Zady had chuckled when she’d learned about Zora’s divorce.
“So the guy married her, and you believe that if lightning struck your twin, it can strike you, too?” Karen murmured.
Zora’s throat tightened. “Why not?”
“Because Betsy’s about to arrive with her antennae on high alert. If I’m any judge, that woman’s dying to be a grandmother.”
“And she’ll be a terrific one.” The elder Mrs. Raditch did all the right grandmotherly things, such as baking and crocheting, a skill she’d taught Zora. “But...”
“You’re running out of buts,” Karen warned. “Unless you count Lucky’s.”
“I don’t!”
“The way you guys battle, you’re almost like an old married couple.”
“We’re nothing like a married couple, old or otherwise.” Zora could never be interested in a man with so little class. Outside work, he flaunted his muscles in sleeveless T-shirts and cutoffs. While she didn’t object if someone had a small tattoo, his body resembled a billboard for video games. On the right arm, a colorful dragon snaked and writhed, while on the left, he displayed a buxom babe wearing skimpy armor and wielding a sword.
Whenever she pictured Andrew, she saw him in the suit and tie he always wore as an international business consultant. He had tousled blond hair, a laser-sharp mind, sky-blue eyes, and when he trained his headlight smile on her, Zora understood why some poor fools became addicted to drugs, because the euphoria was irresistible.
At the image, vague intentions coalesced into a firm decision. “Andrew’s the man I married. This...this liaison with what’s-her-name is an aberration. Once the kids are born and he holds them in his arms, what man wouldn’t love his own son and daughter?” And their mother.
Even Zora’s own father, a troubled man who’d cheated on her mom, had stuck around while his kids had grown up. Well, mostly—there’d been separations and emotional outbursts that left painful memories. But there’d been tender times, too, including a laughter-filled fishing trip, and one Christmas when her father had dressed up as Santa Claus and showered them with gifts.
She longed for her children to experience a father like that. With Andrew’s charm, he could easily provide such unforgettable moments.
For a minute, the only sound was the chopping of a knife against a cutting board as Karen trimmed crusts. Finally she said, “So you plan to hold it together until then, alone?”
“I have you guys, my friends.” Zora struggled for a light tone. “All I have to do is stay on an even keel.”
“Like a juggler tossing hand grenades on the deck of a sinking ship?” On a platter, Karen positioned sandwiches in a pyramid. “Well, it’s your decision.”
“Yes, and I’ve made it.” Zora studied the relish tray through a sheen of moisture. Andrew would come around eventually. He had a good heart, despite his weak will.
“I’m happy to report that I found the chair covers and they look fine.” Lucky’s deep voice sounded almost in her ear, making her jump. “What do Neanderthals know, anyway?”
“Speaking of Neanderthals, how dare you sneak up on me?” she snapped. “I could go into labor.”
“No, you won’t.” The corners of his mouth quirked.
“How would you know?”
“I’m a nurse, remember?” he said.
“Not that kind of nurse.” He worked with a urologist.
“Pregnancy care is part of every nurse’s basic medical training.” His expression sobered. “Speaking of medicine, you’re sure Cole’s coming today?”
Dr. Cole Rattigan, the renowned men’s fertility expert Lucky assisted, had been away this past week, speaking at a conference in New York.
“He and his wife RSVP’d,” Karen assured him. “What’s the big deal?”
“I can’t discuss it. It concerns a patient.”
“Why would you confer about a patient on your day off?” Zora asked.
“That’s confidential, too.” Grabbing the tray of sandwiches, Lucky whisked out of the room so fast it was a miracle the sandwich pyramid didn’t topple.
“That’s odd,” Karen said. “I wonder what’s going on.”
As did Zora, but Cole, and in particular his wife, a popular nurse, were a touchy subject for her. As the first Mrs. Andrew Raditch, Stacy hadn’t hidden her resentment toward Zora-the-husband-stealer, and most staffers had sided with her.
Among them, no one had been more hostile than Lucky. He’d eased up since he and Zora had started sharing this house, but in a showdown there was no question that his loyalty lay with Cole and his spouse.
Zora wished that didn’t bother her. Well, she had more important things to deal with, anyway...such as facing the grandmother of her children in less than two hours.
Lucky wove between clusters of chattering people in the living room, removing soiled paper plates and cups. Although he was enjoying the party, he wished he and his housemates had kept a tighter lid on the guest list. Only half an hour into it, the place was filling up—and not all the choices had been wise.
Inviting Betsy Raditch had seemed a clever trick to prod Zora into finally accepting the help she needed. Instead, the younger woman kept dodging her ex-mother-in-law, who sneaked longing gazes at Zora’s belly but maintained a respectful distance. The would-be grandmother’s wistful expression sent a guilty pang through Lucky.
And he hadn’t counted on Karen inviting Laird, but here he was, fawning over Zora. The psychologist’s colorless eyes—okay, they were gray, but a very light gray—lit up whenever she so much as flinched, providing an excuse for him to offer her a chair or a drink. Was the man flirting or just trying to charm his way into the house? Either way, he had a very strange notion of what women found appealing.
When Zora winced, the guy reached out to rub her bulge. Stuck in a knot of people across the room, Lucky barely refrained from shouting, “Hands off!” To his relief, Keely Randolph, a dour older nurse Lucky had never much liked until now, smacked Laird’s arm and loudly proclaimed that people shouldn’t shed their germs all over pregnant women.
After scowling at her, Laird gazed around, targeted Karen and approached her with a smarmy expression. Lucky caught the words exquisite house and can’t wait to move in.
Rod Vintner came to Karen’s rescue, his wiry frame and short graying beard bristling with indignation. “Who’s moving in where?” he growled with a ferocity that indicated he’d willingly stick one of his anesthesiology needles into Laird’s veins and pump it to the max.
Satisfied that the jerk was batting zero, Lucky glanced toward the front window. He never tired of the soul-renewing view across the narrow
