Dr. Daddy

Two

Zoey stretched her arms high above her head and watched the clock at the nurses’ station, smiling as the minute hand reached toward the twelve and brought her another hour closer to a long weekend. She had forgotten how pleasant the third shift could be sometimes, when it was quiet and slow moving and passed without incident. In a little over an hour, she’d be heading home to enjoy a leisurely Friday, followed by an even more leisurely Saturday and Sunday. Normally she would be rushing around to get ready for work right now. It was nice how occasionally an otherwise inconvenient scheduling change worked out just right.

Nonetheless, she had been quite happy to leave the eleven-to-seven shift for regular daytime hours three years ago, having grown weary of living her life upside down. Back then, she hadn’t been able to manage any kind of social life, because she had worked while most people slept and slept while others were out enjoying the day. Of course, back then, she’d also had an excuse for why she seldom dated. Now that she was working more regular hours, she still went out with men infrequently. And now she was hard-pressed to figure out why.

Because most men were jerks, she answered herself immediately. Case in point: Dr. Jonas Tate.

Just who in the hell did he think he was? she asked herself for perhaps the hundredth time since yesterday afternoon. He could have caused a nuclear meltdown with those boiling magma glances he had tossed her way. She felt her temperature rise at the simple recollection, telling herself the heat was a result of her anger and nothing more. She had not found his suggestive comments intriguing, she assured herself. Insulting, yes; infuriating, yes; incendiary, okay, maybe. But intriguing? Uh-uh. No way. Absolutely not.

Zoey was still telling herself this when seven o’clock rolled around and Jeannette came in to relieve her. Instead of feeling tired, however, she felt oddly reenergized by her late night’s work and looked forward to a day of play. Olivia would be working, but Sylvie’s bartender hours left her free during the day. Maybe she and Sylvie and Gennie could have an adventure, Zoey thought with a smile. March was still kind of cold to be out and about, but maybe they could take in a movie or do some shopping.

When she’d gathered her things and shrugged into her parka, she exited the nurse’s lounge and punched the button for the down elevator. With a tinny-sounding ding, the doors unfolded, and Lily Forrest stood ready to exit in much the same way Zoey was poised to enter. For some inexplicable reason, when she saw the doctor on the elevator, Zoey suddenly felt the urge to run. There was just something about the expression on Lily’s face that made her feel a little wary.

“Zoey!” the doctor cried when she saw her. “Are you on your way out?”

She nodded, edging closer to the elevator, stretching her arm across the open door, instinctively preparing herself for a hasty retreat. “Hi, Lily. Yes, I’m leaving. Jeannette and I switched shifts, so she’ll be working my hours today. I’m on my way home. Sorry.”

“No, don’t be sorry,” the other woman assured her. “This is perfect. I couldn’t have arranged it better if I’d tried.”

Zoey gazed at Lily warily. The elevator door banged against her arm insistently, as if to urge her, Run! Run while there’s still time! “Arranged what?” she asked, feeling somehow that she was going to be sorry for asking the question.

“You live in Haddonfield, don’t you?” Lily asked.

Zoey nodded. “Uh, yeah, I do. I rent an apartment there.”

“Wonderful,” Lily said with a smile. “I really hate to ask, but since you’re on your way out and headed in that direction, anyway, I wonder if you might do me a favor?”

“What’s that?”

“Would you mind dropping off a patient file for me in Tavistock on your way home?”

Zoey released a breath she hadn’t even been aware of holding and smiled in relief. “Sure, no problem.”

“It was left here inadvertently yesterday and it’s vital to a doctor’s presentation at the National Institutes of Health in Maryland later this morning. If he has to drive all the way to the hospital to get it before heading down to Bethesda, he’ll never make it on time.”

She extended a manila folder toward Zoey, who tucked it under her arm. “Here’s the address,” she added, jotting it down on a small pad of paper she retrieved from the pocket of her lab coat. “It won’t be too far out of your way, will it?”

Zoey shook her head as she glanced at the address. “Don’t worry about it, Lily. Tavistock is close enough to my apartment that I take my evening strolls there every night.”

