|
|
Originally published by Bantam Loveswept, 1989
All rights reverted to author, 1999
Revised by author, 2001
Electronic Rights currently held by Awe-Struck E-Books, Inc.
ISBN: 1-58749-077-3
The doorbell rang. The long offensive peal of sound made Elaina McIvor jump and scrawl an unwanted line of red across the back of a zebra on her drawing board. Harrison arched his back and jumped soundlessly to the floor, then followed her as she slid from her stool and walked toward the door.
"Those kids,' she muttered. "As flattering as all this is, I wish they'd get over their fascination with having me live next door." They were nice kids, she supposed, as far as kids went. Not that she knew a lot about children, in spite of the fact that they were the focus of her work. She knew even less about living in suburbia. But in the week she'd been here, her next door neighbors' two sons had disturbed her at work about twenty times a day. She was never going to get her current project completed at this rate, and then she'd be in trouble with the publisher who'd given her the job of illustrating the darned book. Oh, what the heck, she thought. Whoever had ever heard of a red-and-white zebra in the first place?
The bell was ringing again, a loud, irritating buzz instead of the nice, melodious chimes she'd had in her apartment. Maybe, she mused, she'd read those two little boys the story and threaten them with the same fate as its characters. That should put some distance between their visits.
She snatched open the door, ready to address her junior-sized neighbors, but instead her eyes met a pair of brown, bony knees. A large, over stuffed pink- and-blue plastic tote bag was bumping again them, with a baby bottle sticking out of the top. Those knees were connected to a pair of darkly tanned, muscular thighs with curling dark hair covering them right up to the ragged edges of a pair of cutoffs -- cutoffs that clung tightly to slim hips and flat belly. An expanse of bare skin extended above the faded denim shorts, terminating where the hem of cropped T-shirt covered it. An arrow of curling hair seemed to stitch the two garments together. A plump, pink baby sat perched astride that narrow waist, wearing a yellow sunsuit and happy grin. Elaina raised her startled gaze up and up and up until she encountered a pair of merry green eyes under dark brows. "Hi," said the owner of those eyes. "You Elaina McIvor?"
"Yes." She couldn't say anything else. The size of the man took her breath away. She was nearly six feet tall herself, and he towered over her. On his hip the baby looked ridiculously tiny. He smiled and said, "Oh, good. It's taken hours to track you down. I'm Dr. Bradshaw."
At her blank look, he added, "From the University Hospital? Margo Lawrence is my patient so I volunteered to bring the baby." He thrust the baby into her arms. "This is Betsy. She's wet."
That was a perfectly redundant piece of information Elaina discovered as her arms went instinctively around the child. The man put the bag down at Elaina's feet and leaped off the porch, ignoring the three steps leading down to the walk.
"Wait!" she called out. "What is this?"
"A little girl," he said, slightly impatient. "Betsy. She's eleven months old. Oh! Didn't they call you yet?" He smacked his forehead with the heel of one hand. "And here I almost forgot. You must think I'm nuts. This will explain things." He reached into the back pocket of his cutoffs and hauled out a folded envelope. Leaning over and stretching out an enormously long arm, he stuffed the envelope into the tote bag. Then he loped down the walk to the disreputable green van parked the wrong way at the curb.
"No! Wait!" Elaine called. "Come back here!" He slammed the driver's door and shouted out the window as the van began to roll. "Later. I can't stop now, I'll be back."
Then the van was screeching away, lurching as it shot over to the right side of the street, leaving only a little cloud of blue smoke. When that was gone, she could almost believe that the van and the green-eyed man had been figments of her imagination -- except for one thing -- twenty pounds of warm, wet baby were riding astride her hip.
"Well," she said faintly, "this is the weirdest thing that's ever happened to me!"
What was she supposed to do now? Call the police and charge the guy with child abandonment? Call the loony bin and have herself committed for believing that any of this was really happening? Or pretend that wasn't a man in a rusty van, but a stork? Some stork. He was almost gangly enough to be one, she thought before she shook her head. No. He had been tall, that was true, but not gangly. In fact, he had been extremely well built. She sighed, thinking about how well built he was. The baby patted her face with a warm, plump band and said, "Mama?"
"No way! Not on your life!" said Elaina, alarmed. "I'm not your mama, sweetie." The baby had the bluest of blue eyes and a light golden fuzz on her head. Since she looked nothing like the dark-haired, green-eyed man who had shoved her into Elaina's arms, chances were he wasn't her parent either.
So who was? And who was her mama? The baby smiled at Elaina, several teeth, as tiny and as white as seed pearls, shining wetly in her mouth. Elaina smiled back "That's something we're going to have to find out very soon, isn't it? Not only who your parents are, but where they are."
"Hey look, Miss Mclvor's got a baby!"
Elaina removed her fascinated gaze from the baby's delicate face and pinned it on the pair of grubby little boys who stood at the end of her walk, staring into the yard through the iron gate in the hedge.
"Can we come in and play with your baby, Miss McIby?" asked the smaller one.
"Her name's Miss McIvor, Petey," the older boy said, "and you don't wanna play with her baby. It's a girl"
"Oh. How do you know?"
"Look at it. it's got ruffles on its bottom."
Petey looked and scowled. "Oh, yeah." The two boys vanished, obviously having something much better to do than play with a girl.
"What a way to achieve peace," Elaina muttered. "Import one baby girl and the boys disappear like smoke."
She carried baby and tote bag inside determined to read whatever kind of explanation the crazy doctor had stuffed into the tote. She stood the child on her feet in the middle of the living room. The girl's legs collapsed under her and she sat down on that wet ruffled bottom and began to howl. Elaina stared at her, bewildered. Was there something wrong with her? Were her legs crippled? She had taken her own weight for an instant, then simply caved in. Or had she crumpled from sheer temper?
Harrison came to investigate the noise. The baby stopped making it. She reached for Harrison's tail, saying something that sounded like, "Lemme at him." But maybe, Elaina decided, it was merely the expression on the baby's face that said it. At any rate, Harrison wasn't concerned. He rubbed his neck and shoulder against her fat thigh and the child dug her little starfish hands into his thick white fur.
Elaina lunged forward to prevent certain disaster, but to her amazement, Harrison was purring. She backed off, taking the moment of peace to seek out the note she hoped would explain things a lot more fully. Maybe it even contained instructions on the care and feeding of an eleven-month-old child.
She stared at the familiar symbol on the corner of the envelope. "Huh?" she said as she withdrew its contents. "A phone bill?"
It was made out to Dr. Brent Bradshaw. Who had a Post Office box at the university, and was for the standard charges plus three long distance calls to the same number in Buffalo, one to a number in New Mexico, and another to a different number in Buffalo, and it provided absolutely no explanation whatsoever. Elaina read it through twice and checked the reverse side, only to learn that three of the Buffalo calls had been made during business hours, while the rates were highest. That explanation, while interesting, made nothing clear at all, and she was starting through it again when a horrific crash sent her whirling around. The baby was no longer in the center of the living room floor, but was over by the far window, hands full of greenery, hair full of soil, eyes full of tears, and mouth wide open, hollering again.
"Oh, no!" Elaina ran across the room. "Oh, darling, what happened to you? Easy, now, there...Oh, thank goodness, you aren't too badly hurt."
She turned from the cactus to the baby. "Young lady, "Will you please stop that howling? And give me those. Oh, poor, poor Brahms. You tore off three of his fronds."
