The Baby Bump Page 14

  Only he couldn’t save her forever.

  She had to find a way to rescue herself. She couldn’t talk about loving Ike, about being in love with him—not while she was a charity case. He’d been stuck with her because he was a good guy and she sure needed help. But neither of them would survive a relationship that was so one-sided.

  She couldn’t just take.

  She needed to give, as well.

  Chapter Ten

  Ike finally pulled into his driveway on Sunday evening. He’d had a blast with his nephews on Whisper Mountain. They’d stayed up late, camped in the high mountain cabin, fished, ate junk food, told ghost stories and of course, made huge fires—everything the boys wanted to do. Everything he loved to do with them, as well...although Ginger was never far from his mind.

  He’d checked his home phone and office phone and pager at least a dozen times over the weekend. There were messages. But none from Ginger.

  He plunked down his gear from the weekend and headed straight for the shower, thinking that a few days of separation had likely been a good idea anyway.

  If she didn’t think there was an “us”—or any potential of an “us”—after all they’d shared, then just maybe he needed to cool his jets. He wasn’t sixteen anymore. And even when he’d been sixteen, he hadn’t panted or drooled after a girl who didn’t give him a yes signal. Rejection wasn’t fun then, and was even less fun now.

  But that didn’t stop him from thinking about her.

  Monday morning, he woke up to a bright, sunny day and a serious case of determination. Mondays he tried to keep free. He’d see any patients who called in, but otherwise, Ruby had the day off and wasn’t there to plague him about paperwork and files. He intended to enjoy the day or die trying.

  Before nine, he’d stashed a fishing pole, a blanket and a picnic satchel complete with dog food and a water dish for Pansy. He had a plan.

  The same plan he always had.

  To not live the way his high-powered parents had lived. He and his brother and sister all had the same roughed-up sores from having parents who were wonderful, fantastic, extraordinary people...but who were never there. They were always too busy, too committed, always on call for complicated surgeries. Ike was the only one who’d gone near a medical career, but he’d done it drastically differently from how he’d grown up.

  There was always time to put his feet up. To stick a pole in a creek. To take kids on a camping weekend. To crash in a hammock with a book and a beer after a long day.

  “You and I understand laziness,” he said to Pansy, who was rarely allowed on the front seat of the truck and was in her glory, riding with the windows down, her best guy next to her. Everything was right in their world. The dog leaned over and smooshed a wet tongue on his cheek.

  “I know, I know. You love me. And I love you right back. And we’re going to do nothing today. Maybe nap under a cypress tree. Fish a little. Chew on a bone.” He glanced at Pansy. “Yeah, I brought you a bone. Made a whole separate trip to the butcher, just for you. But this time, try to remember to chew on it before burying it, okay?”

  Pansy, judging from the adoration in her eyes, was willing to follow the entire day’s plan without a single howl.

  Only something happened. He couldn’t explain it, but the truck developed a crazy problem. Instead of aiming south—toward his favorite fishing spot—the darned truck turned east. Ike couldn’t believe it.

  “What’s going on here?” he asked Pansy, who by then had dropped her head to his shoulder and was already on vacation time, snoring between drools and dream snorting sounds.

  The truck made another turn. Then another.

  “This isn’t happening,” he told Pansy. “The GPS must be broken. Or the steering column.”

  Of all the damned...Ike scowled as the Gautier house came into view. For damned sure, he hadn’t planned to see her. Or think about her. This entire day was supposed to be a playing-hooky agenda. He didn’t want or need another slap in the heart from Miss Gautier.

  He muttered a few more aw hells before parking and turning the key. He left the door open for Pansy, who wasn’t immediately inclined to get out. Ike’s gaze riveted on another vehicle in the driveway. A shiny black convertible. A rental, he could see from the plates.

  An indulgent toy, that car. Wasteful. The convertible top rarely useable. Only two seats and no space. How impractical was that in real life?

  Ike had always wanted one. They were just so damned...sexy. The immediate question, of course, was whom the car belonged to.

