Do You Take This Child? Page 2

  “London?” she guessed.

  It would undoubtedly be safer there, but he probably would have been bored to tears. Slade shook his head. “Bosnia.”

  The answer surprised her. She thought of the stories on the nightly news and tried not to shiver. “If you’re saying that for effect, you’ve succeeded.”

  “Good.”

  He toyed with a wisp of hair at her nape. It curled in the opposite direction than the other tendrils that were cascading around her head. A rebel, he mused. Was she one, too? He watched her eyes as they grew just a shade larger.

  “But it’s true, nonetheless. I’m not here as my editor’s first choice to cover an assignment—”

  She laughed. “Big surprise.” She sipped from her glass.

  He began to wonder what it would be like to have those lips touch his, what it would be like to make slow, passionate love to her.

  “I’m here as a favor,” he continued casually. “Laura needed someone to take notes for her.” He smiled as he thought of how he’d given in and what Laura had said as he’d hung up. “She thought after tonight, I might welcome the overseas assignment.” He decided, by the way the dress adhered to Sheila’s body, that she was wearing very little beneath those sparkling sequins. He also decided that he wanted to verify his theory firsthand. “I was going to agree with her—”

  Sheila lifted her chin, amusement dimpling her mouth. “Until now?”

  His eyes touched hers and they both laughed silently. “Yes.”

  She took another sip before commenting. “Laying it on with a shovel, are we?”

  He took no offense. He liked a woman confident enough not to need flattery. “Too much?”

  She inclined her head, her eyes laughing at him. “Just a tad.”

  He wanted to get to Know her better. Wanted to spend the evening with her and knew he had to act quickly before she slipped away from him. There were more than enough men around to take her away. He’d have to be blind not to notice the way they were looking at her. The way, he knew, he was looking at her.

  Slade smiled engagingly. “Want to start over?”

  She smiled in return, really smiled, and it reminded him of sunrises he’d seen as a kid in Missouri. “Sure, why not?” She put out her hand. “Hello, I’m Dr. Sheila Pollack.”

  He shook her hand and held it in his a moment longer than was necessary. They both liked the contact. “And I have a pain.” With a dramatic flourish, he placed his other hand over his heart. “Right here.”

  Very gently, she eased her hand from his. “Funny.” Her eyes shone with amusement. “I would have diagnosed the pain as being a little lower than that.”

  “I like you, Dr. Sheila Pollack.”

  And he did. For him, it was always that fast. He wasn’t the type to mull things over and examine them beneath a microscope. A thing was either right, or it wasn’t. And Sheila Pollack was right. Right for him, right for this moment in time within his life.

  The warmth of her smile told him that the feeling was mutual. “I already gathered that.”

  Pretending that they were still in the introductory state, he continued, “Don’t you want to know what my name is?”

  Her eyes told him that she already had a name for him. He wondered if it was flattering. “I’d rather see your press card. At least then I’d be convinced that some of this story is true.”

  Vibrant but cautious. An interesting combination. He rather liked that.

  When he handed her his wallet, opened to the press card, Sheila actually looked surprised. “Not a very flattering photograph, but it is mine,” he said.

  She held the wallet in her hand, reading his name, then raised her eyes to his face. He could have sworn that there was a flicker of admiration in them before she flipped his wallet closed.

  “So it is. Well, Mr. Garrett.” She handed the wallet back to him. “Unless you know a very good forger, you seem to be with the Times, just as you said.”

  “I never lie.” He had the good grace to stick his tongue in his cheek as he said it. Then, linking his arm through hers, he began to lead her off to the terrace. In the background, a Johnny Mathis song was just beginning. “Now, about that plain...”

  She laughed, her body leaning into his. “I recommend dancing to ease it”

  He couldn’t think of a better way to hold her in his arms. “Dancing?”

  Sheila nodded. She could feel her blood begin to rush, a prophecy of things to come. “Uh-huh. And preferably in the moonlight.”

