Emergency Baby. Alison Roberts
one day and half the kids would look just like you.’
‘They wouldn’t do that.’ Sam didn’t like the idea of there being an unknown number of half-siblings for any child of her own. ‘Would they?’
‘Depends how short they are on the good oil, I guess.’ Angus certainly wasn’t going to take any of this seriously. ‘Personally, if I was going to have a kid, I’d want to know about it. And I’d want to be there while it was growing up.’
A slightly uncomfortable silence fell for a moment as they all remembered that Angus had recently been dumped by the very woman he would have chosen to be the mother of his children. Alex cleared his throat and took on the task of making the atmosphere less strained.
‘I dunno,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Speaking as someone who has no intention of getting married, it seems like a socially responsible kind of thing to do. I wonder if they let you know about any kids. Send a photograph on birthdays or something.’
‘Doubt it,’ Tom said. ‘They probably wouldn’t want the sprog to know so they definitely wouldn’t want some stranger who’d insist on turning up at birthday parties.’
‘Try a private arrangement,’ Angus suggested.
‘Yeah.’ Sam didn’t want to appear silent for a suspiciously long time. ‘Put an ad in the paper,’ she said lightly. ‘“Sperm available to the right woman. No-strings baby required to preserve an exceptional gene pool.”’
‘No payment required either.’ Tom chuckled. ‘Provided the applicant has an exceptional body.’
They all laughed.
Except Sam.
She was staring at Alex as she experienced her second light-bulb moment in the same day.
He’d be perfect. Smart as a whip. Good-looking. Healthy. What more could she ask for? He wouldn’t make any claims other than genetic responsibility for the child’s best attributes and he’d probably be invited to the birthday parties in any case.
But Alex was shaking his head firmly, almost as though he could read Sam’s thoughts.
‘No way. I’d probably end up having to pay child support for triplets. I’d rather spend my spare money on beer, thanks.’ He picked up the kit he’d abandoned by his feet. ‘Speaking of which…’
‘Yeah. Have a good night.’ Tom finally held the pamphlet out to Sam. ‘Here you go.’
‘You can keep it,’ Sam told him. ‘I really don’t need it anymore.’
Turning, she caught a glimpse of Alex Henry’s back as he disappeared into the locker room. It was hard not to smile.
Everything happened for a reason, didn’t it? It had been worthwhile picking up that pamphlet, that’s for sure.
She could always go and get another one if she needed information but, with a bit of luck and some careful preparation, Sam was quietly confident that she would not need the services of a sperm bank.
Something much better might just become available.
IT COULD never work.
By 10:00 p.m. that night, Sam had changed her mind. Even ignoring having to get over the embarrassment of what she would have to ask Alex to supply, the potential complications of using him as a sperm donor loomed like clouds quite dark enough to dim the light of that bright idea.
What if Alex wanted a say in how the child was raised, for instance? If he thought that day-care centres were less than satisfactory, he would disapprove of Sam returning to her job and their working relationship would be irreparably undermined.
She might have to justify every decision she made, from where and how she chose to give birth to when and how she wanted to start potty training the child. Alex could be just as determined as she was when it came to getting his own way. Sam could conceivably end up with all the disadvantages of being married to the father of her baby without any of the benefits, like someone else getting up at night.
No. Being totally independent about this was the only way to go.
Sam wondered if Tom had thrown that pamphlet away. She would need to check whether she fitted any eligibility criteria for obtaining a totally anonymous donation.
The pamphlet was nowhere to be seen around headquarters the next morning and Sam certainly wasn’t going to make any enquiries, but it didn’t matter because by 11:00 a.m. that day she had changed her mind back again.
Her close observation of Alex since she’d arrived at work at 7:00 a.m. hadn’t been deliberate in any way and Sam was confident it had been subtle enough not to have been noticed. Maybe it had started because she was still finding it impossible not to throw things into the mental scales her brain had activated so energetically last night. She had come to work with the scales way down on the negative side of the equation but, bit by bit, the positive side was getting heavier again.
Maybe that cheerful smile and greeting from Alex had been the catalyst. Everybody else was grumbling about the weather. A southerly blast was catching the east coast of New Zealand’s South Island and it was cold, wet and blustery. Arriving at their airport base, Sam was inclined to agree with the helicopter pilot who was gloomily forecasting a dull day with them not being able to get off the ground.
The squally showers had eased by midmorning but it was still cold and grey and no jobs had come in. Boredom or frustration hadn’t dampened Alex’s mood, however. It never did. How come she had never noticed before how much she appreciated his generally cheerful demeanour? He was never surly first thing or too snappy or irritable when exhausted. Sam had seen him angry when things hadn’t gone the way he’d intended them to go but that anger was almost always used in a positive fashion. If an error had occurred, Alex Henry was going to make damn sure it wasn’t likely to happen again.
Cheerfulness was an attribute high on the list of what desirable children should have. Sam could imagine a small person beaming at her from its cot when she went in to wake it up in the mornings. Or toddling towards her with outstretched arms and a wide, cheeky grin on its face. Just like its father’s. The flash of fantasy was enough to make her smile. She would catch that toddler and hold it close. Maybe swing it around and hear a gurgle of laughter before hugging it tight and planting a kiss on a mop of silky curls.
At 11:30 a.m., Sam’s apparent concentration on her textbook was interrupted by the strident beep of her pager. Alex dropped the car magazine he’d been leafing through and picked up the phone that was a direct link to the control centre.
Sam kept writing to finish the note she was making about ‘Hammon’s crunch’—a noise that could be heard with each heartbeat from mediastinal emphysema caused by a pneumothorax. The incoming job was bound to be road-based, in which case Alex would be keen to drive and he could fill her in at the same time with any details he was gleaning from Control.
Any estimation of blood loss?’ she heard him ask. ‘Any other injuries?’
Something in his tone stilled Sam’s pen. Not tension exactly, but an alertness that suggested he was more than normally interested in what he was hearing. If Alex was that interested, the job had to carry a substantial element of danger.
‘It’ll be up to Terry, I guess.’ Alex was peering up at the sky through the window now. ‘It’s a hell of a lot better than it was an hour ago, anyway.’
So it was a helicopter job. Terry’s pager must have sounded already because he entered the office from where he’d been pottering about in the hangar. He saw the question in Alex’s expression and gave a brief nod.
‘I’ve just had the latest met report,’ he said. ‘We’re sweet.’
That gleam in Alex’s eye