, I’ll give you the names of several organizations I’ve worked with in the past.”

Simone ought to feel relieved, yet handing over her child to strangers made her uneasy, too.

But how could she even consider dumping all her personal baggage on a poor defenseless baby?

Besides, even with the few friendships she had—Isobel and, more recently, Ella—she always held back—just as she feared she would do with a baby.

On top of that, children needed a primary caregiver, someone they could trust to see to all their needs, physical as well as emotional. They needed someone to kiss their owies and to make them cookies. Someone to tuck them in at night.

How could Simone give up her job to be a stay-at-home mom?

She loved everything about being an E.R. nurse—the pressure of being in a life-or-death situation, the competent and dedicated medical staff with whom she worked, the patients who rushed in with complaints and symptoms that were sometimes hard to diagnose.

Why, she even loved the hours she kept, never complaining about a night shift or two.

No, her life wasn’t conducive to motherhood.

And she was a fool on those rare occasions when she allowed herself to think otherwise.

Nearly a week later, after Ella Wilder had treated a teenage boy who fell off a skateboard and broke his arm, Simone took the orthopedic surgeon aside. “There’s a cake in the solarium to celebrate Dr. Randall’s being hired as the new chief of staff.”

Owen Randall was a cardiac surgeon who’d suffered a serious hand injury and could no longer perform the operations for which he was trained. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t make a top-notch chief of staff.

Although he’d been hired from the outside and not from within, those who’d already met the man had talked about being impressed with his professionalism, as well as his people skills.

“Peter’s very happy to be back in private practice,” Ella said.

“I’m sure he is.” With a new lady in his life—Bethany Holloway, a hospital board member—and a wedding on the horizon, Peter was undoubtedly glad to pass the baton to someone else and get back to his patients.

“Dr. Randall is in the solarium, as we speak,” Simone said. “He’s making himself accessible to the entire staff. He’s also serving cake, which is chocolate, by the way.”

Ella smiled. “My favorite. All right, let’s stop by and congratulate our new boss.”

The solarium was located on the first floor and looked out onto the hospital gardens, which had just begun to bloom with various displays of red, yellow and pink buds.

In the center of the room, Owen Randall, a stocky, fifty-something man with thinning silver hair, met Ella and Simone with a smile. He introduced himself, then handed them each a slice of cake. As he did so, the tip of his bright yellow-and-green tie dragged across the white, butter-cream frosting.

“Oops. Would you look at that?” His jovial chuckle reverberated in the lounge. “Another tie bites the dust.”

The ability to laugh at himself was a good sign, Simone decided. It would make working under him much easier.

They made small talk with Dr. Randall, who seemed to be a friendly sort.

Simone wondered if he’d do as well in the chief-of-staff position as the late Dr. James Wilder had. She hoped so. James had been a well-liked and respected physician who’d put quality patient care above all else.

Since Ella and Simone were both on duty, they excused themselves, then carried their cake back to the nurses’ station.

“There sure are a lot of changes going on around here,” Ella said as she took a seat behind the desk.

“I know. I wonder if we’ll have cake again on Saturday, when Henry Weisfield officially steps down as the hospital administrator.”

“It’s possible.” Ella dug her fork into her slice of the chocolaty concoction and took a bite, obviously relishing the sweet taste. “You know, J.D. applied for Henry’s job and…” She leaned in closer to Simone and lowered her voice. “From what we understand, he’s being seriously considered for the position.”

“I’d heard that,” Simone said. “With J.D.’s business skills, I’m sure his chances of landing the administrator’s job are excellent.”

“I’ve certainly got my fingers crossed,” Ella said.

“I’ll bet they are.” Simone glanced at Ella, only to see she had indeed crossed the fingers on both hands, one of which—her left—sported a sparkling diamond ring.

“Well, I’ll be darned. You’re engaged.”

Ella beamed. “As of last night.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thanks.” Ella took another bite of cake, seeming to enjoy every morsel.

Under usual circumstances, Simone would be doing the same. But the sugary taste wasn’t sitting too well, and she didn’t want to push herself or her sensitive stomach by eating any more than she already had.

“How goes the puppy-sitting?” Ella asked.

“So far, so good. Mike helps out a lot. But I’ll be glad when he finds a place of his own soon.”

“That’s too bad. I was hoping that the two of you would hook up.”

“Mike is, too.” And while Simone had begun to think his feelings for her might be genuine, she just couldn’t trust herself to be the kind of wife he expected and deserved.

