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Behind him, Anya helped her roommate support the other end of a faded purple couch. She’d tied back her dark hair and donned an oversize T-shirt that ought to be shapeless. But on her, every movement reminded Jack of the tempting curves underneath.
“That,” announced Rod to the group, “is a truly ugly sofa. Dare I hope you’re taking that purple monstrosity to the Dumpster?”
“It isn’t purple,” said Anya. “It’s orchid.”
Her roommate’s thin face poked out from behind the couch. “It’s for the second-floor landing.” She blew a curl of reddish-brown hair off her temple. “Nobody has to see it but us.”
“Hauling it upstairs is going to be a fun job,” Lucky muttered. Served him right for playing rooster in the henhouse, in Jack’s opinion. “Are we blocking you doctors?”
“Yes, and we’re hungry,” Rod answered.
Show no weakness in front of Anya. Especially not while this guy was hefting furniture and rippling his muscles. “I’m not that hungry. We can pitch in.” As if to defy his speech, Jack’s stomach rumbled. Hoping no one had heard, he marched over to boost the women’s end of the couch. They released it willingly.
Reaching the van, the men maneuvered it inside. A few minutes of grunting and shifting later, they’d fitted it in place. By then, Anya and Zora had disappeared between the buildings.
As Jack jumped down, the male nurse said, “I’ll get the van out of your way. We don’t want to inconvenience you lords of the realm.”
Did the man resent all physicians or just the two of them specifically? Jack had learned—more or less by chance—that Lucky worked for the distinguished head of the men’s fertility program. He doubted the fellow leveled snide remarks at the famed Dr. Cole Rattigan. But apparently an anesthesiologist and an ordinary ob-gyn were fair game.
“Don’t bother,” Jack said. “We’re fine.”
Rod rolled his eyes. “What if they run out of waffles?”
“Honestly!” Jack growled.
“Go ahead. I can handle this,” Lucky assured them.
Jack refused to let Anya see him as a lazy slug who whisked off for a leisurely meal while others, especially her, labored. “With a few more hands, you’ll finish faster.”
Lucky rolled his shoulders, producing loud cracks. “Suit yourself.”
The women reappeared, arms full of mismatched towels and sheets wrapped in clear plastic bags. “Amazing. The ladies copied our color scheme,” Rod said.
Zora peered dubiously at the linens in hues ranging from pink to purple to olive-green. “This is a color scheme?”
“Dr. Vintner has a dry sense of humor.” Anya lugged her towels to the open van.
On the upper level, Lucky took them from her arms. “Didn’t I mention we should bring out the chairs and table before the small stuff?”
The women exchanged glances. “Huh,” said Anya. “Did he?”
“Maybe, but these were on top of them,” Zora responded.
“And you couldn’t put them on the floor?” Lucky asked.
The guy was blowing his opportunity to appear heroic, Jack thought. And although the man’s peevishness appeared to be aimed at the redhead, Anya was the one who spoke up. “Don’t make a federal case out of it. Pile them on the couch.”
With an annoyed click of the tongue, Lucky obeyed.
Rod, still planted on the sidewalk, smiled pleasantly and said to him, “It’s nice when roommates get along so well.”
“I’m sure they’ll work it out,” Jack told him. “Once they’ve moved in and all.”
“They might end up with blood on the sofa,” his uncle answered. “Which would be an improvement.”
Another tenant, backing out of the opposite carport, glared at them while maneuvering around the van. Lucky waved in a friendly manner, and the man tilted his head in grudging acknowledgment.
“Out of curiosity, how many bathrooms does this house have?” Rod inquired, eyeing the towels.
“Three and a half,” said Zora.
“For how many people?”
“Five.” Lucky jumped down from the van.
“That’s not bad, but you’ll have a traffic jam if you work the same hours.” Rod adjusted his fedora to block the sunlight.
Anya sighed. “I’d have killed for that many bathrooms when I was growing up. We had two for nine people.”
“One of our bathrooms is in my suite downstairs,” Lucky said. “You’re welcome to use it whenever you want.”
“Thanks.” She gave the nurse a vague smile.
Jack tried not to scowl. “Why don’t we bring down the rest of the furniture?”
“Sounds like a plan.” Anya gave Jack a vague smile, too.
Half an hour later his muscles were throbbing, but he would have rather worked to the point of collapse than admit defeat.
Fortunately, he was in the right place when Anya, approaching the parking lot with a box marked Dishes, halted abruptly, the color draining from her face.
“Are you okay?” Jack rushed to relieve her of the box but had to dodge a near-collision with Lucky.
“I’ve got it.” The male nurse snatched the container from Anya’s shaky grasp.
Zora approached, struggling antlike with a crate much too large for her. “Anya? Are you sick?”
