The Rookie. Julie Miller
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Satisfied with the choices she had made, Rachel ignored the baby’s protests and sat down to review her notes for an upcoming counseling session. Gradually, the chill from outside worked its way into the room. Rachel pulled her coat from the back of her chair and shrugged it around her shoulders.
The comforting rush of warmth reminded her of a similar feeling she’d experienced earlier in the hallway. The idea of a warm hug made her think of Josh Tanner.
The big, brassy-haired student who distracted more than one set of female eyes during her lectures had hovered outside her office. She’d been relieved to find him standing there, strategically positioned between her and David’s buddies, Lance and Shelton. Had she imagined something more than idle curiosity had prompted him to stay and witness the exchange with David Brown? As improper as the thought might be, she’d been grateful that he’d hung around.
David hadn’t actually threatened her. But she’d still felt threatened.
If Josh Tanner hadn’t been there, she would have been alone with David and his friends. That prospect was more unsettling than her fears of simply being alone.
Once David had left the office, she’d felt Josh’s gaze on her. Like that warm hug. In a moment of weak relief, she’d ensnared herself in the bright-blue sky of his eyes. Those eyes had seemed older than they had in class when he’d pulled that B.S. answer out of his hat. They’d seemed kind. Concerned. For her. He’d been concerned for her.
Rachel shook aside the notion before that soft, tended feeling overtook her again. Josh Tanner had been raised right, that was all. The young man had compassion. No doubt she’d projected some damsel-in-distress pheromone that had prompted him to hang around.
Whatever his reason, she was glad he’d been there. For those few brief minutes in time, she hadn’t felt quite so alone. She’d felt safe. She’d almost thanked him. No. She’d almost run into his arms and asked him to hold her. But rational thought had kicked in. Josh was a student. She was his professor, a good fifteen years his senior. It would hardly be ethical for her to turn to him for any personal sort of comfort.
She’d handle this threat—if there really was anything to it—alone. If she could raise a baby by herself, she could handle a disgruntled student. She could tackle a piece of paper stuck on her windshield.
Shoving aside any lingering fears or fantasies, she reached for her planner again and thumbed to the page of phone listings. By the time she’d punched in the number for the Washburn Fertility Clinic, her usual confidence had returned.
It was high time she found out who Daddy was.
Chapter Two
“Dr. Livesay, all due respect, but you don’t know what it’s like to lose a baby.”
Lucy Holcomb sat in the chair across from Rachel, wringing her hands. The twenty-year-old was even more nervous than usual today. Was she still taking her prescribed antidepressant medication? Or was there some new crisis turning the young woman’s life upside down?
Rachel resisted the urge to stand and pace, keeping her eight months of pregnant belly out of Lucy’s direct line of sight. “It’s true I haven’t personally experienced what you’re going through, and I can’t fix it for you. But I can help by listening. Look at all the progress you’ve made so far.”
Lucy tossed her curly chestnut hair over one shoulder and stood to circle the room. Twice. “Ever since the miscarriage, it’s like Kevin and I are fighting all the time. I blame him because he wasn’t around when the contractions started, and he blames me because I didn’t take care of the baby.”
“You know it’s no one’s fault,” Rachel reminded her. “Your O.B. doctor told you as much. There was something wrong with the development of the fetus, and your body handled the situation with a spontaneous abortion. You were progressing with your pregnancy just as the doctor had ordered. Sometimes tragedies like that happen, and, unfortunately, there’s nothing you can do about it.”
“But the guilt…” Tears welled up in Lucy’s eyes and overflowed. “It’s not just grief. I feel so guilty.”
Rachel finally stood and took Lucy a tissue. She leaned her hip against the desk in a casual pose. “That’s normal. You can’t beat yourself up over that. We all deal with loss in different ways. Feel different emotions. This is the way that’s right for you.”
Lucy’s mascara blotched in circles around her big, brown eyes. She blew her nose into the tissue. “But Kevin is so angry with me. Sometimes he’s sad and we cry about it and we talk. Then, next thing I know, he’s on my case over every little thing.”
Her outburst of tears ended on a tiny hiccup. “He says we should have another baby.”
Rachel kept her face a placid mask. Oh lord, two kids barely out of their teens, dealing with the loss of one child, anxious to dive into pregnancy again.
“Do you want another baby?”
“I don’t know. Maybe—if it’s what Kevin wants.”
“What about what you want? I think you and Kevin should talk some more.”
“But that’s the problem. He won’t just sit and talk to me like he used to.” Lucy’s gaze lit on Rachel’s protruding stomach. “Maybe a new baby would make him pay attention to me again.”
“Lucy, you and Kevin have issues you need to resolve before you engage in unprotected sex again.” Creating a new life wouldn’t solve the problems of the existing one. “Would he come in and talk with me?”
“I don’t know.” Lucy shrugged helplessly. “I could ask him.”
“If not me, I can give you some names of several reputable counselors.”
“Okay.”
Her phone buzzed and Rachel leaned back over her desk to read the number of the incoming call. It was a message she’d been expecting. Rachel stood and smiled at Lucy. They’d run a few minutes over their scheduled time already. “I need to take this. Will you be okay?”
Lucy sniffed. “Sure.”
Rachel urged Lucy to check out the bathroom and freshen her makeup before venturing out to catch her bus. “I’ll see you next week, won’t I? Even if Kevin doesn’t come with you?”
The young woman dredged up half a smile that revealed the beauty in her face and made her seem terribly young to be dealing with such heavy emotions. “I’ll be here.”
“Good. I’ll see you then. Call if you need to.”
“Bye, Dr. Livesay.”
When the door shut behind her patient, Rachel picked up the phone, blaming her tardiness on her laborious walk.
“Andrew Washburn here. You said you had a concern about the confidentiality of your pregnancy?” In person, he was a gruff, blustery man whose snowy-white hair and mustache reminded her of Colonel Mustard from her childhood game of Clue. But on the phone, he betrayed a blend of shock and concern that made him sound more like a doting old father figure. Which was an odd image to spring to mind for a man whose clinic had fathered hundreds of babies.
“Nothing like getting right to the point.” Rachel pulled the wadded-up note from her coat pocket and spread it flat against the desktop. “I received a message this morning from someone calling himself ‘Daddy.’ Basically, he claims that my baby is his, and that he plans to take her from me.”
Dr. Washburn’s response was half laugh, half snort. “What? That’s preposterous. Our donors and clients are completely anonymous, and are never informed as to when or even if their sperm have been used. Their relationship with us ends after their donation has been made.”
Rachel sighed, schooling her patience. “Someone thinks he knows. He says he wants what’s his.”
“I