“It doesn’t surprise me that Mike is wishing for more. The guy’s definitely in love.” Ella scooped a dab of frosting from the top of her cake and popped it into her mouth. “And you’re not going to be able to convince me that lust has anything to do with the way that man looks at you.”

Okay, so Simone had to admit that she’d seen the way Mike looked at her, too. And that it didn’t appear that he was only interested in sex.

But how long would his affection and loving glances last?

When would he look beyond her facade and see her for what she really was?

For a moment, Simone was tempted to tell Ella about the pregnancy, about her decision to give the baby up for adoption. After all, assuming she was able to carry the baby to term, it would be public knowledge soon enough.

She bit her tongue instead.

One emotional revelation like that was a record for Simone.

But two disclosures in less than a week?

No way.

The next person she told about her pregnancy would be the baby’s father, but she just couldn’t bring herself to tell him yet.

Simone may have reached a decision she could live with, but she didn’t have a clue how to drop the bomb on Mike.

Chapter Seven

Late Thursday morning, after Mike met with Leif’s sister and looked at a three-story Victorian-style home on Maple, he stopped by the New England Ranch Market. The trendy grocery store, a favorite of the locals, offered farm-fresh eggs, organic vegetables and an old-fashioned butcher shop that cut meat to order.

While pushing his cart through the aisles, he picked up a couple of chicken breasts, some red potatoes, fixings for a salad and the special ingredients needed for his killer vinaigrette dressing. Then, before heading to the checkout line, he stopped by the bakery section and picked up a lemon meringue pie—his favorite.

The guys in the department took turns with kitchen duty, and Mike, who’d had no experience cooking at all when he’d first been hired, had to ask his mom to teach him how to prepare some of his favorite family meals. He’d even picked up a few culinary tricks from some of his coworkers and, while not what you’d call a pro, he knew how to fix a decent spread.

Now, as he climbed from his Jeep Wrangler, Woofer barked at the fence. Mike had a feeling it was more of a “Welcome back” than a “Don’t even think about trespassing” announcement. Either way, little Wags followed suit.

It was kind of cool that the puppy had the watchdog lessons down pat. Too bad he wasn’t doing as well when it came to getting housebroken.

Once on Simone’s front porch, Mike shuffled the two grocery bags he held in his arms so he could ring the bell. He hoped Simone was okay with what he planned to do.

He had a key, so he could let himself in, but Simone wasn’t working today, and he didn’t want to overstep his boundaries.

She answered the door in her robe. Her hair was wrapped in a white towel turban, her scent powdery fresh with a hint of shampoo, soap and a citrusy body lotion that he’d grown accustomed to.

Damn, she sure smelled good.

But it had to be nearly noon. The times he’d spent the night on her sofa, she’d always showered first thing.

“Did you just wake up?” he asked.

“I wasn’t feeling…” She cleared her throat. “Well, I woke up tired, so since I’m off today, I decided to go back to bed.”

“Are you okay?” he asked, remembering that she was supposed to be going to the doctor. When was her appointment? What would the blood work show?

“I’m fine.” She offered him a smile. “It’s amazing what a little nap will do.”

“Can I come in?”

“Oh. Sorry.” She stepped aside so he could enter, then nodded at the bags he held in his arms. “What’s that?”

“It’s our dinner. I’m going to cook for you.”

“You really don’t have to.” She tightened the sash of her robe—one that had faded from use and bore a light scent of detergent, giving it the fragrance of home and hearth. “I’ll just fix myself a sandwich.”

“Not tonight. We’ve got something to celebrate.”

Her brow furrowed. “What are we celebrating?”

A sense of pride settled in his chest, a tinge of excitement. “I just made an offer on a house.”

“No kidding?” She followed him into the kitchen. “Where’s it located?”

“In Riverdale. Leif’s sister knew I was looking for something that needed a little work, and as soon as she snagged the listing, she gave me a call. I met her first thing this morning, and she was right. It’s just what I was looking for. So she wrote up my offer.”

“That was certainly fast,” Simone said. “It took me weeks to decide upon this place. I had to hire someone to come out and inspect it for me so that I could make sure it didn’t have any unexpected problems.”

Mike placed the bags on the countertop and began to remove the items he’d purchased. “I called my brother Aaron, and he stopped by to give me his opinion. But he agreed, the house needs a lot of work, but it’s nothing major.”

“Congratulations. I guess that is something to celebrate.”

“Thanks. It’s possible they won’t accept my offer, but Karen feels pretty confident they’ll be willing to negotiate.” He removed the chicken breasts that had been wrapped in butcher paper and placed the package in her fridge, next to a gallon of milk.

