Dr. Mommy
Being home by morning, Nick thought, was highly debatable. Not only was morning barely seven hours away, but the way the snow was coming down, it wouldn’t be long before even four-wheel drive would be totally ineffective. Still, it would be nice to get an extra day off out of this. And he was only a couple of miles away. And he did kind of have a soft spot for kids.
Dammit.
“All right, all right,” he relented, however reluctantly. “I’ll take care of it as fast as I can. But those four days you promised? I better get every last one of ’em. Without being bothered once.”
“You got my word, Nick,” Lieutenant Skolnick promised. “Scout’s honor.”
He told himself not to dwell on the fact that Suzanne Skolnik seemed in no way the Scout type, scribbled down the particulars of the reported abandonment, then ground the Wagoneer to life. Was it his imagination, or had the already fierce snowfall doubled in severity in the few minutes he’d spent on the phone? He shook the thought off. No problem. His Jeep was more than reliable, and he had little trouble maneuvering it over the snow and slush. In no time at all—well, not much time at all—Nick rolled to a halt in the driveway of the house to which he’d been directed.
Nice piece of real estate, he thought. Must have set the owners back a pretty penny, but then, people who lived in neighborhoods like this one usually didn’t have to worry too much about paying the bills. The place was lit up outside like a Christmas tree, and Nick could tell that when it wasn’t snowing like a big dog, it was probably a real showplace, carefully landscaped and tended. A big two-story monstrosity, it had the look of English aristocracy about it, with bay windows leaded in a diamond pattern, and stained glass all around the front door. It was the kind of place that was perfectly suited for big garden parties and intimate tea socials.
In other words, it was about as far removed from Nick’s own personal reality as it could possibly be.
As a South Jersey boy, born and bred, he was blue-collar in the extreme. And damned proud of it, too. His father had been a cop, just like his father’s father had been, and his father’s father’s father before that. All the Campisanos were either in law enforcement or fire fighting, and all the Gianellis, on his mom’s side, worked in the Gianelli bakery. That’s where Nick’s mom had invariably been while he was growing up—when she wasn’t seeing to the needs of her six kids.
Nick chuckled in spite of himself as he gazed at the big house before him. His family sure could have used that much square footage when he was growing up, but chances were the occupants of this house probably didn’t have any kids at all. At most, they probably only claimed one or two. He’d shared a small bedroom with his two brothers the whole time he was growing up, and his three sisters had made do with another. The little brick bungalow in Gloucester City had only had one bathroom for the longest time, until his father and his uncle Leo had installed another one in the basement when the Campisano children started turning into Campisano teenagers.
What a luxury that had been, he recalled now with a fond smile. Two bathrooms. No waiting. Not beyond twenty or thirty minutes, anyway.
Still, Nick wouldn’t change a thing about his upbringing. Even though there had never been a dime to spare, and even though he and his brothers and sisters had all gone to work in one capacity or another when they turned sixteen, he’d never felt as though he lacked anything in life. The Campisanos were a close-knit bunch to this day, and it was no doubt because they’d learned to share and compromise at an early age.
Nick wouldn’t have it any other way. There was nothing in the world, he knew, that was more important than family. Nothing.
He glanced down at the sheet of paper where he’d scrawled the information Lieutenant Skolnik had given him about the abandoned baby. The dispatcher had done her best to record the particulars accurately, but the woman calling in had obviously been more than a little upset, and the baby had evidently been squalling like a demon seed right next to the phone. Dr. Carrie Wayne was what the woman’s name was. Nick just hoped this was the right house. Focusing on the big Tudor again, he decided that whatever kind of doctor she was, she must be damned good at it.
He shoved open the driver’s side door, pushing hard against an especially brutal gust of wind, then he heaved himself out into the storm. The snow easily covered his heavy hiking boots—it must be almost a foot deep by now. He tugged up the zipper on his navy blue, down-filled parka, stuffed his hands into his heavy leather gloves and slung his hood up over his head. No sense courting pneumonia on top of too much work, he thought. Hey, he intended to enjoy those four days off he had coming.
