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Prescription: Baby
Jule McBride
Ford Carrington had everything–a sterling reputation as Maitland's finest pediatric surgeon, beautiful women on his arm and enormous wealth. He didn't realize he wanted anything more, until he discovered he was about to become a father….Katie Topper loved her work…and Ford Carrington, though he didn't know she existed outside the operating room. But when they abandoned their roles and turned to each other in one night of passion, there was no going back to the way they had been. And going forward would present challenges that neither one of them could have imagined….



From Megan Maitland’s Diary
Dear Diary,
I ran into Katie Topper in the nursery today. She looked a little tired, but thank goodness she’s back from Houston. Ford Carrington simply hasn’t been himself since she left. Of course, nothing has been sane around here since little Cody turned up on our doorstep! But I suppose gossip and scandal bring out the worst in people. Just look at all the women crawling out of the woodwork trying to claim that darling child. And now this Janelle person appears out of the blue, saying she’s the mother, causing a scene!
It’s all simply too much. I need time to think, time to decide what to do next. If what Janelle says is true…well, I just don’t know. Could I really be that sweet baby’s grandmother?
Dear Reader,
There’s never a dull moment at Maitland Maternity! This unique and now world-renowned clinic was founded twenty-five years ago by Megan Maitland, widow of William Maitland, of the prominent Austin, Texas, Maitlands. Megan is also matriarch of an impressive family of seven children, many of whom are active participants in the everyday miracles that bring children into the world.
When our series began, the family was stunned by the unexpected arrival of an unidentified baby at the clinic—unidentified, except for the claim that the child is a Maitland. Who are the parents of this child? Is the claim legitimate? Will the media’s tenacious grip on this news damage the clinic’s reputation? Suddenly rumors and counterclaims abound. Women claiming to be the child’s mother are materializing out of the woodwork! How will Megan get at the truth? And how will the media circus affect the lives and loves of the Maitland children—Abby, the head of gynecology, Ellie, the hospital administrator, her twin sister, Beth, who runs the day-care center, Mitchell, the fertility specialist, R.J., the vice president of operations, even Anna, who has nothing to do with the clinic, and Jake, the black sheep of the family?
Please join us each month over the next year as the mystery of the Maitland baby unravels, bit by enticing bit, and book by captivating book!
Marsha Zinberg,
Senior Editor and Editorial Coordinator, Special Projects

Prescription: Baby
Jule McBride


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Jule McBride received the Romantic Times Reviewer’s Choice Award for Best First Series Romance in 1993. Since then she has penned thirty more heartwarming love stories that have met with strong reviews, been nominated for awards and made repeated appearances on romance bestseller lists. A three-time Reviewer’s Choice nominee for Best American Romance, Jule has also been nominated for two Lifetime Achievement awards in the category of Love and Laughter.

CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER ONE
DOCTOR FORD Freeland Carrington.
Seeing him outside the operating room could turn her face as red as her hair and her knees to water. If he passed her in a hallway or politely held open a door, cold sweat would break out above her lips, and if he should ever kiss her—outside her wickedest dreams—pediatric nurse Katie Topper feared her iron-clad constitution would give way and she’d drop into a dead faint like the Texas Southern belles she loved to hate.
For two years, she’d wanted Ford Carrington. She damn well respected him, too, but now she’d stooped to lusting after him while he was performing surgery. This was even worse than letting her mind stray to him during the Sunday services she sometimes attended with her papa, where Reverend Kenneth would work himself into a full lather, preaching hellfire and brimstone.
Hellfire Katie knew about of course. Her papa lovingly joked that more than the usual quota coursed through her Irish blood. It was probably why she couldn’t keep her mind off Ford. Not that she wasn’t doing her job. She’d arrived in the OR before the others this evening, double-checking the monitors and insuring the supply drawers were stocked.
“I’m ready to finish closing now, Katie.”
Ford’s warm voice—all melting Southern molasses mixed with Northern prep school polish—made her gut tighten. “Ready, Dr. Carrington,” she said.
Momentarily lifting gloved hands smudged with blood, Ford scrutinized the monitors before he took a needle from Katie, leaned down and began stitching the patient, this time closing skin, not internal tissue. “Great work, everybody,” he commended. “Looks like this baby’s going to make it. Those monitors stable, Jerry?”
“Yeah,” said a technician.
Just as another tech lowered the easy-listening country music Ford always played while he operated, he glanced up. “I appreciate your rounding up those size four clamps for me, Carrot Top. I needed them.”
Katie’s heartbeat quickened at the use of her nickname, and she braced herself against the unwanted feelings. “No problem,” she managed to say, the end of the sentence slowing into a gait that was pure east Texas. “Dr. Nelson always grabs more of those clamps than he has a right to for OR seven. Anyway, I’m just glad this baby’s going to make it.”
Ford chuckled. “As slow as you talk, Katie, this boy’ll be full-grown and winning rodeos before any of us leave the OR.”
That got a good-natured laugh.
Katie arched a sparse red eyebrow. “Making fun of my drawl, Dr. Carrington?” He always did.
He wore a green surgical mask, and she could tell he was smiling by the way his dark brown eyes crinkled at the corners. “Is that a challenge I hear? Haven’t you learned not to mess with me yet?”
“Rule number one,” she returned. “Never make fun of how us Texans talk, Dr. Carrington. Those are fighting words.”
“Fighting words? You think you’d win?”
“I know.”
He chuckled. “So, you’re a fighter, huh?”
“Sure am,” she replied, still reminding herself that Ford Carrington didn’t even know she existed outside the OR. She also knew nonmedical professionals might look askance at their casual banter and black humor, but joking relieved tension. Ford teased liberally, and Katie was the target since she could dish it out as well as take it. The repartee meant nothing special, but coming from Ford, it made her heart stutter.
Luckily, she was leaving Austin for a training program in Houston tomorrow, and she wouldn’t see Ford for three months. Surely the separation would cure her hopelessly juvenile crush. “I’ve got two brothers, Dr. Carrington,” she prompted, narrowing her green eyes wickedly, “so I didn’t have much choice but to learn to fight, and fight good.”
“Don’t forget, I was raised in Texas, too. I might be tougher than I look.”
Sometimes she kicked herself for rising to the bait—after all, he was Maitland Maternity’s chief pediatric surgeon—but somehow, she could never stop herself. “Your Texas and my Texas are two different places,” she informed him.
“That so, Carrot Top?” She watched as he surveyed his work, calmly drawing the needle through flesh. “What’s my Texas?”
“Neiman Marcus, thoroughbred horses and studio-produced country music.”
Only his narrowed eyes hinted at the focus he brought to his task. Unfailingly alert, they were steely and chocolate brown, flecked with gold. “And your Texas, Katie?”
“Getting grub at Pok-E-Jo’s Smokehouse after a trail ride.” Despite how the man set her teeth on edge without even trying, she chuckled. “If you ever want to hear real country music, Dr. Carrington, you just let me know.”
“What’s this fake country music you think I listen to?”
“Oh, you know. k.d. lang. Tanya Tucker. Dolly Parton.”
He raised a lazy jet eyebrow. “What’s wrong with Dolly?”
“Old Dolly’s okay,” Katie conceded. “Just not new Dolly.”
“Keep it up, Katie, and I’ll start thinking you’re a snob.”
Behind her mask, Katie’s jaw dropped. “Me?”
“Yes, you.”
“You’re the socialite, Dr. Carrington.”
“You’ve got me there.”
Smiling, Katie glanced at the patient. The three-week-old boy on the table was named Jesse, and he hadn’t had a fighting chance before this operation. Even now, it was hard to believe he’d pull through. His slight five pounds could easily be cradled in Katie’s hand, and the rise and fall of the tiny, too-pale chest made her think of the delicate balance of nature in the woods she loved. Looking at the sickly child and feeling her heart pull, she thought of the tops of dandelions right before they blew away, and the fragile wings of birds, and the threads of spiderwebs. Life was so precious, and sometimes so unfairly fleeting.
Five pounds. Jesse was tiny, and yet for his mama, who was right outside the operating room, he meant the entire world. That was why, moments ago, Katie had sent a message to her, letting her know that an infected incision from a previous GI surgery had been cleaned and successfully resutured.
Katie could barely imagine the woman’s stress, and yet, as many tragedies as Katie had witnessed at Maitland Maternity, she’d seen far more miracles. Glancing up, she found herself staring into eyes that made her melt. Gently, Ford probed, “You still with us, Carrot Top?”
“Sure thing.” But as Ford fell to work once more, she felt strangely unsettled, as if he’d read her innermost thoughts. Deep down, she’d been wondering if she’d ever have her own little bundle of joy, her own miracle. She wanted a baby she wouldn’t have to leave in the hospital nursery at the end of the day. She wanted to be the woman waiting at the curb with a newborn in her lap and a balloon tied to the arm of a wheelchair, while the man she loved brought around the car, anxious to take his family home.
Stepping slightly back from the table, Katie held her gloved hands turned upward. “Tell me when you need me again.”
“Thanks, Katie.”
She watched his hands, noting their size and the long, slender, mesmerizing fingers. His eyes had grown piercing in their intensity. What little of his skin was visible—mostly high, chiseled cheekbones—was tanned the color of pecans, and through the transparent hairnet that covered a high, patrician forehead, Katie could see touchably thick, raven hair through which she’d often imagined running her fingers. When dressed in street clothes, without his scrubs, he looked more like a model than a doctor.
