Countdown To Baby

This Orcadol crisis, for example. It simply broke her heart every time she came into contact with someone so deeply addicted that the drugs became more important than anything else.

Which was why she had mixed feelings about the impending confrontation that seemed to be building between the clinic director and the perhaps-over-zealous detective assigned to the Orcadol case. As much as Cecilia admired Mari Bingham, she hoped Mari’s old, hard feelings toward Bryce Collins were not blinding her to the importance of his work. Cecilia knew how protective and defensive Mari was about the medical facilities she had devoted her entire life to, but if anyone here was involved with the black-market drug ring, the truth must be exposed.

It wasn’t as if Bryce was accusing Mari of protecting drug pushers, after all. More likely their old wounds were preventing them from communicating effectively.

“So it’s okay if I keep getting my hair dyed while I’m pregnant? I sure would hate to have to be half blond and half brunette for the next few months.”

“Yes, Lacey, you may keep dying your hair as long as you let your hairdresser know to take reasonable precautions with ventilation. There’s no medical evidence that hair dye causes any problems in pregnancy.”

“Man, I’m glad to hear that. It was hard enough having to give up drinking a beer at the bowling alley on Friday nights. But I’d have really hated to give up my hair dye.”

It had been a pretty good day so far, Cecilia mused as she moved on with a smile to the next patient. Busy, but not particularly difficult. As long as she concentrated on her work and not on her relationship—or whatever it could be called—with Geoff, she could function quite normally.

When she did steal a few moments to think of Geoff between tasks, she ended up staring into space, reliving a few special moments and dreaming of what might come….

She checked on a patient in a birthing room, still at least an hour away from delivery. There was a real party going on in that room, with the father, two grandmothers, a maternal aunt and an eager big sister all awaiting the birth. Comparing that scene to her first delivery that morning—a fourteen-year-old girl accompanied only by a rather detached foster mother—Cecilia thought about how the presence of a supportive and welcoming family made the whole process so much more joyous.

For the first time, it occurred to her that Geoff might want to be present when their child was born. He had made it clear enough that he intended to take an active role in his child’s life. He was approaching parenthood the same way Cecilia was, which she could understand, but she couldn’t help wondering how much more complicated his participation would make things for her. Especially when it came to his family….

She was still surprised that he had invited her to join him this evening at his grandmother’s house for a family dinner. That was taking their partnership into sticky territory, as far as she was concerned. It would be much better to make explanations later, after they had accomplished their goal, than during the process. Not that they would tell anyone they were trying to have a baby, of course, but everyone would assume she was dating Geoff with another purpose in mind—maybe even marriage—and she didn’t want to deal with that misconception.

Oddly enough, it seemed easier to explain a pregnancy resulting from a passing affair than to face speculation about why Geoff Bingham was spending so much of his rare time in town with her.

But it really had been nice of him to invite her, she reflected with a slight smile. Nice to think that he hadn’t yet grown tired of her company.

“Cecilia, you’re wanted in birthing room two. Looks like things are started to get underway in there.”

“Thank you, Crystal.” Trying t

o put her own concerns out of her mind for a while longer, Cecilia smiled at the younger woman and made an effort to penetrate the cloud of melancholy that seemed to surround Crystal these days. “How is Ryan, Crystal? Is he going to play T-ball this year?”

Usually, questions about her six-year-old son were guaranteed to bring a smile to Crystal’s face. This time, her eyes looked instantly stricken, instead. She recovered quickly, masking her emotions behind the rather sullen expression she had been wearing lately, to the concern of many of her co-workers. “Ryan’s with his father right now,” she mumbled.

“Still? Oh, I thought…”

Cecilia could have sworn she saw a sheen of tears in the younger woman’s eyes as Crystal turned abruptly away. “You’d better hurry to room two. Mrs. Vargas is anxious to see you.”

Watching Crystal hurry away, her shoulders hunched, her posture unmistakably defensive, Cecilia decided that her associates had good reason to be concerned about the woman. Something was very definitely wrong there. Maybe she should talk to Vanessa, who had such a knack of dealing with the younger employees. Maybe Vanessa would have better luck with Crystal.

Pushing away the ever-present paperwork that would still be waiting for her after this much-anticipated baby made its debut, Cecilia also mentally pushed away her personal concerns. She had a job to do.

Cecilia had only been home for a few minutes that evening when her doorbell rang. It couldn’t be Geoff, she thought with a puzzled frown. Tonight was his family dinner, and she thought she had made it clear that he couldn’t change her mind about accompanying him.

Setting down the chicken breast she had been preparing to broil for her dinner, she hurried into the living room to answer the door.

A delivery truck sat in her driveway, and the driver stood at the door, a pleasant smile gracing his florid face. “Cecilia Mendoza?”

“Yes?”

“I have a delivery for you. Would you sign here, please?”

“Yes, of course.” She used the stylus he offered her to awkwardly sign her name on the electronic screen—a skill she had never quite mastered in her usual handwriting. She couldn’t imagine what this delivery could be. It wasn’t a flower truck, she thought, watching as the delivery driver opened the back of the vehicle.

The box was big enough to require a wheeled dolly. She watched in wide-eyed curiosity as the driver guided it onto her porch and through her front door. “Where would you like it? It’s not particularly heavy, just awkward.”

“Just leave it here in the living room. You’re sure this is for me?”

He chuckled. “Yes, ma’am. Has your name and address written right here on this tag. Have a good evening, Ms. Mendoza.”