Jackpot Baby. Muriel JensenЧитать онлайн книгу.
shifted her weight impatiently. “Luke!” She pointed to Max. “Have you completely failed to notice that I have a baby in my arms?”
He frowned at that, apparently unsure of her point. “I noticed. Whose is it?”
“I don’t know!” she snapped at him. “Someone left him in the coffee shop. Can you check if someone’s reported a baby missing?”
“No babies missing. What do you mean someone left it? How do you leave a baby?”
“They just did. I went to the bank to deposit my check and when I came back…” She handed him the note. “I can’t have a baby. You have to call whoever in Pine Run takes care of abandoned children.”
Max squirmed and fussed and she moved him into her left arm, hoping to placate him.
“You’re not making sense,” he said. “If you knew someone left this note with him, why did you ask if there were babies missing?”
“I don’t know. Just desperate. I thought maybe someone stole him, then decided they didn’t want him after all.”
He considered that, then nodded as though that might be possible. “I’ll check again. Meanwhile—” he put his fingertips to the baby’s cheek “—he feels hot.”
“Oh, no.” She’d noticed that earlier, but it hadn’t registered as a problem. “Do you think he’s sick?”
He shook his head. “I don’t have much firsthand experience with babies, except for having delivered a few. Why don’t you take him to the medical center and have the doc check him out, and I’ll see if I can round up somebody from Child and Family Services.”
“Good idea.” As Luke picked up the phone, Shelly went outside again, sheltering the now-screaming baby against her body. The protestors parted ranks to let her through and she hurried across the street, down the block and around the corner.
Nathan Perkins was the quintessential family doctor. He was a loving husband, devoted father of three, and a friend as well as physician to most patients he saw. He deserved the respect everyone in Jester gave him.
But Nathan wasn’t there, according to the young redheaded receptionist, who led her to a small examining room. Standing in for him was a tall, slender man with rich brown hair and a pair of gold-green cat’s eyes that put her on the edge the moment she looked into them. They looked her over, went to the screaming baby in her arms, then back to her eyes with a disapproval that confused her.
But she didn’t have time to think about it. She held Max out to the doctor. “Please,” she said. “Is something wrong with him?”
He took the baby, his large hands covering the baby’s torso. He walked around with him, putting a hand to his forehead and his cheek.
“Has he had his DPT shots?” he asked.
“Ah…?”
“Diphtheria, tetanus, pertussis vaccine,” he explained.
“I don’t know,” she replied.
“His HI?”
“Um…?”
“Hemophilus influenzae B.”
“I don’t know. I run The Brimming Cup and he was…”
“When did this start?” he interrupted.
“I just noticed it in the sheriff’s office when…”
Those eyes looked into hers again and stopped her cold. “Did you try baby aspirin?”
“No, I…”
“Cool bath?” He’d taken out a stethoscope and was listening to Max’s heart while the baby latched on to the instrument.
“No, I told you I was in the sheriff’s…”
He held a finger up for quiet as he listened. Then he removed the stethoscope, put it out of the baby’s reach, and asked with another direct glance into her eyes that had an angry quality to it she didn’t understand, “Do you know what he weighs?”
“No, I don’t. I…”
He leaned a hip on the examining table and held the baby to him, stroking his back and shushing him. He pointed her to the room’s only chair.
She sat, her mind a whirl of the afternoon’s shocking events and the doctor’s inexplicably aggressive behavior.
“This baby is supposed to be your first priority,” he said in a voice that had gentled only slightly and sounded as though it intended to preach. She suddenly realized what he must be thinking.
“Doctor, I’m…”
“How can you not know whether or not your baby’s been immunized?” he interrupted again. “How can you not know what he weighs? How can you have a baby and pursue a lifestyle that lands you in the sheriff’s office?”
She sprang to her feet again, tired of his accusations, whatever he thought.
“Because I’m not his mother!” she shouted at him. “He was abandoned in my restaurant by someone who left a note, saying she knew I could take care of him because I’m one of the winners of the lottery!”
He had the grace to look surprised, though not particularly apologetic. So she went on.
“And I was in the sheriff’s office because going to the authorities seemed to be the thing to do when you find an abandoned baby. What would you have done? Simply shouted at the baby like you shout at your patients?”
EVEN CONNOR COULD AGREE that he had that coming. He should have asked before he took on an accusatory approach to her parenting. But he’d seen so much child neglect and abuse in Los Angeles, where he came from, that he’d become a warrior in defense of children. And sometimes that meant getting mean with parents.
“No,” he replied with a half smile. “I never yell at babies. I’m sorry. I mistook you for one of those women for whom the fuzzy glow of motherhood had worn off. When you couldn’t answer any of my questions, I thought you’d lost interest in your baby.”
That honest admission seemed to defuse her anger, but only a little. She blinked wide, darkly lashed hazel eyes at him. “Well, maybe you should have asked.”
He nodded. “Maybe I should have.”
That might have defused her anger a little more, but he could see in her eyes that she resisted forgiving him. He’d hurt her feelings after all. She was another touchy hybrid like Lisa had been. She angled her chin, short, straight, glossy brown hair catching the light.
“Can you tell me what’s wrong with him?” the woman asked, folding her arms, apparently determined to keep him at a cool distance.
That was fine with him.
“Actually, I think he’s just teething,” he said, putting his index finger into the baby’s mouth. The baby sucked on it like a little vacuum. “You can feel the two central incisors just about to pop through. Here. Feel.”
She gave him a disdainful look, then came closer and put her finger in the baby’s mouth. “Oh.” She smiled at the baby. “You’re getting teeth, Max.”
The baby laughed at her.
In all his years of internship, residency and practice, Connor had yet to see an ugly baby, but this little guy had a winning way as well as pink cheeks and bright blue eyes.
“I can’t imagine anyone being able to just leave him and walk away,” she said, her disapproval finally aimed away from him and toward the baby’s mother.
“I know.” He handed the baby back to her. “But I worked at an inner-city hospital in L.A. and I saw it all the time. And as incredible as it is, it’s a better choice for the child than those who keep their babies then can’t deal with them. You might give