She set her wounded plant carefully back on its stand, then scooped up some of the loose soil from the carpet. She patted it around Brahms's roots and straightened the fronds as best she could. The torn ones would have to be rooted. Luckily, that wasn't difficult with a Christmas cactus. Brahms bloomed a lovely shade of crimson and, she would be happy to have several clones of him around. But she preferred to do the cutting herself.
The bellowing stopped and Elaina looked down, blinking, feeling suddenly like the lowest, most miserable excuse for a human being ever allowed to live. She had just given precedence to a plant over a little child! She had left it to Harrison to comfort the baby! What use was she?
"Betsy?" she said experimentally, trying the name out. The little girl looked around and smiled that rather infectious smile again. And most forgivingly, Elaina thought. She crouched and lifted the wet and now muddy baby into her arms, gently brushing Harrison aside. "Oh you poor little thing. I'm sorry, baby. Let's get you cleaned up, huh? We'll worry about the carpet and Brahms later."
Elaina put the plug in the tub and turned on the faucets, adjusting the water temperature. While the tub filled, she stripped the baby, enjoying the enthusiastic way in which Betsy accepted having her clothes removed. She squirmed and wriggled and kicked and giggled. "You really are a cheerful little thing aren't you?" Elaina said. "I mean, don't babies cry for their mothers when they're left with strangers?" Far from crying, Betsy crowed with glee when she realized she was about to be bathed. And when Elaina sat her down in the water, she promptly sank.
"Oh, my gosh!" Elaina cried, grabbing frantically at the baby. She missed, grabbed again, and hung onto an incredibly slippery little body. Betsy sputtered and gasped and giggled, bobbing up and down in the much too deep water. She seemed unharmed, to say nothing of unconcerned. Elaina dried her face with the corner of a towel and pulled the plug, letting water run out and not stopping it until only a few inches remained in the bottom of the tub.
"We live and learn," she said, gently splashing water over Betsy's back. "I only hope you live through my learning. At least the dirt is all washed out of your hair, though that wasn't the way I had intended to go about it." She looked at the baby splashing happily in the shallow water, sucking on the washcloth. "You sure didn't mind getting dunked, did you? I suppose if I had to have a baby dumped on me, I'm lucky it turned out to be such a good-natured one."
And Betsy was good-natured -- until the time came to take her out of the tub. She screamed. She kicked. She waved her arms, hands flailing, catching Elaina in the face and neck with her fists until she got smart and wrapped the child in a towel, arms, legs, wet, slick body and all, then held her close, rocking her. It didn't help one bit. Pacing, almost running back and forth, Elaina weighed a hundred different possible solutions to the problem and rejected them one by one, up to and including simply putting the baby onto the floor and letting Harrison take over.
"What do you want?' she asked. "What can I do for you?" Suddenly, she remembered the bottle. She pulled it from the tote bag, snapped off the lid, and shoved the nipple into the gaping mouth. Like magic, the noise stopped and Betsy reached up to pat Elaina's face, her tiny hand soft and warm from the bath, gentle and tender, and immensely moving. Biting her lip, Elaina sat down on the sofa, one leg curled under her and resting against the arm of the couch as she cradled Betsy close.
"Hey. little girl," she said softly. "I don't know who you are or why you're here, but I think I could get to like you." It was true, and the thought amazed her. When she had been younger, she had, of course, expected one day to have children. She had wanted them, but Kirk had not. At least not for a long time, he'd said. He didn't think they'd make good parents.
She'd gone along with his belief. It was easier, she had learned early in her relationship with him, not to try to force her views on him. He'd held them in such contempt. Elaina sighed. Maybe he'd been right. No instinct, not even common sense, had told her not to make the tub too full, had it?
When Betsy finally fell asleep, Elaina whispered. "Now what do I do with you?" The answer presented itself almost at once: Put a diaper on her. The towel and Elaina's lap were both soaked. The bag in the foyer contained a small selection of things Elaina presumed were baby necessities. She pulled out the various contents, and smiled at one. A cloth book -- a very familiar-looking cloth book. With Betsy still sleeping against her shoulder Elaina flipped open the limp, well-chewed book. Her smile deepened at the line that read Illustrations by Elaina McIvor. She had literally lost count of the number of children's books she had illustrated, but it still thrilled her to see those words especially in a book that some child was enjoying.
With the baby changed and stuffed -- not without difficulty -- into a terry-cloth sleeper, Elaina stood looking down at her sleeping on the bed, still not quite sure she believed what was happening. Now that she had time to think, the worries came sweeping back.
What if the phone bill man had kidnapped Betsy? What if she was an unwitting accessory to a crime? What if he wasn't a doctor at all but was a patient -- probably from the psycho ward -- and had snatched Betsy? Things like that happened all the time. He could even have stolen the phone bill to give his story credence.
She had to call the police. She picked up the phone on her bedside table then set it down again. It wasn't connected yet. Maybe tomorrow, the telephone company had said, and maybe not until next week. The man hadn't looked like a criminal, had he? she asked herself. That was, if kidnappers had a certain kind of look. If they did, his didn't qualify.
Her mind had absorbed his appearance like a photographic plate, she now realized. In addition to being tall, he was broad in the shoulders, narrow in the waist and hips, and powerful in the legs. And good-looking. Not classically handsome as Kirk had been, but there was something about him that appealed to her on a very personal level, which was odd, because since Kirk, she hadn't felt attracted to anyone. She hadn't wanted to. What had happened with Kirk had been too painful to risk repeating. But still, she couldn't get Dr. Bradshaw's face out of her mind. Or the memory of his hard, tanned body. He was quite different from Kirk. Could that be what made him so attractive to her? She hoped he'd come back soon.
Oh, cut it out, Elaina! Even if he was attractive to her, that didn't mean he was attracted by her! Why, then couldn't she stop thinking about him, about his laughing green eyes? Along with that laughter there had been a deep intelligence in his eyes, as if he were examining everything around him, sorting the input through a sharp mind, and assessing what he saw. He looked like a man she would enjoy talking to. A man who would have a lot of interesting things to say. Did she really want to call the police on a man who had such intelligent eyes? No, she didn't. Not right away, at any rate. The best thing to do was wait a while. He had said he'd be back. And it wasn't as though she didn't know who he was. After all, she had his address and his telephone number, not to mention his telephone bill. Also, the baby was sleeping so soundly it would be a shame to disturb her by having police officers and social workers come storming in here just because she had reported Brent Bradshaw for abandoning Betsy when she wasn't at all sure that was what he done.
"Haven't they phoned you?" he had asked. That meant someone should have done so, likely would have done so, except her phone wasn't connected. So someone had given Brent Bradshaw her name, but not her address. He'd said it had taken him hours to track her down. With her recent move the address listed in the telephone book was wrong.
She stretched out on the bed beside Betsy, kicking off her shoes and wiggling her toes. She undid her hair and let it fall loose and comfortable. She cuddled the baby close so she wouldn't roll over in her sleep and fall off the bed. The warmth of that little body curled next to her, the sweet baby scent of Betsy, and the sound of the child's soft breathing, combined with Harrison's purring were soporific. Elaina drifted into a sleep as deep as the baby's, not even moving until the scream of her doorbell jarred her awake. Feeling disoriented, she wondered why the room was so dark. Betsy stirred, sat up and beamed at Elaina.
