The Christmas Baby Bump Page 5

  “Well, don’t look at me,” she said, swallowing and taking another bite.

  His playful gaze grew serious. “What’s the deal? I mean, I’ve never seen…”

  Should she tell him? By all accounts, he was still a stranger…who’d kissed her senseless. Did he deserve to know her deepest secret just because he was curious?

  “The thing is…” Two years ago she’d had her tubes tied to cement the point. “I don’t do kids.” No. Better to keep it vague. Keep the distance.

  “But you deliver babies for a living,” Phil said, arms crossed over his black T-shirt, brows furrowed, obviously confused. “I deliver other people’s babies.” She took another bite of her hot dog and did her best to pretend there wasn’t anything contradictory about the statement.

  Phil finished his first hot dog, washed it down with cola and wiped his mouth. Stephanie intrigued him with this inconsistency—an OB doc who didn’t do babies. And she was quickly becoming his dream date. When a woman didn’t want kids, marriage didn’t seem to be a priority. And since marriage was the last thing on his to-do list, maybe they could have a good time together, for however long this attraction lasted.

  Beneath her defiant remark “I don’t do babies” he noticed one telling sign—hurt. He could see it in her gaze. Those inviting butterscotch-with-flecks-of-gold eyes went dull at the mention of kids. Something had caused her great pain and the result made her avoid children. He flashed to the moment he’d walked into the clinic the first night, how he’d seen terror in her expression, how she hadn’t been able to get away fast enough. He needed to play this cool, or she’d bolt again.

  “No wonder you looked so uncomfortable when I left Robbie with you.” He wiped mustard from the corner of his mouth.

  She gave a wry laugh as a quick blush pinkened her cheeks. “Uncomfortable is a generous description.”

  “Yeah, okay, more like you freaked out.”

  She nodded. “Sorry.”

  “It’s all right.”

  She made a half-hearted attempt at a smile, and his heart went out to her. He needed to lighten the mood. Maybe he could tease her into submission.

  “So there’s no chance I can change your mind?” He put his hand on top of hers, immediately aware of how fragile she felt.

  “Maybe some other time.”

  “Translation being—get lost, Phil?”

  “Not at all.” She met his gaze, sending a subtle message, then quickly looked away.

  So maybe she was interested in him, just not the whole Phil-and-Robbie package. Once he sent Robbie back to his stepmom and dad, he’d have time to enjoy her company up close and, hopefully, very personal. Especially after that kiss confirmed what he’d suspected since the first day he’d seen her—they had chemistry. And knowing she didn’t want to get involved with anyone any more than he did sounded like the perfect setup.

  “Okay. I get it. But when my parents get back from Hawaii, and Robbie goes home, I’d like to make an official date with you.”

  He hadn’t removed his hand, and hers turned beneath his. Now palm to palm, a stimulating image formed in his mind. He wished he could take her home and ravish her right on the spot, but she was skittish and he needed to take things slowly.

  “Fine.” She flicked her lashes and glanced quickly into his eyes, then slid her hand away.

  Still high from their kiss, new desire stirred in him. From the jolt he felt, she could have been throwing lightning bolts instead of batting her lashes. They definitely had chemistry.

  “Fine?” he said. “Well, then, let’s make that date right now, so I’ll have something to look forward to.”

  On Saturday night, Phil watched Robbie sleep. The little guy flipped and flopped and in between he coughed. His eyes popped open for the briefest of moments, fluttered, then clamped shut as if trying desperately to stay asleep, but the constant irritation of that cough gave him a good battle. The restless spectacle put a hard lump smack in the middle of Phil’s throat.

  Robbie’s world would become difficult enough as he got older and realized that other kids looked at him differently, and maybe they wouldn’t play with him because of him having Down syndrome.

  “Sweet kid,” he mumbled against an alien yet firm tugging in his chest. What was happening to him?

  He adjusted the covers for the umpteenth time beneath his little brother’s chin before taking a stroll to the kitchen for a glass of water. It had taken a few days, but they were starting to get into a routine at night. Robbie had filled him in on the rule about reading a picture book before bed. Phil had complied. Heck, he even enjoyed some of them. After a couple of nights, Phil was even able to sneak back to his own bed.