  He looked up. Above them the sky was black as velvet with a smattering of tiny silvery pinholes punched into it in various places. “Well, I’ll be. Just what the doctor ordered.”

  Slade slipped his fingers through Sheila’s, linking them together as he drew her closer to him. They began to sway ever so slightly to the music that had followed them out.

  “Yes,” Sheila murmured, her voice low and silky, “it is.” He breathed in the heady scent from her hair as she rested her head against his shoulder and wondered how he’d managed to slip into heaven without knowing that he had died.

  It was an evening that began with a smile and ended with far more than that in a tiny cove on a private beach not too far away from the hospital that the fund-raiser was attempting to benefit that night. Sheila knew the owners, who were conveniently away on a trip.

  He hadn’t known that it was possible to feel this way about a woman, to find so many layers of enjoyment in such a small space of time.

  Shrouded by the moonlight, in his arms, Sheila had been everything he had ever wanted in a woman. Given him everything he could have ever hoped for. More.

  And less.

  Less, because she had asked for nothing in return while silently giving everything to him that a woman could. Her body, her soul. He couldn’t ever remember responding like this, being both master and slave, lover and the one loved. It was like falling under a spell. Like magic. He was convinced that there was no other word for it, save for that.

  Magic.

  What had happened to him, between them, fueled his dreams for months afterward. More than once, the memory he kept pressed close to his heart had given him the only solace in a world gone mad.

  They’d talked and made love all night. He’d left Sheila in the parking lot of the hotel at dawn the next day, knowing that for a brief moment in time, they had been each other’s soul mates. Knowing, too, without it ever having been said, that for both of them that small island of time they had shared had been different.

  So here he was, about to “look her up” after all this time. What if she wasn’t as wonderful as he’d remembered?

  What if she was?

  And after he saw her, then what? Would he suggest having dinner? After having made love with her beneath a blanket of stars, dinner somehow seemed far too mundane and ordinary a way to go.

  And yet, Slade instinctively knew that with Sheila nothing could be mundane and ordinary.

  He tugged on his pocket and then cursed roundly when his fingers came in contact with only material. Damn, but he was making noises like some love-struck puppy rather than a hardened, thirty-three-year-old journalist who had kicked around the world a number of times.

  Johnny Mathis’s voice had faded away on a lyrical note. A fast-talking deejay was hawking a contest and laughing at his own nonstop patter. Slade snapped off the radio and rubbed a hand over his chin again. This wasn’t like him, hesitating like this.

  Just what was he afraid of? It wasn’t as if he was about to meet his destiny. That only waited on the battlefields.

  No time like the present to see if his dream would dissolve on contact like cheap dish detergent at the first sign of crockery.

  Unfolding his long, lanky frame, he got out of his sports car and slammed the door closed. The lock snapped on automatically.

  Anticipation heightened his heart rate. He felt the way he had six months ago while waiting to meet a source on the back streets of what was left of downtown Beirut.
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  Stepping aside for an elderly couple, Slade walked into the medical building’s sun-filled lobby. There was a pharmacy on the right, its window lined with a gay array of stuffed animals guaranteed to take a small child’s mind off the pending visit to the doctor. It was doing a fair amount of business. On the left, next to the elevators, were two large black boards encased in glass.

  Slade scanned the names on the directory until he found hers: Pollack, Dr. Sheila. Suite 812.

  Probably had a good view of Catalina from her window, he mused, pressing for the elevator.

  He thought it both annoying and amusing that his palm was damp.

  By the time the elevator arrived, he wasn’t alone. Three other people had joined him, and just as the doors began to close, a woman ran up, dragging a child in her wake. The doors shuddered open again, and then closed in earnest. The little boy fidgeted and wiggled against Slade’s leg. The boy’s mother looked harried. It made him glad he didn’t have any kids of his own.

  Slade watched the digital numbers change shape overhead, holding his breath without realizing it.