That big plastic jug seemed like a pretty large amount for a single woman to purchase for herself. Maybe she was getting used to having Mike around.

He sure hoped so.

“Tell me about the house,” she said.

“It’s the old Dennison place. I’m not sure if you remember, but three or four weeks ago, Ethel Dennison fell and broke her hip. Leif and I got the call and transported her to the E.R. I think you were on duty that night, but you were working with someone else at the time.”

Simone remembered the elderly woman who’d come in that night. “Ethel is a nice lady. I felt badly that she’d gotten hurt and that she would probably have to go into a convalescent home while she recuperated.”

“Her only child, a daughter, lives in Ohio and insisted that it was time Ethel moved in with her.”

“It’s too bad she had to give up her home, but it’s nice that she gets to be with her family.”

“Yes, it is,” he said. “Being with loved ones beats the heck out of going into a long-term-care facility.”

Yes, it did. But just thinking about Mrs. Dennison and her plight brought a question to mind.

If something happened to Simone’s mother, would she invite the woman to move in with her?

Sheesh. How far did one’s obligation go to a biological relative who acted more like a stranger?

Did it go beyond those occasional phone calls and Christmas dinners eaten in silence?

The only thing that made her feel slightly better about envisioning the scenario was the fact that even if Simone were to make an offer like that, her mom probably wouldn’t want to live with her.

“If they accept my price, Karen is going to ask them if I can rent the house from them until the close of escrow. And if they agree, Wags and I will be out of your hair in no time at all.” Mike tossed her a boyish grin. “So you see? Now you have good reason to celebrate, too.”

How could she say no to that?

Yet, for some reason, she didn’t feel particularly relieved about having her home to herself again.

“So,” Mike said, “now that I’m here, I’ll take the dogs for a walk. I thought maybe Woofer would show Wags how it’s done.”

“That would be nice.”

“You can walk with us, if you like. Or if you have any errands to run, go ahead. I’ll take them by myself.”

Actually, Simone had an appointment for a pedicure later this afternoon. And she wanted to pick up a new pair of nursing shoes, too. She also needed to replace her iron. Yesterday, before work, she’d been pressing a pair of scrubs when Wags got his head stuck behind the lamp table. She’d rushed to help him, tripped over the cord and knocked the iron onto the floor, breaking off the little spout that provided steam.

“Are you sure you don’t mind going alone?” she asked.

“Not at all. Take the day off, go shopping, have lunch with a friend. Whatever.”

His grin caused her heart to flip-flop, and for the briefest moment, she had the urge to tell him no, that she’d rather stick close to home and hang out with him and the dogs.

But how lame was that?

Taking a walk and spending the day with Mike might be counterproductive to everything she’d been trying to tell him.

That he couldn’t expect anything other than friendship from her.

It was late in the afternoon when Simone returned from her errands, but she didn’t find Mike or the dogs inside the house.

She did see signs in the kitchen that he’d started dinner. A covered pot sat on the stove, and a bottle of red wine rested on the counter, uncorked and breathing.

She heard a noise outside, made her way to the back door and glanced out the small window. She spotted him standing on the patio and firing up the grill, the dog and the puppy sitting on their haunches beside him.

Rather than let him know she was home, she stood there a moment, enjoying the sight of man and beast and nature.

Or rather, just the man.

Mike’s efforts at the barbecue had caused a hank of raven-black hair to fall across his brow. The intensity in his expression as he stoked the fire was enough to captivate her, to make her think of a Scottish laird on a windswept moor.

If Simone believed in miracles, if she believed that he might be right about…

But she couldn’t. Her mother had slowly whittled away at her self-esteem and her ability to trust anyone with her true emotions.

Instead, she tore her attention away from Mike, fearing that, if he caught her eye, the attraction she just couldn’t seem to kick would be too obvious. And if that happened, she could end up encouraging him to think the two of them could live happily ever after, rather than convince him they wouldn’t.

After putting away the items she’d purchased while shopping—a pair of scrubs to go along with the nursing shoes, as well as an iron and a few other household cleaning products—she went into the kitchen and announced, “Hey, I’m back.”

For a moment, her words had a honey-I’m-home ring to them, and she almost forgot that, when it came to love, she was a nonbeliever. At least, when it came to her and that particular emotion, she was.

Maybe she’d be better off coming clean with Mike about her past. About her irreparable scars. Then, when she finally leveled with him about the baby, he’d be more inclined to understand why she felt the way she did.

The door swung open, and Mike strode inside, as charming and hunky as ever. “Hey, beautiful. How was your day?”