"You stay put," she admonished the baby. "That's probably your doctor come to get you." She snatched open the door in response to the third impatient screech of the bell and staggered back as something made of wooden bars fell in on her. She grabbed it and lowered it to the floor, then gaped at the man standing in the doorway.
He had a folded mass of chrome and plastic under one arm, and looked as if the burden might pull him down any minute. "That's the crib," he said, nodding to the object she'd laid on the floor. He gave it a shove with one foot, moving it so he could step inside with his load and shut the door.
Elaina stared him. His green eyes were no longer merry. His face was gray with fatigue. His mouth drooped and his shoulders hung wearily. He returned her stare somberly. Suddenly, ridiculously, she wanted to cradle him close as she had done with Betsy. She wanted to rock him in her arms and tell him to go to sleep. He really, really needed to go to sleep, she thought. Shocked, almost frightened by the intensity of her feelings, she stepped back from him, lifting a hand as if to ward him off. He didn't try to come any closer; though, even when the words, "What's wrong?" were dragged from her by his look of utter desolation.
He gazed at her as if she could make thing better, as if she were some kind of miracle worker and he was desperately in need of a bit of magic. "I'm not sure she's going to make it," he whispered. shaking his head. He set down the object he was carrying then strode back out the door. He didn't leap off the porch this time, but plodded down the three steps with fine precision, as if the placement of his feet required great care lest they be set wrong and trip him up. He was wearing gray slacks now, and a long-sleeved yellow shirt with a tie loose around his neck and the top two buttons undone.
In the light from the street lamp Elaina watched him slide open the door of the van and drag out a stroller with a plastic bag and a teddy bear in it. He carried the stroller to the porch and gave it a shove so it rolled toward her. She stopped it with one foot and started to ask what was going on, but he was trudging away again. He leaned into the van, then backed out, dragging something with him. He swung it up and placed it flat on top of his head, arms supporting it on either side. It was a mattress, she realized. A crib mattress, and she knew without asking what was going on. Brent Bradshaw was moving Betsy in.
"Oh no, you're not!"
"Huh?" He kept on coming, backing her right into the house. He leaned the mattress on the wall, then leaned himself on it, closing his eyes. She thought he might fall asleep standing there and grabbed his arm to give him a shake. His arm was as hard as steel, and too big for her to reach around even with her long, slender fingers. His skin was warm over the ropy muscles. Something twinged inside her, a deep elemental response that jolted her.
As if he had felt the same jolt, he opened his eyes. Looking down at her, he lifted his free hand and covered hers. For endless moments they stood there with sensations pulsing between them, her fingers sandwiched between his hand and his arm, her gaze locked with his. Silent, indecipherable messages darted from him to her and back again until she was dizzy with confusion unlike any she had ever experienced.
She sucked in a deep, steadying breath and managed to pull her gaze and hand away. "Come on," she said. "Get this stuff out of my house! You can't do this to me! There's been some crazy mistake. I don't know anything about -- "
There was a dull thud from the direction of her bedroom, a moment's silence, then an outraged howl. The latter had the effect of snapping Brent Bradshaw out of his standing doze and stopping Elaina's flow of words. Both leaped toward the noise.
Elaina got there first. Betsy was sitting on the carpet near the bedside, head back, mouth open, bellowing, and Harrison was making circles around her, his tall puffed straight out, his ears down, his back arched. He gave Elaina a golden glare as she approached the screaming baby and spat at her when she lifted the child and cuddled her close.
"Harrison!" she gasped. "What's got into you? It wasn't my fault she fell off the bed! I told her to stay put."
She chose to ignore Dr. Bradshaw's sarcastic repetition of her words. "'Told her to stay put'? An eleven-month-old kid and she 'told her to stay put?'"
To the baby, she crooned, "There, there. Don't cry. Let me see if you're hurt." She laid the baby on the bed and began running her hands over her arms and legs.
"What are you doing?" Bradshaw asked.
"Checking for broken bones." Surely that was obvious, she thought, as well as being the obvious thing to do. The child had fallen, for heaven's sake. It was just as she'd suspected: He was an imposter. Any doctor would know about checking for broken bones!
"I see," he said. She wasn't sure he did. "What," he asked, "does a broken bone feel like?"
Some doctor! She had no idea, but was sure if she felt one, some miracle would occur and she'd recognize it. "Like -- like a broken bone, of course."
"And what happens if you find one?" There was a definite thread of amusement running through his voice. Elaina was not accustomed to being laughed at. She stopped checking and glared at him, thinking quickly. "I'd call an ambulance." Sure, Elaina. With no phone you call an ambulance. At least Bradshaw didn't know she didn't have a phone. She took some comfort from that.
For want of something better to do, she resumed checking Betsy's extremities. Betsy continued to yell. Elaina found nothing that might be a broken bone.
"All right, Betsy," she said briskly, speaking to the child as her mother would have spoken to her under the same circumstances. "That's enough. Get hold of yourself."
Behind her, she heard a distinct snicker and scowled over her shoulder at him. He was standing near the foot of her bed, taking up far more space than seemed his rightful share. This was a big room, with a big bed, but with him in the room the king-size bed didn't look all that big anymore. When he crowded right in beside her and sat down on the edge of the mattress, Betsy rolled toward him. So did Elaina. Swiftly, she caught herself before she swayed against his shoulder. He lifted Betsy high above his head and made a raspberry that shut off her bellows as magically as stuffing a bottle into her mouth had.
"Wait! Don't do that!" Elaina cried in alarm. "What if she has a spinal injury?"
"She doesn't," he said confidently. "And if she did, you'd have crippled her for life the way you scooped her up off the floor. Don't worry, babies bend easy. They don't, as a rule, break." He tucked Betsy in the crook of his arm, and swung himself to his feet, carrying her with him. "Feelin' better, Bitsy-Bet?" He buried his face in her neck and blew, making a weird noise that she found hilarious. At least while it was going on. As soon as he quit, she began to cry again, this time a shrill, plaintive sound that cut right into Elaina's heart.
"Oh, she is hurt! She's in terrible pain," Elaina said, not far from tears herself.
"She's hungry." Bradshaw said with great authority. When Elaina didn't move, only covered her ears to block out the increasing screams, he lifted a brow. "I said, she's hungry. Warm up some food, why don't you? She's starving. Look at her. Every time she opens her mouth, she squirts. That's her salivary glands in action. Means she needs food, so feed her, woman."
"Oh!" Elaina glared at him. Feed her? Woman? "Do it yourself, Bradshaw! You seem to know so much about all this baby stuff and you brought her here, so you feed her."
"Okay." he said, grinning as he passed Betsy to her. "I'll do that. You change her." He wrinkled his nose. "She really needs it."
Elaina agreed. She also knew that she'd been suckered. Why, she wondered plaintively, when there's a man around, does the woman always get the dirty end of the stick -- or the baby? Still, she couldn't leave the child in this condition, so she manfully -- womanfully? -- changed her and put her back into her terry-cloth pajamas. They'd be warm for her to travel in, and just as soon as she was fed, this kid was traveling!
Still, Elaina found herself coming very close to wishing it didn't have to be so as she lifted the now sweet-smelling baby back into her arms, feeling the snuggly warmth, the trust with which Betsy nestled close. She grabbed a handful of Elaina's hair and tugged on it. This must be what it's like, Elaina decided, to have your heartstrings tugged.