Stop it! How many times had she gazed too long into Ford Carrington’s arresting midnight eyes while he closed a patient?
Too many.
That was why leaving Austin tomorrow was imperative. Surely, after spending three months in Houston, she’d forget about him. But so far, no matter how she fought it, he always wended his way into her thoughts. While grooming her horse, riding the mower at her papa’s farm, or running to the feed store, she’d recall some moment, like a picture frozen in time: Dr. Carrington slipping from the doctors’ lounge; Dr. Carrington shooting her a smile as he opened a door.
With any luck, she’d meet a man in Houston.
Already, she’d sublet her apartment, and tonight she was staying with her papa and brothers at the farm, where she still kept her horse. Houston was close enough that she could visit on weekends, but she would do her best not to. She needed the time away. Her bags were packed, her car was gassed up, and she’d convinced herself that three months without Ford would cure her of this pointless obsession.
They were night and day, after all. He was old money, and she was backwoods farm stock and proud of it. His family had come to America on the May-flower, and pedigree was still so important to the Carringtons that Ford’s mother, Yvonne, had chartered an Austin branch of the Texas Genealogical Society; his father, David, oversaw Austin’s largest charity, the Carrington Foundation, which made bequests in the millions each January to health-related causes.
Society women were Ford’s usual companions, and it was rumored around the hospital that he’d probably propose to Blane Gilcrest, a tall, svelte, willowy woman with straight blond hair, breasts as discreetly small as a runway model’s and slender manicured fingers that she kept ringed with sparkling diamonds.
Not only was Ford practically engaged, he was seven years Katie’s senior, her co-worker and mentor. Still, during tense moments in the OR, Katie knew she’d witnessed what Blane never had—the determination Ford brought to bear when saving a child’s life.
Ford had to win against death.
What was the source of his feverish, formidable drive? she wondered. What secrets made him want suffering children to live at any cost? Why did he work so relentlessly?
Of all the surgeons at Maitland Maternity, he was the most competent, dedicated and controlled, and Katie had often seen his tough-minded tenacity win him the hearts of terrified parents, like Jesse’s mama. Ever since she’d first locked eyes with him over the operating table, Katie had fallen hard.
“That’s a wrap, folks,” said Ford. Once he was finished, he turned, preparing to wheel out a cart of instruments.
“You don’t need to get that cart,” Katie protested. “It’s my job.”
“You think I’m afraid of a little dirty work?”
“You should be. Someone might mistake you for a nurse and make you change bedpans or worse.”
“Lord knows—” Ford’s dark eyes lighted on hers, sparkling in a way that seemed less than professional “—I’d swoon if I saw a bedpan. Drop into a dead faint. Now, c’mon, Carrot Top. Can you get the door for me, before you clean up our patient?”
“With pleasure. Are you going to talk to his mama?”
Ford nodded. “I’m on my way.”
It was always wonderful when you could bring good news from the OR, Katie thought, wedging open the door with her hip. Simultaneously freezing and burning as Ford brushed past her, she caught a whiff of clean, male scent, noticeable among the antiseptic smells to which Katie would never become accustomed. Unexpectedly, Ford leaned closer, and she instinctively veered back, her startled eyes widening in question.
“When you’re done—” his low-voiced drawl sent a shiver through her “—come over to my place, Katie. Before you leave for Houston, there are some…things I need to discuss with you.”
“Things?”
“My address is on your desk.”
She knew exactly where he lived. The house—a huge old rambling place of white-painted brick with red shutters and crisp ivy growing on trellises—was on a showy, seven-acre spread at the end of a private road. The lifestyles section of the newspaper ran articles anytime his decorator, Nan Rowe, redid so much as a bathroom. Katie’s knees weakened. “Come over? But why? What—”
“Looking forward to it,” Ford murmured.
Losing her usual professional composure, she half lurched after him. “Wait a minute. Ford—I mean, uh, Dr. Carrington—what things do you want to discuss?”
His tall, loose body merely glided over the threshold.
She stared at his back, fighting a rush of annoyance as her eyes dropped from his broad shoulders to a tight butt and long legs. Did he have any idea how much he tortured her? Or how presumptuous it was to think she’d drop everything and rush right over to his house? Not that she wouldn’t go, she supposed. But what if she’d had plans?
But you don’t, do you, Katie?
Exhaling a beleaguered sigh, she headed for the baby. Oh, maybe Ford’s interested in the training program in Houston, she suddenly thought. Yes, that’s it. Maybe he wants to recommend it to other nurses. Or to discuss her working with Cecil Nelson’s surgical team upon her return from Houston. Yes, Ford’s invitation—command, she mentally corrected, bristling again—was nothing personal. She and Ford Carrington lived worlds apart.
But what if it was personal, Katie? a voice niggled. Face it, she was leaving town tomorrow. And three months from now, when she returned, she’d be transferred to Dr. Nelson’s team where her expertise was needed more. If Ford did happen to be interested in something personal…
“Hey there, Jesse,” she whispered, determined to discourage her unlikely fantasies. Her expression gentled as she stripped away the protective covering around the baby’s legs. “Let’s clean you up and make you presentable for your mama. She’s so proud of you. We all are. You did good, kid.”
Katie’s eyes stung as she gazed down at the baby. For the next while, no less than if she’d been Jesse’s mama, her whole world was taken up with the small, defenseless boy on the table who needed her—and the immensely satisfying knowledge that Ford Carrington had fixed things so he’d be just fine.

SECONDS AFTER FORD opened the front door, he’d realized Katie wanted to make love with him. He’d gotten home in time to change from scrubs into slacks and a lightweight knit shirt, and he’d dimmed the house lights and put on music before meeting Katie at the door with an uncorked bottle of burgundy and two full glasses.
“Welcome, Carrot Top,” he’d said.
Looking a little lost on the wide porch, she’d shoved both hands into the back pockets of the skin-tight jeans she wore with cowboy boots and a University of Texas T-shirt that hugged her breasts. “Hey, Dr. Carrington,” she’d returned, her deep, throaty drawl sounding as soft as velvet on the warm fall night.
Hungry, his eyes had dropped over the petite, curvy frame he rarely saw outside of scrubs. Because of where she stood, fireflies on the lawn appeared to alight in her short, tight, fiery red curls. A tiny diamond chip earring flashed from the top of her ear, where, he’d decided, the piercing had to hurt. Hospital greens definitely didn’t do her justice.
“Come on in,” he’d said.
Always the tease, she’d cocked her head, as if considering. “I’m unchaperoned tonight,” she’d warned.
He’d glanced at her beat-up car. “True. But you did drive all the way over from the hospital.”
A beatific smile had suddenly brightened her face, making the freckles scattered across her cheeks and small, straight nose jump and wiggle as she stepped across the threshold. “Don’t mind if I do.”
As they’d entered the dimly lit foyer, her uptilted emerald eyes had turned unmistakably smoky, and Ford suddenly realized the dark house, seductive music and heady wine had set the scene for seduction. Just as he saw stark desire spark in her eyes, the lights snapped on, illuminating a room decorated with balloons and streamers—and he found himself wishing he had invited Katie here to seduce her. Surprised that she might really be game for something outside the OR, Ford had mulled the possibility over as hospital staff jumped from behind furniture, shouting, “Surprise! We’ll miss you, Katie! Hurry back from Houston!”
Disappointment had filled her eyes, then relief, then something that looked like sadness—but hell if Ford understood any of it. He’d been sure his teasing in the OR meant nothing to her. After work, she always vanished, almost as if she was avoiding him. He’d figured she had a hot, heavy romance. Any woman with green eyes as striking as hers probably would.
Maybe not, though. Now that the party was over and the guests had gone home, Ford was glad Katie had stayed and he could have her to himself. He leaned casually against the kitchen counter, his gaze traveling from Katie, who’d insisted on loading the dishwasher, to the living room, where party horns and paper plates still littered the tabletops. She looked up from the dishwasher. “I like those pictures you showed me in the hallway.”
He glanced toward the sketches and daguerreotypes. His favorites were of Lance Carrington, who’d moved the Carrington family westward to Texas in a covered wagon, and of the Freeland branch of the family, who had gotten waylaid in what was now Kentucky. He shot her a smile. “And you thought we Carringtons were snobs.”
Katie quit sorting silverware long enough to snort derisively. “Everybody in your family, including the guys on the Mayflower, were doctors.”
“True.” Chuckling, Ford rested both elbows comfortably on the counter. “But two hundred years ago, that meant selling potions from the backs of wagons and accidentally leeching people to death. Doctoring wasn’t exactly a reputable profession.”
When she shook her head as if to say he was impossible, light from the overhead tracks caught in her hair, turning the curls a beautiful burnished orange. His lips parted, but before he could say she possessed the most gorgeous hair in Texas, she drawled, “Are you sure you don’t mind me staying to do this?”
Mind? The second Katie Topper had stepped into his foyer, he’d decided he wanted her to stay all night. “I always get post-party blues,” he assured her.
Reaching into the sink, she lifted out dessert plates. “Incorrect response, Doctor. You’re supposed to say you like my company.”
“What,” he teased. “Fishing for compliments?”
She mock-scowled. “Maybe. What are you grinning at, anyway?”
