Barbara Boswell - The Brennan Baby

“Point taken,” he murmured. “Just one question before we close this discussion for good. Why are you so angry with me, Gillian?”

Gillian flinched. “How can you even ask me that?” she blurted.

“Because I don’t know. You broke up with me because you wanted to, so why should you be mad at me? Unless you’re bitter toward all men since your divorce?”

Gillian stared at him, wondering what to say. Far from being embittered by her divorce, she tended to forget all about it, just as she tended to forget she had ever been married. Certainly she and Mark had never lived together as man and wife. He’d never even visited her during those months they had been legally wed because round trips to and from Los Angeles were beyond both their budgets. Mark had saved his money to afford plane fare to see Ashley as a newborn No, she could never view Mark as either her husband or her ex-husband. He was her sweet, loyal, foster brother and always would be.

But Devlin had asked a logical, valid question, one that required a response to allay suspicion. Luckily, he’d also supplied her with the answer.

“Yes, I guess I am bitter toward all men since my divorce,” she echoed nervously. “I, uh, hadn’t realized it until now. I wasn’t even aware I was acting that way.”

“Well, trust me, you are. I take it the divorce wasn’t your idea?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I can respect that. I have an aunt and uncle who were divorced years ago and they still take every opportunity to regale anyone who will listen with all the details.”

“I’ll never do that,” Gillian pledged. Never had a promise been so easy to make.

“Do you share joint custody of the baby?” Devlin asked.

“No!” Gillian quickly turned aside, as if to shield her child from him. “Ashley is mine! No more questions,” she added sternly.

“Okay.” He moved away from the door but seemed reluctant to leave. “Now that we’ve ascertained that your hostility isn’t personal, can I offer whatever help you needed from Shelly and Heather?”

Devlin looked from little Ashley to her vigilant, wide-eyed mother. “You did need something, didn’t you? And don’t automatically say no,” he added. “I don’t think you and the baby were paying a social call at this hour, were you?”

Gillian stole a glance at him. She couldn’t fathom why, but it seemed that he wasn’t about to be fobbed off. And since he now believed that her hostility toward him wasn’t personal, she really ought to foster that delusion. Making him suspicious of her could be disastrous. Hesitantly, reluctantly, she explained her laundry dilemma.

“It’s just as well the girls weren’t here to stay with the baby. You shouldn’t go down to the laundry room alone at night, Gillian.” Devlin frowned. “The security in the building is too lax to ensure safety.”

Gillian had to smile at that misplaced concern. “Compared to some of the places I’ve lived in, this place is as secure as a fortress. But if...if you want to do something, you could carry my laundry basket downstairs,” she dared add. Asking him for anything was difficult for her, but since he’d insisted on offering aid she might as well take him up on it.

“Why don’t I do the crib sheets while you stay in your apartment with the baby?” Devlin suggested instead. “Don’t look so shocked. I mastered the use of washers and dryers years ago from sheer necessity.”

He could tell that she didn’t want to accept any help at all from him. Though she kept her face poker-straight, her eyes were expressive, revealing her internal struggle. Gillian needed his assistance, and she hated that she did. She desperately wanted to say no—but the baby had to have clean, dry crib sheets.

Her maternal instincts won out. “Okay, you can do the crib sheets,” Gillian said grudgingly.

“Thank you, gracious lady,” quipped Devlin. “Doing laundry for you is both a privilege and a dream come true.”

Gillian fought a smile because she knew he was trying to make her smile and she didn’t want to grant him even that small victory. “I’ll get you some quarters,” she said repressively.

Devlin told her not to bother, that he could afford to feed the machines with his own quarters, but Gillian was insistent. She did not want to be beholden to him in any way, not even for a few quarters.

Ninety minutes later Dev carried the seven freshly laundered crib sheets to Gillian’s apartment. Inside, he could hear the baby howling at the top of her lungs and when Gillian opened the door, she looked tired and frazzled and on the verge of tears herself She held the flush-faced, shrieking Ashley in her arms.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with her,” Gillian blurted, too desperate and worried to exert her usual control. “I know she’s getting a tooth—see, right here, her top left incisor—but she never had trouble when her four front teeth came in.”

“Incisors can be tough to cut.” Devlin recalled that fact from a long-ago child development class during his med school pediatric rotation. He rubbed his finger over the swollen bud in the baby’s mouth. Ashley tried to chomp down on his finger. “Have you tried rubbing ice on her gum?”

“Yes. My foster mother suggested whiskey, but I didn’t have any so I tried some of Carmen’s cold beer. Nothing’s given her any relief.”

Devlin frowned thoughtfully. “Why don’t I get my bag? I’d like to check her ears.”

“She hasn’t been tugging at her ears and her nose isn’t stuffy,” Gillian replied quickly. “And she doesn’t feel feverish.”

“Ear infections in babies can be tricky. Sometimes they don’t touch their ears or even seem congested. If Ashley has a fever, it’s only a slight one, a degree or two, but I’d still like to check...” He placed his hand on the baby’s head. Her dark curls were damp from perspiration. “I’ll go get my bag.”

He was back with his black medical bag before Gillian could protest. Not that she would have, not now. She wanted her child to be seen by a doctor, even if that doctor happened to be Devlin Brennan.

They sat together on the sofa, Ashley on Gillian’s lap, while Devlin checked the baby’s temperature with a thermometer that he slipped under her arm.

Gillian was trembling as she watched. “I didn’t think she was sick. I—I just thought she was fussy because of her tooth.” Tears stung her eyes. “Does she have a fever?”

“A low-grade one. One hundred point two.” Devlin. replaced the thermometer and took out an instrument to look in her ear. “I’m looking for bunny rabbits, Ashley,” he said as he turned on the light and cupped her head with his hand. “If I remember correctly, that’s standard pediatric lingo during ear exams,” he added dryly to Gillian.

“Her pediatrician says that same thing.” Gillian swallowed. “Except sometimes she’ll say puppy dogs.”

“Has Ashley had many ear infections?”

“A few.

Devlin nodded. “Okay. Let’s take a look at her ears.” He was Dr. Brennan now—“Any puppy dogs hiding in here, Ashley?” —resorting to standard pediatric lingo as he looked inside the baby’s ear.

Ashley screamed and wriggled and tried to get away “Oh. yeah.” Devlin took one more look as the baby continued to struggle. “The tympanic membrane is erythematous, all right.”

“What does that mean?” Gillian cried, horrified.

“Her ear is red,” Devlin translated, his smile slightly sheepish. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound like an alarmist.”

“Poor Ashley! She’s sick and she’s been in pain and I...I—” Gillian broke off in a sob. “She seemed fine when I picked her up at the day care center this afternoon. She started crying after dinner and...and Mom said she was just exercising her lungs.”