  Robbie drifted in a sweet oblivious tide of ignorance and bliss hanging out with other toddlers. How much longer would it last? And as long as it did last, Phil wanted nothing more than for him to be well rested and on his best play-pal game at preschool.

  When Robbie didn’t sleep, Phil didn’t either. How in hell had Roma and his dad managed the last four years?

  And when Phil couldn’t sleep, his mind drifted to Stephanie—the last person he needed to think about if he had any hope of getting rest. Maybe he’d taken advantage of the situation by kissing her at the beach, even though she’d done her share of participation with that kiss. It had been a whim. She’d looked so damn sweet and vulnerable, completely different from work. Well, he’d wanted to kiss her, and he had. And he was glad.

  He hadn’t given a no-strings-attached kiss like that since high school. Stephanie’s wounded and fragile air made him extra-cautious. It also drew him to her. Ironically, he only had two months, but he vowed to take things slowly, to give her plenty of leeway. Even if it killed him.

  He scratched his chest and paced back and forth across the kitchen. Stephanie was sleek, not flashy; intelligent, but not street-smart. Her hair changed colors in the sun from brown with a hint of red to full-out copper. Her eyes often looked like honey. And she was sweet, in a withdrawn sort of way.

  He scraped his jaw. Did any of the description make sense? All he knew for sure was a deep gut reaction happened each and every time he saw her. That was not normal. For him.

  What he’d give for a little affectionate nuzzling with her right about now, especially if it quickly evolved into hot and panting sex. But he was going to take it slow. Remember? He sloshed back a quick gulp of cold water.

  Robbie coughed again.

  Phil had already ruled out enlarged adenoids on the kid. He’d played the old airplane spoon of ice cream flying straight for Robbie’s mouth, but only if his brother promised to open wide. He’d flashed his penlight across the back of his throat, in the guise of making sure the runway was clear, and all had looked normal in the tonsil and adenoid department, even though Phil must have looked a fool in order to find out. To be honest, it was kind of fun. He was getting a taste of parenting, and realized some of it wasn’t so bad.

  More muffled coughing drew him back to the guest room. Robbie’s butt was up in the air and his thumb had found its way back to his mouth. Some picture. The nasal cannula delivering a small amount of oxygen he’d tried as an experiment had been removed, giving the boy’s forehead the concentrated air instead of Robbie’s lungs. Phil smiled and shook his head. The stinker really was something. He thought about taking a picture, but he didn’t want to risk waking Robbie up so instead he closed the door all but four inches. Besides, taking a picture would be acting like Jon, and he definitely didn’t want to go down that path.

  Robbie coughed again. Phil ran his hand through his hair, frustrated. He needed to do a bronchoscopy on him, document his condition, and get him started on either CPAP or negative pressure ventilation. Right now the bigger question was, when in his busy clinic schedule would he have time to do one?

  An idea popped into his mind and wouldn’t let go. Weren’t people supposed to face their demons in order to move on? Maybe one small step at a time. Yeah, that might work. If things went as p
lanned, he’d have a coerced but hopefully willing helper on Tuesday evening. How bad could a sedated kid be to be around?

  Maybe he’d finally have proof his brother had tracheobronchomalacia. And if he played his cards right, he’d finagle some extra time with the lovely doctor from the desert.

  On Tuesday afternoon, Stephanie sat in her office with a mug of coffee. Staring out the window through the gorgeous lace curtains to the bright blue sky, she contemplated her schedule for the next week—except her mind kept drifting to a certain moment at the beach on Saturday. Okay, so she was out of practice, but was she such a bad kisser that she’d completely turned Phil off?

  She’d only caught glimpses of him at the clinic since then, and even though she shouldn’t care what he thought about her or her kissing, it made her feel as insecure as if she were still in high school. As if she’d made a mistake by letting him kiss her. But she’d wanted him to.