And it was a very nice neighborhood, she thought as she tucked the scrap of paper into the inside pocket of her parka. Huge homes, many of them lovely Victorians, with perfectly manicured lawns and gardens, and huge trees that stretched to the sky. It was the kind of place she loved—quiet, peaceful, beautiful. After some of the experiences Zoey had suffered in her life, serenity and beauty were two things she strove to embrace in every waking moment.

“I appreciate it,” Lily said as she rushed past Zoey and down the hall toward neonatal, her flat heels clip-clopping merrily on the tile floor. “I owe you one,” she called over her shoulder just before she disappeared around a corner.

Zoey waved her off and turned back to the elevator. When she’d taken the address from Lily, she’d released the door, which had closed on a car that was now gone. Oh, well, she thought. She was in too good a mood to let it bother her. She had a three-day weekend before her, with nothing specific she had to do and no one to bother her. Best of all, she thought further with a smile, she was guaranteed seventy-two hours without the specter of Jonas Tate hovering over her. With a satisfied sigh, she punched the button again and settled in to wait.

* * *

Jonas Tate stared down at the sleeping baby in the nursery across from his bedroom, thinking about a redheaded nurse and wondering what on earth had made him behave so peculiarly the afternoon before. He had come on to Zoey Holland in a room full of people, had all but undressed her with his eyes while a dozen of his co-workers looked on. No, that wasn’t true, actually, he corrected himself. He had indeed undressed her with his eyes. And dammit, he’d liked what he’d seen.

Oh, God, how could he have done that? he asked himself. How could he find such an infuriating woman attractive? Zoey Holland was an overbearing, stubborn, know-it-all loudmouth, a woman more suited to inciting prison riots than caring for infants. There was absolutely no reason why she should turn him on so thoroughly, he told himself. None at all. Yet if that were the case, why had Juliana’s cries of an hour ago awakened him from one of the most erotic dreams he’d ever enjoyed, a dream whose focus had been none other than Nurse Zoey?

He just wasn’t getting enough sleep, Jonas thought. That was the only explanation he could come up with for behaving so strangely at the hospital yesterday afternoon and for the unsettling fantasies he’d been indulging in lately about Zoey. Total exhaustion did strange things to people. And there was no chance he was going to catch up on his sleep tonight.

Tonight? he repeated to himself. Hell, it was already morning again. And once again, he felt more tired upon waking than he had upon falling into bed the night before. He was disoriented and dazed and clutching a half-empty bottle of formula in his hands, but Juliana was sleeping peacefully for a change and he was terrified of moving away from the crib lest he disturb her and set her to crying again.

All around him, his house was silent. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d experienced such a lack of sound. When he’d first moved into the rambling old Victorian in Tavistock, he had loved it—loved its big, airy rooms and wide windows, the rich jewel-toned colors of the walls and dark mahogany trim, the huge trees growing outside and what had seemed a steady, constant quiet. The house, the neighborhood, everything, had been perfect for the first several months he was in residence. Then on New Year’s Day, Mrs. Edna Caldecott of International Children’s Services had arrived at his front door with a bundle of bad news and a baby in her arms.

As if inspired by his memories, the doorbell buzzed loudly downstairs, and the baby started. For one hopeful moment, Jonas thought Juliana was going to slide calmly back into sleep again, and he cautiously lifted one foot to step away from the crib. Then her eyes snapped open, and her chin began to crumple, an expression he knew meant she was about to start howling. As if cued by his thoughts, Juliana opened her little mouth and belted out a high-pitched scream that nearly shattered his eardrums.

Jonas reached into the crib, but hesitated before touching her, still completely uncomfortable holding the baby even after more than two months of performing the task. Of course, he tried to avoid touching her unless he absolutely had to, leaving that aspect of child care to the countless sitters he’d hired to watch Juliana during the day.

He’d been through a half-dozen since January, dismissing most of them because he didn’t trust something or other about them. Mrs. Howard had been too stern looking, while Mrs. Cather had seemed too indulgent and likely to spoil. Evan had been nice enough, but he just wasn’t sure a nineteen-year-old boy had the knowledge necessary for caring for an infant. And Melissa... Well, the moment he’d come home from work to find her waiting for him in his bed wearing little more than a smile, he’d known she wasn’t right for the job, either.