“Go on,” her roommate told her. “I’m fine.”
“Well, okay.” Zora staggered toward the truck. Lucky ignored her.
“Sit down.” Jack took Anya’s elbow. “I’m speaking as a doctor.”
“Yes, a nurse couldn’t possibly figure out what she should do.” Lucky sent him a poisonous glare and carted off the dishes.
“I can manage.” All the same, Anya leaned on Jack as he escorted her to a wrought-iron bench bordered by flowering bushes.
From around the corner, Rod appeared, carrying a toilet plunger and a pack of bath tissue. “Doing my bit,” he announced, waving the lightweight items in the air and strolling on his way.
Jack gladly refocused his attention on Anya. How vulnerable she looked, sitting there twisting the hem of that huge T-shirt. “Can I get you some water?”
“No, thanks. I just drank half a glass.” She sucked in a breath, as if gathering strength from the fragrance of the flowers. Despite the cool air, she must have overheated from her exertion.
To distract her, Jack said, “I’ve been meaning to tell you how terrific you were with Tiffany.” They hadn’t had a chance to talk privately since Thursday.
“How’d things work out for her?”
His niece’s freckled face popped into his head. He’d been thinking about Tiff a lot these past few days. “When her parents learned she was safe, they were relieved for about thirty seconds before they became furious.”
“Understandable, I suppose,” Anya said. “They must have been worried sick.”
“Helen said they blistered the phone. She refused to let them talk to Tiffany until they calmed down.”
“Good for her.” Anya tucked a wedge of dark hair behind her ear. She’d lost her clip, he noticed. “Did they drive up?”
“They flew into Orange County in their private jet.” John Wayne Airport, the closest to Safe Harbor, accommodated both commercial and private aircraft.
“That’s a short hop.” Anya swallowed, still struggling with whatever was bothering her.
“Twenty minutes in the air, I gather.” Judging by how tense she’d become when he’d just sat beside her, touching her wouldn’t be welcomed, so Jack folded his arms and went on talking. “However, with all the arrangements, it took them about two hours, roughly the same as if they drove. But that wouldn’t have satisfied Vince’s sense of importance. That gave us time to order pizza and play a round of Monopoly.”
“Who won?” Anya asked.
“Rod.” Jack smiled at the memory of his uncle battling for turf with Tiffany, both of them relishing each small victory and flourishing every Get Out of Jail Free card. “He’s a tough customer.”
“He didn’t cut a twelve-year-old any slack?”
“Kids can’t deal with life if parents pave every step of their path,” the anesthesiologist responded, sauntering back from the truck.
“I don’t imagine her parents are making her life easy,” Anya said.
“A reasonable point.” He stepped aside for Lucky and Zora to file by. “However, there’s a difference between berating a child, as they do, and teaching her that concentration and strategy pay off.”
Hoping his uncle would move on so he could have Anya to himself again, Jack narrowed his eyes. “Yes, Monopoly is an excellent metaphor for life.”
“Also, I like to win.” With a grin, Rod departed.
“You didn’t run into the parents, did you?” Anya’s cheeks had regained some of their healthy pink color. “Considering the legal issues, that would have been awkward.”
“We aren’t suicidal,” Jack assured her. “Helen asked Portia to phone when she landed, so we knew when to clear out.”
“Then how do you know what happened when they got there?”
“Helen called.” Rod had said the older woman had been near tears on the phone.
“Was it bad?”
“Vince stormed into the house and called Tiff a spoiled brat.” Although Jack had never met the man in person, he’d seen pictures. Vince came across as large and intimidating, even in a headshot.
“He sounds awful.” Anya’s dark eyes smoldered. “What a bully.”
“Tiff’s not easily cowed.” Jack was proud of his niece. “She had to work hard at appearing contrite, according to Helen. Then she took your advice and cried to her mom about how much she’d missed her grandmother. That it was cruel to deprive an old lady of her grandchildren. Also, she mentioned something about spiderwebs and dust.”
“Did it work?”
“Helen thinks her daughter was swayed, but there’s no telling what Vince will decide.” Jack’s aunt had always struck him as a strong person—maybe a little too strong, in view of the way she’d treated Rod—but she seemed unwilling or unable to stand up to her second husband. “Even if he agrees, they might choose to fly Helen to San Diego rather than letting Tiff and Amber come here.”
“Let’s hope not.” It was Rod, toting a small reading lamp. “The girls need a break before those people crush their spirits.”
“Tiffany doesn’t strike me as crushable,” Anya said. “But if she runs away again, she might end up who knows where.”
Jack had no intention of allowing that to happen. “I made it very clear that if she can’t reach Rod or Helen, I’d meet her anywhere, anytime.”
