Because Of The Baby. Anne Haven
you about it later, okay?”
As soon as we figure out what to do. What to say. Whether we’re going to be husband and wife.
And we’ve got to make the decision soon. Before we talk to my father on Sunday.
Kyle placed that possessive hand on her back again as the three of them went to find their seats. She was pretty sure Barbara noticed, though the other woman made no comment.
WHAT WAS WRONG WITH HIM? He couldn’t keep his hands off her, Kyle reflected as he pulled out of the theater parking lot after the performance. He told himself to cool it. He didn’t want them to do anything physical again. Yet tonight his body had ignored his brain’s commands. He’d even kissed her.
Beside him Melissa stared thoughtfully out the window.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked, wanting distraction from his own ruminations.
“Barbara. I didn’t realize we were so obvious. No one noticed anything before.”
“Last summer, you mean.” No one had noticed anything different between them after they’d made love.
She nodded.
So now they were no longer able to act normal together—the way they had for months.
They were having a baby. Unlike the single night they’d shared, this wasn’t a discrete event that could ever be finished, ever be ignored. The shape of Melissa’s body would soon reveal what was going on inside her. In the spring she would give birth. And their child would remain in their lives.
The knowledge had to affect their behavior. If Barbara had perceived a change, others might, too.
“Maybe my eyes were red,” she said. “Maybe that’s what caught Barbara’s attention. She could tell I’d been crying.”
“I don’t think so,” Kyle said. “Your eyes looked fine…You still think we should get hitched?”
She nodded. “You?”
“Nothing’s changed in the past hour or two. I still can’t see it.”
“Not to mention you’re a confirmed bachelor.”
“Not to mention that.”
He couldn’t believe Melissa had come up with the idea. She’d always been even more terrified of marriage and having a family than he was.
Even more self-protective.
And he didn’t blame her. Who wouldn’t be after what she’d gone through? The accident, losing her mother and brother, surviving when they hadn’t. And afterward her father’s grief, his longing to kill himself. Kyle didn’t know how Melissa had found out about it—he hadn’t had the heart to ask—but he’d often thought about what that knowledge would do to a kid.
His own experience with suicide made it easy for him to imagine.
And now Melissa worked in an E.R. Not a place to let her forget about human tragedy—or make her give up her emotional defenses.
Kyle frowned as he stared at the road in front of them. Perhaps her idea wasn’t so surprising after all, he told himself.
A marriage of convenience, she’d called it. Not a regular one. A much less messy kind of partnership. No unruly emotions, no romantic love to complicate the arrangement.
Oh, Mel. Only you.
CHAPTER FIVE
ON SATURDAYS Kyle usually spent a couple of hours at the clinic. He arrived a bit later than planned, having overslept and then losing a good thirty minutes at the breakfast table, staring off into space. Barely touching his food. Thinking about marriage.
If nothing else it would please his mother. Like many parents she wanted her children to settle down—something neither of her sons had done with much success.
And six years had passed since Felicity. He knew his mother thought it was time to try again.
She adored Melissa, whom she’d met on her yearly trips to Portland, though she’d long since stopped dropping hints about their relationship. If Kyle and Melissa got married his mother would be overjoyed. Not a reason to do it, of course, but it was another factor to consider. He wouldn’t mind giving his mother something to be happy about. She’d suffered enough in her life.
Kyle parked his car around the corner and walked to the clinic, greeting a few of the people he met on the sidewalk. This area of Portland, called Old Town, had a lot of residents—both the indoor and outdoor variety. After working here six years Kyle recognized most of them, and was friendly with many of them.
He wanted to do his part to help make the community a safer, healthier, more hopeful place. Slowly that seemed to be happening, but a lot of work remained to be done. And Old Town would never be the kind of carefree, complacent neighborhood like the ones in the west hills. Too much poverty here, for one thing.
But you couldn’t let it get to you. Not too much. That was a sure way to burn out. Then you were no good to anyone.
Reaching the clinic, he pushed the door and stepped inside. Barbara had arrived a couple of hours earlier and opened up shop with the blond lawyer who volunteered most weekends. Kyle nodded at her and glanced around the waiting area, where a few people already sat.
His gaze landed on Zita, who’d already had an appointment a few days ago. He raised an eyebrow. “How’s it going?”
She gave him a sour look. “Yeah, whatever. Trouble with my foot.”
Her high-top sneakers had several large holes in them, affording him a glimpse of a dirty bandage on one heel.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said. “I’m sure Barbara will help you take care of that.”
“Where’s Doc Lopez?”
For some reason she’d taken a shine to Melissa, even though she ended up yelling at her more often than not during her regular checkups for hypertension and a few other conditions.
“Sorry. She only works Wednesdays.”
“Damn it! Oh, well, Barbara’s cool, too. It’s that other one—” She snapped her fingers in front of her forehead a couple of times.
“Dr. Griffin?”
“Yeah, him. He’s a pig.”
Ross Griffin was a very nice young resident who worked with Melissa up at Northwest Hospital and volunteered whenever his schedule allowed. He was hardly “a pig,” but Kyle refrained from pointing that out. He wouldn’t be able to change her mind.
“Lucky for you he’s not in today,” he said, turning to go to his office. “See you around, Zita. I hope your foot gets better.”
“Sure, fine. Whatever.”
He smiled as he let himself into his office. Coming from Zita that was pretty polite.
He made slow but steady progress on his paperwork, despite his preoccupied state. At one point Barbara dropped in and shared a cup of coffee. She watched him a little more closely than usual, he thought, but she didn’t refer to the previous night.
A little before noon he glanced up from his desk to see a boy, maybe sixteen, standing in the doorway to his office. His light-brown hair hung in greasy tangles around his face and his clothes looked as if they hadn’t seen a washing machine in months. His left wrist was in a splint. He carried an army-surplus duffel bag over his shoulder.
Street kid. He didn’t appear drugged out, Kyle noted—good sign for his future health and safety.
“That black lady said you had some stuff you could give me.” His voice was only slightly sullen.
Kyle stood. “Okay. Personal supplies, that kind of thing?” he asked, walking