Teresa Southwick - To Have the Doctor's Baby

His deep voice from behind startled her out of the bittersweet reverie. She turned and forced a big smile. “Sounds like a plan.”

After she unlocked her trunk and started to pull out her suitcase, he put a hand on hers.

“I’ll get it. I’m pretty sure it hasn’t gotten any lighter since I put it in there.”

“Thanks.”

His palm was big and strong, his fingers warm. The touch had heat pooling in her belly and flushing her cheeks. Twilight had dropped shadows over the craggy mountains not so far away, and she was pretty sure Nick couldn’t see how the brush of his hand affected her.

That was something else that hadn’t changed. But attraction without emotion was like a bow without an arrow—no power to wound.

It took several trips to carry suitcases, garment bags and toiletries into the house. He’d suggested she stay here while looking for a permanent place of her own and she’d brought a lot of clothes with her. The apartment was utilitarian and good for storage, but she’d be more comfortable in a house.

Looking around the two-story entry, she wasn’t so sure. Memories attacked from every direction. Nick carrying her over the threshold when they bought the place. The huge kitchen with granite countertops was especially bittersweet. He’d made love to her beside the stainless-steel refrigerator because his eyes went smoky, her insides turned liquid and they simply couldn’t hold back. In fact, the day they moved in he’d declared his intention to make love to her in every room of the house. They’d nearly met that challenge.

She scanned the family room with its big flat-screen TV and the dark green corner group in front of it. In spite of all her efforts to stop it, a big sigh leaked out.

Nick stopped beside her. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.” Afraid he would see the lie, she didn’t look at him. “Why?”

“You’re awfully quiet.”

“Just checking out the old stomping grounds.”

He rested his hands on lean hips. His jeans were worn nearly white in the most interesting places. The long sleeves of his navy-blue shirt were rolled up, revealing wide wrists and a dusting of dark hair on his forearms. He always dressed casually, and right now was no exception. It also wasn’t an indication of whether or not he was working. He’d told her Carlton Gallagher was on call today, and she wondered if she should feel honored. Maybe tomorrow.

“And?”

“What?” She was a little disturbed by how easily one look at him could annihilate her concentration.

“How does it look? Your old stomping grounds.”

“The same,” she answered truthfully. “I was just remembering how festive everything was at Christmas.”

The corners of his mouth turned up. “You mean with the tree in here instead of the living room?”

“Yeah.”

“I stand by what I said then.”

“As do I.” She could feel the warmth from his body and smell the slightly spicy scent of his skin. Quivers started inside her and rippled everywhere. Bumping up against the bittersweet recollections. “The decorated tree would have been fabulous in the front window as people drove by and looked at the outside decorations.”

“But we wouldn’t have enjoyed it.” He held out his hand and indicated the large room. “Here, we could see it along with a fire in the fireplace, watching TV, or eating dinner.”

His insistence was ironic since he’d hardly ever been there for dinner, nights in front of the fire, or watching TV together. But that was water under the bridge.

“You won. We did it your way.” She’d given in because making him happy was her goal. Now it was her turn to get what she wanted.

“Other than that, how does it look?” he asked.

“The same. And I’m a little surprised.”

“Redecorating isn’t my thing.” The teasing tone was missing from his voice.

Was he feeling nostalgic, too? Not the Nick she remembered.

“That’s not what I meant.” She looked up at him. “I’m surprised you didn’t sell the house after the divorce.”

“I had my reasons.”

The dark look in his eyes made her wonder. “Such as?”

“I didn’t get around to it, then the housing market tanked. Moving is time-consuming and it really doesn’t much matter where I get my mail.”

All practical reasons , she thought. If the situation had been reversed, she’d have sold it at a loss simply because it was too painful to share the space with the ghosts of what would never be.

“And I’m hardly ever here,” he added.

That wasn’t new information. It was time to move forward. Literally.

“So,” she said brightly. “Where do you want me?”

A sexy smile turned up the corners of his mouth. “Do I get a vote?”

She didn’t have to ask where his thoughts had gone. That made two of them, but she wasn’t here for that sex. This wasn’t personal.

“I meant which bedroom.”

“Take your pick,” he said. “Although there’s not really much of a choice.”

She walked upstairs to check it out for herself. The master bedroom was off the landing at the top. She peeked inside at the four-poster bed, matching oak dresser and armoire. A pair of running shoes beside the walk-in closet and a towel carelessly tossed on a corner chair indicated he still slept in here.

Ryleigh moved past the doorway and peeked into the room beside it. “This would make a great nursery.”

“That’s what you said the first time you saw the house.” His voice was husky.

That wasn’t something she would have expected him to remember, and the sweetness of it made her chest tight. “It’s a good-size room, close to the master. If the baby cried, one of us would have heard.”

“So you said.”

But it was still empty, a reflection of what her marriage had become. Not at all like her romanticized vision before she’d realized that being in love by herself wasn’t working for her.

She quickly checked out the other three bedrooms and realized he was right about not having choices. The room farthest away from Nick’s was the only one furnished. She’d wanted a comfortable guest room, just in case they needed it and had started decorating there. In her plan, the others could wait for the babies they were going to have. But plans changed and the family never happened.

“I’ll take this one,” she finally said.

“I figured.”

He went back downstairs for her things and she was glad to be alone. How ironic was that? She’d never felt like that when this was her home. So now she was over the first hurdle, the one she’d dreaded most. Facing down the past. Part of her had wanted to turn down Nick’s offer to stay here, but that would have given it importance, adding complication and breaking their cardinal rule.

Now she’d walked down memory lane and somehow felt more whole. Stronger. Unlike the immature girl who’d lived here before, she was a woman going after what she wanted. Until zero hour, she’d be sleeping as far from Nick as she could get. With luck it was far enough to keep any more memories from following.

On the up side—she and Nick never had sex in the guest room.

The night after moving into Nick’s place, Ryleigh juggled a pizza box in her hands, then rang the doorbell of her friend’s condo. Almost immediately it was opened and Avery O’Neill stood there in jeans and a royal-blue sweater. She had blue eyes, a blond pixie haircut that was incredibly flattering and she barely weighed a hundred pounds soaking wet. At just over five feet, she was shorter than Ryleigh. Almost no one was shorter than her. This woman was too cute for words, but Ryleigh didn’t hold that against her. They were best friends.

“Hey, you.”

“Hey you back.”