Her hand fluttered to his arm. “You really care about her. That’s so sweet.”
He fought down the instinct to gather her close. “Of course.”
Rod cleared his throat, but apparently reconsidered whatever he’d been about to say and vanished toward the parking lot. For once, he’d picked up on the vibes around him and showed a trace of sensitivity. And I’m sure I’ll hear about it later.
Anya lifted her hand. “Sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry about,” Jack told her.
“Listen.” In the dappled sunlight, she raised her face to his. The soft light emphasized the velvet texture of her skin and the fullness of her lips. “We should meet for coffee. Or tea. Or juice.”
Finally, she was ready to move past this tough patch in their relationship. “Any beverage will do.” Encouraged that she’d taken this step of her own volition, Jack cupped her hands in his. “Now that you’re moving to Karen’s house, we won’t be running into each other outside of work. I’d like to remedy that. I miss you.”
She swayed closer, then slid her hands free and scooted back. If he’d been paying attention to their surroundings, he’d have heard the footsteps, too. Jack would gladly have kicked Lucky and Zora, except that might have made them drop the TV they were carrying.
Agonizing seconds passed. When they were alone again, he asked, “What day is good for you?”
“For what?”
“Drinks.”
“Oh, that.” Anya studied him as if seeking the answer to an unasked question. “Just suppose...what if Tiffany and her sister had to move away somewhere that you and Rod would never see them? I mean, if it was best for them. Like, witness protection.”
What a bizarre idea. “There are no circumstances under which my nieces would not need their father,” Jack responded vehemently.
“Oh.”
She seemed to shrink away.
What was that about? Surely she knew his anger wasn’t directed at her. “I could meet you tomorrow afternoon when you get off.” Jack worked an overnight shift on Sundays in labor and delivery, so he had Mondays free. Well, free aside from sleeping.
Rod bustled past on the walkway, whistling and keeping his gaze trained ahead. He didn’t have to be so obvious about ignoring them, but it was better than if he’d stopped to gab.
“No, the whole thing is a bad idea.” Anya stood up. “We work together. Let’s keep it professional.”
“Wait a minute.” She was the one who’d proposed to meet for a drink. “Is this a game?”
“I beg your pardon?”
Jack brushed off his slacks as he stood. “I realize you weren’t feeling well...”
“Probably low blood pressure,” she said.
“Regardless, that’s no excuse for jerking me around.” He’d interrupted his breakfast plans and overtaxed his muscles, which would now probably hurt like hell during the long night ahead. That was all fine—she hadn’t requested his assistance, and he didn’t begrudge a few aches and pains—but it was unfair to suggest they meet for coffee and then behave as if he had pressured her. “If you’d rather I kept my distance, fine. But don’t issue invitations you don’t mean.”
“I didn’t...it wasn’t like that.” A familiar pucker appeared between her eyes.
Jack nearly softened. She had an astonishing ability to stir his protective instincts. But no one had appointed him her guardian. She had plenty of friends, and if she’d rather drink coffee or simply hang out with the other nurses, male or female, that was her business.
“I’m glad you’re feeling better,” he told her. “If it’s low blood pressure, you should eat something.”
“Crackers.” She swallowed. “I think we packed them. But that’s okay. Karen and Melissa promised to fix sandwiches.”
Lucky strode by. “The first of many meals. I don’t suppose you’ve seen the updated kitchen? It’s impressive.”
“No.” Jack was sure he had a much better idea of how to make the most of a kitchen than Lucky did.
“And all that space!” the man crowed. “Once we settle in, it will be a fantastic party house.”
“Knock yourself out.” Jack had endured enough veiled taunts for one day. Also, he realized, the apartment must be nearly empty by now. “I’ll let you folks finish on your own. Enjoy your sandwiches.”
“Thanks for the help,” said Anya.
“Don’t mention it.”
He’d reached the parking lot before he remembered that the van still blocked their cars. Then he spotted Rod’s distinctive fedora. His uncle was facing a statuesque lady in formfitting green slacks and a halter top. Golden-brown hair floated around a determined face as she waved.
“Hi,” Jack called. What was the Realtor’s name? Della? Danielle? It always reminded him of old-fashioned countertops. Formica. No, that wasn’t right.
“Danica was just mentioning she had a couple of very lonely apple pies,” Rod informed him.
“There’s more than I can eat,” Danica confirmed. “It’s my mother’s closely guarded recipe. Homemade crusts, too.”
“With whipped cream, they’ll be better than waffles,” Rod said. “There is whipped cream, isn’t there?”
He noticed a mischievous glint in her eye, hinting that the whipped cream might be put to all sorts of creative uses. “Absolutely. And espresso.”
He’d struck out with Anya, so why not? “Sounds wonderful,” Jack said. “Very kind of you.”
