Paula Riggs - Daddy By Accident

“Be right back,” the girl told him before taking off running.

“I.. shouldn’t be...c-cold,” Stacy breathed between shudders.

“Won’t be long and you’ll be tucked into a nice warm ambulance.” He swept off his hat and dropped it to the ground outside the car. His hair was thick and blond and damp where wisps of lazy curls had been plastered to his forehead by the hatband.

“An h-hour ago I was w-wishing for w-winter.”

His grin flashed, but his dark gray eyes remained probing as he pulled a folded handkerchief from his back pocket and gently blotted her temple. When the folded hnen came away drenched in blood, she stared in bewilderment.

“Are you feeling any pain in your neck or your back?”

“No,” she mumbled, then winced as another savage pain stabbed her temple. He swept his gaze lower, past her swollen breasts to the bulge beneath her oversize paint-spattered shirt.

“Damn, you’re pregnant!” His tone was so harsh she blinked.

“Yes. Isn’t it wonderful?”

His expression told her he didn’t appreciate her joy. “How far along are you?”

She tried to smile the way she always did when she thought of the tiny little body that seemed to get bigger every day. “Just past seven months.”

His jaw tightened, flexing muscle and sinew, and a look she could only describe as tortured traversed the hard planes.

“Who’s your obstetrician?”

“I don’t have one yet,” she admitted, glancing away from his suddenly narrowed gaze. “I’ve only been in town a few weeks.” After Len’s depressingly frank doctors had begged her to leave, for her own safety.

“When was the last time you had an ultrasound?” he demanded an instant before the girl he’d called Heidi came running up with a multihued knitted afghan clutched to her thin chest. Stacy tried to smile her thanks, but her lips felt wooden.

“Oh God, there’s a man...is he dead?” the girl cried in a frightened tone. Stacy saw the child’s eyes glazing over and realized she’d just noticed Len’s motionless body.

Her rescuer stood and turned, putting his wide chest between the child and her view of the hood. “Heidi, I need you to stay calm, for this lady’s sake.” he ordered in a gentle yet no-nonsense tone.

“I’ll t-try.” The girl sounded dazed, and Stacy’s heart went out to her.

“I’m sorry,” Stacy said softly.

“She can handle it, can’t you, toots?” The big man wrapped the girl in his arms for a hard hug before holding her at arm’s length. “Now, go call 911 again, and then stay in the house in case the operator calls back. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Stacy watched the girl run across the street, her long blond hair flying. “Is she your daughter?” Her voice sounded strangely distant, as though she were speaking through layers of cotton.

“No, she’s just a kid who comes home to an empty house. She’s gotten into the habit of hanging around the job while I’m working.” His face tightened for an instant before he bent forward to tuck the soft wool around Stacy’s shivering body.

She saw then that his golden hair was lashed with strands of silver and smelled like sawdust, and his big bare shoulders were covered with a mixture of golden freckles and a fine layer of grit.

“Warmer now?”

Stacy tried to nod, but even that slight movement sent pain lancing through her skull. “Th-thanks,” she said when the pain eased slightly.

“You say you just moved to town?”

“After my divorce was final.” She started to turn her head toward the driver’s side, but he placed a hand against her cheek, stopping her. “Len never accepted the d-divorce. His doctors thought it would be better to make a clean break.”

She saw the questions in his eyes. And sympathy.

“Doctors?”

“He’d been in and out of...of a mental hospital in Washington for the past two years. I thought he was back in until he came to my apartment with a g-gun. Made me g-go with him.”

Her rescuer bit off an expletive even as he darted a quick look at the driver’s seat and floor. She saw the nine millimeter at the same time as he did, wedged between the clutch and brake, and shuddered. A siren wailed in the distance, growing louder quickly.

“About time,” the man muttered, glaring toward the sound for a moment before turning his dark gray eyes on her face again. “It won’t be long now. You’ll be in good hands.”

“You’re very k-kind, Mr. uh...” She stopped, searching for a name, then realized he hadn’t given her one.

“Boyd MacAuley.”

“I’m..Stacy Patterson.” She slipped a hand free of the blanket and held it out. His big hand closed over hers, his rough fingers wonderfully warm and reassuring. Woozy now, she let her eyes close. She would rest now, for just a moment, she told herself. Until the dizziness eased up.

“Hang on tight, Mrs. Patterson,” she heard him say, and for the first time in months she felt safe.

Portland General Hospital was solid and square and resembled a brick fortress. Located in the downtown rabbit warren sandwiched between the Willamette River and the majestic Columbia, it had felt like home to Boyd the instant he’d first walked through the front door as a scared intern eight years ago. Now, however, it was just a place he didn’t want to be.

As soon as the paramedic driving the ambulance had backed into the reserved space directly in front of the emergency room door, Boyd stepped from the back of the rig and squared his shoulders. Though Mrs. Patterson had fainted shortly before help had arrived and was still unconscious, her vitals were steady and she seemed in no great danger. Once she was safely in the hands of the trauma staff, his responsibility was ended.

Ten minutes tops, he told himself as he followed the two EMTs pushing the stretcher through the automatic sliding doors. Long enough for him to relate to the triage nurse all he’d learned before she’d passed out. Long enough to make sure she was getting the best Portland General had to offer.

Inside, there was an atmosphere of controlled urgency. Nurses in scrubs and doctors with surgical masks dangling under their chins moved swiftly yet with a sense of purpose that Boyd had once shared. Little had changed at PortGen in three years, he realized as he drew a deep breath of hospital air. It smelled the same, part dust and old wax, part disinfectant, and an unwanted rush of memories crashed over him.

He went cold inside and the floor seemed to shift. Fisting his hands at his sides, he drew in great gulps of air, fighting against the sharp claws of fury. Slowly the chill receded, bit by bit, until he could breathe normally again.

Around him, the controlled urgency took form and shape. And sound.

“Cubicle four, gentlemen,” the admitting clerk barked as the paramedics slowed. Boyd didn’t recognize the woman, but he knew the type—a drill sergeant with a clipboard and absolutely no sense of humor. More than once during his years as an intern and resident in this place, he’d tangled with this one’s clone. The best he’d managed during all that time was a draw.

“Are you a relative, sir?” the clerk asked while strafing his naked chest with a disapproving gaze.

“No, just a witness.” He saw the militant glint in her eyes and was about to brush past her when he heard a familiar voice calling his name. Turning toward the sound, he felt a jolt of relief. Prudence Randolph was the best nurse he’d encountered in the five years he’d spent practicing medicine. She was also his neighbor and his friend.

“So that really is the reclusive Boyd MacAuley under that gorgeous tan?” Prudy was an irrepressible tease and a charming flirt, but only with men she considered safe. She’d been divorced for years and claimed to have sworn off marriage forever.