Nevertheless she set Betsy on the floor where she couldn't fall and quickly redid her hair into its neat, secure bun. She felt more like herself as soon as it was done, and much more ready to face the man she could hear crashing around in her kitchen.
The chrome-and-plastic object had been transformed into a high chair. Bradshaw took Betsy from Elaina, slipped her down onto the seat, then shoved the plastic tray close to her. He fastened a belt around her middle, buckling it at the back.
From the microwave, he took a small jar with orangy brown goop in it. Elaina looked at the jar and shuddered. "What is that?"
"Beef and carrots."
"Uh, why don't I just make her a nice sandwich?"
Bradshaw grinned and stirred the contents with a teaspoon, then tested a small amount of the stuff against his upper lip.
Betsy crowed and banged her fists on the tray of the high chair, clearly excited that the glop was about to be stuffed down her gullet. She opened her mouth wide. Bradshaw did the same. He shoved the spoon in. Betsy's lips closed around it -- and Bradshaw closed his mouth. The spoon came out clean in went back into the jar. Again, two mouths opened wide. Again two mouths closed, one around the spoon, the other over air.
Elaina watched in utter fascination. This was something she had never seen before. Betsy opened her mouth. Bradshaw opened his. Betsy closed hers. He closed his. She swallowed, he licked his lips. Elaina broke up.
He glanced at her. "What's the joke?"
"You look so funny! Did you know that you open your mouth when you feed her?"
He turned a dull brick-red. "I do not!"
For the next several mouthfuls he didn't. Until he forgot. When Elaina laughed again, he glared at her. "You do it, then."
"Uh-uh. Not me, Bradshaw. She's not my baby."
"She's not mine, either," he said, apparently startled that Elaina might think she was. "And call me Brad."
"Not Brent?"
He lifted one dark brow. "Nobody calls me that. I didn't think anyone at the hospital even knew it. So they called, finally, did they? I'm sorry I had to leave Betsy and run the way I did, but I was late back on duty after it took me so long to find you."
"What do you do at the hospital?" She was still only half convinced of his sanity -- and his veracity.
"I work in the emergency room. I'm senior resident." He cranked open the lid of another jar of baby food, stuck the spoon into it, and again tested the food. No, Elaina amended. Not testing, devouring. And a second bite too.
"You forgot to heat that," she said.
"Nah. This doesn't need heating."
"Then why did you test it?"
"I didn't. I tasted it. I like strained peaches."
She gave him a reproachful look. "You'd swipe the baby's food?"
"She can afford to give me a bite or two. Look at her. What a chub. I think one of the reasons her mother's so sick now is that she's done without almost everything so that Betsy could have what she needed."
As long as he was talking he didn't open his mouth each time the baby did. He wasn't nearly as funny to watch, but Elaina began to hope that if she asked the right questions, she just might figure out what was going on here.
"What's wrong with her mother?"
Betsy shoved the spoon away, apparently full, and turned her head to avoid the next offering. It smeared across her cheek and into her ear. Bradshaw shook the spoonful back into the jar and used the spoon to scrape the food off the baby's face. He put that back into the jar too. Elaina shuddered again.
"We don't know," he finally answered. "She collapsed today on the street and was brought to us. They brought Betsy, too, of course." He licked the spoon. "Poor kid. She was more worried about her baby than about herself. She kept begging us to find you so you could look after Betsy."
"You really are a doctor?"
He sighed. "That's what the diploma on the wall tells me," he said glumly. "But I wonder."
"Why?"
He gave her a bleak look. "People die, you know." He let the spoon fall to the tray and Betsy picked it up. She banged industriously on the plastic for a moment before flinging it away. It landed with a clatter on the floor. Elaina picked it up and rinsed it off, then gave it back to the baby. She didn't want to look at the man with the pale face and the eyes full of misery. But she couldn't let his statement go unacknowledged forever.
Finally, she nodded and touched his hand. "That must be hard to deal with."
He turned his hand over and clasped hers. As he met her gaze, that strange, electric sensation again crossed from his body to hers, looped around and circled back, linking them by far more than tightening fingers.
"It is hard to deal with," he said. "I know I'm supposed to be strong and detached and hold myself aloof from my patients' pain, but I can't. Maybe I came into the game too late in life."
"Why's that?"
Elaina's voice was soft. Brad wanted to curl up in it and warm himself. How could a person put so much caring into two small words? He wondered. And when was the last time he had felt so...so cared about? It shook him badly to realize how much he liked the feeling.
"I was a medic in the army." be said, and was amazed that it was the most natural thing in the world for him to be telling her this. "I saw how much more doctors could accomplish than I could, and got out so I could go to medical school. But I'm nearly thirty-five and most of the other residents are in their twenties. They seem to be more resilient than I. I sometimes think I should have stayed in the army. At least there I didn't have to deal with little kids and sick mothers frantic with fear over what was going to happen to their children."
"Maybe so." Elaina's tone remained quiet, soothing, her serene gaze steady on his face. "But at least now you're in a position to do something about it."
"Am I?" He looked down at their linked hands, wondering how they had come to be that way. She tightened her fingers a fraction and he smoothed his thumb over her knuckles. Her skin was soft, he mused, as soft as her voice.
"Tell me about her mother," she urged.
He looked up again. "She's very sick. And also very tough. She held on until she was sure I had got Betsy to you. And that you understood. Now she's unconscious, almost comatose. And we can't find out why. All we know is she has a raging infection that's involved her entire system. So we've got her in isolation and we're pumping antibiotics into her, but I still have an awful feeling that we aren't going to be able to do enough."
His voice cracked and he dropped her hand. He walked over to the sink, facing away from her. "Hell," he said in disgust. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have dumped that on you. I'm just a bit tired."
"And hungry? she suggested, remembering how he had eaten that god-awful pink pap with such relish.
He shook his head. "I'm too tired to be hungry. I'll help you set up Betsy's crib and then I'd better go."
She stood irresolute, chewing on her lower lip, staring at his broad hack, at the yellow shirt stretch taut over strong shoulders. Strong, but drooping. She looked at the baby in the high chair. Betsy was drooping too. Obviously, her nap hadn't been enough. She needed a good night's sleep. She'd probably only woken up because a bottle of milk wasn't enough food to keep her going all night.
How could she kick out an innocent baby whose mother was sick, maybe dying? How could she make things harder for this tired doctor? But on the other hand, how could she let her own life be interfered with in this way? The fact was, she couldn't. She had a deadline to meet and was having enough difficulty with the project. She did not need something like this. She just couldn't do it.
"Listen," she said, and he turned around. She wished he hadn't. It was harder to say this to his face. "I really do wish I could help, but truly, I can't. I don't know anything about babies. I'm not competent to look after one. She was eating dirt five minutes after you left her here. Then I filled the tub too full and she sank. And I let her fall off the bed." She remembered how she had checked for broken bones and felt like a fool. What must he have thought of her? He had to have been laughing inside the whole time. A doctor, for heaven's sake! Why hadn't he said so? Why had be let her go on making an idiot of herself?
"Kids eat dirt and fall off things every day and survive," he said, smothering a yawn with the back of a hand. "And you're the one her mother nominated."
