The Doctor Delivers by Janice Macdonald

Author:Janice Macdonald
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2002-05-14T16:00:00+00:00

MARTIN ARRIVED at Catherine’s with a bunch of pink tulips under one arm, a bottle of Chianti under the other and books for the children. The wine had been easy—she’d told him they were having lasagna—and he’d enjoyed selecting the books. The flowers had thrown him into an agony of indecision. His first inclination had been roses, but then he’d worried that red was coming on too strong, and he couldn’t remember what the other colors were supposed to signify, so he’d settled on tulips, which now seemed an odd choice, and sweat was breaking out across his upper lip, and he felt as nervous as a kid on a first date.

Catherine was in the doorway when he pulled up. Barefoot in jeans and a billowing white shirt, her hair in a loose braid down her back. The light from inside shone like a nimbus around her head and shoulders. At her side stood a small blond girl, one arm wrapped around her mother’s leg.

“This is Julie.” She disentangled the child’s arms, crouched beside her and smiled up at Martin. “And this is Dr. Connaughton. Martin. He works with me at the hospital. Remember, you saw him on TV?”

The child nodded. “With the little babies.”

“Right. Really little babies.” Catherine motioned him inside and shut the door, shivering. “Brrr, it’s chilly out there.”

“Mommy,” Julie tugged at Catherine’s hand. “I have to tell you something important. We have to put the cheese stuff in the lasagna.”

“I know, sweetie.” Catherine ruffled the girl’s hair, “We’re going to in just a minute.” She took the wine and flowers, smiled at Martin. “These are gorgeous. I didn’t know tulips grew in December.”

“Only in greenhouses,” he said, and they both stood there smiling at each other until a boy’s voice called out from the kitchen. Catherine gave an apologetic little shrug.

“Be right there, Peter. Chopping onions isn’t his idea of a good time,” she said with a glance at Martin. “Make yourself comfortable, okay? We’ve entered a critical stage in the lasagna operation, and I’m desperately needed.”

He pulled off his leather jacket, sat down on the couch. The room was comfortable. Multicolored rugs on the hardwood floors, flowered curtains. Flickering lights from the Christmas tree glowed on and off, the lights almost mesmerizing. From the kitchen, aromas of onions frying, oregano. Kids’ voices. He leaned his head back against the couch, closed his eyes and let it all wash over him like a soothing balm.

Someone tapped his knee.

“Are you taking a nap?” Julie studied him, her eyes as round as marbles.

“Not really.” He returned her gaze. “Just closing my eyes.”

Julie gave him a knowing look. “That’s what my mommy says sometimes, but then she starts snoring.” She climbed up on the couch beside him. “Hey, do you know what my teacher’s name is?”

“Um—” he thought for a minute “—Fred.”

She giggled. “No. Guess again.”

“Toffee nose.”

She grinned and smacked him on the arm. “No. That’s dumb. It’s Mrs. Harris.”

“What’s her first name?” Martin asked.

“Uh.” She stuck her finger in her mouth, thinking.

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