He’d been very pleased with Mrs. Garrison, the most recent one, though. At sixty-two, she’d raised four children of her own and had the nicest blue eyes Jonas had ever seen. He’d begun to look forward to a long and healthy relationship with her as Juliana’s nanny, but she had informed him yesterday afternoon that she wouldn’t be back. She was scheduled to be arraigned on armed robbery charges the following day, and there was a good chance she was going to be occupied elsewhere for the next five to ten years. Although with time off for good behavior, she’d told him, she might be available again before then, if he was still interested.

The doorbell buzzed again and Juliana cried more loudly, jerking her tiny arms and legs in a silent demand to be held.

“All right, all right,” Jonas muttered, lifting the baby gingerly from the crib and positioning her awkwardly against his shoulder.

He made his way carefully downstairs, deciding not to worry about the fact that he wore only purple silk pajama bottoms and nothing more. He couldn’t imagine who would be ringing his doorbell at seven-thirty in the morning, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to make himself presentable for them. Juliana’s howling increased about ten decibels with every step he took down the stairs, so by the time he reached the door, she was red faced and screechy and almost out of control.

Which was pretty much how Jonas felt, too, when he saw Zoey Holland standing on his front porch.

“What are you doing here?” they chorused as one.

“I live here,” Jonas replied.

“Lily Forrest sent me,” Zoey said at the same time. Then, before he could say more, she demanded, “What on earth are you doing to that poor baby?”

In spite of the fact that her career consisted of being surrounded by moody infants, Zoey couldn’t bear to hear a baby crying in anguish. Instinctively, she reached for the child in Jonas Tate’s arms, tamping down all the questions that swirled in her head at his appearance. She noted only that he surrendered the baby willingly, and she pushed past him into the house, nudging the door shut with her foot before the cold morning air could chill the infant. She rocked the baby carefully, murmuring soothing, meaningless sounds. The tiny thing stopped crying almost instantly, focusing intently on Zoey’s face, blinking her teary, red-rimmed eyes.

“There’s my good girl,” Zoey said quietly, knowing immediately that the child was female. She placed a soft kiss on the baby’s forehead, inhaling the sweet aroma of powder and soap, and she smiled. “Here,” she added to Jonas, jerking the patient file out from under her arm and thrusting it toward him without looking at him. “Dr. Forrest asked me to drop this off on my way home. She said you’d need it today.”

When he didn’t take the file from her right away, Zoey glanced up. Now she had no choice but to take note of him, and she didn’t like what she saw. Well, she liked what she saw, she amended reluctantly, taking in the expansive chest covered with dark hair and corded muscle, the broad, steely shoulders and the pajamas dipping low on trim hips beneath a flat abdomen. She just wished the attributes she was appreciating belonged to someone other than Jonas Tate. When her gaze traveled up to meet his, he had arched a dark brow in question, and she realized he knew full well how closely she’d been inspecting his wares. She felt herself blush.

Unwilling to trust her voice just then, she shook the file in her hand to bring his attention to it. When he still did not take it from her, she cleared her throat discreetly and said, “Dr. Forrest seemed to think it was important.”

Jonas took the folder from her hands and tossed it onto the sofa without looking at it. Instead, his attention seemed to be focused completely on Zoey and the baby, who still stared solemnly up at her. And because she felt infinitely more capable of dealing with a baby than a nearly naked man, Zoey dropped her gaze back to the infant in her arms.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” she asked in a soft, breathless voice, rubbing her bent knuckle gently against the baby’s cheek. “Hmm? What’s your name?”

The baby gurgled and smiled, making Zoey laugh in response.

“Juliana,” a deep, husky voice said beside her. “Tate. Her name is Juliana Tate.”

Zoey feared that if she looked up, she would find Jonas standing much too close to her, and then she would no doubt do something really foolish. Like reach out to touch him, which was what she definitely wanted to do. So she kept her gaze trained tightly on the baby and spoke to her instead. “Well, that’s an awfully big name for such a little baby, isn’t it, Juliana? Yes, that’s an awfully big name for you to grow into.”

Juliana cooed and smiled again.

“How did you do that?” Jonas asked.

Zoey glanced away from the baby and up at Jonas and, sure enough, regretted the action completely. Up close this way, she could see that his shoulders were deliciously freckled, and could make out every smooth plane of muscle from his neck to his waist. She swallowed with some difficulty before asking, “Do what?”

“You made her stop crying,” he indicated. “Just by holding her, you made her stop. And now she’s actually smiling at you. She’s never smiled at me.”