  She took another sip of coffee, loathing the teenaged insecurity, just as Phil appeared at her door, bringing with him a sudden tingle-fest.

  “Got any plans for tonight?” he asked.

  Why did her mood brighten instantaneously? She had no intention of telling him she’d planned on a little shopping at the Paseo before she took in a movie, alone.

  “A few. Nothing major,” she said, playing it coy.

  One look at his great smile and she wanted to get angry for his turning her world sideways. She wanted to hate him for being so damn charming! But all she could muster was a mental, Wow, I’d forgotten how gorgeous you are.

  “Would you consider doing me a huge favor?” he asked.

  She had nothing better planned, so why not? “Depends.” Heck, he’d been the one avoiding her. Why make it easy?

  He scratched his chin. “As in what’s in it for me, depends?”

  “It depends on what you want me to do.”

  “How about I start by telling you how I’ll repay you?” A single dimple appeared.

  Oh, he thought he was a smooth operator, but she wasn’t that easy. No way. “I don’t do bribes, Hansen. No babies, no bribes. Sorry.”

  He nodded, the second dimple making itself annoyingly visible. “Okay, I’ll come clean.”

  He moved closer and sat on the edge of her desk. She immediately picked up the scent of his crisp and expensive cologne. An impeccable dresser, his pinstriped shirt and flashy patterned tie was the perfect complement to the dark gray slacks. And, sheesh, without even trying, his hair looked great, waving in all the right places, with an unintentional clump falling across his brow.

  “It does involve a kid,” he said. “My kid brother, to be exact.” He raised a finger before she could protest. “But here’s the deal. I need to scope his lungs and I need to do it tonight, and I need some extra hands and credentials to make it legal. You in?”

  She stared at him.

  “It’s not like you’d be babysitting. Think of it as a technical procedure, and I need your help. That’s all.”

  “That tracheobronchomalacia business?”

  He nodded. “I want to get it documented and refer him for CPAP immediately.”

  “What about your dad and stepmom?”

  “I finally got their verbal consent over the phone, and while Robbie’s with me, I have medical consent.”

  “I know nothing about pediatric conscious sedation,” she said.

  “I’ll take care of everything. I just need you to monitor Robbie and inject the drugs while I scope him. I’ll recover him and you can leave as soon as I’m through.”

  She considered his request, but made the stupid mistake of glancing into his eyes, which watched and waited and reminded her of the ocean last Saturday at high noon. He ramped up the pressure by tilting his head and giving a puppy-dog can-we-take-a-walk expression. If Phil handled everything, and all she had to do was administer drugs and do the technical monitoring, maybe she could help him out.

  “What time?”

  “I’ve got to pick him up from day care in ten minutes. Mmm, how about in half an hour?”

  That didn’t give her much time to think it over, or change her mind. She pulled out her drawer and, having learned from her snack expedition the other night with Robbie, found a pack of peanut butter with cheese crackers, tore it open with her teeth, and tossed the first one into her mouth.

  “You’re on,” she said, sounding muffled.

  As naturally as old friends, he kissed her cheek. “You’re the best,” he said, and took off, leaving her chomping on her snack, blowing cracker flakes from her mouth when she sighed. And there was that damn feeling he brought along with him every time they talked—flustered.

  The new and state-of-the-art procedure suite at Midcoast Medical provided the perfect setting for Robbie’s examination. Jason had had the equipment installed after a successful second-quarter report. Every penny they made beyond salaries went right back into their clinic with upgrades and added services. Phil no longer had to rent space at the local hospital to perform his bronchoscopies, taking him away from the clinic, and making his nurse able to increase her hours to full-time as a result.

  But this examination was after hours, and he’d lined up a great replacement for his regular nurse—Stephanie.

  She hadn’t bargained on Robbie being awake when she arrived, and Phil had to do some quick talking to make her stick around.

  “I can’t do this on my own, Stephanie. Please. Five minutes. It will only take five minutes. I promise.”

  She looked pale and hesitated at the procedure-room door, but something, maybe it was Robbie looking so vulnerable and unsuspecting, made her change her mind.