  He’d woken up at two in the morning to the sound of bombs bursting overhead, had run from sniper fire through a city street reduced to rubble, and had lived with refugees in the mountains, sharing their meager food and even more meager dreams for peace, just to get a story. Running on adrenaline and little else, Slade couldn’t remember feeling uneasy during any of those times.

  Then why should he feel that way now, simply riding up in an elevator?

  He supposed the answer was because none of that had seemed very real to him at the time. It was almost as if he were reading about his life right along with the rest of the Times’s readership.

  This, however, had an Andy-Hardy-talks-to-the-judge quality to it that brought it all vividly home to him.

  You could take the boy out of the small town, Slade thought, passingly amused, but you couldn’t take the small town out of the boy.

  He was the last one off the elevator on eight. There were no other floors. There was no more wasting time. Just as the doors shut behind him, Slade debated riding down again and forgetting the whole thing. After all, he reasoned, a dream could continue as long as it wasn’t disproven. As long as nothing came along to make it burst apart.

  Coward’s way, he upbraided himself silently. And it had been a long time since he had permitted himself to be a coward. There was no room for it in his life.

  Arrows on the wall above a sign told him which direction to take. He made a left at the end of a long, slender corridor.

  Her office was in the middle of the hall. Suite 812. Dr. Sheila Pollack, Ob-Gyn, the plaque proclaimed. He was vaguely aware of soft music coming from inside the room.

  Slade wondered if she’d be surprised to see him standing here. God knew, he was surprised to see himself standing here.

  Feeling like he was invading a foreign country, he turned the doorknob and walked in.

  The reception area was spacious, with light blue walls adding a sense of tranquillity. There were ten straight-back, light blue upholstered chairs with highly polished, stained ash arms that were shaped like curled talons, five on either side of a marble-topped coffee table. The effect was more reminiscent of an old world salon where people gathered to exchange ideas than a doctor’s office.

  It reminded him of her.

  He approached the desk and knocked on the closed frosted glass window. The nurse who opened it looked at him curiously. She glanced down to see if he was holding anything in his hand.

  Probably thought he was a pharmaceutical salesman, Slade guessed. “Hi, is Dr. Pollack in?”

  “Yes,” replied the nurse, Lisa according to the name pinned on her crisp white uniform. She waited patiently for him to continue.

  A little of his own impatience surfaced. “Well, could I see her?”

  Lisa wondered if he had read the sign on the door. “Um, maybe you’re looking for Dr. Theodore Pollack,” she suggested politely. “Sixth floor. Room number—”

  Theodore Pollack? The name was vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t remember where he’d heard it before. Slade wondered if Theodore was her husband and if he’d been entertaining a married woman in his dreams. And for one magnificent night, in his arms.

  “No, it’s Sheila Pollack I want to see.” He glanced behind him. There were three women in the office, all very pregnant. His mouth curved slightly. “Off the record.”

  That was an odd way to put it, Lisa thought, then understood. “Oh, you mean personally.”

  “Yes.”

  Very personally, he thought, feeling a longing traveling through him. God, the next thing that was going to happen was that he’d start breaking out like some pubescent teenager.

  Lisa looked at him uncertainly. The doctor would have mentioned someone like this if she was expecting him, wouldn’t she? She glanced over her shoulder involuntarily. “She’s busy now.”

  Well, he’d waited this long, he could wait a little while longer. He supposed he couldn’t expect to go in just like that.

  Slade nodded, resigning himself to the fact. “I’ll wait.”

  He looked completely out of place in the waiting room, Lisa thought. She rose from her chair. “Can I tell her who’s waiting?”

  “Sure.” He picked up a business magazine just to give his hands something to do. “Tell her it’s someone who would like another dance in the moonlight when she’s free.”

  One of the women behind him laughed softly. He smiled in response as he turned to sit down. He looked at the woman fleetingly, and she blushed in response.

