to the size of melons, Zora wandered into the kitchen and sat down. Through the far door, she detected the low rumble of masculine voices in the living room.
What were Lucky and his boss discussing so intently? Had Cole made job inquiries at the conference for his nurse’s sake? Although she’d instinctively dismissed Laird’s comment about Lucky moving, the man couldn’t be expected to waste his master’s degree.
If Lucky departed, who would run out for ice cream when she had a craving? Lucky had promised to haul two bassinets and a changing table to the second floor as soon as she was ready for them. Without him around, who would cart her stuff up and down the stairs? She certainly couldn’t count on Laird pitching in.
Well, she’d survive. In fact, she shouldn’t be relying on Lucky so much, anyway. Zora hated to depend on others, especially someone so controlling and critical and arrogant and judgmental. She might not have the world’s best taste in men, but she knew what she didn’t like, and Lucky epitomized it. Now what were he and Dr. Rattigan talking about so intently?
No matter how hard she strained, she couldn’t follow the thread of conversation from the living room. Just when she caught a couple of words, a burst of cheering from the den obliterated the rest of the doctor’s comments.
Judging by the clamor, Dawn had edged out Anya’s husband, Jack, by two seconds. “I can visualize the headline now—Seven-year-old Defeats Obstetrician in Diapering Contest!” roared Rod, who, as Jack’s uncle, had the privilege of ragging him mercilessly. “I’m posting the pictures on the internet.”
“You do that and you’ll never see your great-niece again,” Jack retorted. He spoiled the effect by adding, “Will he, cutie?” apparently addressing the newborn.
Zora lumbered to her feet. She was missing all the fun and worrying for nothing.
Probably.
Feeling miles from the festivities in the den, Lucky struggled to concentrate on Cole’s account. He kept wishing that, if he focused hard enough, the results would be more encouraging.
“The new stent won’t fix what’s wrong with Vince Adams.” The slightly built doctor ran a hand through his rumpled brown hair.
“Are you certain?” Lucky pressed.
Cole nodded. “It won’t do anything for a patient who has that much scar tissue.”
During the summer, Cole had used the latest microsurgical techniques in an unsuccessful attempt to open the billionaire’s blocked sperm ducts. As the office nurse, Lucky hadn’t assisted at the operation, but he’d read the follow-up report. The procedure hadn’t been able to reverse the extensive damage left by a long-ago infection.
However, Vince continued to press them for options. Cole had told him about a new dissolvable, medicine-infused stent, and Vince had been excited that Cole would get an advance preview of the device. “We have the world’s top urologist right here,” the millionaire had trumpeted. “And I’ll be the first guy he cures.”
The higher the hopes, the harder the fall.
“Do you think his interest in Safe Harbor is entirely based on restoring his fertility?” Lucky asked.
“It’s hard to say,” Cole replied. “His intentions tend to shift with his emotional state.”
A private equity investor, Vince Adams was powerful and rich. But wealth hadn’t compensated for his inability to sire children. Over the years, he’d paid dearly for treatments without success, and others had paid dearly for his desire for fatherhood.
After several turbulent and childless marriages, Vince had wed a woman with two young daughters. Determined to adopt them, he had used his financial clout to overwhelm Portia’s first husband in court.
The man he’d gleefully trounced was Lucky’s housemate, Rod Vintner, who’d faced a doubly devastating loss. First, during his divorce, he’d learned that his daughters were actually the genetic offspring of his unfaithful wife’s previous lover, now out of the picture. Second, Rod had been outspent and outmaneuvered fighting for joint custody.
For years, he’d been forbidden to talk or even write to his daughters, who lived a ninety-minute drive away, in San Diego. Then, earlier this year, the older girl had run away from home. The twelve-year-old had contacted Rod, who’d enlisted the aid of the girls’ maternal grandmother here in Safe Harbor.
Although officially Rod was still banned, Grandma Helen had arranged for Tiffany—now thirteen—and her younger sister to visit her more often. Whenever possible, she let them meet with Rod, and, faced with Tiffany’s threats to run away again, the Adamses pretended not to notice.
Vince’s search for fertility, however, provided him with another avenue for keeping Rod in line. While Vince’s interest in the hospital stemmed in large part from his discovery that one of the world’s foremost urologists had joined the staff, it also ensured that Rod didn’t dare become too much of an annoyance. An anesthesiologist would be a lot easier for the hospital to replace than a billionaire donor.
Lucky hated that the staff had to curry favor with Vince. Still, he felt compassion for a man desperate to produce a baby. The billionaire’s motives might be self-serving, but his comments had made it clear that he would treasure his child. As long as parents offered a loving, secure home, it wasn’t anyone else’s right to pass judgment.
However, if Cole couldn’t help him, it seemed likely Vince wouldn’t follow through on his major donation. “Suppose he drops us,” Lucky said. “Surely there are others we could approach.”
“The world is full of rich people, but Safe Harbor tends to lose out to more prestigious institutions,” Cole responded. “I admit, Luke, being at the conference whetted my appetite for better research facilities, more lab space and money for fellowships. In fact, I received three excellent offers to relocate.”
Lucky’s heart nearly skipped a beat. “You’d take another position?”
Alarm flitted across the doctor’s face. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
Nevertheless, he had said it. “If you go, the program will never recover.” Neither will I. On many levels.
At a burst of laughter from the other room, Lucky flinched. His friends had no idea that he was standing here with the ground crumbling beneath his feet.
Cole’s brow furrowed. “I joined Safe Harbor with the intention of building a standout program. Although I’m no longer sure that will be possible, this is my wife’s home, and mine, too. I haven’t given up yet.” But there was no mistaking his distress.
“Nothing else at the conference might be useful?”
“I’m afraid not. Perhaps we should suggest Mr. Adams cancel next Saturday’s appointment and save himself a trip.” The billionaire tended to arrive with plenty of pomp and circumstance by private plane or helicopter. On other occasions, Vince roared up the coast in a high-performance car that cost as much as many houses.
If only Lucky could find a solution, for his sake and for his doctor’s. It would also be important to the medical