  Since three days rarely went by without his checking on Cashner, Ike took brisk, self-righteous steps up the porch to the front door. Knocked, then poked his head inside.

  “Just me!” he called out. “Just going in this direction, figured I’d stop by and sponge a mug of tea...”

  It was his traditional greeting, and when he paused in the kitchen doorway, he put his hands in the air. In another life, he really could have made it as an actor, no matter what his family said. “Well, darn, I didn’t realize you had company. I don’t want to interrupt—”

  “Nonsense,” Cashner said, his response as predictable as sunshine. “Sit down, sit down. Ginger hid some of my best black teas, said I was overdoing it, but I’ve got a good green mint brewing. Steve, this is Ike MacKinnon. He’s my doctor. And Ike, this is Steve Winters. He’s here from Detroit.”

  “Chicago,” the visitor immediately corrected.

  “Yeah, I always get those two mixed up. Steve’s waiting for Ginger. They worked together up north. Or they were both at the same hospital or something. He’s a doctor like you. So I guess I can call you both Doc, and then I don’t have to worry if I forget your names, huh?”

  Ike got his own mug and poured his own tea—in case the stranger happened to notice that he knew his way around the Gautier place. Still, it took a minute before he could finally sit down and take a serious look at the jerk.

  “So...where is Ginger?” he asked amiably.

  “She just left a bit ago. Doing a grocery and bank run. I swear she left the drive about the same time Steve drove in. They could have passed each other. But anyways, like I told him, nothing in Sweet Valley is too far a drive. Ginger’ll be back before lunch, for sure. I’d think before eleven.”

  “So you’re Cashner’s doctor,” said the Chicago turd.

  “Sure am.”

  Ginger hadn’t said the creep’s name was Steve. But the father of her baby was a doctor, and she’d been in Chicago, and now the son of a sea dog showed up here out of the blue, and with that car. Ike didn’t need a calculator to add up the clues.

  The guy’s external appearance alone was beyond offensive. Chinos with a crease. Loafers, the kind of butter-soft leather that had never seen an ounce of dirt or a puddle. A navy-blue polo shirt, short sleeves, the kind that showed off serious upper-body muscle and toned arms. The idiot was tanned.

  Ike struggled to find something to like, but that was sure a tough sled. The guy had a shave so fresh the razor was probably still dripping. Square jaw. A smile that showed off lots of money in orthodontia. Eyes such a cool blue that he probably had contacts. Brown hair. Lots of it. Not straight or curly, just sort of thick and wavy. Had a Dartmouth class ring. Broad shoulders, clean-cut smile. The whole package was tall, lean, smooth. Oh, and cultured.

  Talk about a scuzzball.

  “You’re a long way from your neck of the woods,” Ike said. “Or do you have family or friends in this area?”

  “No, no. Only one I know is Ginger. But she called me on Saturday night. And after talking to her...” Another of those blinding-white smiles. “Well, I hadn’t seen her in a while. I knew she was from here. She often talked about the tea plantation, her grandparents. So...”

  “So she’s expecting you?” Ike asked, his voice reeking carel
ess interest.

  “No, no, it’s a surprise. After talking to her...well, I got it in my head that I had to see her. Took a bit to make arrangements—”

  “I’m sure it did. You’re a surgeon?”

  “Yeah, how’d you know?”

  “I didn’t. Or I guessed from something someone said. That you spent most of your time literally at the hospital, so it was easy to—”

  “Yeah. Cardiovascular.” He paused, as if making sure the importance of that sunk into Ike. Then he added, “And you’re, like, the town doctor here?”

  “Yes.”

  “Get a lot of scraped knees and flu and chicken pox?” Scuzzball smiled genially, as if to make sure Ike understood he was joking.

  He wasn’t joking. Ike understood full well that they might both be doctors, but in the jerk’s view, Ike was low class and Scuzzball ruled the universe. Maybe he’d let Ike shine his loafers some day. That kind of smile.

  Abruptly Ike heard a howl, then a growl of thunder, then the thunder of hooves. Pansy showed up in the doorway, wild-eyed.