  Lisa slid the frosted glass closed again. She excused herself after the fact and disappeared into one of the inner rooms.

  Chapter Two

  Sheila carefully placed the tissue sample she’d just taken from her patient onto the sterile glass slide and sealed it. Only then did she glance up to see why one of her nurses had entered the room during an examination after only a perfunctory knock, without waiting to be told to come in.

  Lisa looked confused, Sheila thought. The young nurse had been with her since she had set up her practice across the street from Harris Memorial. Very little tended to rattle her. That something had now piqued Sheila’s curiosity.

  Pushing away from the metal stirrups, Sheila rose gingerly from her stool. “What’s the matter, Lisa? Is someone throwing up on one of the chairs again?”

  The last time had been so bad, the cleaning service hadn’t been able to save it. She’d had to have the chair reupholstered. Given the heavy traffic of pregnant women she had been seeing lately, she was surprised it didn’t happen more frequently. Plastic slipcovers might have been an alternative if she didn’t hate the idea so much. Half her patients were uncomfortable enough without having to unstick themselves from the furniture whenever they got up.

  Lisa shook her head in response, then waited a moment before she answered. She glanced uncertainly at the doctor’s patient and lowered her voice. “There’s a man in the waiting room. He wants to see you.”

  That wasn’t so unusual, Sheila mused. She placed the slide on the counter beside its label. The pickup from the lab was at three. She had to remember to give the slide to Ruth to add to the collection.

  “With his wife?” she asked absently.

  “No.”

  Sheila shrugged as she put the slide into the bubble-lined manila envelope. “Maybe he wants to see my father.”

  It wouldn’t be the first time a new patient would wander into the wrong office by mistake. When her mother had had her office in the same building, mix-ups occurred with a fair amount of regularity.

  Lisa shook her head. “I already gave him that choice. He wants to see you.”

  On occasion Sheila found herself in the position of having to assuage a nervous husband’s fears. Not everyone greeted pregnancy with optimism and open arms. Sometimes husbands turned out to be more frightened than their wives about what lay ahead in the coming months before delivery.
Sheila supposed she could give the man a few minutes between patients, provided his questions were simple and few. Otherwise, she’d have to see him after hours.

  Provided she had after hours, she thought, unconsciously rubbing her stomach. She’d already had false labor pains once, and had checked herself into the hospital last week just in case. Today the pains felt worse, more intense, as if they were all building up toward a huge finale.

  Sheila washed her hands, then dried them. A pink paper towel fluttered into the wastebasket. “Did he give you a name?”

  “No. He said to tell you that he’d like another dance in the moonlight when you have the time.” Lisa held her breath as she watched Sheila’s face for a reaction.

  Heart thudding madly against her ribs, Sheila almost knocked the baby monitor off the counter. Flashing her patient a quick smile, she barely whispered, “I’ll just be a minute,” before taking Lisa out into the hall.

  It couldn’t be.

  And yet, it had to be. Coincidence only stretched so far. Besides, who else would have asked about a dance in the moonlight?

  Sheila immediately looked toward the reception area, but the sliding frosted glass windowpane was closed, blocking her view of the waiting room. All she saw were misty shapes that could have been anyone.

  But one of them belonged to him. She’d swear to it.

  Slade.

  She wasn’t prepared to entertain specters from her past right now. She had patients and pain to deal with. She took hold of Lisa’s arm.

  “This man, what does he look like?” Lisa winced and Sheila realized that she was holding on too tightly. Chagrined, she dropped her hand.

  Lisa wasn’t aware that she sighed before answering, but Sheila was. It gave Sheila her answer before Lisa even opened her mouth. “Kind of craggy, but good-looking. Very good-looking.”

  That would be the way to describe him, Sheila thought. Craggy but good-looking. Bone-meltingly good-looking. “About six-two, brown eyes, dark brown hair, lopsided smile?” She didn’t know why she was bothering to ask. It had to be him.