Prescription for Romance / Love and the Single Dad: Prescription for Romance / Love and the Single Dad. Marie Ferrarella
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escort places, is it? Because I saw an exposé on one of those magazine programs the other night and I really don’t want you associating with people like that.”
Ramona suppressed a smile. Her mother still felt she could shelter her from the world’s darker elements. In a way, she almost found it sweet. There was no way she could have ever reached her present position not having dealt, at least fleetingly, with the seamier side of life. But she’d never want her mother to worry and was rather relieved that she could set her mind at ease without having to lie.
“No, it’s not a ‘so-called escort place,’” Ramona assured her. “And honestly, Mom, the less you know about it right now, the better.”
It wasn’t exactly the truth. She just didn’t want to raise her mother’s hopes by telling her that she was trying to track down a possible sibling. If she told her that she was working at the Armstrong Fertility Institute, her mother would make the obvious connection: that she was there to get access to the archives and to locate the couple who had profited by her desperate donation. If there were no siblings to be found, her own disappointment would be difficult enough to deal with. Maintaining a positive attitude was exceedingly important right now.
Katherine drew her own conclusions from what her daughter wasn’t saying. Her concern was palatable. “Then it is dangerous.”
“No, it’s not dangerous, Mom,” Ramona was quick to tell her with feeling. “It’s that if you don’t know, you won’t accidentally let something slip when you’re talking to one of the checkers at the supermarket or the beauty salon. Or one of your friends. Undercover means just that—undercover. Secret,” she added, though she knew it was overkill.
Katherine looked just the slightest bit hurt. “When have I ever betrayed a confidence?”
“I wasn’t thinking of betrayal, Mom. I was thinking of being human and last time I checked—” Ramona patted the hand that wasn’t stroking Roxy”—you were most definitely human.”
Her mother sighed quietly. “At least for a little while longer. Then I’ll be a guardian angel, watching over you.”
Ramona completely dismissed the serious part of Katherine’s statement, refusing to give it any credence by even insisting that her mom had more than a little time left. She defused the moment the way she always did, with humor. “I don’t think God lets you pick out your own assignments.”
“Why not?” Katherine wanted to know. “It’s heaven, isn’t it?”
Ramona didn’t bother suppressing her grin. “And your idea of heaven is watching over me?”
“Yes,” Katherine answered with feeling. It drained her meager supply of energy for a moment.
Ramona laughed and shook her head. “Oh, Mom, we’ve got to get you out more.”
“That would be lovely,” Katherine agreed wistfully. “The minute I’m better—if I get better,” she qualified, “you and I will do the town.”
“The minute you’re better—and you will be,” Ramona emphasized fiercely, “I’m going to get you a guy and the two of you are going to do the town. You can do the town with me anytime.”
Katherine rolled her eyes. Roxy, having lain down and been stroked into sleep, was snoring gently. “Oh, Ramona, why would I need a guy?”
Ramona grinned as she leaned over and patted her mother’s hand again. “It’ll come back to you, Mom. If not, I have a book I can lend you.”
Katherine laughed and Ramona paused to listen to the soft, melodic sound, thinking how very much she loved hearing her mother laugh.
She intended to move heaven and earth if she had to, in order to continue hearing that sound for the next half century or so.
* * * * *
It was late.
Very late.
Paul had already put in a full day and then some as far as he was concerned. He was actually on his way out of the institute when his pager had gone off.
A quick call to his answering service told him that the McGees were frantically on their way in. Allison McGee was spotting and they were terrified that she was going to lose the babies she was carrying. The woman at the answering service said that Marc McGee sounded as if he was the on verge of having a heart attack and was barely coherent. He was driving and shouting into his cell phone at the same time.
Paul knew that he could have easily turned their case over to one of the more than competent doctors on the staff, but he knew that seeing him would calm Allison down a little.
And besides, he felt a personal obligation to the couple, just as he felt a personal obligation to every couple he counseled and worked with.
So he called Marc and told the frantic father-to-be that he would meet them at the nearby hospital where he had surgical privileges. The McGees arrived in the parking lot, tires screeching, less than five minutes later. Knowing what part of town they were coming from, he judged that they’d have to have done eighty all the way. Paul and an attendant greeted them with a wheelchair and Paul personally helped Allison out of the vehicle and into the chair.
What he’d hoped was just an aberration had turned into a premature delivery. A rather difficult one at that, requiring the services of two other obstetricians besides himself. But at the end of the ordeal, Allison and Marc had two viable sons, both now sleeping peacefully in their incubators. They were alive and that was the only thing that mattered.
And he was beat beyond measure. If he tried to drive home now, he had a feeling that he would undoubtedly be the subject of headlines tomorrow: Head of Staff of Armstrong Fertility Institute Caught Driving Erratically and Arrested. Drug or Alcohol Abuse Suspected. Possibly Both.
Or at least something along those lines. The press loved building you up and then tearing you down and the institute, for the moment, was in the tear-down stage. Since he had absolutely no desire to fall asleep behind the wheel, he decided that he would be better off sacking out on the couch in his office for at least an hour until he got his energy back.
With a weary sigh, he lay down on the leather sofa. He was asleep within five seconds.
Chapter Six
Paul felt the beads of sweat forming along his forehead. His hair stuck to his forehead. His limbs felt too heavy to lift. He had no more control over any part of his body.
He was having that dream again.
The one where he was trying to find his way to his office and the more he walked toward it, the farther away the office became.
Frustration and anxiety filled him. His breathing grew more shallow. His lungs began to ache. He kept walking, going faster now.
The corridor shifted. Instead of going straight, it became a series of twists and turns that led him down unfamiliar hallways. And all the while his sense of urgency continued building. Building until it grew to almost unbearable proportions.
Just as he thought he finally saw his office at the end of the long, tunnel-like hallway, the ground beneath his feet disappeared and he found himself plummeting into a ravine.
The churning waters below threatened to drown him and then carelessly wash his body away, casting it wantonly where no one would ever find him.
Then suddenly, unlike all the other times he’d had this unnerving dream, there was someone touching his arm.
Someone grabbing it and shaking him.
Someone was saving him, keeping him from being swept out to sea. He was saved!
More frustration assaulted him because he couldn’t make out the face of the person who had rescued him at the very last, possible moment.
And then he heard the voice—a woman who had hold of his arm, calling