By the time he trudged his way to the front door, he was huffing and puffing with the effort it had taken to cover the short distance, thanks to the wind and snow. And he was thinking that he’d better get this over with quick if he had any hope of finishing by morning. He rapped his fist hard against the wooden part of the front door, then thought better of that and jabbed the doorbell twice. Then he took a step backward to wait. The howling of a baby greeted him from the other side—yep, it was the right house, all right—and then someone pulled the door inward. Nick opened his mouth to say something in greeting.
Opened it to say something in greeting, but not one single word came out.
Because once he saw who stood on the other side of that door, he couldn’t speak at all. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. All he could do was stare at the black-haired, blue-eyed woman standing there, and remember how soft and fragrant was every single curve and valley that lay beneath those shiny purple pajamas she had on.
Not Dr. Carrie Wayne, he thought inanely. Dr. Claire Wainwright. As if he needed anything else to make this night more pointless and irritating than it already promised to be.
Two
The baby had been crying off and on ever since Claire had picked her up, but she’d gone absolutely ballistic at the sound of the doorbell. Yet even with a baby screeching in her ear, the moment Claire opened the door and saw Nick Campisano standing on the other side, she heard nothing but the roar of her blood rushing through her body.
Nick. God. Of all the people who could have shown up in response to her call, why did it have to be him?
Oh, sure, she knew he was a cop, and that he worked and lived within twenty minutes or so of her house. But never in her wildest dreams had it occurred to her that when she called the police to report an abandoned baby, Nick would be the one who’d show up to respond.
Why would they send a narcotics detective? she wondered. And if they did send a narcotics detective, then why did it have to be the one who’d taken her virginity more than fifteen years ago?
Oh, come on, Claire, she immediately chastised herself. He didn’t exactly take your virginity, did he? You pretty much wrapped it up with a big bow and gave it to him.
She shoved the reminder away before it could become a memory, and forced herself to step backward into the house. Evidently needing no further invitation than that, Nick strode easily into the foyer, and she hastily closed the door behind him. She watched in silence—well, she was silent, anyway, even if the baby was still howling—as he shoved the hood back from his head and tugged off his gloves, his gaze never wavering from hers as he completed the actions. And she noted, too, that in the three years that had passed since she’d last seen him, Nick’s dark hair had begun to go a bit gray.
That was the only sign of change on him, though. And even at that, there were merely a few brave threads of silver that had dared to appear in his coal-black hair. The rest of him looked pretty much the same as it had the last time she’d seen him—appealingly rugged, startlingly handsome, overwhelmingly self-assured. And big. Really, really big. How could she have forgotten the fact that he towered over her so? Even when she’d last seen him, when she was wearing high heels, his size had intimidated her.
Though it was funny, now that she thought about it—he’d never intimidated her when they’d been together. It had only been since they’d split up after college that Nick had seemed to become so…awesome.
Again she remembered their last encounter—what an awkward situation that had been. They’d bumped into each other at a wedding, of all places. And it had just been too painful a reminder of the way she’d turned down his proposal of marriage all those years ago.
He seemed to be thinking about those times, too, she noted, because his dark eyes were wary, his posture stiff and his mouth—that incredibly sexy, wholly masculine mouth—was turned down in a frown. Which was just as well, really. Because she recalled all too well just how positively breathtaking Nick Campisano could be when he smiled. Nick’s smile…
She couldn’t quite bite back a sigh at the memories that washed over her in a warm, wonderful wave. Nick’s smile had always made everything in the world seem all right. It had also always brought her to her knees.
“Claire,” he said carefully by way of a greeting, his voice reflecting no emotion whatsoever.
In spite of that, Claire nearly melted as quickly as the snow that was pooling around his big hiking boots. Oh, wow, she thought. Just the sound of her name uttered in his soft, velvety voice made the hairs at the back of her neck leap to life. Anything else he said, she could tell already, would rouse the rest of her body parts just as thoroughly, just as quickly.
