Pregnant Nurse, New-Found Family. Lynne Marshall
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married. Talk about bad timing. Hell, she’d worked at the teen clinic long enough to know life threw everyone curve balls, but in this case she’d been the accomplice who’d helped the pitcher wind up and let fly.
And now, oh, God, she was pregnant.
On Thursday afternoon Gavin pushed through the swing doors into the allergy waiting room. At the nursing podium, Beth was in the middle of giving shots to one of her regular weekly patients. She’d just finished drawing up antigen from a vial when she spotted him.
Thanks to morning sickness, which seemed to be lasting all day, she didn’t need any help with the sudden urge to vomit. Seeing him made her lose control and she dropped the vial. Damn. What could she do but try her best to act naturally? She felt out of control, as though someone had taken a hand mixer to her stomach.
She was pregnant and he was the father and somehow, some way, she’d have to tell him. But not now!
He nodded at her. “I need to set up an appointment for Patrick for asthma training.”
“Sure.” She managed to find her voice, nodding to the patient waiting for a shot and trying her hardest not to let the trembling of her hands show.
Navy blue slacks, pale blue shirt, colorful yellow tie, obviously just out of the shower with his hair still damp…he dripped confidence. And his woodsy scent had her thinking about being skin to skin with him and places she’d never been before. And though the smell soothed her queasy stomach, the memories whipped it right back up again.
Her patient cleared her throat. Right. The shot.
“I’ve been summoned,” he said, pointing down the hall and continuing on toward Dr Mehta’s office.
A few minutes later, just when Beth had calmed herself down, Gavin’s voice startled her when he snuck up from behind.
He tossed some paperwork onto the podium. “I’m signing up for immunotherapy. Bupinder talked me into it.”
Avoiding his eyes, she pretended to be engrossed with the doctor’s orders. “Is that so?”
He leaned his forearm on the stand. “Guess I’ll be one of your patients.”
How could she face him every week of her pregnancy—that was, if she didn’t miscarry this time? “I never read your test—how does she know what you’re allergic to?”
“RAST test.” A blood test where, if there was an allergy, the specific antibodies attached to a radioactive chemical. “You’re right, I should be a bubble boy, but that’s just me. I don’t do anything halfway.”
Recalling their crazy first encounter, she fought a blush. No. He definitely didn’t do anything halfway.
She glanced up and saw a knowing smile, then quickly concentrated on her folded hands on the podium. She couldn’t fall any deeper for his charm, not until he knew the facts and she knew where they stood.
“Be sure to pick up an EpiPen from the pharmacy and carry it with you at all times. We can’t treat you for food allergies, just the pollens, so you’ve got to be prepared for another systemic reaction if it ever occurs.”
She worked up the courage to make eye contact again. The tantalizing taupe stare forced a burst of nerves in her chest, and she caught her breath. She couldn’t go on like this, and changed the subject. “When is a good time for the asthma training for Patrick?”
He looked into her eyes and smiled. “Any evening. You can come over to my place.”
“Sorry, I don’t do house calls.”
“Not even for me?”
She sent him a pleading, exasperated glance—there were patients within earshot. He got the message. “What if I bring him in one afternoon next week?”
“Sure. Just bring him to the clinic. I’ll make time for him.” Putty in his hands.
“Sounds good. So is that all you need to talk to me about?”
Beth shot him a startled look. Why had he asked that? Did he know? Her mouth went dry. “After a systemic reaction like you had, we insist that you wait two weeks before starting the immunotherapy program. And don’t forget to pick up your EpiPen.”
“Sure thing.” He slanted her a smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow night.”
He pushed himself off from the podium and strode toward the lobby, pushed through the swinging doors like a cowboy in a saloon, and left. She shamelessly checked out his behind. What got into her whenever he was around?
Dread trickled down her spine and quickly replaced the attraction to him. She’d have to tell Gavin sooner or later, and as they had a date tomorrow night, “sooner” seemed to be the best option.
But sooner stunk.
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