"But you don't seem to understand -- I don't know her mother. I've never heard of her. There must be another Elaina Mclvor in the city. You've found the wrong one, is all. Let's look in the phone book. I'm sure the other one, whoever she is, will be glad to take Betsy."
He shook his head and lowered himself to a chair. He rested his elbows on the table and his face in his palms, rubbing his cheeks. The raspy sound of skin over beard was one she hadn't heard for a long time. Her body's reaction startled so she only half heard his words. "You're the one. The only one. Eugene isn't all that big a city. And you illustrate kids' books, don't you?"
That caught her attention. "Yes, but..." She drew in an exasperated breath. Really, the man was going to fall asleep right there. One of his arms had just collapsed and his head had nearly struck the table before he caught himself.
"Darn it, you wake up, Bradshaw! And pay attention! Being an illustrator of children's books does not mean I'm any good with kids. Or want to be. I've never had anything to do with them."
"Don't frown like that. It makes you look like Miss Harris, my fourth-grade teacher who used to pull my ear." He wrinkled his nose. "And why do you wear your hair like that? You look a helluva lot more human with it down, Lainie."
"My name," she said crisply, "is Elaina." Nobody had ever called her anything but. Lainie? Where had he gotten that? And why? What a ridiculous name. And her hair was none of his business.
He yawned again. "Sorry, E-lain-a," he drawled. "Where do you want the crib?"
She followed him out into the foyer. "Back in your van," she said, but he ignored her and hauled it into the spare room next to her bedroom.
"Look, you can't do this!" she protested. "I told you. There's a big mistake being made here. I can't be the one Mrs., uh...Lawrence? chose to baby-sit Betsy."
He gave the sections of bars and boards a shake or two and it resolved itself into a loosely constructed rectangle. He inserted the bottom, which looked like the pegboard she hung her gardening tools on. With a few deft motions, he affixed the bottom and the rectangle took on greater sturdiness.
"Bradshaw! She called after him as he strode from the room. He paid her no attention, only came back with that stupid little mattress on top of his stupid head once more. That was it, she thought. He was stupid. He wasn't a doctor at all. He was an escapee from a mental hospital who had swiped a baby somewhere and was doing this because he didn't know any better. She felt almost relieved by the notion. That this entire event had no basis in sanity or reality was easier to accept than the alternative.
"There's a crib sheet in the bag in the stroller," he said, not sounding as stupid as she'd have liked. "And a blanket, too. if you bring them, I'll make up Betsy's bed. After she's had another bottle, she'll probably sleep right through the night. She'll want a bowl of cereal for breakfast, the rest of the peaches, and another bottle. if you don't have any milk in the house, I'll bring you some before I go back to the hospital."
"Bradshaw!" This time, it was a wail of despair. What was it going to take to get through to this man? Why couldn't he understand plain English?
"I know, I know," he said kindly. He continued, speaking over his shoulder as he went to fetch the stroller and its contents. "You don't want any part of this. You don't know Betsy's mother and you don't want to know Betsy." He nearly ran over her toes with the stroller as he shoved it past her. He pulled the crib sheet out of the bag, shook it out and began stretching it over the mattress. "But as she said in her note," he went on, "Margo feels she knows you, and -- "
"But I didn't get a note from her!" Elaina shouted. "All I got was your dumb phone bill, Bradshaw!"
He straightened, hands massaging the small of his back. "What do you mean, my phone bill?'
"I'll show you!" she snapped. Whirling, she nearly tripped over Harrison who had come to investigate her raised voice. "There," she said in triumph a moment later, waving the envelope in front of his nose. "See? And who do you know in Buffalo that you called three times during the most expensive hours?"
"My mother." He blinked blearily at the bill and nodded. "Yup. That's my phone bill, all right. I wonder where Margo's note is then."
"Me, too," Elaina said emphatically, then spun around as a clattering sound came from the kitchen. She beat one very tired doctor by only half a pace and came to a halt in the doorway to stare at a grinning baby. Betsy was sucking on the corner of a lace tablecloth while a sugar bowl, its lid, and a crystal vase lay on the parquet floor in small, glittering pieces. Sugar and pink roses and water had splashed everywhere.
"Oh, Betsy." Brad moaned. "How are we going to convince Lainie that you're a nice little kid if you keep screwing up like this? I saw the pile of dirt in the living room. You upset a plant, didn't you? And then you scared poor Lainie half to death by falling off the bed." He undid the belt that held her in the chair, picked her up and kissed her nearly bald pate. "You just gotta be good, sweetheart."
She gurgled and buried her fists in his hair. She shook his head with all her might, then tugged at one of his ears.
Elaina uncurled those tight little fingers. "Don't, honey-bun. He'll think you're Miss Harris." She was appalled that Brent Bradshaw might believe she was refusing Betsy house space because she was naughty. Babies her age weren't. Elaina didn't know how she knew that, but some instinct told her it was true. There could be no malice with such sweet innocence, she thought as Betsy launched herself from Brad's arms to hers, patted her face, and said happily, "Mama."
"You look cute," Bradshaw said, grinning. "I've never seen such a fatuous expression. Don't let it go to your head. "Mama's the only word she knows. She called the head nurse Mama too."
Elaina glared at him. "The note. Where do you suppose the note is, Bradshaw? Or is there such a thing?"
"There is, there is, I promise you. I..." He frowned. "I stuck it behind the visor. That's where I stick all my mail. I must have hauled out the wrong envelope this afternoon. I'll go look."
Betsy was making sleepy sounds and rubbing her eyes. She needed more sleep. Elaina thought, and remembered Bradshaw's words. She also needed another bottle. Elaina got milk froth the refrigerator, realizing quickly that it was too cold. Even she, who knew nothing about babies, knew that. She poured the milk into a measuring cup zapped it in the microwave on low power, jiggling Betsy who objected loudly to having to wait. She got an empty bottle from the bag Bradshaw had brought earlier. When the side of the cup began to feel warm, she stirred the milk, poured it into the bottle, and held it out toward the child. Betsy was ecstatic.
"Baby, it doesn't take a whole lot to please you, does it?" Elaina murmured. She curled up as before on the couch, cradling the nursing child close, tucking a crocheted afghan from the sofa-back over her. She heard the door open and close, heard heavy steps coming toward her, then Brent Bradshaw filled the doorway. She was struck again by his size, his looks, and that indefinable something that stirred her in a way she wasn't used to being stirred.
"Got it," he said, crouching in front of her and gazing at Betsy as she sucked on the bottle. He curled a finger and stroked the baby's face tenderly. To Elaina's horror a very definite shiver ran through her, a shiver of a kind she hadn't felt for a long time. It was almost as if that finger had caressed her.
"I'll read it when she's finished," she said breathlessly, wishing he'd move away from her. "I'd rather not disturb her. If she's asleep, you can just lay her on the seat of your van when you leave."
He looked at her bleakly and walked from the room. A moment later she heard the sounds of him cleaning up the broken glass and spilled sugar in the kitchen. He returned, strode to the corner where Brahms had fallen, and stared down at the pile of dark soil on the pale fawn carpet. Harrison sauntered over, rubbed against his ankle, and was rewarded by a scratch on the back of the head.
Brad looked at Elaina. "If you'll tell me where the vacuum is, I'll clean up this mess for you."
She shook her head. "No, thank you. Betsy's asleep now. Will you take her?"
