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“How’s the little one?”
His question was casual, even offhand, but Stacy caught the flash of strong emotion in his gaze when it had rested briefly on her tummy.
“Actually she’s been very quiet today.” She tried for a light tone as she added, “Dr. Jarrod was telling me this morning about the good luck they’ve had here with preemies.” Her hands trembled slightly as she returned the foil to the bag and crumpled both into a tight ball. “Of course, the odds would be more favorable if I could just make it into my ninth month.”
Boyd heard the quaver in her voice, saw the sudden shimmer of tears in her eyes and wanted to bolt. Try as he might, he’d never quite managed to numb himself to the sights and sounds of another’s suffering, which was just another reason why he made a better carpenter than doctor.
Uncomfortable and antsy, he shifted until he was resting one ankle on his knee. A few hours in that bard plastic chair could effectively wring a confession from a saint, he thought. And he was about as far from sainthood as any man could get.
“Jarrod is the best,” he said, and meant it. “If anyone can keep that little one where she belongs for another month he can.”
“Yes, so everyone here keeps telling me.”
“But you don’t believe it?”
She took a breath and straightened slender shoulders more suited to tailored silk than faded hospital cotton. “Yes, I believe it I have to believe it. Otherwise...”
She took a breath, then another, clearly struggling for control. She did her best to blink back tears but there seemed to be too many.
He felt his mouth go dry. The quick, determined smile had him shoring up walls he’d thought invulnerable. Worse, he was strongly tempted to bundle her poor bruised body into his arms and hug her until she felt safe and reassured again. Only the memory of the last time he’d held a woman had him backing down hard.
“There should be a box of tissues around here someplace,” she murmured, wiping her wet cheeks with her fingertips. Leaning forward, Boyd plucked one from the box on the small metal storage cabinet and handed it to her.
“Here, blow.”
“I went to a psychic once, right after I graduated from college,” she said between unladylike honks. “She told me I was an old soul, and therefore likely to be rather intense about things.” Finished with the tissue, she tossed it into the nearby trash basket.
Boyd heard the clatter of dinner trays and realized he’d stayed far longer than he’d planned. Determined to say goodbye and mean it this time, he glanced at his watch and was about to make his polite farewells when the RN on duty walked in.
Built like a bean pole topped with straw, Maureen Schultz was as professional as they came—and as irreverent. Nothing was sacred to her—except human life. As a nurse, she had no equal. The same could be said about her tendency to be a pain in the butt.
Spying him sitting next to the bed, she broke into a teasing grin. “My stars, the reclusive Dr. MacAuley has actually graced the halls of PortGen with his presence again.”
Even though her tone was light, he heard the unspoken questions. Was he still grieving? Still having nightmares? Still not returning phone calls from well-meaning friends?
“Still terrorizing the interns?” he inquired mildly as he got to his feet.
“Just the lazy ones.” Grinning, she reached for the blood pressure cuff in the wall holder. Widening her grin, she turned toward Stacy, who obediently held up her arm. “Would you believe this hulking brute was once the most promising resident we had on the surgical service?” she asked as she wound the cuff securely.
“I know he’s cool in an emergency.”
Boyd saw the quick took Schultz shot his way and gritted his teeth. Restless again, he ambled to the window and looked out on the parking lot. The mercury vapor lights cast an eerie blue aura over the cars lined up in their neat rows. How many of the visitors who had come in those cars had come to see near-strangers? he wondered. A half dozen, a couple? One?
So he had a soft spot in his cynical heart for a small, sleek woman with grit. No problem. Hell, he also had a soft spot for lonely little kids like Heidi. Who wouldn’t? But, hey, he was a guy who pounded nails for a living, not a social worker.
When the job on Astoria was done, he’d move on to another job, and Heidi would find another “best friend” to jabber at when she was lonely. When Stacy’s bruises were healed and her condition stable, she would go back to her world and out of his thoughts. When that happened, they would both be better off.
“Any contractions since the last time I was in?” he heard Schultz ask, and turned his gaze toward the bed in time to see Stacy’s eyes cloud.
“A tiny one. More like a twinge.”
“How long ago?” he asked, earning him another appraising glance from Schultz’s laser-keen eyes.
“Two hours, more or less—” Stacy admitted, before adding too quickly, “—nothing to worry about, right?”
Boyd lifted a hand to the back of his neck, where a sudden knot had formed. “Like someone told me once, worry is the world’s most useless emotion.”
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