have guessed he’d have so little time with her?
And who would have guessed he’d continue to feel guilty about her, even after all this time. That, too, was part of Darcy’s legacy. Because, although he’d have died before admitting it to anyone, he knew that he’d never really loved Angela. Not when they were dating. Not when they were married. Not when she’d gotten pregnant. Not even when she was on her deathbed.
Angela had never been first in his heart. Darcy was already there.
THE PHONE CALL had come early in the morning. A request, the woman said, from Dr. Maitland to come in for some blood tests and to fill out paperwork.
But as she sat on the paper sheet that covered the middle of the examination table, Darcy wondered if she’d jumped to conclusions about what it meant.
Had he decided to take her as a patient? Or was this a pretext to see her, only to refer her to another doctor?
She’d lost her ability to read him. Of course she had, what did she expect? They’d been so young, and their combined life experience wouldn’t have filled a chapter in a memoir. The cold truth was that they’d never had more than a friendship, and that had ended the day she got on the plane for New York. It was only her need for roots that had brought her back. Not her need for Mitchell Maitland—except for his expertise.
Last night she’d been restless, and it was more from her thoughts about Mitchell than the noises in the hotel. She’d waffled so much about having him as her doctor, she’d ended up falling asleep from sheer exhaustion.
But before that final lights-out, she’d at least been able to see that her emotional upheaval hadn’t been about Mitchell per se, but about what he represented. With him, life had been innocent and enchanting, and the world had held nothing but promise. That’s why she wanted her child to be born here. And why she’d gone to Mitch. If he helped her have this baby, she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that the Maitlands would keep an eye on the child. Just as they’d kept an eye on her when she’d had so much trouble at home.
The question that kept nagging at her was whether she was being fair to them. Maybe she should just come right out and ask.
She heard a soft knock at the door, and she sat up straighter. It was Mitch. Her chest constricted at the sight of him, and she felt as though she couldn’t get enough air. She tried to read his decision in his expression, but she got lost somewhere in those dark green eyes.
He had his hand on the door, but he didn’t push it closed behind him. His hesitance was mirrored in his gaze. Should he or shouldn’t he? Would he be part of her future or her past?
When he exhaled, she realized she’d been holding her breath, too. When he smiled at her, she realized she’d been holding her heart at bay for longer than she cared to remember.
“Thanks for coming in at the last minute,” he said, his voice warming her like a blanket.
She nodded, wanting to prod him along, afraid to speak in case it sidetracked him.
He looked at her carefully, and this time his gaze was more clinical. This was Dr. Maitland, the man with the diplomas on the wall, and he was examining her with all the earnestness he’d had as a student.
Please say yes, she prayed. Say yes, and give my unborn baby the kind of childhood I’ve always dreamed of.
He cocked his head. “Darcy?”
“Yes?”
“Know what I thought of this morning?”
“What?”
“Twenty-two, fourteen, twenty-seven.”
She grinned, knowing immediately what the numbers meant. “My locker.”
He nodded. “That unholy mess you called a locker.”
“It had character.”
“It had mold.”
She laughed. She had her answer. And maybe she had her friend back.
He grinned, too, as he approached her. After he put her chart on the shelf to his right, he took her hands in his. “Are you sure you want me to help you with this inception?”
She nodded.
“You realize I’m going to have to examine you. Often.”
“Yeah, I know. Believe me. A few years ago, I wouldn’t have been able to do it, but now… I know you’ll be completely professional. And frankly, I lost my modesty a long time ago. It’s hard to be prudish when a photographer is adjusting your boobs in front of hundreds of people.”
She saw that he still wasn’t convinced. Well, neither was she. Not one hundred percent. “Here’s the deal. I think once we get through the first exam, everything will be okay. But if it’s not, I’ll make other arrangements.”
“Fair enough.”
She looked at her jeans and T-shirt. “Do you want to do it now?”
“Nope. Not today. Today is blood tests and paperwork.”
“Good.”
He let go of her hands. “I’m going to send in Tracy, who does a terrific job of not hurting people. Then I’ll come back to ask you some questions.”
“Like Jeopardy?”
His chuckle made her tummy tighten. “If you like. But I think it will go faster if I just ask them the normal way.”
“Spoilsport.”
He turned to leave, but she wasn’t ready for him to go yet. “Hey, Maitland.”
“Yeah?”
“You still eat peanut butter every day?”
“Not every day. But I confess, there are times—”
“When you get out the tablespoon?”
“It’s a perfectly harmless fetish.”
“Bologna and peanut butter sandwiches are not harmless. They’ve been proven to blind laboratory rats.”
“You forgot. Bologna, peanut butter and mayonnaise.”
She shuddered dramatically. Then she caught his gaze again, and the temperature in the room shot up about ten degrees. “Do you have someone?” she asked, just as surprised as he was at the abrupt segue.
“Someone?”
She needed to know. Now. Whatever the answer was, it would be okay. In fact, it might be better all around if he was taken. “You know,” she elaborated, keeping her tone light as a feather, “a wife.”
He swallowed hard enough for her to notice his Adam’s apple. “No. I did have, once.”
“Oh.” She waited for him to go on, but he didn’t. She thought about prodding him, but it wouldn’t