Silently, he pleaded with her. Just as silently, she resisted. Green eyes meshed with gray. Her heart argued with her common sense and she was dismayed at how easily emotions could win out over mind. She sighed. "Take her to her crib."
Then, lest he think her too soft, too eager to give in, she went on. "It's late. I'll keep her for the night. But just for the night."
His smile didn't quite put the merry light back into his eyes, but it did ease some of the lines in his face. He crouched again and slid his arms under the sleeping baby, then stood up with her, afghan and all.
"That's good enough for now," he said softly. "Thanks, Lainie."
"Elaina," she said, just as softly, but with a steely note. She might be stuck with doing as he wanted for the time being, but that didn't mean he could call her anything be pleased. That was a silly, frivolous little-girl name, and she had seldom been silly and frivolous -- even as a little girl.
He nodded and said mockingly, "E-lain-a."
As he turned, the note fluttered to the floor and she bent to pick it up. Unfolding it, she read the feathery scrawl.
Dear Miss McIvor, you don't know me but I feel I know you. You always draw such happy children and your animals are so sweet. I took Betsy to the library to see you when you were reading to the kids there and I loved your soft, kind voice and your pretty eyes. Please help me. I'm sick and I don't know anybody in Eugene but my landlady who is mean and the people I work for who are all rich and busy and wouldn't care about Betsy. They said I have to give them a name of somebody here or Betsy would go to a foster home. I know that would be bad. I lied and said I know you. Please take care of Betsy till I get better. I'm so scared if they send her to strangers I'll never see her again.
If there was a signature, it was illegible, and Elaina thought it was simply that the pen had fallen away across the bottom of the paper. She had only read at the library on two or three Saturday mornings recently to help out, and was sure she didn't remember Betsy -- or her mother. But Margo remembered her. In spite of herself, Elaina was touched. Poor Margo. Sighing, she refolded the note and set it carefully on the mantel. After setting a candlestick on top of it for safety, she walked into the spare room to speak to Brent Bradshaw, who had tactfully left her alone to read the note
Tactfully? She nearly hooted the word aloud. The man wasn't being tactful at all. He had simply fallen asleep on the single bed.
"Bradshaw!" she said. He didn't move. She'd have yelled at him, but didn't want to wake the baby. She shook him. He grumbled and rolled over, putting both shoes on the spread. With an impatient snatch of breath, she tugged his shoes off and set them neatly on the floor under the edge of the bed. Then resigned, she pulled a warm quilt from the top shelf of the closet and covered him, turned off the light, checked on Betsy then tiptoed out, closing the door halfway.
What with her unexpected afternoon nap, as well as everything she had on her mind, it was a long time before Elaina got to sleep. She had just done so when the oddest noise awakened her. It was as insistent as her doorbell if not quite as strident, and she had no idea where it was coming from.
She got out of bed, blinking blearily, and opened the blind. It was barely dawn. What could be making a noise like that at this time of morning?
She staggered out as the door to the spare room opened and a huge, shaggy figure stumbled into the hail, mumbling incomprehensibly. He blundered toward her as she shoved her hair out of her eyes, trying to figure things out. Nothing became clearer, especially when he walked right into her. His arms swung around her as she lost her balance, teetering on one foot. She clung to him with both arms around his middle, eyes squeezed tightly closed.
It was the most incredible thing, Elaina thought with the few of her scattered wits she could gather. For the first time in her life she fit exactly right against a man. As the strange noise continued, she pressed herself even closer, noticing that her forehead rested exactly where it should into the curve of his shoulder, that her arms, wrapped around his waist didn't need to reach either too far up or too far down. She noticed, too, that her heart was slamming against her ribs and that she wasn't breathing at all regularly. Dimly, she realized she should move away from him, but his arms held her so securely she wasn't sure she could. Besides, she didn't want to. What she wanted to do was keep on leaning against his big, hard warm body and go back to sleep. Oh, this felt great! Not only had her head found a comfy home on his shoulder, not only was she breathing in a scent that was unique and tantalizing, not only did her arms go around him at just the right height, but her thighs meshed with his and her hips nestled against a burgeoning erection that was having an even stranger effect on her body and --
What in heaven's name are you doing, Elaina?
"Let me go!" she gasped, tearing herself away from him.
"Hey, who was hanging onto whom?"
"I..." Lord but this man had bad manners! What a thing to ask. Even if it was true. He wasn't a gentleman or he wouldn't have mentioned it. But at least he had let her go. Had it been reluctantly? Her heart did dumb things again, thinking that yes, it had been reluctantly "What's that noise?" she demanded stepping well clear of him.
"Oh. Yeah." He looked guilty as he fumbled at his waist and the noise ceased. "My beeper. Where's the phone?"
She explained that it wasn't connected and unlocked the door to let him out. He mumbled something, headed for the steps, missed them entirely, and fell off the porch, full length on to the grass. Shaking his head, he got up and headed or his van. She wondered if he were suffering from the same weird effects as she. If he couldn't walk straight because of that inadvertent embrace or simply hadn't woken up yet.
He managed to start the engine and turn on the headlights of his van, so presumably he was beginning to function properly. She stood shivering in the dawn air for a long moment, wondering if and when she would function properly again.
Back in her bedroom she caught sight of herself in the mirror and stared. Her eyes were enormous. Her lips were parted as if waiting to be kissed. Were they? Probably. Dammit, what had he done to her? She blinked. He had made her look pretty, that was what he had done to her. And she was plain. But no, she reminded herself "plain" had been Kirk's assessment of her. She didn't have to go along with it. She had told herself a long time ago that his opinion wasn't necessarily valid. In the past three years, she'd had a few dates, not many, but enough to let her know that not all men found her unattractive. And Kirk had been excusing himself. If he'd taken up with a good-looking woman, his actions might have been less forgivable or something. She'd spent a good many hours trying to figure it, and him, out.
She tried to remember if Kirk had ever said in so many words that he thought she was plain, but decided it must only have been his attitude. "You really should wear darker colors, Elaina. Why draw attention to your size?" For a long time she had felt like an elephant. To hear Kirk talk, you'd have thought she was overweight, instead of five feet ten and slender. Models were built like her, except she was more busty than most of them.
The trouble was she'd been so shy when she met Kirk and had had so little experience with men, his comments about her appearance were all she had to go on. They were much the same as what her mother had said to her over and over. "Must you have that huge bush of hair flying around your head? Can't you tie it back or something?" She had heard that so many times that tying her hair back was merely habit now.
Brad liked it better down. She let the thought linger in her mind for a moment before she squelched it, annoyed with herself. He hadn't said that at all. He had only said she looked more human. She picked up her brush and worked vigorously for a few minutes until her hair glowed golden brown in the morning light.
Betsy screamed with delight when she saw Elaina. She stood in the crib and jumped up and down, shaking the bars in glee. When Elaina lifted her up, the baby hugged her tightly and said, "Mama?" For a minute Elaina allowed herself to pretend.
Harrison sauntered in. In a transport of joy, Betsy flung herself sideways in Elaina's arms, nearly tipping the two of them over. Elaina sat down on the bed abruptly, falling backward onto the crumpled quilt as Harrison hopped up to rub against his new toy, purring as Betsy squealed and giggled. Harrison rubbed and purred and Elaina simply breathed, her face turned sideways into the pillow. she drew in a scent at once familiar and unfamiliar, and strangely, deeply exciting. It made her feel light-headed, weak, soft inside, and she quickly rolled away and stood up, carrying Betsy.