  “Oh, my God,” said God’s Gift to Women.

  “Yeah, she’s a bloodhound. C’mere, girl. It’s just a little rain. Nothing to be scared of. And if you broke through Cashner’s screen again, I’m gonna have to shoot you.”

  “She doesn’t break through the screen anymore,” Cashner said. “Ever since we put that different latch on the door, she can push it down herself, get in on her own.”

  Pansy, being Pansy, had to smell anything new in her realm, so she abruptly forgot about the storm the instant she spotted Steve. Ike watched the jerk’s eyes widen.

  Since a response was obviously required of Ike, he immediately said, “No, no, Pansy.”

  Pansy responded to serious commands—at least most of the time. Well, some of the time. In this case, she was too busy to listen and put out her big old wet, drooling muzzle and sniffed up Steve from ankle to knee to leg and—almost—to crotch.

  “Oh, my God,” Steve said again.

  “Aw, man. I’m so sorry.” Ike slowly stood up. “Pansy. Go lie down. How could you do that to a visitor? Hey, I’ll take care of it.” He ambled toward the sink, soaked a dish towel, brought the sopping cloth back. “It does dry. Won’t look so much like snot when it’s dry—”

  “I’ll do it.” The perfect smile slipped. Suddenly there was a little acid in the eyes, a narrowed look, as if Scuzzball was starting to realize he wasn’t exactly among friends.

  Outside, there was a sudden burst of noise and commotion. A car door slammed. Pansy started a joyous howl and tail thump. Cornelius’s voice mingled with the sound of Ginger’s laughter. They seemed to be arguing about who was carrying in the grocery bags—and both of them were winning.

  The commotion only took a few seconds—but long enough for Ike to figure out something he didn’t want to figure out. If Scuzzball was here, after a phone call with Ginger, then she’d likely told him about the pregnancy. And if he responded by showing up, it didn’t sound likely that he thought his relationship with Ginger was over and done with.

  Ginger charged through the back door, carrying a couple of light sacks, and almost fell when Pansy rushed to greet her. Cornelius, just behind her, carted an overflowing grocery sack that appeared to be splitting. A ball of lettuce fell, bounced on the floor. Then a small bag of oranges.

  Ginger was still laughing, but she seemed to forget the groceries altogether when she looked up. Her eyes went soft. “Ike,” she said, and probably would have said something more—until she glanced around the table and recognized Scuzzball. She did a double take. “Steve? Why on earth are you here?”

  “We needed to talk.”

  “We did talk.”

  “On the phone. I knew we needed to talk face-to-face.”

  The minute she put down the two sacks, her hand flew to her stomach in a protective gesture. “Maybe we do. But I wish you had called before showing up here.”

  “Honey,” Cashner said, “I think you’re not being very welcoming, especially when someone’s come all this way to see you.”

  Ike blanked out most of that awkward chitchat while he debated his options.

  He could knock the guy’s block off. For sure, that was his favorite choice. He’d never had much violence in him, but for Scuzzball, he could manage some serious steam.

  A second option was to stay quiet, but maneuver himself carefully between Ginger and the jerk. Just to make sure nothing happened that she didn’t want. To protect her. Or to tell Pansy to attack, if all else failed. Pansy wouldn’t have a clue what that meant, but the jerk would be distracted.

  Ike liked all those options. Except for the one option he really, really didn’t want to do.

  Ike didn’t sigh, didn’t kick a chair, didn’t do anything to indicate that he was not happy. “You know what?” he asked, in a loud enough voice to garner attention. “Cashner and I are going for a little drive. Maybe get some lunch. We’ll be back here, say, in an hour and a half. Max.”

  He wanted to look at Ginger. He wanted to talk to her, wanted just a few minutes—even one minute, one short minute—before he left her alone with the bozo. He could even feel her eyes on his back...but nothing he wanted seemed remotely relevant just then.

