A Billionaire for Christmas

The heart surgeon and the rock star could go out in public because, dressed against the cold, they were incognito.

A harsh January blizzard the previous night had essentially closed New York City. The airports were due to open the next morning before her flight back to L.A., so she wasn’t worried about getting back in time for rounds.

Raji’s knit hat covered her face from the top of her sunglasses and down over her ears. Her scarf met the bottom rims of her glasses and wound around her face.

Peyton had a nubbly, beige scarf wound around his face that matched his hat, and sunglasses hid the shocking teal of his eyes. The collar of his black wool coat was turned up against the biting wind.

They were so desperate to get out of Peyton’s hotel and do something together that they had braved even a brutal New England cold snap to take a walk in the wintry afternoon.

They were bouncing along the path like puppies, scooping up snow with their leather gloves and tossing it at each other, so involved in being together and silliness that was otherwise absent from both their lives that they almost didn’t hear the baby crying.

Peyton looked around, his covered head swiveling as he looked over the frozen trees and snow. “What’s that?”

“What’s what?” Raji asked, laughing. Her breath fogged her sunglasses as she panted, drifting fog over the sun-sparkling snow.

A thin whine sang over the snow.

Peyton pulled his hat off and yanked his scarf down, still scanning the snow banks. His blond hair stuck up on top. “It’s coming from over by the arch.”

He started running overland through the knee-deep snow.

Raji followed him as best she could, but the snow came up to her thighs. Even though she ran through the path that Peyton was breaking, he outdistanced her quickly.

Over by the Greywacke Arch, a Gothic-looking overpass thing, Peyton crouched. Raji could hear him speaking softly.

When she caught up to him, he was talking to a woman huddled under the bridge.

The woman’s wild, uncomprehending eyes and open mouth made Raji take a step back, but Peyton was already stripping off his coat in the icy air.

The baby was still wailing in distress.

“Nice to meet you,” he told the woman, his deep voice pitched low and soothing as he wrapped his coat around her. “You’re going to be fine. I’m so proud of you for finding this arch to take shelter.” He unwound his scarf from his neck. “I’m just going to wrap your baby up a little more. You’ve done such a good job, keeping them warm. Boy or girl?”

“Girl,” the woman grunted.

Peyton wrapped his knit hat around the cap that was already on the baby’s head and then swaddled the infant in his scarf. “My friend here wants to hold the baby for just a minute. She loves babies. Can she?”

The woman nodded, her greasy hair escaping her hat.

“Thank you.” Peyton passed the baby to Raji. “Tuck her inside your coat, up against your body. Make sure she can breathe but try to get her warm.”

Raji took the baby and tucked her inside of her coat. The baby stank of a very dirty diaper, and her soft skin was icy against Raji’s chest. She held the infant as carefully and yet tightly as she could, pulling her arms inside her coat and leaving the empty sleeves to protect the baby as much as possible. She tried to evaluate the baby, to check her vitals, but getting her warm seemed most important. The baby was certainly breathing as she wailed. No respiratory distress, anyway.

Peyton said, “I’m just going to make a quick phone call.”

“No police,” the woman said. “No government.”

“No, not the police,” Peyton said, so gently. “An old friend of mine. Jennifer,” he said into the phone. “Hey, I was out walking in Central Park, and I found a person here with a baby who could definitely use your services. No police, all right? No government.”

The woman settled back against the arch, satisfied.

The baby settled down and nuzzled against Raji, hiccupping just enough sad little cries to reassure Raji that she was still breathing in there.

A few minutes later, very few minutes considering how far into Central Park they were, four people drove up on snowmobiles.

One woman hopped off and surveyed Peyton standing in the brutal cold in just a sweater. “Jesus Christ, Peyton. Vivica, get him a blanket. Is this our friend?”

“Yes, Jennifer,” Peyton said. “Raji is holding the baby.”

“Breathing?” Jennifer asked.

“Yes.”

“Thank you, sweet Saint Jude.” Jennifer crouched down. “Honey, what’s your name?”

Another woman slapped a folded blanket at Peyton’s midsection and walked over to Raji. “I hear you’ve got the baby?”

Raji nodded. “She’s inside my coat.”

The woman nodded. “This is unusual, but I’m going to ask you to accompany me to an—” She looked back at the mentally ill woman huddled under the arch and dropped her voice. “—ambulance who will take the baby to a hospital. We don’t want to expose the baby to the elements any more than we have to.”