“Nick,” she managed to reply, albeit cautiously. But she was inordinately proud of herself for being able to voice even that one word without revealing the tumult of conflicting emotions that were warring inside her, just below the surface.
However, neither of them seemed to know what to say beyond those two single-syllable acknowledgments.
The baby, however, seemed to have a very good idea what to add. Although she had temporarily ceased her wailing when Nick had entered the foyer, the infant burst into tears again at the awkward, tension-filled silence that ensued. The reaction was completely appropriate, as far as Claire was concerned. She was beginning to feel like crying herself.
Automatically—though none too easily—she began to bounce the baby in her arms, but the gesture did nothing to soothe the poor thing’s anxiety. On the contrary, the infant seemed to become even more agitated with Claire’s attempt to comfort, and her wailing elevated to a full-blown screeching.
“Not like that,” Nick said, unzipping his coat. Then he reached for the baby as if it were the most natural thing in the world for him to do.
Eagerly Claire released the infant to his care, and he settled it easily against the soft cotton sweater covering his chest. He splayed one big hand open over the baby’s back—nearly covering it—then rubbed his palm in a leisurely circle, rocking his entire body back and forth with a slow, gentle rhythm. Almost immediately, the baby’s crying eased up, then gradually diminished until she hiccuped with a soft sigh and stopped entirely.
“Shhh,” Nick said quietly, never altering his motions. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Nobody here is going to hurt you. You’re just fine. Shhh…”
Even though she knew the reassurance was meant for the baby, somehow it went a long way toward making Claire feel better, too. “Thanks,” she said. But whether her gratitude was for his calming the child’s fears or her own, she couldn’t rightly say.
Although Nick continued to croon soothing, comforting words to the baby, his gaze never wavered from hers, and a million accusations seemed to burn in the dark espresso depths of his eyes. She wished she could think of something to say that might make the situation a little more bearable. But for the life of her she couldn’t even think of some meaningless platitude to utter.
For another long moment, the two of them only continued to stare at each other without speaking. Nick mumbled softly to the baby, and Claire stood uncomfortably with her arms crossed over her midsection, watching them. Watching the way his big body formed a protective shelter for the tiny life he held so carefully in his embrace. Watching the way his entire face seemed to soften and grow warm with the action of cuddling an infant. Watching how effortlessly, how naturally, he performed the action.
Eventually the sight of Nick and the baby grew too difficult for Claire to witness, so she turned around and left the foyer behind, making her way into the living room instead.
And she tried very hard not to think about the fact that, if things had turned out differently, she might very well be married to Nick right now. And the baby he cradled in his arms might very well be theirs.
Stop it, Claire, she admonished herself immediately. Things hadn’t turned out differently. They hadn’t gotten married, and that wasn’t their baby in Nick’s arms. She’d made her choices a long time ago, and now she had to live with them. Just because things hadn’t exactly worked out the way she had thought they would, well… That was no reason to dwell on regrets and what-ifs.
Even if she and Nick had married back then, there was no guarantee they’d still be married today. Claire knew she wouldn’t have been happy with the kind of life he had envisioned for them. And her unhappiness would have doubtless flowed over onto him. It was very likely that, by now, they both would have been miserable. They might not even be together anymore.
Thankfully her thoughts were interrupted when Nick followed her into the living room with the now-silent baby. When he strode past her, she saw that the infant had fallen asleep. Very carefully he bent to return the baby to its basket, then moved it to the floor in front of the couch. For a moment, he only watched the infant sleep, her little mouth working over a bottle that only existed in her dreams. Claire smiled warmly at the sight. Then Nick stood up and turned to face her, and her smile immediately vanished.
Without speaking, he tilted his head toward the other side of the room, where they could talk without fear of waking the baby. Claire preceded him in that direction, stopping by the fireplace, where, surprisingly, a few warm embers still glowed from the fire she had enjoyed earlier that evening.