“My pleasure.”
The real estate agent linked one arm through Rod’s and the other through his as if laying claim to them both. That didn’t last long, though, since it was impossible to climb the exterior steps in that formation. As they were separating, he caught Anya’s expression from behind the truck.
She looked...hurt. Or was he kidding himself?
Much as Jack enjoyed her company, he was done behaving like a teenager with a crush. If she chose to retreat from what they’d shared and return to acting strictly professionally he respected that.
Besides, he was starving.
Chapter Five
Empty of furnishings, the apartment had a pathetic air, Anya thought as she took a last look around. Matted patches of carpet revealed the shapes of their sofa and chairs. But after the management had the place professionally cleaned, those marks would vanish, leaving no sign of the two women who had spent a year within these walls.
When she’d agreed to pair up with Zora, Anya had been happy to bid farewell to the motel suite she’d been living in since her arrival from Colorado. Anya had found a sympathetic soul in her roommate, who’d been licking the wounds of her husband’s betrayal. The women had formed a team as they popped corn, shared movie nights and, playing on their names, joked about being experts on everything from A to Z.
Now that transitional period of their lives was ending. Maybe that explained Anya’s rush of nostalgia. Also, she would no longer enjoy the awareness that just around the corner of the next building dwelled a guy with a devilish grin and the most skillful hands she’d ever encountered, in or out of an operating room.
She hadn’t meant to drive him to that rapacious woman who flaunted her surgically enhanced breasts at every opportunity. Right now, they must be sitting at that woman’s table with their legs bumping underneath. Anya hoped Rod was bumping his legs in there, too.
And she still had to break the news of her pregnancy to Jack. That comment about his nieces needing their father, no matter what the circumstances, didn’t bode well for gaining his consent to adoption. Yet surely he wouldn’t raise a baby by himself. And he couldn’t force Anya to take on a role for which she was completely unprepared.
Their child deserved better. Surely he’d see that eventually, but she dreaded the confrontation. His attitude only reinforced her belief that she should entrust the task of informing him to someone else.
After checking her bedroom for overlooked objects, Anya peeked into the bathroom. The medicine cabinet was empty, no leftover shampoo in the tub...oh, wait. There on the windowsill sat the remarkably robust African violet. Far from withering away, it was thriving. Perhaps, as she’d read on the internet, it really did prefer humidity and filtered light.
She’d intended to toss it in the trash, but it would be cruel to kill a blossoming plant. Lowering it, Anya admired the dark fuzzy leaves and tiny purple flowers. “You deserve another chance, no matter who gave you to me,” she murmured as she exited the bathroom. “It isn’t your fault Jack knocked me up.”
A gasp from the kitchen was followed within milliseconds by a crash. Dismayed to realize she’d been overheard, Anya stared at a shocked Zora as she rushed into the kitchen.
Freckles stood out against her roommate’s face. “He what? You’re what?”
“Forget you heard that,” Anya commanded, despite the futility of such a request.
“See what you made me do!” Zora transferred her distress to the shattered millefiori vase, its delicate colors and swirling, kaleidoscope-like neck reduced to shards on the kitchen floor.
“I thought you gave that away.” The beautiful vase had been an anniversary gift from the treacherous Andrew, who’d bought it on a business trip to Italy.
“Like you said, there’s no sense blaming an object just because a jerk gave it to you.” Zora scraped up the broken pieces with paper towels.
“You have to get over him,” Anya told her.
“He’s still my husband,” her friend retorted. A few months ago, Zora had gone so far as to throw a divorce party in the hospital cafeteria, proclaiming how happy she was to be free. But clearly she was neither happy nor, technically, free.
Anya refused to act as an enabler. “Andrew hasn’t signed the final papers only because you haven’t forced him to. He enjoys keeping you dangling. It’s a power trip.”
“Maybe he hasn’t signed them because he still has feelings for me.” Zora dumped the shards into a plastic trash bag.
Lucky stomped through the front door, which they’d propped open. “Did I hear what I think I heard? You’re hanging on to that cheater? You’re an idiot.”
Zora shot him an unladylike gesture. Anya wished Lucky would quit meddling in their business. Just because he’d overheard their conversation didn’t mean he had the right to pass judgment. Besides, whereas Anya’s criticisms were prompted by concern for her friend’s well-being, his motive was less charitable.
Most of the hospital staff had forgiven Zora for her husband-stealing once nurse Stacy Layne had happily remarried. But Lucky had taken the situation to heart because Stacy had married his beloved boss; therefore, he resented any and all harm that had ever been done to her.
“Let’s lock up, okay?” Anya said. “Melissa and Karen must be wondering if we had an accident on the drive over.”
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