  Robbie fought like the devil when Phil tried to insert an intravenous line, and he thought she’d bolt right then and there. Surprisingly, she held the boy’s arm steady, and with her help they got the IV in and the keep-open solution running. She’d been an unexpected decoy with her medley of wacky kids’ songs. Robbie even giggled a few times. If she didn’t do kids, how did she know all those children’s songs?

  Gowned, gloved and masked, Phil watched Stephanie draw up the quick-acting, deeply sedating medication. He knew there was a fine line between true anesthesia and conscious sedation, and though he wanted to make Robbie comfortable, he didn’t want him too sedated, just out of it long enough to get a minitour inside his lungs. After she had set up Robbie with pulse oximetry, heart and blood-pressure monitor, and supplemental oxygen, he directed her to give the standard pediatric dose for fentanyl and benzodiapine instead of a newer, short-acting drug.

  “No offense, but I only use Propofol when I have an anesthesiologist working with me.” He smiled at her through his mask.

  She tossed him a sassy look. “Believe me, no offense taken, I already feel out of my element here.” With skilled and efficient hands she titrated the drugs into the IV as he applied the topical numbing spray to Robbie’s throat, and within seconds Robbie drifted into twilight sleep.

  “I called ahead to the preschool to hold his lunch, but Robbie loves to eat so much he almost snuck a snack around three today. Fortunately, they caught him, so we shouldn’t have a problem with emesis.” He flipped on the suction machine, using his elbow to protect his sterile gloves. This would be his backup contingency plan in case Robbie did vomit.

  “I’m going to use a pediatric laryngeal mask airway instead of an endotracheal tube.” He showed her the small spoon-shaped device. “As Robbie has the typical shortened Down syndrome neck, an endotracheal tube would have been tricky anyway,” he said as he lubricated the tablespoon-size silicone mask and slipped the tube inside Robbie’s slack mouth. The boy didn’t flinch. “See? I don’t even need a laryngoscope with this gizmo.”

  Once the LMA was in place, Phil immediately reached for his bronchoscope and slipped the flexible tube down Robbie’s trachea for a quick look-see.

  “See that?” he said to Stephanie, who took turns intently watching the procedure on the digital TV screen, keeping track of the heart and BP m
onitor readings, and watching Robbie in the flesh. Sure enough, due to softened cartilage, his trachea showed signs of floppiness and collapsed while he breathed under the sedation. The same thing happened while he slept each night. “This is classic TBM.” Keeping things short and sweet, and already having digitally recorded his findings, Phil removed the scope and quickly followed suit with the laryngeal mask airway. Even though sedated, Robbie coughed and sputtered. “All the kid needs is continuous positive airway pressure while he sleeps, so he won’t have to cough every time his trachea collapses.”

  “That’s great news,” Stephanie said, watching Robbie like an anxious mother hen.

  True to the short-life drug effect, Robbie started to come out of his stupor. “There you go, buddy, we’re all done,” Phil said. He bent over and looked into his blinking eyes. “Are you in there somewhere?”

  The bleary-eyed Robbie tried to look in the vicinity of his voice. Phil set the scope on the counter and prepared to wipe it clean before putting it in the sterilization solution overnight.

  “Can you watch him a few minutes while I clean up?” he asked.

  She nodded, undoing her mask and letting it hang around her neck, though keeping a safe distance from Robbie.

  As with many recently sedated children, Robbie woke up confused, fussing and crying. Phil worked as quickly as he could. “You’re okay, Rob. I’m right here, buddy,” he said. The boy seemed to calm down immediately. Phil smiled, assuming the sound of his voice had done the trick, but when he glanced over his shoulder, he saw a sight that made him smile even wider.

  The I-don’t-do-kids doctor was holding Robbie’s hand and patting it.

  “You at all interested in getting takeout and keeping me company tonight while I help my kid brother recover from major surgery?” He’d lay it on thick, and hope for the best.

  She remained quiet for a few seconds, then let go of Robbie’s hand.

  “I can’t, Phil. I’m sorry.”