The corners of his lips twisted into a flirtatiously devious smile. Each time she leaned to load the dishes, he got an eyeful of the best-looking backside in Austin. “Just looking at you. Scrubs and hairnets don’t do you justice.”
“And they supposedly enhance your appearance?”
He looked hurt. “They don’t?”
“No. And if I’d known you were hosting a party in my honor,” she added, shooting him an arch glance, “I would have dressed better.”
“It doesn’t get any better than this.” His eyes drifted over the faded denim hugging her hips. “Personally, I like tight jeans on a woman.”
“If you said you liked them on men, I’d start to wonder.”
“Hmm. Want to turn around? Model for me?”
Smirking, she swatted her very tempting-looking rear end. “Oh, kiss my round Irish behind, Ford Carrington,” she said grumpily.
“What?” Laughing, he poured himself another glass of wine and swirled it in the globe. “Be honest now. Didn’t you think I asked you here to seduce you, Katie? Just for a second?”
A breathless moment passed. Recovering, she shot him a game look. “Oh, you know how we nurses are when it comes to doctors. We always hope.”
He lifted his gaze, pinning hers over the rim of the glass. “Are you hoping tonight?”
“Keep dreaming,” she lightly volleyed in reply.
“You’re asking me to dream? I’ll take that as encouragement,” Ford assured, knowing she had no idea how their banter was affecting him. “There’s plenty of time left for dreaming, isn’t there, since the night’s still young?”
Her green eyes were assessing. “Is it?”
It damn well was, and the silence that fell like a dropping curtain lasted full seconds too long. They saw each other almost daily and had teased each other mercilessly, but now they were alone in his big, empty house, with an open bottle of wine between them. After tonight she’d be gone for three months, too, plenty of time for a one-night stand to blow over.
She kept her tone deceptively conversational. “Not so young,” she said, nodding toward the picture window above the sink. “See? There’s already a full moon out there.”
Her slow, thick accent curled into his blood, making him smile once more. In comparison, his accent was gone, educated out of him by the swanky Northeastern prep schools where his parents had sent him, and which he’d hated. She’d been right in the OR, he thought, watching her. Her Texas and his were two different places. She was a farm girl, born and bred, and even now, she talked like one. Still toying with the wine in his glass, watching the red liquid splash the sides, he drawled, “Sometimes a full moon makes all the difference in the world to a woman. Is it that way with you, Katie?”
“Only because I’m afraid of what you’ll turn into.”
He chuckled. “Hard to tell. A werewolf or vampire.”
“Oh, no,” she said darkly. “Definitely something worse.”
“Definitely.” Further relaxing against the counter, he wished he shared this kind of easy repartee with his crowd, instead of long, drawn-out evenings at fund-raisers, talking about stock portfolios. Breathing in the wine, he then savored the taste and immediately wished he was tasting something warmer, headier…Katie. “I’ll miss you,” he found himself saying, his voice catching throatily, becoming unexpectedly hoarse. “You’re the best nurse we’ve got. And when you come back, Cecil Nelson’s going to get hold of you.”
As she tossed her head, her magical curls caught the light again. She laughed off the compliment. “No pun?”
Ford’s eyes lingered, roving over her hair, and he took another drink of the liquor to soothe the dryness of his throat. “Pun?”
“Nelson. Getting hold of. Nelson’s a wrestling hold.”
Leave it to Katie to get the best of him in conversation. “No pun.” And he was getting impatient with the fun and games. “When are you going to start calling me Ford, Katie?”
She grinned. “Never.”
“Damn, you can be irritating,” he countered with another playful smile. “C’mon, quit doing the dishes. I told you earlier, I’ve got a maid coming tomorrow. Have a glass of wine with me. I invited you over for your going-away party, not to clean.”
Giving in, Katie dusted her hands with a dishcloth, and when her eyes found his again, she sobered. “The party was nice. Thanks…Ford.”
He liked hearing her say his first name. He liked feeling those hot, searing emerald eyes on him, too. They were so sharp, so heartbreakingly green, and from working with Katie, he knew they never missed a detail. Usually, he didn’t, either. How had he overlooked the soft, female intent that she was trying so hard to hide?
“I read the recommendation letter you sent to Houston,” she added. “Thanks for that, too, Ford.”
He’d said she was the best nurse he’d ever worked with. “It’s the truth.” She was wonderful. Everybody loved her. “So many people wanted to give you a send-off that only my place was big enough for the party.”
She glanced around. “It is big.”
He couldn’t stop the low, suggestive and very ungentlemanly chuckle. “Size put you off?”
She sent him a droll glance. “Now, why would the size of a house put me off?”
Laughing, he shrugged. “I’ve got mixed feelings about the place myself. It was a family house, belonged to my grandfather.”
The previous innuendo had brushed color across her cheeks. “The one who started the Carrington Foundation?”
The one relative that Ford felt had truly loved him. “Yeah.”
Absently threading fingers through her hair, making him long to touch the springy, coiled strands, she shot another appraising look around the stainless steel kitchen. “Too big for one person,” she said decisively.
“I have a lot of servants,” he said defensively, though it wasn’t really true.
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t you get scared at night?”
His eyes locked on hers again. “Offering your company?”
“I never need company,” she returned easily. “Too much Irish in my blood. I don’t scare.”
No, she didn’t. He’d never met a nurse who was able to take so much pressure. She always hung in with him, even when it seemed too late to save a patient. Other nurses might tell him to give up, but not Katie…never Katie.
Another awkward silence fell, and the clink of glass sounded overly loud as he lifted the bottle and poured her some wine. “You’ve been drinking sodas all night, and I want you to try this. It’s from a California vineyard owned by a friend of mine.” She looked impressed, and while he wanted to impress her, he didn’t like the distance it created or how put off she seemed by his money.
“Maybe too rich for my blood,” she joked, still nervously running fingers through her curls. “Sure you don’t have any Ripple? Night Train?”
“I’m getting no appreciation here. Most women think money’s my best quality, Katie.”
She surveyed him a long moment, a brief sadness touching her eyes as if she were sorry for that, then another quick smile twitched at the corners of her mouth. “Do I look like most women?”
He shook his head, his gaze slowly drifting from hair that was like curly red ribbons to her milky, angular freckled face. “No. You’re one of a kind.”
Chuckling softly, she nodded toward the wine. “Okay, Dr. Carrington. You talked me into it.”
“What?” he volleyed dryly. “Have you decided to stay and love me for something other than my money?”
She grinned. “Don’t push your luck.”
Her decision to stay awhile did crazy things to his pulse, and with blood dancing through his limbs, he said, “Care to take another walk down to the stables while you sip your wine?”
“No, but I enjoyed going earlier.”
She leaned beside him at the counter, he felt as if bands of steel were tightening around his chest. He could smell soap and skin, and beneath that, something that was pure Katie. He watched as she gazed through the picture window. Earlier, he’d let two mares and a gelding out of their stalls so she could watch them run, and now the gelding bucked, playing under the moonlight. Watching the horses, she seemed to be in rapture.
“That was the nicest walk I’ve had for a while, Katie.”
“Hard to mess up a moonlight stroll,” she said, glancing from the horses and sending him a sweet sideways smile. “Mostly we gossiped.”
Maitland Maternity’s latest scandals had made for plenty of talk. The place hadn’t been sane since the day the twenty-fifth anniversary bash was to be announced. Just before the Maitlands met the press, an unidentified baby boy, now called Cody, was found outside the hospital.
“I love gossip,” Ford confessed, sipping, then lightly licking wine from his lips.
“Me, too,” she said, the faint color on her face spreading downward to the smooth, unmarred skin of her neck, where he could tell her pulse was vying with his for beating too fast. Her breath suddenly caught, and the faint, involuntary sound made Ford’s groin tighten, then flex.
“I love your horses,” she murmured.
Love. Hearing the word on her lips, he flicked his gaze down the pale column of her neck again, remembering how she’d gently rubbed noses and scratched between ears until she’d found the special spot where each horse liked to be touched. There was something so genuine about Katie, so caring and unpretentious that she’d stolen his breath. He edged closer. “I can tell you like them.”
“They’re beautiful, Ford.”
When she glanced up, he could swear the clear emerald slits of her eyes held invitation. At least, Ford hoped he wasn’t misreading the situation. Risking it, he murmured, “You’re beautiful, Katie.” Very slowly, his eyes fixed intently on hers, he pushed aside his wineglass.
He could see her fingers tremble as she pushed her glass away, too. When her hand stilled, resting on the base, he knew she wasn’t steadying the glass but herself. Her voice held a tremor. “Maybe I’d better go home now, Dr. Carrington.”
“Ford,” he corrected huskily, catching her hand. “And I know you don’t want to leave, Katie.” With the words, his chest squeezed out the rest of his breath. “Stay. Let me give you the proper send-off.”
Seeing her gemstone eyes smolder with want, he threaded their fingers, bringing her hand to his chest. His response was amazing. He shuddered, and as his nipple beaded beneath her fingertips, he could barely process what was happening. Why hadn’t he guessed that, outside the OR, Katie Topper’s touch would shoot through him like wild volts of electricity? Why hadn’t he guessed she’d feel the same?
Katie sounded shaky. “Proper send-off?”