He hadn’t removed his big parka, but unzipping it had revealed beneath it a baggy, tobacco-colored sweater and well-worn jeans. Without even looking to see what he was doing, he withdrew a small notebook and ballpoint pen from the inside pocket, all the while gazing at her with bland expectation. The accusation that had darkened his eyes earlier was gone now, and his posture was no longer hostile. In many ways, it seemed to Claire that he had turned into a total stranger.
“So you want to tell me how all this came about?” he asked as he clicked the pen, the very picture of efficiency. Somehow, though, when he voiced the question, he seemed to be talking about a whole lot more than the baby who had just shown up on her doorstep.
Well, gosh, Nick, it’s like this, Claire thought. You wanted something totally different from what I wanted, and you never once stopped to ask me about my dreams and my desires. You could only think about your own, and you assumed I’d just go merrily along. That’s how all this came about.
She pushed the thought away before the words could spill out of her mouth and into the open, ensuring what would undoubtedly become an ugly scene. Instead, she scrunched up her shoulders restlessly and let them fall, sighed fitfully, then ran an unsteady hand through her hair. “I was in bed when I heard the doorbell ring just before midnight,” she began.
“Alone?” he demanded.
She couldn’t quite help the incredulous little sound that escaped her. “Do you see anybody else here?” she countered.
“No,” he conceded. “But that doesn’t necessarily mean you’re here alone.”
“I’m alone,” she muttered. Then, just because she felt spiteful, she added, “Tonight I am, anyway.”
The verbal dart must have struck its target perfectly, because Nick’s frown returned, and his eyes darkened angrily again. “Fine,” he bit off. “You were alone in bed and heard the doorbell just before midnight. You sure about the time?”
She nodded. “Dick Clark had just updated me to the situation in Times Square,” she said.
“Then what happened?”
“I ignored it at first,” she continued. “I thought it was probably some New Year’s Eve prank. But it happened a couple more times, so I finally got up to answer it.”
“You make it a habit to answer your door in the middle of the night when you’re here all alone?” he asked, not bothering to disguise the fact that he considered such behavior to be, well, pretty stupid.
“Hey, I don’t usually have to answer the door in the middle of the night,” she told him. She decided to let him sort out for himself whether that was because she didn’t normally have visitors at that time of night, or because there was usually someone else here with her—someone of the masculine persuasion—who answered the door that time of night for her.
Before he could object further, she added, “I thought it might be a patient. And I didn’t just run down and pull the door open wide in welcome. I checked through the window first. That was when I saw the woman standing at the foot of my driveway.”
Nick narrowed his eyes at her. “You actually saw a woman leave the baby?”
Claire shook her head. “I didn’t see her literally put the basket down on my doorstep, but I think it’s a safe bet she’s the one who left the baby here, yes.”
“Did you get a good look at her?”
“Not really. It was dark, and it was snowing pretty hard, and the part of the window I was looking through isn’t completely clear. But the brief glimpse I got of her gave me the impression that she was young. All I can tell you for certain is that she was white, had long blond hair, and was wearing a black jacket and beret. Those are about the only things I’m sure of.”
Nick nodded slowly. “Did you speak to her at all?”
Again Claire shook her head. “As soon as I saw her out there, I switched on all the outdoor lights, but she took off running before I could see her clearly or say anything. For what it’s worth, she did seem hesitant to go. Even after I came outside, she didn’t bolt right away. Just slowed down on the other side of the street and watched me. It was only after she knew I saw the basket that she took off running. I think she wanted to make sure the baby was taken inside before she left.”
Nick eyed her thoughtfully as he processed the information. “You sound like you’re defending her actions.”
Claire opened her mouth to protest, then closed it, putting some thought into her response before giving it. “Maybe I am, in a way,” she relented. “Whoever the young woman was, she really did seem reluctant to leave. I don’t think she would have abandoned the baby unless she was sure someone would be home to take it inside.”
“It still doesn’t excuse what she did.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Claire agreed.
He paused a telling moment before adding sarcastically, “But I can see why you’d think her behavior was acceptable.”
Okay, now that made Claire mad. “I never said her behavior was acceptable,” she countered. “Don’t put words in my mouth, Nick.” She refrained from adding again.