***
"Breakfast," she said. "That's what's needed around here, breakfast. I didn't have any dinner last night." Betsy seemed to agree, because as soon as she was changed -- something that took priority, Elaina realized -- she opened her mouth to yell and began squirting from the fascinating little glands under her tongue. It was a good thing Brad had explained, she thought, or she'd be frantic with worry over it.
Brad! Dammit the man simply wouldn't stay out of her mind. Even while Betsy raged, hammering on the tray of her high chair as Elaina read the instructions on the cereal box and mixed the stuff accordingly, Brad Bradshaw's voice was rumbling through her ears, his scent was tingling her nose, and the memory of how he had felt against her was making her hand shake. Heavens, it made her entire body shake!
She felt her face go hot when she thought of what had happened to his body while they held each other. She knew, of course, about men and morning, but what if it had been because of her? It hadn't been there at first and then -- Oh! Suddenly, she was even more ashamed of herself. The man was a stranger, for heaven's sake! She concentrated hard on getting breakfast into Betsy. Some things, she decided, were best forgotten.
She left the baby playing happily on the floor with Harrison and a chunky plastic bracelet Betsy had seen on her dresser and wanted, while she gathered up the laundry. She stuffed it into the washer, then dashed back to the spare room. She tidied the bed and discovered one pair of large black shoes still neatly tucked under it. She stared at them. Had he left barefoot? She shook her head. The crazy man! Well, it wasn't her problem, was it? So why did she keep wondering about it -- and about him -- while she quickly ran the vacuum over the carpets.
Her morning routine was shot to pieces and she wasn't sure she liked that. Heavens, she always started work at no later than eight-thirty! Today, she hadn't even made her own bed, the morning paper was sitting out on the doorstep, and her breakfast eggs were still in their shells. Well, it would all have to wait. The washer shuddered to a stop and she hurriedly shifted the wet things to the dryer so she could remake Betsy's bed just in case she needed a nap before Brad came back to get her.
She was struck by a sudden sadness. She didn't want him to take Betsy! Not only that, but without the baby he'd have no reason to return, ever. Of course, that wasn't to say that even if she kept Betsy, he'd come back, but...You never knew. Don't make excuses, Elaina. If you keep Betsy, it'll be because you like her. But still...it would be nice to have Betsy -- and Brad -- around, if only for a while.
She had just put the vacuum away when she was startled by the welcome sound of the telephone ringing. Leaving Betsy to play in the spare bedroom she dashed to grab the phone in the living room. It was the telephone company informing her that she was all hooked up and ready to go. She thanked the operator politely, and hung up, glad to have her phone in operation. Not that she often called anyone, or that anyone might call her, but it was comforting to know it was there if she needed it.
"Mama-mama-mama-mama," said Betsy, and Elaina looked down to see her galloping across the hall on hands and knees, making amazingly good time. She crawled right up to Elaina, grabbed two fistfuls of navy velour housecoat, and hauled herself upright. "Up," she said very clearly. "Up."
Elaina stared at her and lifted her in her arms "You talked? You said a word? Oh, Betsy! Betsy, you can talk!" It was wonderful, stupendous! She couldn't believe it. Betsy could talk! She could say more than just "mama." She was a real little person. The idea was so exciting that Elaina wanted to call someone and share the news. But who? No one she knew would care.
No one? One person would, but she couldn't call him to tell him something like that could she? No, of course not! She thought about it. She'd say, "Brad, I just had to tell you Betsy can say 'up!'"
And he'd say, "Lainie! That's great news. I'm glad you called."
Oh, yeah? Hah! He'd say, "Elaina who? Oh. You. You called me out of surgery to tell me that?" Or did emergency room residents do surgery? Whatever. He wouldn't want to be interrupted. He'd hang up totally disgusted with her and her stupidity. Elaina sighed. She had never felt more lonely in her life.
What would he think of the fact that she had no one to call with exciting news, she wondered, a man who called his mother three times in one month -- during non-discount hours? They must be very close. She sighed again, then lifted her chin determinedly. It wasn't important she told herself. Some people were close to their families; others were not. That was just the way life was. Letters were what welded her family together, if 'welded' was the word to use for their admittedly loose connection. And those letters were rare, more an obligatory touching of bases than news-filled missives.
Thinking about her parents' reaction if she were to call and tell them about Betsy made Elaina smile. Then it made her laugh. Betsy laughed back at her and Elaina gave the baby a hug. It was easy to smile and laugh with Betsy around.
Maybe Kirk had been wrong after all: Maybe she would be a good mother. She put such thoughts out of her mind and concentrated on the baby.
"Say it again, honey-bun. Come on. Betsy, say 'up.'"
But Betsy was already up. She didn't need to say it again. Instead she said her other word a few more times, then wiggled to get down. "So what did you want up for?" Elaina asked almost complainingly. but she put Betsy on the floor.
Maybe Betsy had just felt lonely and had come looking for comfort, she mused. It was nice to have someone come to her for comfort. It was, in a way, comforting.
She remembered her own feeling of loneliness when she realized she had no one to call, and sat on the floor beside Betsy and Harrison. She rolled the bracelet back and forth between them, and they both batted at it. Betsy cooed and kicked her bare feet. Elaina smiled. She wasn't feeling the least bit lonely anymore. "I'm not going to get any work done today, am I?" she asked presently, thinking how much less eccentric it seemed to be talking to a baby instead of a cat. Which was strange, because the cat likely understood almost as much as the baby did. When she mentioned work to Harrison, he often hopped up on the top edge of her drawing board. This morning, though, he didn't, much preferring to stay where Betsy was. As Elaina did.
Suddenly, she felt amazingly full of energy. But not for work. Today, her studio would remain closed. Outside, the sun shone and birds sang and it was a perfect June morning. Babies needed fresh air, didn't they? And milk and more baby food than the few little jars that were left, and some disposable diapers that looked so cute in commercials. Not to mention easy, what with not requiring pins. Or laundering!
Betsy had gone through an inordinate number of her cloth ones, and Brad hadn't brought very many of those at all. If she really did decide to keep Betsy, she'd need more, and soon. So, just in case, she'd buy some.
Scooping up Betsy and the bracelet, she nearly ran to the bathroom. She set the baby and her new toy on the floor. "I need a shower, honey-bun, and coffee and food and you're going to need lunch soon. But then you and I are going shopping, so you just behave yourself for a few minutes, okay?'
Betsy bit the bracelet, chortled, and pounded with it on the side of the tub. "That's right," said Elaina. "You play and be a good girl."
Making sure the door was shut tight so Betsy couldn't crawl away and get into trouble somewhere, Elaina stepped into the shower. As she quickly washed, her mind was filled with the things she planned to do with the rest of the time she had Betsy. When she was through and had wrapped a towel around herself and opened the shower doors, though, her mind went totally blank with shock as she saw what trouble Betsy had managed to get into in the confines of the bathroom.
"No! No!" she cried, grabbing the baby and pulling her away from the toilet to safety. She snatched a sodden towel from wet hands, seeing with horror that Betsy had been sucking on it.
"Oh, Betsy! Betsy! What have you done? What did I let you get into?" Frantically, she dried Betsy's face with the end of her own towel, trying to wipe out the baby's mouth, even while she knew that would do no good. The damage was surely done. Betsy had ingested who knew what number of dreadful germs, horrible microbes, vicious viruses! She needed help! She needed a doctor -- and fast!