“Okay,” he admitted. “Not so proper.” No, what he had in mind wasn’t proper at all. Gently cupping her neck, he tilted back her head and glided his fingers into the flaming red curls he’d longed to touch all night. “Your hair’s soft as silk, Katie,” he murmured, rubbing strands between his fingertips. Bending, he released a shuddering sigh and pressed an unbroken strand of wet kisses from her ear to her collarbone, the sugar-salt flavor of her skin making his pulse fracture.
She melted. There was no other word for it. He felt the limbs of her petite body loosen and stretch and felt heat rise from her as if she were a burning taper. Groaning, he wrapped an arm tightly around her back, his groin thickening, becoming almost painful. “I’ve been fighting this all night,” he confessed, gasping as her hipbone ground against him. Ever so slowly, he stroked the space behind her ear with his tongue.
“We work together, Ford,” she whispered. “We’re two completely different people….”
“Did you hear me asking for a lifetime, Katie?” Ford half coaxed, half chided, his palms traveling down her back, molding the firm backside snuggled beneath tight jeans, while his five o’clock shadow roughened the creamy skin of her neck. “This is good old-fashioned lust,” he assured hoarsely, “nothing more.” Attempting to ignore how her denials prickled his male vanity, demanding he claim her, he kissed her velvet skin, deciding that days from now, when she was in Houston, she’d remember every minute of what he was about to do to her. “I’m too old for you, Katie,” he repeated, desire making the words sound strained. “And I’m someone you work with. I’ve got a whole other lifestyle. But I’m a confirmed bachelor, too. At thirty-six, I know exactly what I want.”
Breathless, Katie whispered, “You do, Ford?”
“Yeah.” Releasing a low moan, he kissed his way up her neck, along her jaw, around her chin. “Yeah. I know exactly what I want. You, Katie.” His mouth covered hers, and as he registered the soft pliancy of her wanting lips, an unforgettable aching claimed him. Her taste—all dark wine and mint toothpaste and pent-up longing—sent luscious shivers rippling through him. Harder, his hungry mouth swooped and crushed. No, he wouldn’t rest until Katie Topper was naked and beneath him.
Already, he was imagining lifting off her T-shirt, pushing back her bra, freeing her breasts. Already, as he deeply, silkily thrust his tongue between her lips, he was admitting this woman could probably make him lose his mind. Beneath her shirt, the tips of her breasts had pebbled. When he became aware of the roughened nubs brushing his chest, a streak of lightning shot to his groin. “One night.” Sharply, he pulled in a breath of her. “I don’t want anything more than that, Katie.”
“No,” she agreed raggedly. “I don’t, either.”
Leaning back just a fraction, he swept a ravenous gaze from her well-kissed, wine-red lips to the red mark he’d left on her perfect neck. Further down, seeing the tight buds he intended to taste showing through her top, he thought he’d explode. Tightening his fingers through hers, he hoarsely said, “Come with me.”
“Where?”
“To my bed, Katie.”

CHAPTER TWO
Three months later
“WE DISCUSSED moving Katie to my team ages ago.” Dr. Cecil Nelson, seated on a bench in the doctors’ shower room, turned away from the lockers, toward Ford and lifted a small, red-and-green gift-wrapped package, weighing it so carefully in his hand that it could have been a gold nugget on the scales of justice. After a lengthy moment’s consideration, he set it aside. “Ford,” he continued, “what’s gotten into you?”
“Be kind, Cecil. ’Tis the season.”
Hardly looking ready to spread donated gifts and good cheer throughout the hospital, Cecil offered a grumpy “Humph,” shot Ford a surly look, then pinched a lint speck from the Santa costume he was about to put on. Staring at Cecil’s beefy hand, Ford shook his head, and Cecil suddenly laughed, holding the hand up for inspection. “People swore I’d never make it through med school.”
“You showed them.”
“Ay-yeah, young man,” Cecil agreed, his slow drawl elongating vowels and slurring consonants. “These hands might look more suited to manual labor than precision surgery, but I graduated top of the class. Showed them, indeed. Was born poorer than a son of a gun, too.” White-haired and burly, Cecil was just a year from retirement, and being the sort of wily Southern doctor who was far smarter than his manner of speech might indicate, and who always meandered before making his point, he only now added, “I look more like Santa than a cardiac specialist, too, Ford, but when I get a gift as good as Katie Topper, I don’t give her away. That little spitfire’s joining my team when she gets back to town.”
“Little spitfire,” Ford repeated with a chuckle. “If she heard you call her that, she’d serve you up on a platter.”
Cecil’s bushy white eyebrows drew together. “What’s wrong with little spitfire?”
“It’s right up there with little lady, Cecil. You’re an educated man, you ought to know better.”
Cecil’s lips twitched. “Feel free to sue me. I’m both Texan and male, and if anybody thinks I can still disturb a young nurse as pretty as Katie Topper at the ripe old age of sixty-four, I’d be more than flattered. Anyway, the point is that she’s my favorite nurse.”
“She’s everybody’s favorite nurse.”
“Maybe, but she’s mine when she gets back. I need her.”
“Not like I do.”
“What do you need her for?”
Plenty. Ford needed her the way a man needed a woman. Nearly three months had passed, but his mind drifted to her at the strangest times. At night he’d find himself painfully aroused, the sheets damp and twisted on the floor, his head full of Katie’s sweet moans. Before that night, Ford had accustomed himself to cool, distant women with too much eastern education and too little down-home desire. Women who, if the truth be told, had eyes that generally strayed to one place—a man’s wallet—and who viewed sex as an inconvenient requirement that came with marrying the right kind of man. Women like Blane Gilcrest, who had been trying—and failing—to arouse Ford’s interest ever since her daddy, the attorney for the Carrington Foundation, had gotten close to Ford’s father. Lanky and blond, Blane prided herself on being the kind of woman Ford needed, but he knew her beauty only went skin deep. She was all smooth polish, transparent as glass. Totally unlike Katie.
Katie had been glorious in her passion, her milk-pale silken skin damp and on fire, creamy in places most men didn’t see, as mouthwateringly sweet as honeysuckle where her freckles ended and as fresh as dew where sun and skin never met. Her plump pink mouth, always so sassy, had slackened with release, and her upturned green eyes, always so sharp, had glazed like boiling sugar. She’d given as good as she got, just as she did in the OR, and she’d turned Ford on as he’d never been before. Just as she’d tested his horses that night in the stables, finding their weakest spots, she’d tested him and discovered secrets no other woman had ever bothered looking for. It wasn’t because Katie was so experienced, either, but because she made love the way a woman should, with her heart.
“So, what do you say, Ford?”
“What, Cecil?”
Cecil squinted, then suddenly slapped his thigh and loosed a belly laugh. “Hope you’re done for the day.”
“All I’ve got left is the insertion of a feed tube.”
“Good. ’Cause you’re definitely not playing with a full deck at the moment. While you were busy thinking, I said maybe Katie can shift back in another few months, but I need her now. About a week ago, when she called, I could tell she’s done great things in Houston. Fact is, I think that little spitfire knows more about the human heart than I do at this point, and since my team covers heart and lungs, we want to see what she learned. Some of the other nurses are considering enrolling in that Houston program, too.”
Ford’s mind, usually as sharp as spurs, hadn’t quite caught up. “You talked to her?”
Cecil nodded. “She called last week. They loved her there, even offered her a job. Scared me, since we need her.”
Katie had phoned Cecil? She was thinking of taking a job in Houston? Ford had considered calling her for months, but every time he picked up the phone, he’d visualize her lying across his bed—short-winded, her chest heaving and lamplight from his upstairs hallway shooting streaks of gold through her tight red curls. He wished that he hadn’t, in the last breathless minute before he’d removed her clothes, reiterated the reasons they wouldn’t make a good couple—that he was too rich, too much older than she was, too caught up in a world unlike her own. At the time, he’d meant it. Women like Blane, not Katie, peopled his life.
But the body had a mind of its own, and now he’d crawl right out of his skin if he didn’t make love to her again. Unfortunately, after sex that had taken the back of his head clear off, he’d awakened to find her gone—as if she couldn’t leave fast enough. No note. No panties he might keep in his drawer to remember her by. Nothing.
Because he was a gentleman—at least sometimes—for three months, he’d left the ball in Katie’s court. Now he’d started thinking that if she worked with him in the OR again, she might decide to date him. Maybe they could just start off slow and easy. Grab a bite to eat. See a movie. See what happened.
“She didn’t take the job, right?” Ford asked casually.
“I assume she didn’t. She would have said otherwise.”
Ford’s mind turned over, playing the options. “But there’s a chance she’ll move to Houston?”
Cecil’s blue eyes were as intrusive as scalpels, and his powerful shoulders suddenly shook with merriment. “About five minutes ago I said I wasn’t positive, Ford. But I guess you quit listening.”
“When did she call?”
“Last week. Keep it up and I’ll think you want to move Katie to your team for personal reasons.”
“Oh, you’re swift, Cecil,” Ford said. “You caught me.”
Cecil laughed. “You’re crazy.”
Ford thought about the night they’d spent together. It had been crazy. Hot, sweaty and wild. They’d shared the kind of sex people only dreamed about.
“I’d forget about her if I was you, Ford.”
Since there’d be no forgetting that night, Ford decided the older surgeon was starting to get on his nerves. “Why?”