“Yeah, but you’re no fan of children, are you?” he charged.
“Hey, I like kids just fine,” she told him. “As long as they belong to someone else and keep their distance.”
He nodded, making no effort to hide his disappointment. “So you can probably sympathize with the woman who left that little bundle of joy on your doorstep, can’t you? You’d probably do the same thing if you found yourself saddled with a baby you didn’t want.”
Claire knew there was little reason to dignify that allegation with a response. But she couldn’t quite help herself from retorting, “I would never abandon a child. Nor would I conceive one I couldn’t care for. So no, I don’t sympathize with her. But I do think it’s wrong to summarily judge and sentence her without knowing the circumstances of her situation.
“Still,” she hurried on before Nick could interrupt, as he clearly wanted to do, “I can see how a guy like you would see the situation as either-or. You never were much good at distinguishing shades of gray, were you? It was always Nick’s way or no way with you.”
She could tell there was more—a lot more—that he wanted to say on that particular matter, but he set his jaw resolutely and instead asked, “What else can you tell me about this episode that might be helpful?”
For the next quarter hour Nick asked a lot of questions about the baby’s abandonment that Claire did her best to answer. For most of them, however, she could provide nothing helpful. Everything had just happened so quickly, and she’d just been so surprised by it all, that few details had registered in her brain.
Finally, though, Nick seemed to run out of questions, so he clicked his pen again, flipped the notebook closed and tucked both back inside his coat pocket. Then he spared another backward glance toward the sleeping baby and turned back to study Claire with clear concern. She waited for him to pose another question about her unexpected visitor. But very softly he asked, “How’ve you been, Claire?”
The quick and unexpected change of subject—not to mention the unmistakable tenderness in his tone—caught her off guard, as did the glimmer of genuine affection that briefly lit his eyes. Gone, for an instant, was the antagonism and accusation that had heated the air between them earlier. Gone was any sign that he felt anything other than honest curiosity about her well-being. For a moment, Claire had no idea what to say. Because for a moment, she honestly didn’t know how she’d been.
“Um, fine,” she finally muttered, shaking off the odd sensation that everything in her life was wrong. “I, uh…” She swallowed with some difficulty and glanced away. “I’ve been fine.”
“Just fine?”
She inhaled a shaky breath and released it slowly, wishing she could turn back the clock almost twenty years, to the day she’d first lain eyes on Nick Campisano at Overdale High School in Gloucester City. It really had been a lifetime ago. Back then, Claire had been the shy, skinny new kid, hiding behind big glasses and baggy clothes. Nick Campisano, with his dark good looks and gregarious disposition and total self-confidence, in his red-and-gold, multilettered football jacket, had seemed like a Roman god. Even as a sophomore, he’d already been making a splash on the varsity teams. And Claire, as a lowly freshman, hadn’t entered his sphere of existence at all.
No, that hadn’t happened until she was a junior, and he was a senior. When she’d gotten contact lenses and gone through a second puberty that had rounded her out nicely. They’d been in study hall together, where fate—and Mrs. Ballantine—had thrown them together at the same table. It had taken all of five minutes for Nick to charm Claire into going out with him. After that, there had been no turning back for either of them.
Not until the day she graduated from Princeton with a BS in biology and an acceptance letter to Yale med school. That was the day everything began to unravel.
“Yes, fine,” she told him when she remembered that his question required an answer. “I’m fine,” she repeated yet again, as if by saying it often enough, she could make the statement true.
“Yeah, well, I guess I can’t disagree,” he told her, his voice low and appraising. “You look terrific.”
A tiny splash of heat ignited in the pit of her stomach at his carelessly offered observation. Immediately she extinguished it. No sense getting fired up over something that wasn’t going to happen, she told herself. Unable to stop herself, however, she replied, “You look pretty good yourself.”
He shrugged the compliment off quite literally, then waited until she was gazing at his face again before he continued. “Nice house,” he remarked with absolutely no inflection one way or another. “Guess you’re doing pretty well these days.”