“I...I don’t know,” Zoey said honestly. “You can’t ‘make’ babies do anything. They choose whether to smile or to cry or to stop, and usually they have very good reasons for doing all three.”

His lips thinned into a tight line, and he settled his hands on his hips, an expression and pose Zoey had seen often enough to know what it meant. It meant she’d made him mad.

“So you’re saying I made Juliana cry,” he said in a deceptively calm voice.

“Not necessarily,” she replied quickly. “You’re her father, after all. Why would that make her cry?”

Although the realization almost made Zoey want to cry. She’d had no idea Dr. Tate was married with children. She didn’t think anyone at the hospital knew. Too many nurses and other doctors were lusting after him, something that wouldn’t be quite so prevalent if the women in question knew he was already attached. Until now, Zoey would have sworn she was one of the minority who couldn’t care less if the man had a dozen women stowed away. But faced now with the unequivocal evidence of his tie to at least one, she felt a funny little hole open up in her heart.

“I’m not Juliana’s father,” he said. “I’m her uncle.” He sighed wearily and scrubbed his hands over his face as if feeling utterly defeated. “And frankly, you’re right,” he continued softly as he dropped his hands back to his sides, “I make her cry. For some reason, the kid hates me. And I have no idea what I’m supposed to do about it.”

Zoey studied Jonas for a long time before responding. He looked like a man who was at the end of his rope, a man who was two steps away from throwing himself off the Ben Franklin Bridge. His eyes were shadowed and exhausted looking, his mouth bracketed by white lines of strain. When he reached up to run a big hand anxiously through his hair, he closed his eyes and sighed deeply again, and she could see that he felt completely hopeless.

“Where are her parents?” Zoey asked quietly, softening at this vulnerable side of Jonas Tate she’d never seen before.

“Dead,” he replied bluntly.

Her heart turned over that the child in her arms had suffered such an enormous loss at such an early age. “I’m sorry,” she said softly.

Jonas shrugged off her condolences. “I didn’t really know them. Her father was my brother, but I hadn’t seen or spoken to Alex for more than thirty years.”

Which would mean the two men were separated when they were children, Zoey thought, unable to deny her curiosity about how such a separation might have occurred. She wasn’t about to pry into the man’s personal history by asking him about it, but Jonas must have picked up on her thoughts, because he sighed again.

“It’s a long story, Zoey,” he said softly, his gaze falling to the baby in her arms. “Why don’t you take off your coat while I put on a pot of coffee?”

* * *

Actually Jonas did more than put on a pot of coffee. At Zoey’s insistence, he readied himself for work while she kept an eye on Juliana. For the first time in months, he took his time in the shower, managed to shave himself without a single nick and not only matched up his clothes—opting for a gray dress shirt, plum patterned tie and charcoal trousers—but ironed them, as well. By the time he exited his bedroom, he was in a better mood than any he could remember for the past two months. And oddly enough, he owed it all to Zoey’s appearance at his front door that morning.

He bumped into her—literally—as she was coming out of Juliana’s room. He grabbed her shoulders to steady her, and she pressed her palms flat against his chest to regain her balance. For a moment, neither moved from the position, but their gazes remained locked, as if each was awaiting the other’s move. Finally they sprang apart at the same time, mumbling excuses and apologies. Jonas swept his arm forward, indicating Zoey should precede him down the stairs, and she pulled the nursery door closed silently behind her before doing so.

Only when they were well away from Juliana’s room, safely ensconced in his kitchen with the baby monitor turned on, did Jonas trust himself to speak. Yet he still kept his voice down, certain the slightest disturbance would have the baby screaming again.

“She ate a bit more while you were getting dressed,” Zoey said, as if reading his thoughts. “I think she’ll sleep for a while.”

He nodded, but wasn’t completely convinced. “Coffee?” he asked.

“Please.”

He brought two generous mugs steaming with the strong brew to the table, then went back for sugar and cream. “Are you hungry?” he asked her. “I could fix you some scrambled eggs and bacon.”

She shook her head. “Thanks, but that’s all right. I’ll have something at home later.”

He nodded again, and suddenly had no idea what to say. So he sipped his coffee and stared at Zoey and wondered how she could look so beautiful after coming off the graveyard shift.