“Your lives couldn’t be more different. You’ve got a fancy East-coast education, money, family, power. If you want the best table in Austin, any maître d’ will move the governor of the state to give it to you. But Katie Topper?” Cecil’s chuckles got the best of Ford, darkening his mood, mostly because he knew what the elderly man was thinking: for once, Ford Carrington, who’d been born chewing a silver spoon, was going to have trouble getting something he wanted.
But there was a lot Cecil didn’t know.
Like most men who’d pulled themselves up by the bootstraps, Cecil couldn’t imagine the wealthy having any hardships. He’d never guess what it had been like for Ford—a lone child in a big house who, at the age of ten, had felt blamed for his little brother’s death. Cecil would never guess how, despite his professed hatred for medicine, Ford had become a surgeon to win family approval that never came, or that to this day, the cold withdrawal of parents for whom he professed not to care had left a core of anger burning in Ford, just as strongly as the desire to find love. Inside him was an empty hole that no one had ever really filled. But just for a second, on a night three months ago, he’d felt satisfied, maybe even loved. No woman had ever touched him the way Katie had, which was why he was still single at thirty-six.
No, a man like Cecil wouldn’t understand. Maybe Katie Topper wouldn’t, either. Ford hadn’t forgotten how her eyes had assessed his house, and while he’d sensed her ability to love a man not for what he did or owned but for who he really was, Ford knew she was put off by wealth. He’d noted it in the OR, when they teased each other. Like Cecil, she seemed to think that silver spoons bought the end of trouble. But the truth was, money always had a price.
Cecil was still laughing. “Sorry, Ford, but even if Katie had been secretly in love with you for years, you’d never get hold of an Irish spitfire like that without a fight.”
“Fine by me.” Ford smiled easily. “You know I live for the challenge.” Difference was, where Katie would come out swinging, Ford was the type to apply slow, silent pressure. He’d win, too. Cecil was right. The all-powerful Carringtons had everything at their command, including wealth, charm, connections and good looks.
Ford Carrington had everything but Katie.
And while he’d probably never be the marrying kind, he’d decided months ago that she was coming back to his bed.

THE PHONE RANG, and for a missed heartbeat, she was sure the caller was Ford. “If it is, don’t be a wuss, Katie Topper!” she coached nervously, pacing around her apartment. “Just tell him the truth, hear what he says, and if he blows his stack, calmly tell him you’ll think things over and get right back to him.”
Slipping an anxious hand over her belly, she felt her heart pull with a bittersweet mix of excitement, joy and worry for which there was no name in the English language. Then, startled into action, she began quickly tossing aside empty boxes and lifting couch cushions, muttering, “C’mon, where are you, phone?”
Before she’d left for Houston, she had sublet the apartment furnished but had packed her breakables, and since she’d spent Christmas at her papa’s farm, she’d only now gotten around to unpacking. Not the most thrilling New Year’s Eve she’d ever spent, she thought, wishing her brothers hadn’t had dates and that her papa hadn’t left town for a few weeks, as he often did, to do a contracting job in Dallas. Of course Katie had lived through worse. Yeah, like the past three months when you didn’t so much as see Ford Carrington.
It took six rings to unbury the phone and another to take a very deep breath just in case it was Ford. Why Katie bothered, she didn’t know. It had been a one-night stand, pure and simple. No man could have been clearer about wanting only sex. Wham, bam, thank you, ma’am. Trouble was, every blessed second had been pure, delicious fantasy, as if Ford Carrington had looked into her mind and then done everything she’d imagined. It had been three o’clock before common sense and pride kicked in and Katie bolted, heading to the farmhouse and sneaking into bed. How could she have given herself so brazenly to a man who so clearly didn’t want more from her? Sure, she’d said she didn’t want a relationship, but she’d been lying.
“And you still are, at least by omission,” she snapped as she punched the talk button, still wondering what she’d say if it was him. Just a quick, Hi there, Ford. I’m pregnant. Or, Remember how I said I liked dining at Pok-E-Jo’s? Well, it’s all ice cream and pickles now, cowboy. Maybe she should have taken the job in Houston and solved the problem by simply vanishing. “Happy New Year,” she found herself saying, nervously tapping her bare foot on the wood floor. “So far, it’s shaping up to be a doozy. Katie speaking.”
“I hope you don’t have plans tonight, sweetheart.”
Realizing how tightly she was clutching the phone, Katie relaxed. A relieved sigh whooshed from her chest. “Sue? Is that you?”
“Yes, aren’t you lucky,” the nursing coordinator from Maitland Maternity said in a rush. “It’s me. And I’m majorly glad you’re home. You’re not due at work for a couple of weeks—I know that—but I gave as many people as possible the night off since it’s New Year’s Eve, and now we’ve got an emergency. We need another nurse and a surgeon and—”
She fought it, but the name escaped. “Ford?”
“Dr. Carrington’s cohosting a party at Blane Gilcrest’s. You know, that socialite he dates who’s always in the papers? She’s got that mansion on Lakeview? Anyway, I’m looking for Cecil Nelson. He’s on call.”
Katie barely heard. Jealousy had come to her in a quick, unwanted mental flash of Ford dancing with Blane under soft, fuzzy lights. Or whatever. Who knew what wealthy people did on New Year’s?
Katie’s eyes slid to the TV, where, just an hour shy of midnight, the ball was dropping on Times Square, and she calmly reminded herself she had no right to the murderous feelings coursing through her. What happened between her and Ford, while magical for her, was a one-time thing. That was the deal.
Of course there was a small hitch now.
Which meant she’d somehow have to look straight into the dark irresistible eyes that had drunk in her naked body and forget the moment she’d conceived. She felt herself flush as she recalled the coarse hair of Ford’s legs and chest, how she’d soared when his mouth locked over her breasts and how she’d whimpered when his fingers curled possessively between her thighs. Katie exhaled a shudder.
She’d been a fool to think making love with Ford would get him out of her system, or that she could deny her feelings and chalk the night up to an excess of the fancy wine from his friend’s vineyard. If she was honest about it, she’d only had one sip, anyway.
Even if Ford expressed interest now—which he wouldn’t—she couldn’t sleep with him again, not ever. He was high-society Austin, and she was a farm girl. He’d said he wanted sex, not a relationship, and Katie had too much self-respect to let herself be accused of trying to trap a rich man with a pregnancy.
“Can you get over here?” Sue was saying. “I’ll keep looking for Dr. Nelson. But we’ve got a week-old girl in trouble. We thought we could wait until tomorrow to correct a blockage in her esophagus—”
“On my way.” Katie switched off the phone, shoved her feet into cowboy boots and grabbed her keys. She flicked off the TV, then ran for the car, realizing when the sharp January night air chilled her that she’d forgotten a coat. Not that she’d go back. A baby was in trouble.
Later, she’d think about the new life inside her and whether she should have contacted Ford before now. She was a nurse and prided herself on practicality; nevertheless, for two months she’d convinced herself her missed periods were due to the temporary move to Houston. Just female pheromones adjusting to her new coworkers, she’d kept thinking…until she’d administered the pregnancy test that proved she was pregnant and in plain, old-fashioned denial. She simply didn’t understand how it happened. They’d used condoms. “Plural,” she whispered with a sigh.
At first, the knowledge of her pregnancy burned inside her, but she’d only broken down once, confiding in her friend Hope Logan without identifying the father. Hope would be flabbergasted if she knew. But Katie wanted this baby desperately, though she had no illusions of receiving help from Ford. He was thirty-six and a confirmed bachelor by his own admission. Not even the polished social butterflies who flocked around him had caught his interest, so Katie figured she didn’t have a prayer.
“How am I going to tell him?” she muttered, stomping her foot and inadvertently making the car lunge forward. “Well, whatever he says, I’ll take him on.”
Her papa, too. She couldn’t tell him before Ford, but she was worried about how he’d react. Jack Topper was sternly religious, yes, but he was a contractor and old-fashioned Texas farmer, too, which meant he’d either head for the prayer rail at New Flock Baptist or grab the first handy rifle, point it at Ford and try to force him to marry her. Telling Jack it was the twenty-first century and that people no longer solved things with double-barreled blue steel wouldn’t deter him one bit, either.
“Concentrate, Katie,” she whispered as she sped toward Maitland Maternity. “And thank fate for small favors.” At least she’d probably be working with Cecil Nelson tonight, which meant she’d been granted another reprieve, however brief, before she told Ford Carrington she was pregnant with their baby.

SHE’S PREGNANT.
It was an instinctive, gut reaction, entirely unfounded but born of years spent working around pregnant women. That, and remembering the broken condom he hadn’t told Katie about. Only years of medical experience allowed Ford to separate the personal and professional and throw every ounce of his energy into fixing up a newborn. “Pressure?”
“Stable,” Katie said.
“Oxygen? Saline? Drips?”
She read off strings of numbers.
The professional tone left Ford feeling faintly murderous, even though he knew she, too, needed to dissociate from her emotions in order to get this job done; without that skill, people could never accomplish tasks that, anywhere outside an OR, would be considered barbaric. What was barbaric was Blane’s New Year’s party, Ford thought. Beach theme. Drinks with umbrellas. Mascot in diapers. He’d felt as if he was still a frat boy, back in college, and he couldn’t have been more relieved when the hospital called, saying they were still looking for Cecil.
