cup from the water cooler and handed it to the child. The little boy stared at it as if it might just contain poison, but then his thirst got the better of him and he drank.
It was a respite—albeit a minor one—but it gave Nate breathing space. Space to know one thing for certain.
‘Whether I’m her father or not is immaterial,’ he said flatly. ‘I can’t have her.’
‘Whether you’re her father or not isn’t the least bit immaterial. She’s yours.’
‘I don’t want her.’
‘You’d rather she was adopted by strangers?’
That was another kick to the guts. His eyes flew to hers. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Just that. It’s you or adoption. Take your pick.’
‘But you… You’re obviously caring for her.’
‘Yes. But I can’t keep her.’
‘Why not?’ His voice came out almost as a croak. He sounded sick. Well, why wouldn’t he sound sick? He surely felt like that.
‘I have my own life—’ she started.
He wasn’t buying into this. She’d taken on the baby’s care already. What could be more logical than asking her to keep up the good work? ‘This is your sister’s child.’ He forced his voice to stay steady, despite thoughts that weren’t the least bit steady. His thoughts were close to panic. ‘And you have a child already.’ He took a deep breath, thinking it through.
‘Look, crazy or not… If it’s proven that she’s mine—and I’m not conceding that yet, but if she is—then I guess I’m stuck with child support. I’ll pay you to keep her.’
Her eyes flashed anger at that. ‘Oh, that’s very generous. I don’t think.’
‘Well, what else do you expect me to do?’
‘Shoulder your responsibilities,’ she snapped. ‘And not offload them onto me. I’ve had enough.’
He focused on her then. Really focused.
She’d had enough.
It was true, he thought. Her face was pale with strain and her eyes were dark pools of exhaustion.
What had she said? That Fiona had died in childbirth. It sounded unbelievable. Vibrant, alive Fiona.
Crazy Fiona.
But Gemma had lost her sister.
‘How did she die?’ he asked, his tone softening, and he saw her eyes widen in surprise. She hadn’t expected compassion.
‘I don’t…’
He took a deep breath. ‘Look, maybe we’d better have the whole story. Did she die of eclampsia?’
‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘She died of kidney failure caused by her pregnancy combined with uncontrolled diabetes. She died because she didn’t give a toss for her life—or the lives of her children. Both of them.’
Both of them.
Both…
Wasn’t the little boy hers, then?
Nate stared at the child, stunned, and then he looked at Gemma. There were similarities, he thought. Woman and boy were both dark-haired and pale-skinned. They looked like mother and son. But…maybe there were stronger similarities between the child and what he remembered of Fiona.
And the girl herself reminded him of Fiona. Though there were marked differences. Fiona had been almost ethereal in her beauty. She’d dressed with flamboyance and skill—and considerable expense—and he’d never seen her without make-up.
This girl looked as if she didn’t know what make-up was. And her clothes…! Her clothes wouldn’t be welcome at a welfare shop, he thought. They were dreadful.
But he could still see the resemblance—both to Fiona and to the little boy by her side.
And he remembered what the little boy had said. ‘Gemma, I’m thirsty.’ Not ‘Mummy, I’m thirsty.’
‘This is Fiona’s child?’
‘Good guess.’
‘You don’t want me to take him, too?’ It was a harsh snap and she blinked. And then she smiled. Her arm came out and she hugged the little boy to her.
‘No fear. Fiona was Cady’s birth mother but I’ve been mother to him for over two years now. Cady and I are a team.’
They were, too. Woman and child against the world. He stared at them both and they stared back—and again he felt his gut twist in a recognition of…
Of what? Of something. And he didn’t know what the hell it was.
He took a grip on himself. Sort of. ‘You’re not prepared to take on a second?’
‘No.’
‘You’d better explain.’
Her chin jutted. ‘I don’t see why I need to.’
Heck, she couldn’t just leave. She couldn’t. What was she proposing—that she just set down the baby and walk away? The prospect made him feel dizzy. His world was tipping on its axis and he cautiously placed his hands flat down on the desk as if righting himself.
‘I… Please.’ Once more he forced his voice to steady. ‘No, of course you don’t need to. But…but I need to know. Everything.’
She stared at him for a long, long minute. And then she lifted the cup from her nephew’s hands and set it on the desk.
‘Cady, look. There’s blocks in the corner,’ she told him, motioning to where Nate kept a basket of toys to amuse small children. ‘Can you build me a house?’
Cady considered and then nodded, with all the gravity of a carpenter agreeing to sign a contract for house construction.
‘Sure.’ He knelt on the floor and started to build. One block after another. The sight was somehow comforting compared to the unbelievable conversation that was taking place over the desk.
But then the doctor in him focused. The child seemed to be building more by feel than sight. He was lifting the coloured blocks and feeling their edges, fitting them together with a satisfactory click.
Was he blind? Maybe he normally wore glasses…
It wasn’t his business. Cady wasn’t his patient. Somehow this crazy conversation had to resume.
‘Right,’ Nate said. He took a deep breath and braced. ‘Tell me.’
‘My sister was… I think you could almost call her manic.’
‘Now,
