thought of her joyless landlord—was throwing everyone out of the building, just in time to turn the place into a Christmas co-op. And with no family to turn to, there was nothing Mindy could do except find another place to stay once that due date arrived.
The phrase due date came back to haunt her as she raced down the stairs toward the street, stuffing her hands into her mittens as she went. Because even though the date of her eviction loomed far more heavily than the date of her baby’s birth, frankly, Mindy wasn’t ready for either of them. Unfortunately for her, though, there was no way she could avoid them. Because they would both be coming, all too soon.
Sure as Christmas.
Dr. Reed Atchison was in a lousy mood. But then, that wasn’t really surprising, seeing as how, so far today, he’d overslept, nicked his chin something fierce while shaving, skidded off a snowy road into a pile of snow that couldn’t have been more inconveniently placed and missed his turnoff on U.S. 31, thanks to unpredictable winter traffic—all of which had added up to making him late for work.
And that had just been that morning.
Since then, Reed had also had to intercede in a near-fracas between two dietary aides over whether Mr. Hunnicutt was on the bland or the high-fiber diet, and he’d had to tell Mrs. Wyatt Westaway that what she’d been certain was a life-threatening, malignant tumor in her chest was really only a gastric reaction spurred by her lactose intolerance. Plus, he had just come from four hours in surgery, and now he was hungrier than he’d ever been in his entire life. And as if all that weren’t enough, to make matters even worse, on top of everything else.
He grumbled under his breath. On top of all that, it was Christmastime. Christmastime. Dammit. Just the thing to make a crummy day even crummier, and to make a scroogey man even scroogier.
Bah, humbug, he thought in the crummiest, scroogiest voice he could mentally muster. What’s for dinner?
As if conjured by his thoughts, his colleague and what passed for his closest friend in the world, Dr. Seth Mahoney, strode into the locker room that all the male surgeons of Seton General Hospital shared. And as always, Seth was way too happy for Reed’s tolerance. Way too warm. Way too sunny of disposition. Way too blond.
Honestly. How Reed and Seth had ever become friends in the first place was a complete and unsolvable mystery. They were opposites in every way, physical as well as metaphysical. Reed’s hair was black, his eyes brown, his features blunt and forbidding. He was the polar opposite of Seth’s blond, blue-eyed, all-American-boyishness. Even their personal philosophies, and their outlooks on life, the universe and everything were totally at odds. Where Seth saw hope for the planet and the good in all people, Reed saw the truth—that they were all headed to hell in a handbasket. In the fast lane. Two at a time.
Total opposites, for sure. Seth, after all, loved this time of year.
“Reed!” the other man exclaimed when he saw Reed struggling to tug on his hiking boot. “Thank God you’re here. I’ve just sewn Mr. Hoberman’s scalp back on, and I’m ravenous for dinner. Care to join me?”
Reed chuckled in spite of himself. “Gee, Seth, put that way, I don’t see how I can resist.” He finished tying up his boots, then rose to jerk a massive, oatmeal-colored sweater on over his T-shirt and faded jeans. That done, he scrubbed both hands restlessly through his dark hair to tame it and rubbed his open palms over a day’s growth of heavy beard.
“But it better be someplace casual,” he added. “I’m not changing my clothes again. And I’m not in the mood to mind my manners, either.”
“And this is news?” Seth pulled the top half of his pale blue hospital scrubs over his head, then dunked it easily into the laundry bin with a proud “Yesss!” for his perfect twopointer. Which was no big deal, seeing as how the bin was only a foot away from the guy, Reed noted with a shake of his head. Then he went to work on his pants.
Once divested of his scrubs, he strode in his boxer shorts to the locker beside Reed’s and wrestled it open. “I was thinking of trying that diner over on Haddonfield Road,” he said, the metallic bang of the locker door punctuating his statement. “Evie’s it’s called. A couple of the nurses ate there the other night and raved about it.”
“Fine,” Reed said as he sat down to wait for his friend to finish dressing. “As long as there’s food—and lots of it—it’ll be perfect. I’m starving.”
Seth’s change of clothes was almost identical to Reed’s, except that his own blue jeans were quite a bit more disreputable looking, and his sweater was a dark charcoal gray.
Jeez, he was blond, Reed thought as he eyed the other man critically. And so damn young to be such a skilled surgeon. Although Reed was only thirty-seven himself, he felt like he was decades older than Seth. Then again, Seth was the med school boy wonder who had graduated from high school at sixteen, completed his premed studies by nineteen and finished his residency three years ago, at the age of twenty-seven. So Seth hadn’t exactly seen the same side of the world growing up that Reed had seen. And for that reason, he had doubtless aged a good bit more slowly.
To the casual observer, that observation would come as something of a surprise, because Reed Atchison was, and always had been, in a seemingly enviable position. He was a member of the generations-old, generations-rich Main Line Atchisons, one of the founding families of Philadelphia. His forebears had made their fortunes generations ago-one side of the family in steel, the other side in oil-and they’d hoarded every penny as if it would be the last they ever saw.
Reed still lived in the family stronghold in Ardmore, even though the massive house was way too big for a confirmed bachelor like himself. He kept a condo here in Cherry Hill, across the river and closer to the hospital, and he used it on those occasions when he didn’t feel like making the drive home across Philadelphia.
He knew he should sell the estate now that both of his parents were gone. He was the last of the Atchisons and would almost certainly remain single and child-free, the end of the generational line. He had no desire to marry, certainly no desire to procreate and no desire to maintain all those family traditions that had been virtually engraved in stone—Italian marble, naturally—before he’d even been born.
Because for all their wealth and social prominence, the generations-old, generations-rich, Main Line Atchisons were also generations-cold and generations-closed-minded. Hell, Reed had had access to all the money and material possessions a kid could ever want when he was growing up. He’d attended all the best schools, had worn all the right clothes, had driven all the most bitchin’ cars and had visited all the most happening vacation spots. But he sure could have used a hug or two along the way, and those had been glaringly absent from all the glitz and glamour.
The moment the thought materialized in his head, Reed shoved it away, frowning. Where the hell had that idea come from, anyway? He never had needed, never did need, never would need, a hug. Not now. Not ever. Hugs were…Well, they were. He fought off an involuntary shudder.
Unnecessary. That’s what hugs were. Reed had lived for thirty-seven years just fine without excessive—or any, for that matter—physical shows of affection and he certainly wasn’t going to start needing them now. Physical displays were way overrated, in his opinion. Signs of weakness.
Which was probably the main reason he’d partaken of so few of them in his life. Certainly he had a normal, healthy sex drive but he’d had little impulse to act on it over the years. He told himself it was because he just didn’t meet that many