Ford glanced at Katie again. Surely, his initial impression that she was pregnant was unfounded, but in the heartbeat before she’d pulled on her mask, he’d noted the deepening skin color and rounding of her face. Lord, was wishful thinking making him imagine she’d come back from Houston, her belly filling with their child? Always emotionally unattached, his only model the family in which he’d grown up, he’d never considered having a baby. But with a woman like Katie, could things be different?
Her eyes were still evading his, settling everywhere else in the crowded room full of milling nurses and technicians, making his mind run wild. Didn’t seeing him for the first time in three months affect her at all? He’d expected at least a glimmer of awareness, a rekindled spark. Was she embarrassed, since they’d been in his bed the last time they’d spoken?
“Scalpel.”
Their fingertips met. Even through gloves, he felt her quickening pulse, the sudden, sensual tremor of her skin. Fearing she might not feel it, too, he silently cursed her for making him want her so much. He forced himself to look away and continue working, but it was hard to concentrate. He kept seeing the wrecked living room and the faint lip-gloss smudge on a wineglass, both of which had told him the night with her hadn’t been his imagination. Why had she left him nothing? Not even a lipsticked message on a mirror. Or a scribbled note in a sport coat pocket for him to find weeks later.
He focused, needing to connect two blocked ends of a malformed esophagus. Simple but delicate, the operation served as a reminder of how much people took for granted. Things like tasting and swallowing nourishment, or pulling life’s sweetest scents all the way down into your lungs. That one night, Katie had been exactly like this, simple but delicate. And by damn, he was getting her back into his bed, one way or the other.
Only when he finished the last stitch did he look at her again. “When you’re done, can I speak with you outside?”
Her green eyes looked worried. “In the hallway?”
He figured whatever they had to say to each other didn’t belong to the gossip mill of Maitland Maternity. “No. Outside. The parking lot.”

FORD LEANED against the driver’s door of Katie’s car just in case she decided to hop in, speed off and evade him, the way she used to after work. Damn it, was he simply acting like a possessive, rejected fool? The idea soured his mood. As he stared toward the OR doors, waiting for her, he realized he didn’t take kindly to being thrown off stride. That was the good thing about women like Blane. He knew how to handle them. He glanced around. Katie had parked under a streetlight, but otherwise, the lot was dark and empty, and the night was cold, even for December in Austin.
“January,” he corrected, since the clock had ticked over into the new year while he and Katie were working. The operation had gone well, so where was she? Changing into party clothes, as he had? Had she been celebrating the new year with a lover? The father of the baby? Maybe it wasn’t his….
“She’s not pregnant,” he muttered in angry exasperation, wishing his mind would let go of the ludicrous thought.
Unfair as it was, he felt relieved to see her come outside wearing hospital greens and carrying folded jeans, which probably meant she hadn’t been anywhere. Not wanting to appear anxious, he kept leaning against the car, watching her, listening to the hard, solid connection of her boot heels on the pavement until she stopped in front of him. Somehow, he expected three months to have changed her, but she was the same familiar Katie. His eyes drifted hungrily over red coils of hair that had grown a fraction, and he recalled trailing fingers down the vibrant strands to smooth, now winter-pale cheeks, and how he’d played connect-the-dots with the freckles on her shoulders.
Anxiously, she cleared her throat. “Uh…hi, Dr. Carrington.”
She probably hadn’t planned that opening line, any more than he planned the traitorous tightening of his body when the soft Texas slur of her words churned his blood into a wild current. Hi, Dr. Carrington. It seemed a damn funny thing to say, since the last words she’d said to him were, Please, Ford, can’t we sleep like this? She’d meant with their naked bodies still hot, damp and joined. He’d smiled, informing her that sleep wasn’t in her future. And it hadn’t been.
“Told you I’d be waiting, Katie.” Before she could answer, he added, “And I really think you should call me Ford.”
“I guess I should,” she returned, swallowing hard. “Yes…I really guess so.” Her bright green eyes skated to where he was leaning against the car, and she peered at him through a fringe of red eyelashes. “I said I’d meet you. I wasn’t going anywhere, you know.”
Maybe not, but she sounded as if she wished she were, something that further darkened Ford’s disposition. Hadn’t she had the slightest interest in seeing him again? “Did I say you were leaving? Anyway, where’s your coat?”
She dropped her stacked clothes on the hood. “Sue said it was an emergency, so I just ran out the door.” Her eyes flicked over his tux and gray wool overcoat. “But I take it you were ringing in the New Year somewhere special?” Leaving him to wonder if she was jealous, she quickly added, “Sue assured me she was looking for Dr. Nelson.”
Assured? Ford guessed that meant Katie no longer wanted to work with him. “Well, Sue got me.” And Katie was biding time, alluding to the party at Blane’s, where, Ford didn’t exactly feel inclined to tell her, he’d been bored out of his mind. Shrugging from the topcoat, he said, “Here.”
Katie tossed her head, and nothing more than the mild reminder of her fiery independence threatened to set him off. Watching her crisp curls glint under the lamplight seemed such a travesty, too, when he wanted to feel them wrapping around his fingertips like springs of raw red silk.
“Thanks, but I don’t need a coat.”
“Yes, you do.”
“Really.” She shivered. “I’m fine.”
“Right.” The ungiving cotton of the short-sleeved greens tightly hugged her breasts, making plainly visible what the chill air was doing to her. He glanced away, but not before getting a good look at how she was affected. He waved the coat at her. “Katie. C’mon. Take it.” If she didn’t and he took another good look at her, he might do something he’d regret.
“I said I don’t need it.”
The words were out before he could stop them. “No,” he drawled coolly. “I guess proud Katie Topper doesn’t need a thing.” He hardly knew where the words came from, but she sure hadn’t given their night together any thought.
She looked startled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing,” he muttered.
But when she snagged the coat from the crook of his finger, swirled it around her shoulders and hugged it to her belly, Ford had another gut feeling his deepest suspicions weren’t unfounded. He glanced from the hem, which brushed her ankles, to the shoulder seams halfway down her arms. Even though the ill fit made her look petite and feminine as hell, Ford swore to himself that he wouldn’t react. Then he went for broke. “I know this sounds crazy, Katie, but are you pregnant or something?”
She gasped, then stomped her foot on the pavement, fisting her hands. “I knew you’d guessed, Ford! Why didn’t you just say so? Yes. Yes, it is true, Ford. I’m pregnant! I’m pregnant!”
The sudden outburst, so like Katie, ended as abruptly as it began, leaving noticeable silence in its wake. The hospital was hushed, and the winter night too cold for the insects whose wings usually hummed under the street lamps. When Ford drew air into his lungs again, the inhalation seemed to whisper as if telling a secret. He started to suggest they get in her car so they could run the heater while they talked, but he couldn’t risk being in such a small, enclosed space with her. In close proximity, he’d either throttle her or do what he shouldn’t allow himself to do before this was settled—make love to her.
A baby. He’d handled so many, but was the woman in front of him really carrying his? He could so easily imagine how Katie would look, full with his flesh, his blood. The thought startled him. He didn’t know exactly when, couldn’t pinpoint the moment, but he’d given up thinking about becoming a father. He was thirty-six and single, too damn old. He knew he couldn’t settle down with any of the women he’d known. He didn’t much like them. But now…
She’d paled, her translucent skin turning the color of paper. “Uh…how did you guess?”
Images were still filling his mind, of watching her belly becoming rounder, of holding the baby in his hands. “I’m surrounded by pregnant women sixty hours a week, Katie, just as you are.” And yet it was more than that, as if he were simply in tune with Katie.
She nodded, suddenly looking small and strangely miserable, nearly swallowed up by his coat, and yet as she spoke, she thrust her chin upward in an imperious way he found truly annoying under the circumstances. “I…I’m sorry. I should have called.”
No kidding. “If you’re trying to piss me off by saying that, Katie,” he warned, “you’re doing a fine job. You’re sure it’s mine?”
As the remaining color drained from her face, making the freckles on her nose more visible, he realized he didn’t feel as guilty as he should have about wounding her pride, not when she hadn’t even bothered to call him. Her voice was a near whisper. “Of course it is, Ford.”
“No man in Houston?”
She looked totally taken aback. “No.”
“No man here?”
Her eyes narrowed, glittering. “No!”
He forced himself not to acknowledge his relief. “But I didn’t rate a phone call?”
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Only because you were called in for an emergency.” He couldn’t help but point it out, barely able to believe her silence or the fact that he was going to be a father. “For all I know, you were considering taking that job in Houston. Cecil said they offered you one. Maybe you’re still planning to go back?”
“No. I’m staying.” She stared at him a second. “At least I think so.”
As if he’d force her to leave. “Were you going to tell me?”
Her lips parted with shock. “What do you think?”
“I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking.”
“Yes.”
A stranger seemed to get hold of him, one with less pride than Ford usually possessed. Or more anger. “But you didn’t tell me, did you, Katie?”
“You’re not making this easy, Ford.”
“I don’t intend to.”
“I was nervous,” she explained, and as she stepped defensively back, he reached out, wrapped a hand around her upper arm and drew her toward him. Too late, he realized he’d brought her just inches away. For an instant, Ford almost forgot the conversation. It took everything he had not to kiss her, but he could never allow himself the pleasure, not when she hadn’t even called him. She wanted him to kiss her, though. That was the hell of it. Her mouth puckered. Her lips parted. And as pleased as he was to see desire spark in those come-hither green eyes, it threatened to gentle his emotions, so he loosened his hold.