As if sensing the urgency of the situation, Betsy began to howl energetically, setting Elaina's nerves further on edge. She ran into the living room and grabbed for the telephone, punching the 0 while she tried to comfort the baby. "Betsy, baby, don't cry. It'll be all right!" She wasn't at all sure it would, but knew she had to comfort the screaming child. "I'll get help for you! I'll fix it!"
"University Hospital Emergency," she said to the operator, then, when the hospital switchboard replied, "Dr. Bradshaw, please. And hurry!" she cried when a laconic female voice answered.
"Not there? What do you mean not there? He works there! He has to be there! I need him. This is an emergency!" She was speaking rapidly, almost incoherently, raising her voice to be heard over Betsy's screams. "I need Dr. Bradshaw. Please, please tell me where he is!"
"I'm right here," said his voice in her ear.
Almost insane with relief she babbled into the phone, "Oh, Brad, she said you weren't there. It's Betsy. She drank the toilet water and I know she's going to die and her mother entrusted her to my care and I didn't look after her properly and -- "
"This is Dr. Bradshaw," he said, taking the phone from her hand and speaking into it. "I'll take care of things." And then he hung it up.
Elaina blinked at him, "You're here!"
"I'm here." He lifted Betsy out of Elaina's arms, ran his gaze over her, then draped her over his shoulder, rubbing her back. At once, her squalling stopped "What happened?" he asked calmly in the sudden stillness.
"She...I...I left her playing in the bathroom while I was in the shower and she drank toilet water."
He frowned, turned Betsy to face him, and sniffed at her mouth. "She didn't get much, I don't suppose. I don't smell anything."
Elaina glared at him. "Well! I mean, it wasn't exactly -- uh -- it had been flushed!"
For a moment he gaped at her as if he wasn't sure of what he was hearing, then he shook his head slowly, a grin growing on his face. "Toilet water? You mean water? Not cologne? Just plain water? Out of the toilet? That's all?" And he roared with laughter.
"All? she echoed, her voice shrill and cutting into his laughter "All? Isn't it enough? All those germs! She soaked a towel in it and sucked on it! We have to...have to disinfect her, or something."
"Sure," he said, his rich chuckle still rippling out. "You go ahead and disinfect her, Lainie. It'll make you feel better. Sort of like checking her for broken bones."
"You...are...making...fun...of...me!" she said.
To Brad's horror, her face crumpled. He realized she was white and shaking and genuinely frightened. Tears fell from her eyes and she turned from him, her shoulders convulsing. Quickly, he set the baby on the floor and gathered the woman close. He led her to the sofa, and sat down, trying to get her face lifted out of her hands.
Her voice was muffled when she spoke. "I don't know anything about...about...babies and you know everything and it's not...not fair to make fun of me when I was so scared that she was going to d-die and...and -- "
"Hey, Elaina, take it easy!" He turned her face into the hollow of his shoulder, remembering how it had fit there this morning, how fantastic it had felt to hold her, how he had wanted to walk right back to bed, still holding her, curl his body around hers and -- Oh, lordy! Can that, Bradshaw! He continued rubbing her back as he had Betsy's, feeling the incredible smoothness of her skin under his palm. Hell, this was nothing at all like soothing Betsy. "Don't cry, Lainie. I'm sorry." That's it, keep talking. Keep your mind on comforting this woman, this stranger, this...patient. She needs words now, words that will calm her. Words that will soothe. She doesn't need --
He swallowed hard and concentrated. "I didn't mean to make fun of you. But it did strike me as funny. All she got was a little bit of clean water. It's no worse than her sucking on a washcloth in the bath. There's nothing there to harm her. I'm sure you're the cleanest person around and I know Betsy is going to be just fine. Come on, now, don't cry any more."
"I never cry," she said crying harder. She wrapped her arms around his torso and clung to him. "I don't know what's the matter with me!"
Brad felt beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead He knew damned well what was the matter with him! He was holding a nearly naked woman in his arms and responding to the situation the way any red-blooded male would. The sweet scent of her damp hair, the natural perfume of her skin, were getting to him more rapidly than he'd been gotten to in a long, long time. The jutting pressure of her nipples against his chest made him catch his breath and pray for strength.
Think of her as a patient, Bradshaw, he told himself frantically, but the delicious warmth of her body told him this was no patient. This was a wonderful armful of woman he wanted to hold closer and closer, tighter and tighter. He wanted to get rid of that towel she was wrapped in. He wanted...
He wanted his hand to stop rubbing her back, but it seemed to have a will of its own. It slowed, moving in circles, as he tested the satin of her skin. He traced her spine right down to where the towel was loosely wrapped. His breathing became labored. His chest constricted. His other hand came into play, caressing her shoulder, feeling the delicacy of the bones under the skin. His fingers massaged, sliding along the curve of flesh that led to her slender neck, tangling in the softness of her hair. God, she felt good! When was the last time a woman had stirred him like this? He couldn't remember. Maybe never. He'd thought he was too tired these past couple of years to be turned on to this extent. How wrong he had been!
This woman was turning him on as if he were a green kid who'd never held a naked female before. She was soft and sweet and delicately made, in spite of her height. Her height? She fit him perfectly.
She had gone motionless in his arms, her weeping quieted, her face still tucked against his shoulder. He could feel the dampness of her tears on his shirt. She caught her breath as he cupped a hand under her chin, then he was gazing into her eyes. They were the same gray as he'd remembered, but not so serene now. They were nearly silver, with dark rings around the irises, huge and moist and incredibly lovely within their wet, dark lashes. Slightly wary, these eyes gazed back at him, filled with the same questions that were battering at his own consciousness, questions he had no intention of even thinking about now, questions he didn't want her to have a chance to ask herself or voice aloud. Her cheeks were faintly flushed and her lips were parted, pink and soft and he didn't want to waste time on thought or discussion. Action was what he craved. And those lips.
He tilted her face higher, lowered his head, and took those soft pink lips gently, almost reverently. He felt them tremble and part under his urging to admit the tip of his tongue. Slowly, delicately he tasted her. He found her sweeter than he had imagined a woman could taste, and ran his tongue along the inside of her lower lip. A tremor there translated itself into a shudder that quaked through her whole body, and her nipples peaked against his chest. He felt his own body surge in a deep response of its own.
He wanted to crush her in his arms and deepen the kiss, to take it to its logical conclusion, but the memory of those drenched gray eyes gazing at him with such a world of questions in them held him back. He lifted his head reluctantly, watching her face.
Slowly, her long lashes fluttered up and she looked at him, bemused. She blinked as if she didn't know quite where she was, and levered herself away from his chest. With his hands on her shoulders, he helped her sit erect, suddenly becoming aware that her towel had slipped down to expose her perfect breasts. His gaze fell to those creamy orbs with their delicate, rosy tips, and one hand followed almost of its own volition. Gently, gently, he brushed the backs of his fingers up the underside of the curves. He watched her eyes widen and darken then fill with realization of what was happening.
She snatched up her towel, wrapping it tightly around herself as she shot to her feet. "Don't!" she gasped, although he was no longer doing anything at all except looking. And then she was gone, her long, slim legs taking great strides as she fled to the safety of her bedroom.