To Have the Doctor's Baby. Teresa Southwick
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that? I wanted to come back—for this job,” she clarified. There was another agenda, but she needed to wait to spring that on him.
“Because of the kids,” he guessed.
“That’s one of the reasons.”
“How long has it been? Two years?”
“That sounds about right. Since the divorce,” she qualified.
“Longer then, since you moved to Baltimore before that.”
“Yeah. I thought you’d come after me.” Did she really say that out loud? She hadn’t meant to. Something about seeing him deactivated the filter between her brain and mouth.
How naive she’d been then. She hadn’t handled things well and took responsibility for the immature behavior. Her only excuse was that she’d been young and hopelessly in love. It had been almost a physical ache when she wasn’t with him, which was pretty often since he always went when a patient called. He dropped everything, even her. She hadn’t known how to ask for what she wanted then. But she was older, wiser and wouldn’t make the same mistake now.
“Ry, if there was—”
“Ancient history,” she interrupted. It didn’t hurt anymore because she’d made herself fall out of love with him.
Nick was the only one who’d ever called her Ry and the familiarity combined with his regretful expression caught her off guard. It struck a chord inside her that hadn’t been plucked since the last time she’d seen him, and the vibration was uncomfortable.
She backed away again, then turned and moved behind her desk to sit in the high-backed black chair. “The thing is, Nick, I’m back. And it’s important to me to make sure you and I are okay.”
“If we weren’t, it would have been pretty easy to ignore your emails, texts and phone calls.”
“Still. There’s no facial expression with electronic communication.”
“Meaning you can tell if I’m lying?” he teased.
“You would never lie.” She believed that with every fiber of her being. “But I can see if you’re okay.”
“What you’re getting at is whether or not I’m angry that you left. The answer is that I never was. I understood.”
So not what she wanted to hear. If he’d said he hated her guts, she could live with that, proof of sorts that she’d been more important to him than a lamp shade. She wasn’t proud of the fact that, on some level, leaving had been about getting an emotional reaction from him, just the tiniest clue that he’d cared even a little. She’d been looking for a sliver of hope that he could fit time in his schedule for her—for them.
She’d told him about the job offer on the East Coast and spun her own personal fantasy that he would pull out all the stops to talk her out of going. The truth was closer to him not even realizing she’d gone. None of that slipped out because it was ancient history. She’d moved on and had different aspirations.
But seeing him in the flesh reminded her why he was an important component of achieving her goal. He was just as handsome as the first time she’d seen him. His thick, dark hair with the waves barely slicked into submission still made her want to run her fingers through it. His cheeks and jaw were shadowed with scruff, just like she remembered. In the beginning of the separation, she’d actually missed the “beard burn” and wondered if she needed therapy.
He still looked good. Better than she remembered. Hotter than she’d hoped.
“We’re fine, Ry,” he said, meeting her gaze. “I was happy to hear you were the one hired for this job.”
“You were?”
“Yeah. You’ll be a good fit.”
“Okay. I’m glad you think so.” She smiled. One hurdle down. That cleared the way for the ultimate friendship test. “It’s really wonderful to see you.”
“Same here.” The grin he flashed was hot enough to melt the polar ice cap.
Once upon a time it might have fed her fascination for him, but all this time away had worked magic. The dynamic between them was different. She could see him as an attractive man and not be sucked in by the charisma.
“I like this. Friendship is the new norm.” Although she had other friends and none of them made her skin tingle with just a look. It would pass. “So, my friend, can we talk business?”
Nick rested a hip on the corner of her desk. “What kind of business?”
“Money,” she said. “It’s my job to raise it and I get to have a good deal of input on how to spend it.”
“So, I need to be nice to you?” One of his dark eyebrows went up.
“It can’t hurt.” She was only half joking. Getting professional was a stall until she’d worked up the nerve to discuss what was really on her mind. “I’m meeting with all the doctors who specialize in pediatric medical disciplines to find out what the most pressing needs are. I’d like your wish list for how to use the money we raise.”
Without hesitation he said, “ECMO.”
“Would you care to translate for those of us who don’t speak doctor?”
“Extra corporeal membrane oxygenation.”
“That makes it much clearer,” she said dryly. “Is it a machine or a process?”
“Both.” Intensity shone in his eyes. “It works on the same principle as a heart-lung machine for babies with IRDS.” When he saw her look, he added, “Infant respiratory distress syndrome.”
“I need more information.”
He thought for several moments, probably figuring out how to dumb it down for her. “When an infant’s lungs get stiff, a respirator won’t do the job. ECMO takes blood outside the body, channels it through a membrane to oxygenate it, then back in. This process is literally the difference between life and death.”
“Then why doesn’t the hospital have it now?” She had to ask even though she already suspected the answer.
“Cost prohibitive. The powers that be don’t think it’s a moneymaker.”
Ryleigh knew that though the hospital was nonprofit, expenses still had to be met, revenue recovered through insurance payments and invoice collection, which was all channeled back into the facility. “What happens to the babies at risk now?”
“They get transferred to Phoenix or St. George, Utah. They’re the closest hospitals that have the personnel and equipment. But getting them there takes a lot of time and that’s the one thing these babies don’t have.”
“I see.”
His gaze narrowed, a clue that he didn’t believe she really got the severity of the need and was preparing to do battle. “ECMO is expensive.”
“How much?”
“A million. Maybe more.” He stood and put his palms flat on her desk, closing the space between them. “But the cost in terms of lives saved can’t be calculated. Not only would kids here at Mercy Medical Center be helped, but other hospitals in the Vegas Valley could transfer critically ill babies here, too. In some cases adults could also be helped.”
There was the intensity that had first captivated her, that passion to save lives she’d found so compelling. A passion she’d experienced on a personal level. A passion he carefully controlled. She’d eventually learned the sad lesson that professional dedication was a single-minded mistress and didn’t share well with others.
“Look, Nick—”
“I know it’s a long shot, Ry. But can you put a price tag on hope?”
How easily he’d slipped back