names, and those are both very pretty.”
“Here, love, you hold her for a bit.” Her husband placed the baby in Kate’s arms and stared at the infant with his brows creased. “She’s...she looks like a—”
“Rachel,” they both said simultaneously, then laughed.
“Perfect,” Hope said, her throat absurdly clogging up at this scene that could have come straight from a chick flick. Lord, you’d think she hadn’t delivered hundreds of babies in her career. Or that she’d already received the upcoming hormone injections, with these kinds of silly emotions pinging all over the place.
Probably should buy some stock in a handkerchief company right now. If this kept up, for the next nine months she’d be sobbing all over her patients with every healthy delivery.
“You’re all set now, Kate.” She stripped off her gloves and managed to smile at the giddy new parents. “I’ll be back in a bit to see how you’re doing.”
Hope headed down the hospital corridor to write up her notes on Kate and baby Rachel and glanced at her watch, glad to see her shift was almost over. And for once her Friday night would be filled with something more than just a casual dinner with friends.
Tonight was the big gala fund-raiser organized by one of the hunkiest doctors at Cambridge Royal Hospital. Not only was the man absurdly good-looking, Aaron Cartwright apparently cared about children, too, creating the foundation that promoted adoption in and around Cambridge. Plus, he’d been nice enough to invite several midwives and obstetricians from the hospital to share a few adoption stories their patients had experienced, knowing some financial donors might be interested in hearing them.
Hope had long admired Aaron Cartwright from afar, starting the very first day she’d spotted him in the hospital three years ago, stopping mid-step to do a double take at the man. He might be a man with a bit of a playboy reputation, but who cared? A woman didn’t have to be in the market for a relationship to enjoy looking at a heartthrob.
Tonight she’d finally get to meet the dreamy doc, who half the women in the hospital swooned over. While enjoying champagne and yummy food and dancing, before the start of her new life.
The bounce began to come back to her step as she walked into her office. What could possibly be a more perfect Friday-night distraction to get her mind back on the right track?
* * *
“You’re going to be late if you don’t finish up soon.”
Aaron Cartwright looked up from the pamphlets he’d been grabbing from a drawer outside an exam room to see Sue Calloway frowning at him. Her lips were pursed and her hands held several clothes hangers filled with his tux, shirt, bow tie and cummerbund. “Isn’t organizing my wardrobe outside an office manager’s job description?”
“Nothing’s outside my job description and you know it,” she said. “You’ve been with your patients almost an hour already, and everyone’s going to be wondering where you are.”
“No one will be wondering about me. They’ll all be happily eating and drinking and won’t even notice when I show up.” He gently tapped the top of her head with the brochures. “Don’t worry, though, we’re almost done. This couple is nervous, and need a little more TLC before they’re ready to go home. I’m giving them loads of stuff to read to keep them occupied, even though I already gave them plenty.”
“When is their IVF procedure scheduled?”
“This Tuesday. And now I’m going back in there, unless you want to give me more grief and make me even later.”
“Well, hurry, then,” she said in a testy voice, her twinkling eyes belying her tone. “I’d give you a little shove to get you going if I could, except my arms aren’t free. Don’t keep me standing here holding your finery forever.”
He chuckled, shaking his head as he headed back into the room. Not too many other doctors were lucky enough to have someone like Sue to run the office—and his schedule—like a drill sergeant.
The anxious expressions on the couple sitting in the consulting room showed Aaron he hadn’t alleviated their worries. But with the latest advances in fertility techniques and a little luck, the procedure he’d proposed could work for them.
He sat and put on his most reassuring smile, handing them the additional brochures on in vitro fertilization and the newest technique he was recommending. “I understand this has been a stressful and difficult struggle for both of you, but now that we know exactly what’s going on there’s a better than good chance you’ll be able to conceive.”
“How many times have you done this ICSI procedure, Dr. Cartwright?” John Walters asked.
“More times than I can count. And the success rate of ICSI is a solid ninety percent. In fact, my success rate has been even higher than that, if I can toot my own horn a little.” He smiled again. “As I told you before, I’m a big believer in this procedure. Under circumstances like yours, it’s much better than the shotgun approach of traditional IVF.”
John’s lips were pressed into a grim line, and Aaron reached to squeeze his shoulder. Infertility issues were hard on everyone, but many men had a more difficult time dealing with it when it was due to their physical issues, as opposed to their wives’. As though it made someone less of a man, which of course it didn’t. There were all too many men who made babies only to abandon them, and plenty of others who were donors but in no way could be considered fathers. Whose children would never know where they came from.
“I know you said you will only implant two eggs, but I still think we should implant more than that,” Angela said, clutching her husband’s hand. “I mean, it gives us a better chance of having one take, right? And if we ended up having multiple babies, we’d be more than happy about that.”
“You think now that you would, but multiples are harder on the mother’s body. More likely to lead to preterm birth with complications resulting from that, as well as serious birth defects. Not to mention that caring for triplets or quads can be harder than anyone imagines.”
Harder than his own biological mother ever imagined. Even harder on her children, ending with tough consequences for all of them.
“I know, but still. I feel like this could be our last chance. So why not, when we’re ready to accept whatever happens?”
The dormant emotion that occasionally surged to the surface and threatened his cool at times like this always took him by surprise. It had all happened so long ago, so why? Maybe he was like a sapling that had seeded next to barbed wire. He’d still managed to grow strong, absorbing it inside until it was invisible, but the sharp pain could still deeply stab when he least expected it.
He drew a long breath, battling to keep his voice calm. Firm and authoritative without verging on dictatorial. But he believed it was an important part of his job, a critical part, to help patients make responsible decisions, no matter how desperate they were for a baby.
“I appreciate that this has been a long and difficult process for both of you, Angela. And as I said before, if you want to work with another specialist who feels differently than I do on this subject, I will completely understand if you prefer to do that. You wouldn’t have to start all over again—there are several doctors in this hospital I can refer you to, giving them your history and information on the meds you’ve been taking. I would guess someone else