She wrenched away, rubbing her upper arm as if he’d done real damage, which he hadn’t. “Never grab me like that.”
“I’ll never touch you again. I promise.”
He immediately wished he hadn’t spoken. Not that it mattered. Her eyes said she knew it was a lie. “I was going to call you from Houston,” she told him. “But this seemed like news I should deliver face to face. And the weekends I did drop by the hospital, you were off.”
“Yeah,” he muttered. “I guess you made sure of that. But you could have driven to my place.” He glanced away, fighting emotions he couldn’t even begin to untangle. They’d been together only one night, he’d desperately wanted her back in his bed for months, but now they’d be tied together for life. Life was a long time. Even with a woman whose body he craved as much as Katie’s. “When did you find out?”
“I guessed weeks ago, but I just kept thinking….”
He thrust a hand angrily through his thick dark hair, rumpling it. “Thinking you weren’t pregnant?” Damn it, didn’t she mean hoping she wasn’t?
When she nodded, he tried not to react, but he was remembering their first kiss in his kitchen, the party plates and streamers still in the next room. After all the time they’d worked together, how could he have so completely misjudged her? Hadn’t she wanted this baby? Even for an instant?
Her voice was stern. “I’m keeping it, Ford.”
Relief flooded him, but the way she’d said it… “You’d consider something else?” He knew she’d never guess at the anger rushing through his veins, but he couldn’t stop the fingers that tightened over hers. Then he suddenly lost it. A hand was in her hair, skimming the waves, tightening on her scalp and defying her by pulling her to him again. His voice was raspy. “Of course you’re keeping this baby, Katie.”
Her eyes, a fraction away, blinked rapidly, almost as if she was fighting tears. “I am?” The voice was faint, curious. “I thought you might have a problem with this…uh, Ford.”
“Hell, yes, I have a problem with this. I’m in shock. This is totally out of the blue. But I save lives, Katie. I don’t take them. Who do you think I am, anyway?”
“That’s the point, isn’t it?” she returned, backing nervously away, cuddling his coat more tightly around her. “We’ve worked together a long time, Ford, but we don’t even know each other, not really.”
Well enough to make a baby. “Maybe not. But it looks like we’re going to.” His eyes lowered to her lips, and he realized that three months had done nothing to erase the memory of their taste. Soft, plump and lightly glossed, he knew them well. He’d suckled and bitten and nipped, and they’d held fast, kissing him back.
The huskiness of her low voice brought him to his senses. “You don’t have to be involved, Ford.”
Usually he was expert at pushing people away. Yes, Ford Carrington had turned that into a fine art. “Keep dreaming, Katie,” he found himself saying, “I’m going to be involved. Oh, I understand. Before you left, you said you didn’t want me in your life—”
“Whoa!” she burst out. “You said you didn’t want a relationship. It was mutual.”
“We agree on that, anyway—” His barely perceptible drawl grew thicker and more pronounced. “It was very definitely mutual, Katie.” As his eyes traced her lips, there was no denying he wanted her sexually. But he needed to think about this. A baby? He’d avoided this situation for years. Could he give a child what it needed?
“Ford—” She was trying to stay calm. “I don’t think you understand. We come from completely different backgrounds. My papa’s really religious, and now I’ve got to tell him I’m having a baby when I’m not even married. He’s not the kind of man who’ll be able to accept that I…”
“Slept around?”
“It’s not like I do it all the time! This wasn’t supposed to happen! We used protection!”
“The condom broke.”
She stared at him a long moment, her breath the only thing that moved, clouding on the night air. Nervously, she licked her lips, and he could see her throat working as she swallowed, the wildly beating pulse at her neck giving away her emotions. Finally, she whispered, “You didn’t tell me?”
He blew out a sigh. “I didn’t want to worry you.”
“You didn’t want to worry me?” she echoed.
She knew the odds. “The chance of this happening is next to nil.” She hugged the coat even more tightly around her and shifted her weight as if she was getting colder. “What are we going to do, Ford?”
Hell if he knew. He shook his head. He’d fantasized about her coming back from Houston, then to his house with a bottle of burgundy and an invitation to bed. Now the vision included having a newborn curled against his chest. He glanced away, the globe of a streetlight capturing his attention, then some tree branches swaying in the wind. Frowning, he carefully considered all the options, then simply said what he’d sworn he never would. “Marry me.”
Katie was stunned into silence, then from between gritted teeth, she suddenly growled, “You can kiss my round Irish behind, Ford Carrington!”
His jaw slackened. He stared at her. Hadn’t he just offered the best possible solution? Shouldn’t a woman in her shoes want a husband right now? He’d never imagined proposing marriage, much less getting rebuffed. He was so taken aback, he couldn’t help but mutter, “I believe I did.”
Katie’s lips parted in shock. “Did what?”
“Kissed your round Irish behind,” he reminded her gruffly, edging closer. “Nearly three months ago. Gave you a smart little nip on the left cheek from what I recall, Carrot Top.”
As cold as the air was, Ford figured her response—a sharp, audible inhalation—had to hurt her lungs. “Uh, that was months ago, and we’ve got other things to talk about now, Ford.”
No kidding.
“I figure it might be best if I take another job,” she continued quickly, clasping her hands nervously, as if aware this wasn’t going very well. “At Texas General. Or in Houston. As Cecil told you, they offered me a job, but I wanted to come home….”
Maybe she simply hadn’t heard him. “I said, marry me, Katie.”
Angry tears filled her eyes, and even though he knew the barely concealed emotion was directed at him—or maybe because it was—he wanted to wrap her in his arms. The urge to kiss her was sudden, visceral. He wanted to lower his mouth to hers, not letting her breathe until all that anger turned to passion.
“Marry you?” she said in a furious tone. “Why? Because you’re afraid I won’t give you any rights to your baby otherwise? Is that it, Ford? You don’t trust me?”
“I admit,” he couldn’t help but say, “that after all the time we’ve worked together, Katie, I wouldn’t have suspected you could be pregnant with my child without telling me.”
“I’ve only known myself for a few weeks,” she said defensively. “And if you want to be involved, you can.”
He released a frustrated sigh. “If? You’re talking about my child here, Katie. Marry me.”
“Why?” she countered again. “Are you afraid of how people will react?” Suddenly, she nodded. “Oh, I see. Having a baby out of wedlock would be a strike against the Carrington family name.”
“Yes, it would,” he agreed. Not that he cared. “And it sounds as if it would be a strike against the Topper name, too.”
“We Toppers might not have much materially, but we have values, Ford. Marriage means something to me!”
He’d about had it. “And it doesn’t to me?”
“Your crowd marries for money and status,” she returned heatedly.
That much was true. “So?”
“So, I can’t talk about marriage in the way you do.”
“The way I do?”
“Yeah, in that calm, cool, collected voice, like it doesn’t mean anything more than sharing a house with a woman who keeps her own friends and bedroom.”
“I asked you to marry me, Katie,” he retorted. “I don’t recall saying anything about separate bedrooms.”
She gaped at him. “You’re not in love with me, Ford!”
He wasn’t even sure what love was. “No, I’m not.”
She pressed a hand to her forehead. “Look, this conversation is getting too personal.”
“Marriage is personal, Katie.” So was the energy current flowing between them as fast as a flooding river. Ford had no idea where it was taking them, only that the ride would be memorable.
“Marriage and childbirth are sacred to me, Ford,” she managed to say. “So is extended family. My mama died when I was kid, but I remember how it was with her, how close we were. My family’s still close. Family’s the most important thing in the world to me.” Color had flooded her cheeks. “I…” She paused, tightening her clasped hands. “Look, you’re not in love with me, so why are you doing this?”
He was still thinking about the tensions in his family, and he had to admit she was right. Marriages in his crowd were often cold. People made convenient, public matches, then had private affairs for other needs. But Katie was a warm woman. She needed more. She needed a loving man in her bed every night. “There’s more to the proposition,” he said.
She looked wary. “Really?”
“Really.” In a voice gone soft with seduction, he murmured, “There’s ten million dollars involved, Katie.”
She blinked, but to his surprise and her credit, she didn’t miss a beat. “You say that like you expect me to sell my soul to the devil, Ford Carrington.”
He smiled. “Not to the devil, Katie. To me.”
She looked as curious as she was cautious, and he suddenly wondered if he’d found a woman who really would marry only for love. “Hmm,” she said. “You and the devil. Why do I get the impression that at the moment there’s not much of a difference between the two?”
“Because there isn’t.” Now that he had her attention, he proceeded to explain the stipulation in his grandfather’s will. “I’ve always said I’m a committed bachelor, and my grandfather was worried I wouldn’t leave any Carrington heirs, so as an incentive, the next blood Carrington born gets a big chunk of change. Ten million. It comes out of the funds for the Carrington Foundation, which he started before he died.” So what if he’d also been lusting for Katie Topper? he thought. So what if having this baby excited him more than he wanted to admit? “It’s only practical. Think hard before you answer me, Katie.”
Her expression held equal parts frank curiosity and outraged fury. “And to think I’ve admired you,” she finally said stiffly. Raising her voice, she added, “Think? Oh, Ford, my mind’s running a million miles a minute.”
