Assignment: Baby. Lynne Marshall
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From time to time in the office, Sophie let out a shrill noise, or banged a slobbery rubber toy until it squeaked. Over and over. Would he ever get used to being around a kid?
At the first outburst, Mandy had jumped in her seat and tossed her pen in surprise. He’d bitten back his urge to laugh at her. Yeah, well, get used to it. This is the reality of a baby, sweetheart.
Mandy looked even more tired than yesterday, as though she’d only gotten a few hours’ sleep. Considering all that his guilty conscience had dredged up last night, about what he’d once said or done to Mandy, he’d managed to sleep fairly well. But packing up a child and commuting at the peak traffic hour had put him behind schedule again. Sophie hated being cooped up in a car seat, and made his life miserable with protest. This routine would grow stale quickly, but he’d do it—because he’d committed to Mandy and Dr. Hersh, and he owed them both. He owed it to his father, too.
Noticing the tension at the corners of Mandy’s eyes, he wondered if their being forced to work together was such a good idea after all. Did either of them need to be reminded that they’d once shared a great love and blown it? And now he was dangling the baby she’d wanted all along right before her eyes.
“Here,” he said. “I snagged you a cup of coffee from the employee lounge. You look like you need it.”
“Oh, thanks. But you have it.”
“You’re saying no to coffee? Are you the same woman who used to savor that first cup every day?”
She gave a lifeless smile that didn’t come close to her eyes. “Now I only do decaf.”
That was certainly a change. Something wasn’t right, and he had strong suspicions it had nothing to do with the coffee.
“Is something bothering you?” He took a sip rather than waste the drink.
“What? Oh, no.” She reached for the stack of neatly piled charts on her desk and took the next one.
“You seem upset about something. It’s me, isn’t it?”
Her shoulders slumped and she stopped thumbing through the charts. “Men.” She sighed. She thinned her lips and shook her head. “You’re not the center of my universe, Hunter.”
To lighten things up, he feigned a wound to the heart and waited for her to unwind a bit. “What is it, then? Is there something I can help you with?”
“Do you really need to know? We’re nothing more than business associates. Remember?”
In other words…back off. Hunter nodded knowingly. “Gotcha.” He reached for his next patient’s chart and made some preliminary notes on the form to distract himself as Mandy’s words echoed in his head. We’re nothing more than business associates.
By lunchtime they’d each performed ten physicals. Amanda hoped she could set up the participants with the overnight halter monitors quickly. She wanted to leave early to rest a bit before her Urgent Care duty, which began at seven. Hunter had told her he had alate-a fternoon clinic scheduled back at Mercy Hospital. In light of her recent diagnosis, she knew she needed to stay calm and get more rest, but life wasn’t exactly cooperating. She’d had palpitations a couple of times already this morning, and couldn’t afford to keep feeling so stressed. If she didn’t watch out she would wind up back in the ER. And then where would her Mending Hearts Club program be?
And Hunter. How was she supposed to handle working with him every day, pretending she was fine with it, and that her heart didn’t still have a gaping wound where he was concerned? The smell of his aftershave reminded her how, when they’d first broken up, she’d bought his brand and sniffed it like potpourri. Then cried until her nose was congested and she couldn’t smell anymore. How pitiful was that?
Amanda sat at her desk, cradling her forehead in her hands. Sophie was quiet, and Amanda had been so wrapped up in her thoughts she’d forgotten the baby was even there. Was that treating her like a houseplant? She glanced into the playpen. Sophie had fallen asleep; no wonder she hadn’t noticed her. The nap probably had to do with the soothing nocturne now playing on Hunter’s laptop. Too bad it hadn’t helped her headache.
“There’s nothing like Chopin’s piano pieces to massage the nerves.” Hunter’s distinct masculine voice as he entered the room made Amanda gasp and jerk her head up. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“I’m just a bit edgy,” she said. “I don’t recall you being a Chopin man.”
“You’re looking at the new and improved version of me.”
“Yeah? Well, for the record, I liked your old nose better.” Why did his mere presence make her feel so testy?
Taking her rebuke in his stride, Hunter sat and hitched half his mouth into a smile, then rubbed the bump on the bridge of his nose. “Yeah? Well, I got it defending myself against a gang of hoodlums.”
“Really?” she said flatly.
“Must have been a dozen of them. Came at me from all angles.” “Uh-huh.” His efforts at lightening her mood failed miserably. “And they were huge.
She avoided looking at him, fearing she might crack a smile. After a moment, he rolled his chair next to hers. He had that I’ve-been-thinking look in his eyes.
When they’d been married, and they’d had a problem to solve, he’d withdraw for anywhere from a few hours to a few days—then suddenly resurface with that exact expression to present his fail-safe plan. The problem was, she’d rarely agreed with his solutions.
Well, here he was beside her, looking that way again, and she wondered what great insight he was about to share.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said.
She almost smiled.
He touched her hand with one finger, causing an unwanted spark of warmth on the underside of her wrist.
He gave an understanding nod. “This is a bizarre situation, given our history, but if we keep reminding ourselves it’s strictly a professional association, things should work out. I admit that seeing you has been a shock, and you’ve admitted it was the same for you, but we’ll get used to being around each other again.” He rested his hand on hers and looked into her eyes. She blinked. “Let’s just keep focused on why we’re here. This is for Joel and my father—and whatever reason you’re working so passionately for.”
She’d resisted that tingle at first contact by tricking herself into thinking it was a fluke. Her hand had been cold, and that was why she’d felt it. That was all. But now, with his hand on top of hers, the unsettled feeling made her want to squirm. The touch crept up the surface of her skin as if a cool breath tickled the inside of her elbow. It had been hard enough facing him after years of separation; now, adding this innocent touch, it all felt far too intimate. She couldn’t let herself go there.
“Mandy, you’re not the only one feeling all mixed up.”
“I realize that,” she said, removing her hand and diverting her eyes. Had he read her mind?