Darn him. She almost felt pretty when she was with him. Even in a pair of jeans and a plain white cotton blouse.

She conjured a smile and lifted her right foot, which was wearing bright pink nail polish and a turquoise flip-flop. “It was great. I had a pedicure. See?”

His mouth quirked in a boyish grin that nearly buckled her knees. “Your toes look great. So does the rest of you.”

Oh, yeah. She’d gotten a haircut while she was at the salon. She supposed she couldn’t blame him for noticing. She usually wore it pulled back, out of her face.

“I like it down and curled under like that.”

Yeah. Well…“Thanks.” She combed her fingers through the strands, feeling them sluice along her hands, and struggled to find something else to say to that.

A change of topic would be good about now.

“What’s for dinner?” she asked.

“Barbecued chicken, seasoned red potatoes and a salad that’ll have you begging for the secret recipe of my vinaigrette dressing. But I’ll warn you right now. It’ll be virtually impossible to get me to crack. No one has been able to pry it from my lips.”

Her gaze drifted to his mouth, her thoughts to his kisses.

No, no, no, she told herself. Not there. Not now.

“I like vinaigrette dressing,” she said instead. “I can’t wait to taste it.”

He winked, and those kissable lips quirked up in a crooked grin.

She felt herself weakening, her thoughts flirting dangerously with memories of the past, of the night they’d made love until nearly dawn.

And that couldn’t be good.

She struggled to find some generic words, something that would get their conversation and her thoughts back on track.

“What can I do to help?” she asked.

“I’ve got it all covered. So just come outside and watch me grill.”

Okay. That was easy enough.

Once outdoors, he pulled up a patio chair, and she took a seat. All the while, Woofer and Wags scrambled for her attention. The puppy jumped on her leg, and the dog nuzzled her hands, hoping for a scratch behind the ears.

“Hey, guys,” Mike said to the dogs. “Give the lady a break.”

She smiled, providing them each the attention they wanted. “It’s kind of nice to know I was missed.”

Mike had missed her, too. But he was glad she’d gotten out of the house and treated herself to a new hairstyle and a pedicure.

“Why don’t you two go play,” he told the dogs as he reached for the rubber ball he’d left on the porch railing a while back and hurled it to the back of the yard.

As the dogs raced to the corner of the fence, his words echoed the instructions his parents used to give him and the other children on nights the couple had sat down to watch a movie on television. Mike hadn’t realized how difficult it must have been for his parents to juggle a love life around a houseful of rugrats, and his admiration for them grew.

“The dogs seem to be getting along much better now,” Simone said.

“I agree. We should be able to start leaving them alone when we both have to work.”

“Speaking of work,” Simone said, “we had an interesting case the other night. A little boy found a stray bullet in his backyard and apparently decided to put it up his nose.”

“Crazy kids. I’ve seen them put jelly beans and crayons up there. But a bullet? That must have been a bit tricky to get out.”

They continued to talk about some of the interesting cases they’d had while working, as well as a couple of humorous situations they’d come across.

“My dad’s birthday is Monday evening, so we’re all going to get together at my parents’ house. Sometimes, it’s a bit of a zoo, but it’s always entertaining. If you’re free, I’d like you to go with me.”

“Thanks, but I’ll pass this time.”

He nodded, focusing on the fact that she’d said this time, which implied she might be up for it in the future.

They made some more small talk, and before long, the chicken was done. After Mike placed it on a clean platter, they left the dogs in the yard to eat outside and went indoors to enjoy their own meal in the dining room.

Mike pulled out Simone’s chair so she could sit down at the antique oak table. “I’ve got a bottle of merlot on the counter. If you give me a minute, I’ll pour us each a glass.”

“That’s okay. I’d rather have water.”

Was she still worried that the alcohol would lower her inhibitions and make her more susceptible to temptation? If so, she didn’t need to be. He wasn’t trying to go that route. He just wanted to set the mood and add a romantic touch.

He felt a bit funny drinking alone, but he didn’t want the wine to go to waste. “I’ll pour myself a glass, then. Do you want ice in your water?”

“Yes, please.”

When he returned to the table, she seemed pensive, introspective. She bit down on her bottom lip, furrowed her brow and stared at her plate. He watched her for a while, intent upon keeping his mouth shut. But as they ate in silence, curiosity finally got the better of him.

“Who hurt you, Simone?”

She glanced up, her gaze snagging his. “What do you mean?”

“Who broke your heart? I get this feeling that a man did a real number on you, and you’re not about to put yourself in that same position again.”

She studied him for a moment, as though pondering what to say, what to reveal.