“Let it run ten million miles a minute, Katie. Because it’s in your hands right now to give our baby everything in the world. Summer houses. The best schools. Horses. Camps.” Everything Ford had been given—everything except the kind of love he imagined most kids got for free. His own baby would have it all.
She glanced away. She was thinking about how the money might affect the baby’s life, and how she would be able to tell her religious papa she wasn’t having it alone, but that a surgeon from a prestigious family wanted to marry her.
“You’d move into my place until the baby’s born,” he added reasonably, barely able to believe what he was suggesting. “After that, it’s up to you. After that, all the money belongs to the baby. But I can’t do it without you. The trust is set up so that I have to be married.”
“You never wanted it before?”
“I don’t care about money, Katie. It’s for the baby.”
“And later?” Her voice was suddenly so small, so resigned that Ford wanted to retract the words…to take back that damnable Carrington power that no one could ever stand up to.
“Later, we’d work out visitation arrangements.”
Her chin thrust upward a proud notch. “It would be for the baby. And, uh, I’d insist on my own bedroom.”
Not a point he’d wanted to negotiate. “You said you didn’t want to see me again, Katie,” he forced himself to say, stubborn pride stopping him from asking why she’d deny such insistent attraction. “Three months ago, we both agreed nothing more was going to happen between us.”
Swirling the coat from her shoulders, she held it out to him, and as he took it, she edged around him, managing to open her car door. She got in and slammed the door. As she started the engine, she rolled down the window.
He squinted at her. “Katie? We’re not through talking.”
“I’ll think things over, Ford,” she promised, the line sounding oddly rehearsed. “And I’ll get right back to you.”
And then she simply pulled away, offering what was almost a jaunty wave. A stunned, bemused smile curled his lips as the dented white compact plunged into the night. Exiting the parking lot, she suddenly braked. Was she coming back? No. She flung open the door, leaped out as the dome light flicked on and charged to the front of the car.
“She forgot about her clothes,” he whispered. Swiping them from the hood, she got inside, slammed the door and drove away. Watching the fading tail-lights, Ford couldn’t help but murmur, “Talk about hell on wheels.” But he felt strangely light, as if a cage inside him had opened and something had been set free. Was he really going to be a father in a few months? He’d expected to feel the usual fear that he’d revisit his childhood on someone else. Instead, he felt as light as air.
His and Katie’s baby.
These past two years, as they’d worked together in the OR, who would have guessed it? Just as intriguing was the fact that Katie was capable of turning down ten million dollars and a marriage proposal.
Or maybe she wouldn’t
“She said she’d get back to me,” Ford whispered with another low, astonished chuckle. And for the first time since he’d last seen Katie, he felt genuinely curious about what would happen next.

CHAPTER THREE
THINGS WEREN’T GOING the way Ford had imagined. Sitting cross-legged in his favorite leather armchair, he glanced around the den, shifting a cordless phone under his chin. “So, the pregnancy’s been all right?” he asked, feeling oddly surprised by the missed beat of his heart when he asked.
Katie’s voice softened. “Yeah. Like I said, I’m having some nausea. Nothing out of the ordinary, though. After…after we’re married, I’ll go to Dr. Price.”
While she’d seen an obstetrician in Houston already, she needed someone here and they’d jointly decided Dr. Price would assist Ford at the birth. “Good. But are you sure you don’t want to have a real wedding?”
It was probably his imagination, but as her voice came over the line, it seemed even huskier than usual, the catch of hesitation tantalizing. “You mean with flowers on the altar and me wearing a gown? You wearing a tux?”
He nodded, adding, “A flutist playing Brahms.”
“You like flute music?”
“Piano’s better.”
Katie offered a sudden rueful laugh as if to say she shouldn’t have allowed herself to get drawn into the fantasy. “I don’t think we should, Ford. I mean, uh, it’s not a real wedding.”
Somehow, the reminder bothered him more than it should have, though he was amazed she’d decided to say yes. “But other people wouldn’t know that. Don’t you want to invite some friends, at least? You said your family’s close. Shouldn’t we wait until your father—”
“Comes back to town?” she interjected. “Absolutely not. That won’t be for a couple more weeks. His contracting company’s still on a job, and when he comes back, I want to be able to tell him the ceremony’s over.”
“I get the feeling he’ll be sorry he missed it, Katie.”
“True. But…”
When she didn’t say anything, Ford prompted, “But what?”
“But he’ll guess…we’re not in love, Ford. He knows me like the back of his hand. Really, it’s better if we just tell him we eloped when he comes back.” There was a pause. “Well, sort of eloped,” she added. “We do have to be married in a church. A Baptist church,” she clarified.
“I’m already making arrangements, but are you positive you don’t want anyone to come?”
“Not unless you want your parents….”
Ford could do without them, too. Besides, Katie was right. The marriage wasn’t going to last. Why make a big deal out of it? Biting back a sigh, he chewed on his inner cheek, not about to examine his annoyance. He’d asked Katie to marry him so they could insure the trust for the baby, right? So, what was his problem? “Look, why don’t we meet,” he found himself saying. “You know. Get together. Maybe have some dinner. Talk about all this.” Waiting a long moment, he shifted the phone from one ear to the other, then prompted, “Katie? Are you still there?”
“Still here,” she said in that sweet Texas slur that set his already wild imagination rolling like a movie camera. “I think we both agree,” she continued, “we really do need to keep this strictly business.”
“I’m trying,” he muttered. But he was also wondering what Katie was wearing. Nightgown? Sweatpants? Jeans? And what did her apartment look like? Big? Little? Throw pillows and knickknacks? Even though it was only for six months, would she miss her place while she was staying here? “Do you really think eating with me would interfere with things?”
She inhaled sharply. “Don’t you think so?”
“You’ll be eating with me sometimes once you move into the house,” he said diplomatically.
“I know. But…” Another faintly exasperated sigh sounded before she changed the subject. “Uh, you finished working everything out with the lawyer, right?”
“Right,” he said uncomfortably, wishing the situation wasn’t starting to rankle. Katie hadn’t wanted to get together over the past week except to work out necessary details about their marriage. Finally, he added, “Yeah. The lawyers talked. Mine said yours was good.”
Actually, brutal was the word he’d used. Katie had lost no time in having someone carefully lay out the terms of a prenuptial agreement that would cover the baby if she and Ford divorced, which of course they would. Surprised he felt so unreasonably emotional, Ford added, “As soon as we’re married, your lawyer said the paperwork would go to my parents and to Gil Gilcrest. He’s the Carrington Foundation’s lawyer—”
“Blane’s father?”
“You know Blane Gilcrest?”
A full moment seemed to pass. “Only by name. We don’t exactly run in the same crowd.”
“No,” he murmured, realizing Katie had probably seen Blane’s name on the society page. Getting back to the issue at hand, he continued, “Sure you don’t want to get together to take the edge off this? We’re doing the right thing, Katie, but…”
He thought he heard her voice catch again. “But?”
He glanced toward the red-carpeted steps leading upstairs, hardly wanting to contemplate the amount of time he’d spent deciding which sheets should go on the bed Katie would soon be using. He’d settled on red satin. “But it’s strange to be sitting here, planning a divorce before we’re even married,” he admitted. Strange, too, to think Katie Topper would soon be sharing his house, sleeping right down the hall from him.
She exhaled another quick breath. “Strange or not, it’s what we’re doing, isn’t it?”
Yes. But she didn’t have to sound so…well, businesslike. He understood, he even knew she was right, but that didn’t stop him from wanting her where she’d been months ago, naked and shivering in his bed, smiling at him in the moonlight flooding the room. To his ears, the words sounded lame. “I’d just like to see you before the wedding.”
There was a long pause, and then she said, “Why?”
Why? After the night they’d shared, how could she ask? “So we’d feel more comfortable with each other when you move in.”
“I’ll think about it and get back to you,” she said.
“You do that.” Even though hers was probably the wisest course, her businesslike tone, the cold legality of dealing with lawyers, the fact that she didn’t want to see him—it was all so frustrating.
Right before the phone went dead, she conceded, “Oh, I don’t know, Ford. Maybe we could get together just once. Like I said, I’ll get back to you.”
“She’ll get back to me,” Ford muttered to the dial tone. He was hardly used to this treatment from women and he found he didn’t particularly like it.

STANDING NEXT TO FORD at the altar in a small Baptist church that wasn’t but six miles away from the one her papa attended so faithfully every Sunday, Katie tried to tell herself that to refuse ten million dollars and a well-known Austin surname for the baby would have been to look a gift horse in the mouth—a cardinal sin in Texas, if there was one.
Not to mention she’d now be allowed to live.
She shuddered to think of her papa’s reaction if she’d had to announce she was unmarried and pregnant. So what if she’d been secretly enamored of Ford Carrington ever since she’d met him? So what if the rose Ford brought her today tempted her to imagine she was wearing a gown and he was wearing a tux. Or that a flutist and pianist were playing Brahams and her friends and family were here. Yes…Ford loved her. Tonight, they’d be sharing a bed.
Stop it, Katie!
Smoothing her best sage dress, she curled her fingers tightly around the rose stem, feeling a pang that was sad and wistful by turns. Moments from now, it would look as if her every secret fantasy about Ford Carrington had come true. But fantasy was exactly what this marriage was, and she simply couldn’t afford to forget that.

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