was one of the local certified nurse midwives, Carmen Sanchez, and his budding excitement over the prospect of a new case dimmed. He was the OB on call tonight, but unless there were complications severe enough to warrant bringing him in, he probably wouldn’t be involved.
They all raced by the nurses’ station where he stood. Wendy glanced his way and he couldn’t help but notice her long black hair and gorgeous dark eyes. She was curvy and petite, maybe half a foot shorter than his own six-one height.
He had more than enough on his plate at the moment, but couldn’t squelch his curiosity about the new case, and found himself tracking the quartet’s progress across the busy ER. They loaded onto an elevator, most likely headed for the maternity ward upstairs.
Tom glanced at the dour-faced nurse sitting at the desk before him. “Uh, I think I’ll head up to L&D to see if they need help.”
“What about the rest of these charts?” the nurse called, her scowl imposing as she pointed at the neat stack of abandoned files he’d left behind.
“I’ll get to them later.” He backed toward the elevator. “Duty calls.”
The doors opened, and he turned to find Wendy blocking his way.
She stared up at him. “Just the man I wanted to see.”
He ignored the skip of his pulse and the odd tingle in his bloodstream. It had been so long since anyone had been glad to see him, that had to be it. He swallowed hard and stepped on board the elevator. “What’s up?”
“Carmen Sanchez asked for you in Labor and Delivery.” Her tone was crisp and clear, like any normal professional nurse-doctor communication, yet it still sent a shiver up Tom’s spine.
“Oh. Okay.” He did his best to concentrate on the situation and not the woman beside him. Flirting shouldn’t even enter into this scenario, no matter how lonely he was. It wasn’t the time, and this certainly wasn’t the place. “For a consult?”
“Yep.” Fear and concern flickered in her dark eyes, mixed with fierce determination. With a curt nod, she pressed the button for L&D and the doors hissed closed, blocking out the chaos of the ER. “My sister-in-law’s having twins.”
The elevator jolted upward.
“Right. I meant to introduce myself before this, since you’re chatting with my daughter, Sam.” He extended his hand, feeling awkward. “Tom Farber.”
She shook it, her grip strong and sure, her skin soft and warm against his.
Not that he noticed. Nope.
“Of course. Wendy Smith,” she said. “Nice to meet you.”
WENDY FELT AS if a fireball had exploded in her body. With one brief touch, this guy had turned her insides into a puddle of goo. An electric charge raced upward from where his palm pressed against hers, warming her, making her throb in parts that had no business throbbing.
She doused those flames fast.
Poor Aiyana was upstairs, about to give birth, and here she was drooling over a hot doc—and Sam’s father to boot! Not good. Tom shifted his stance, his arm brushing hers, and fresh sparks fizzed through her body. Trying not to fidget, Wendy studied the metal doors in front of her, doing her best to ignore the hunk beside her and failing miserably.
At last the elevator dinged, and the doors opened.
While Tom talked with one of the delivery nurses, Wendy snuck a closer look at Dr. Tom Farber. Shaggy blond hair—with highlights of wheat and gold. Bright, intelligent blue eyes that sparkled when he smiled. Tanned, chiseled face, high cheekbones and a shadow of dark stubble on his jaw. Her gaze moved downward to his broad shoulders and muscled arms. He obviously worked out, his faded green scrubs fitting like a glove, not too tight but not baggy either.
Carmen rushed over, her lilting Trinidadian accent low and calm. “Thanks for coming so quickly, Dr. Farber. I need your opinion on a multiple birth.”
They all went into Aiyana’s room, where she was sitting on a large therapy ball, rocking back and forth. Ned rushed to his wife’s side, his emotions written all over his face—panic, compassion, anticipation and a hint of excitement. The guy might be Wendy’s own tough older brother, but when it came to his wife’s labor, he was a nervous dad-to-be like every other man.
Wendy was there for emotional support, not in a professional capacity. Thankfully, when she’d called Jake earlier he’d told her not to worry about her shift tonight in the ER and to take off all the time she needed to be with her family. Wendy never used her vacation days, so she had plenty saved up.
She and Tom stood at the end of the bed and he reached across her to grab the chart. Golden hair peppered the tanned skin of his muscled forearm, his fingers long and tapered. Surgeon’s hands. God, there was something about a man with sexy arms and hands...
Nope. Wendy shook her head, driving away those errant thoughts. She needed to concentrate on providing comfort and coaching to her sister-in-law. That’s why she was here. Still, Tom’s scent wafted around her—citrus, spice and a hint of soap—smelling better than any man had a right to, darn him.
“Are you okay, uuman?” Ned asked Aiyana, rubbing his wife’s back.
Tom leaned closer to Wendy, his breath tickling her ear. “What does uuman mean?”
She smiled. “It’s Iñupiat. It means heart. An endearment.”
He nodded, his eyes glittering with interest. “Your family’s Native American, then.”
“Yes. Half, anyway. Our mom was white.”
“I see.” He went over Aiyana’s chart again, frowning.
Wendy forced her tense shoulders to relax. “Anything to be worried about?”
“No, not that I see. She can continue with Carmen, but I’ll keep a close eye anyway.” Snapping the file shut, his hand brushed hers and awareness zinged through her once more. Wendy stepped a bit farther away from him, from unwanted temptation.
This was all about birthing the twins, not drooling over Dr. Tall, Blond and Beefcake.
The sooner she got her priorities straight, the better.
* * *
Tom put the chart back in the holder, then fiddled with the papers and notes sticking out the sides, ensuring they were all neat and tidy, grateful for something to do with his hands that didn’t involve brushing up against Wendy again.
Going over the history and physical, he’d noted that the husband, Wendy’s brother, had a family history of Huntington’s disease. It was a rare condition and one that had given him pause for a moment. Not out of fear for the patient and her babies—he’d seen that Ned’s test results for the mutation had been negative, so there was no concern of him passing it on—but out of concern for Wendy.
He didn’t know her that well,
