The Millionaire And The M.D.. Teresa Southwick
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into his palms so tight his knuckles ached.
Then the door opened and a blonde wearing a white lab coat walked in, holding a chart. He did a double take because no way was this beautiful woman the doctor. Just like that, he felt like all the blood was sucked out of his head.
She looked at both of them. “Hi. I’m Rebecca Hamilton.”
“Gabe Thorne. And this is my sister, Amy,” he said, relaxing his fist as he extended his hand.
The doc took it, then shook hands with Amy. “Nice to meet you both.”
If she had questions about the situation, it didn’t show on her face—a practically perfect face with a sprinkling of freckles across her nose. And behind her wire-rim glasses were a pair of pretty brown eyes. He’d noticed a lot in a couple of seconds, including the fact that she seemed awfully young.
“I’m sure you hear this all the time, but are you old enough to be a doctor?”
She smiled and the unexpected brightness of it made him blink, then redirected the blood flow just returning to his brain.
“I promise I’ve taken all the classes, passed all the exams and done all the training,” she said.
“You hardly look older than Amy.”
“I am. Trust me.”
Trust me? Not exactly words that inspired confidence these days. Maybe he should have done some research. Access to a recommendation would have been pretty easy, and now he wished he’d made the time to ask instead of taking an appointment with the first doctor who had an opening. But why should he be concerned when Amy didn’t seem to give a damn?
He folded his arms over his chest. “I’m going out on a limb here and guess that you skipped high school and went directly to college.”
“Not quite. Just a few grades with a lot of AP classes thrown in.”
God help him he was going to hell for being a male chauvinist pig, and deserved to lose the hospital project that would expand the women’s wing, but it was hard to believe a knockout like Rebecca Hamilton could be that smart.
She smiled. “One patient asked if I was playing Baby Doctor Barbie. You’re quite the diplomat.”
If she could read his mind, she wouldn’t say that.
Rebecca sat on the rolling stool beside the exam table and carefully read the chart. “Amy, according to your paperwork you’re six months pregnant.”
“Yeah. I guess. I don’t know exactly.”
“She just arrived in Las Vegas,” Gabe explained.
“Okay.” The doc nodded. “We can request your records from your previous physician.”
“She hasn’t seen a doctor.”
For an instant, disapproval flashed through the doc’s eyes as her mouth tightened. “Is there a reason you haven’t been to a doctor?”
“I’m fine. He made me come today.” Amy lifted her chin and shot him a glare.
Rebecca met his gaze and nodded. “Good for you, Mr. Thorne—”
“Call me Gabe.”
“All right, Gabe.”
He wasn’t looking for a pat on the back, or anything else for that matter. So why in hell would her approval and his first name on her lips make him feel…What? Something. It was weird. He didn’t like weird any more than he liked feeling. If he had any choice, he wouldn’t do either.
“It’s hard to get medical care when you’re on the streets, Doc. She ran away from home. In Texas,” he added.
Amy gave him her best drop-dead-bastard look. “I’m eighteen. I can do what I want.”
“The hell you can,” he said.
“I can take care of myself.”
“Yeah?” Her tone was surly and brought back that fist-through-the-wall-feeling. Her behavior was immature, irresponsible and he resented the hell out of her. He’d done everything right and lost his child. Amy didn’t give a damn and had a baby in her belly. What was wrong with this picture? “If you take such good care of yourself, who was that hungry, scared little girl on my doorstep? Because she sure didn’t look like a grown-up who doesn’t need anyone.”
“Time out.” Rebecca stood and moved between them. “What about the baby’s father?”
Amy’s defiant expression pulled her mouth tight, and he knew she wouldn’t tell the doc any more than she had him, which was exactly nothing. “She won’t give me a name. But if I ever get my hands on him—”
“It’s not your business,” Amy snapped.
“No? You didn’t get like this on your own. He needs to take responsibility. Why are you protecting him?”
“You don’t know anything.”
“You’re right. I don’t. And that’s okay. But Dad—”
“Don’t you dare. You promised.” Amy’s voice shook with the threat and her narrow-eyed gaze dared him to call her bluff. “I’m out of here if you call him.”
He wanted to. He wanted to call his father and hand off the problem. He wanted her gone so he could go back to forgetting. But he knew if he made that call and she made good on her threat, there could be more he’d need to forget about, and he was already on overload.
“Calm down, Amy.” Rebecca patted the teen’s shoulder. “Do your parents know where you are?”
“My mother’s dead,” Amy said, glancing at him.
“Your father, then,” she persisted. “He must be concerned about you.”
“I called him. Gabe made me. But I did it from a pay phone.”
“You don’t want him to know you’re with your brother?”
“No.”
“Okay. We won’t worry about that for now.”
We won’t? Gabe’s gaze snapped to hers. He hadn’t realized until that moment just how much he’d wanted her to order Amy to call her father. He’d been hoping for someone older, wiser, with more seasoning to tell his sister in no uncertain terms that she needed to go home. But Rebecca Hamilton had hung him out to dry.
“Wait a minute,” he said. “We need to talk about this. I think—”
Rebecca gave him a warning look. “What we need right now is to determine Amy’s general health,” she said in a cool, professional tone. “We need to get some blood work. There’s a test that will tell me the gestational age of the baby—”
“Ultrasound?”
“Yes.”
He couldn’t tell if she was surprised that he knew about it. For her the procedure was routine. Not for him. And he didn’t intend to explain that he’d had firsthand experience. His pain was none of her business.
“Are you going to do that today?” Amy asked.
“We’ll schedule it for another appointment. Right now I need to examine you.” Rebecca’s voice warmed and gentled by a lot, and she squeezed Amy’s hand. “Don’t worry. I’m going to take good care of you.”
For a split second, his sister’s sullen look slipped, revealing fear and uncertainty as she stared at the doc. “Thank you.”
When Rebecca looked back at him, the warmth was gone, replaced by a cool, just-this-side-of-disapproving expression that made him uncomfortable. When was the last time that happened?
“I’ll just have a seat in the waiting room,” he said.
Gabe