  It took energy and persuasion to get Cashner to his feet, to steer him from the kitchen, find a light jacket for him, find his shoes, get him outside and into the truck. There was a light rain falling by then. Cashner was not of an age to be comfortable climbing in and out of a truck. And then there was Pansy.

  Pansy, of course, wanted to go with them. Pansy couldn’t imagine Ike leaving in the truck without her. But handling both Pansy and Cashner in the front seat was impossible, besides which he wanted her with Ginger.

  Pansy gave him The Eyes—the desolate, abandoned, sad eyes—when he told her to stay.

  Somehow by the time he started the truck engine, he felt as if he’d run a marathon. Dark clouds scuttled in front of the sun, changing an overcast day into an ominously gloomy one. Cashner didn’t care. Once he finally settled himself in the truck, he was all about an outing. Happy as a clam, he said in a conspiratorial whisper, “Did you know Rachel and I are going to have a baby? Can you believe it? She’s over the moon!”

  Oh, man. It was going to be a long hour and a half.

  * * *

  Talk about feeling deserted. Cornelius peeled out the back door almost as fast as Ike hauled Gramps out the front. She was stuck not only with Steve in the kitchen, but a disconsolate hound trailing every move she made—and sacks of groceries to put away, most of which were perishable.

  “I still don’t understand why you’re here,” she repeated. She stashed milk, butter, cheese and eggs in the fridge, then closed the door to face him again.

  He was just as good-looking as he’d always been. He had the same intelligence and perception in his eyes—qualities that made him an outstanding surgeon. It was just a shame he didn’t have as much perception and intelligence in his character. He didn’t look ill at ease now. He never looked ill at ease. Steve could walk into any place, any group, and never fear he couldn’t handle himself.

  “Did you think,” he asked, “that you could just call, tell me you were pregnant and think I’d have nothing to say after that?”

  Ah. One of his best tricks. Putting her on the defensive. “I absolutely expected to hear from you. But not yet, and not here. I know my telling you about the pregnancy had to be a serious shock. And I assumed you’d want time to think. Not that you’d suddenly show up here.”

  The next grocery bag held freezer stuff. Peppermint-stick ice cream. Peach-and-cream frozen yogurt. Blueberry-swizzle ice cream. Double vanilla.

  This past week, she’d somehow wanted ice cream with every meal. Even breakfast.

  Since Steve didn’t immediat
ely comment, she filled up the freezer, then turned around, looked at him and zoomed straight to the counter for a mug of fresh tea. “It was all right with what’s-her-name that you came down here?” she asked.

  “Audrey. We broke up.” Steve hadn’t budged from his chosen seat at the head of the table. His gaze tracked her as relentlessly as Pansy did. “I missed you.”

  Okay. So this meeting never had much potential to go well, but now she was pretty sure it was going down ugly. She sat at the far end of the table with one hand on her mug of tea and the other on Pansy...who finally quieted once she could lean against Ginger.

  “Nothing was the same after you left,” he said with the same searing look in his eyes that she’d once taken for sincerity. “I was more or less pushed into that engagement. It was a joining of families, schools and ties we’d both had forever. It wasn’t about feeling anything for her, the way I did for you. The way I still do feel for you.”

  It was all she could do to not toss the hot tea on his head. To not give him a good piece of her mind, including expletives and swear words and a good loud tongue-lashing. She’d always let loose when she was angry or upset.

  But this time...well, this time was just different. She couldn’t put rain back in a rain cloud. The milk had already spilled, the egg had cracked and all those other metaphors. She wasn’t angry with him anymore—which was a strangely reassuring realization.

  He just didn’t matter enough to waste her temper on. Steve, though, seemed encouraged that she wasn’t giving him more lip. “Having a child together changes everything. I always thought we had a lot going for us—until I messed it up. I know I hurt you. And I’m sorry. I know it’ll take time for you to forgive me, to trust me again, but—”

  “Hold it.” Not expressing her temper was one thing. Listening to his drivel was another. “This child is yours. I expect support from you. And I expect to listen if and when you put out a plan to be part of the child’s life. But those aren’t issues for today. We don’t need to talk about those things for quite a while.”