Daddy By Choice. Paula Detmer Riggs
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but—”
“Maddy, it’s all right,” he said, his voice soothing. “We can reschedule, give you some time.”
Esther was right, Madelyn thought. Even garbed in the starched white coat, with a stethoscope casually looped around his neck and his diplomas hanging on the wall behind him, he was every inch a man of the Old West. Like a working cowboy, he had skin permanently darkened from years of working cattle and mending fences under the hot sun, his temples scored by squint lines and an implacable strength etched into the weathered lines of his face.
When he’d competed, he’d worn a white straw Stetson, pulled low and tight against the whiplash snap of his head when the bronc twisted and whirled and bucked. One of the good guys, she’d thought then. A hero.
“Do you still ride?” she asked before she realized how silly that must sound. But she didn’t care, not when panic was licking at her again.
“Not much anymore, although I still stable a couple of horses on a little place near Hillsboro. Two pretty ladies, both palominos.” He hooked one foot around a stool on wheels and pulled it closer. “A couple of interns from the hospital exercise them for me a couple times a week,” he said as he lowered himself with a surprising stiffness onto the padded black seat. She smelled him then, wind, sky, sun and a hint of soap.
“Molly—she’s the mom—is part Arab and real high-strung. Last time I paid her a visit, she got it into her head I didn’t love her anymore and took a chunk outta my shoulder.” He shook his head, his gaze flicking to the nurse, who looked surprisingly relaxed. “How many stitches did I have?”
“Fourteen, and you hollered bloody murder the whole time.”
“Well, heckfire, woman. You were using a railroad spike, instead of a needle. And jammin’ it in real good, too.”
Esther rolled her eyes before meshing her gaze with Madelyn’s. Humor gleamed in the dark depths, and her expression dripped feminine disdain. “Pathetic the way a grown man turns to jelly the instant he feels the slightest prick of pain, isn’t it?”
Madelyn felt a surge of gratitude toward the empathetic nurse. And Luke, too, she realized. Never in a million years would she have credited him with the kind of sensitivity he’d just displayed. For the first time since she’d locked her rental car and walked through the door of Luke’s office she felt herself relaxing.
“It’s genetically linked,” she replied, falling in with what was obviously a familiar routine. “Like the utter inability to ask directions or find anything remotely smaller than a ’57 Chevy in a bureau drawer.”
Luke snorted, but his eyes held a lazy amusement, and the fine web of lines fanning the corners deepened. “Hey, I’m the boss around here, remember? Which means I get to make the rules. And rule number one is no male bashing allowed.”
“It’s not bashing if it’s the truth,” Esther said, sharing a smug look with Madelyn. “Right, Mrs. Foster?”
Madelyn nodded solemnly. “Absolutely.”
Luke emitted a drawn-out sigh. “I can tell when I’m outnumbered.” He offered Madelyn a crooked smile. “So, you want to get this exam thing over with, or should I have Dorie reschedule you for tomorrow?”
Madelyn blinked. “Do you have office hours on Saturday?”
“Not usually, but we’ve been known to make an exception in special cases.” He glanced Esther’s way. “What time is Walter Junior’s game tomorrow?”
“It’s been changed to Sunday at two.”
He frowned. “Should I have known that?”
“Dorie put it on your calendar,” Esther said with a smile. “Tomorrow I can come in any time before noon.”
Madelyn was enormously touched. Maybe big cities weren’t as impersonal as folks back home claimed. “You’d do that for me?”
Luke’s expression was suddenly dead serious. “Especially for you, Maddy.”
“Because you think you owe me?”
“Because I know I owe you,” he corrected, his voice thick.
Then it was there in her head, the excruciating pain that went on and on, the race to the hospital, screaming his name as the contractions ripped through her. She swallowed hard, turned her face away.
“Esther, can you give us a minute?” he asked quietly.
“Of course.” The nurse offered Madelyn another reassuring smile before she left, closing the door behind her with a soft click that seemed unnaturally loud to Madelyn’s ears.
“This was a mistake,” she said through a constricted throat when they were alone. “It seemed perfectly logical when Doc and I were discussing it, but now…” She drew in a breath before sitting up. “Obviously there are a few unresolved issues from that particular period of my life that escaped my attention.”
He ran his thumb over the thin scar riding the edge of his jaw. A tussle with a barbed-wire fence when he’d been five, he’d told her once when she’d traced it with her fingertip. “Guess I’ve been called a lot of things in my time, most of them deserved, but I can’t ever remember being called an ‘unresolved issue’ before.”
His dry tone charmed her into a shaky laugh. “Sorry, that’s the guidance counselor in me talking.”
He nodded. “Professional jargon. Makes it easier to handle the scary stuff.”
His insightfulness surprised her. “Exactly.”
“If it would help to take a swing at me, go ahead.”
“I don’t want to hit you, Luke,” she said with a large measure of surprise. “Although I admit there was a time when I wanted to empty my daddy’s shotgun in…well, places best not discussed in polite company.”
That hard mouth softened into a rueful grin. “I can understand that, and I surely do appreciate your restraint.” Grin fading, he scooted the stool closer. “I’ll do everything I can to make this easier for you, Madelyn, but you have to give me some guidance here. Which, considerin’ that’s your profession and all, should be a dead-bang cinch.”
“That’s just the trouble,” she said, her voice strident. “I don’t know how to handle this. Ever since I found out about the baby, I’ve been an emotional basket case.”
He nodded, serious as a judge. “Those baby-nurturing hormones can be a real pain sometimes.”
She gurgled a laugh, then bit her lip, fighting an overwhelming urge to cry. “It’s so…frustrating,” she muttered as a tear drizzled down her cheek. “See what I mean?” she added, dashing it away.
Smiling, he captured her hand in his. “I want to help you. I think I can, but first I have to know exactly what kind of problems we have ahead of us.”
“There is no us, Luke. There never was.”
“I was speaking medically, not personally.” He hesitated, then said gently, “I’m not asking you to forgive me. Or even to like me, though that would make things easier. But I am asking you to trust me professionally.”
She felt a wave of relief. A professional relationship was exactly what she wanted. All she wanted.
“I hope you warm up that…that thing,” she said, her gaze going to the shining speculum on the tray. “Otherwise, I swear I will shoot you.”
His eyes crinkled. “I’ll remember that,” he said before releasing her hand and scooting to the door to call Esther in again.
Forty minutes later Madelyn was dressed and waiting in Luke’s oak-paneled office while he finished with another patient.
Seated stiffly in one of two chairs by the desk, her hands folded in what was left of her lap and