Muriel Jensen - Jackpot Baby

“Ah…?”

“Diphtheria, tetanus, pertussis vaccine,” he explained.

“I don’t know,” she replied.

“His HI?”

“Um…?”

“Hemophilus influenzae B.”

“I don’t know. I run The Brimming Cup and he was…”

“When did this start?” he interrupted.

“I just noticed it in the sheriff’s office when…”

Those eyes looked into hers again and stopped her cold. “Did you try baby aspirin?”

“No, I…”

“Cool bath?” He’d taken out a stethoscope and was listening to Max’s heart while the baby latched on to the instrument.

“No, I told you I was in the sheriff’s…”

He held a finger up for quiet as he listened. Then he removed the stethoscope, put it out of the baby’s reach, and asked with another direct glance into her eyes that had an angry quality to it she didn’t understand, “Do you know what he weighs?”

“No, I don’t. I…”

He leaned a hip on the examining table and held the baby to him, stroking his back and shushing him. He pointed her to the room’s only chair.

She sat, her mind a whirl of the afternoon’s shocking events and the doctor’s inexplicably aggressive behavior.

“This baby is supposed to be your first priority,” he said in a voice that had gentled only slightly and sounded as though it intended to preach. She suddenly realized what he must be thinking.

“Doctor, I’m…”

“How can you not know whether or not your baby’s been immunized?” he interrupted again. “How can you not know what he weighs? How can you have a baby and pursue a lifestyle that lands you in the sheriff’s office?”

She sprang to her feet again, tired of his accusations, whatever he thought.

“Because I’m not his mother!” she shouted at him. “He was abandoned in my restaurant by someone who left a note, saying she knew I could take care of him because I’m one of the winners of the lottery!”

He had the grace to look surprised, though not particularly apologetic. So she went on.

“And I was in the sheriff’s office because going to the authorities seemed to be the thing to do when you find an abandoned baby. What would you have done? Simply shouted at the baby like you shout at your patients?”

EVEN CONNOR COULD AGREE that he had that coming. He should have asked before he took on an accusatory approach to her parenting. But he’d seen so much child neglect and abuse in Los Angeles, where he came from, that he’d become a warrior in defense of children. And sometimes that meant getting mean with parents.

“No,” he replied with a half smile. “I never yell at babies. I’m sorry. I mistook you for one of those women for whom the fuzzy glow of motherhood had worn off. When you couldn’t answer any of my questions, I thought you’d lost interest in your baby.”

That honest admission seemed to defuse her anger, but only a little. She blinked wide, darkly lashed hazel eyes at him. “Well, maybe you should have asked.”

He nodded. “Maybe I should have.”

That might have defused her anger a little more, but he could see in her eyes that she resisted forgiving him. He’d hurt her feelings after all. She was another touchy hybrid like Lisa had been. She angled her chin, short, straight, glossy brown hair catching the light.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong with him?” the woman asked, folding her arms, apparently determined to keep him at a cool distance.

That was fine with him.

“Actually, I think he’s just teething,” he said, putting his index finger into the baby’s mouth. The baby sucked on it like a little vacuum. “You can feel the two central incisors just about to pop through. Here. Feel.”

She gave him a disdainful look, then came closer and put her finger in the baby’s mouth. “Oh.” She smiled at the baby. “You’re getting teeth, Max.”

The baby laughed at her.

In all his years of internship, residency and practice, Connor had yet to see an ugly baby, but this little guy had a winning way as well as pink cheeks and bright blue eyes.

“I can’t imagine anyone being able to just leave him and walk away,” she said, her disapproval finally aimed away from him and toward the baby’s mother.

“I know.” He handed the baby back to her. “But I worked at an inner-city hospital in L.A. and I saw it all the time. And as incredible as it is, it’s a better choice for the child than those who keep their babies then can’t deal with them. You might give him a cold, wet washcloth to chew on, or freeze a bagel he can gnaw on. Just make sure he doesn’t get a piece off and choke on it. Over-the-counter teething solutions help a little, too.”

She held the baby to her and wrapped him up. “I can’t have a baby,” she said a little defensively. “I’d love to have one, but I work all the time.” She looked at him as though she expected censure.

Instead, he nodded. “Some lifestyles just don’t allow it.”

“It’s not a lifestyle choice,” she said, her defensive tone a little edgier. “I mean, I’m going to have money now. I wouldn’t have to keep the coffee shop, but it was my parents’, you know, and I grew up in it. I watched them pour their hearts into it. I can’t just sell it and move on.”

He didn’t know why she seemed to need his agreement, but she did.

“I understand,” he said.

Apparently she didn’t think he could. “I’ve never heard of you,” she said, rocking the baby as he began to fuss. The words suggested that was his problem rather than hers. “Do you live here, or are you just helping out?”

“I went to medical school with Nathan,” he replied, opening the examining-room door for her. “I visited last summer, and he told me if I wanted to come back, he’d give me a job. I liked it here, so I took him up on it. This is my third day as a resident of Jester.”

“Well…learn to soft-pedal that aggression,” she said, stepping out into the hallway. “Most of the people here are kind and neighborly and good to their children.”

She offered the advice seriously. He took it humbly, eager to send her on her way so that he could put in his last hour here, get something to eat and go to his bed—such as it was. He’d been sleeping on a cot in the storage room upstairs until he found a place to live.

“Hey, Doc. How’re you liking Jester?” Luke McNeil stood in the waiting room, hat in hand, chatting with Carlie Goodwin, the receptionist. She went back to work when Connor claimed Luke’s attention.

Connor had been on call the night before, and the sheriff had brought him a teenager he’d picked up for drunk driving. The kid had cut himself on broken glass in a fall while trying to escape. Connor had liked McNeil and his caring but no-nonsense approach to law enforcement.

Connor went forward to shake hands with him. “I’m doing fine, Sheriff. Too bad about this little guy.”

McNeil looked alarmed. “Is he sick?”

“No,” Connor assured him. “I meant, it’s too bad somebody abandoned him and left him to the mercies of the system.”

“Yeah, well, the system’s not working too well at the moment.” He frowned in concern. “Every time the wind picks up around here, the phone lines go down. We have virtually no cell phone reception. I can’t get through to Pine Run to get a caseworker here.” He turned a subtly pleading look on Shelly.

She began to fidget. “I can’t, Luke. I’ve never taken care of a baby. I wouldn’t know what to do. A couple of hours would be one thing, but through the night? I…I…”

As though on cue, the baby grabbed a fistful of her hair, yawned mightily, blinked deeply several times, then fell asleep on her shoulder.

Connor had never seen a woman look so terrified at the prospect of caring for a baby. What he’d taken for lack of enthusiasm about her baby when he’d thought she was his mother was apparently just inexperience. Or possibly simple unwillingness to deal with babies.