His Baby Dream (Safe Harbor Medical) Page 7

  “Don’t use flash,” she cautioned Reggie. “There’s plenty of daylight, plus digital cameras have great resolution.”

  “What’s that?” he asked.

  “It means they’re sensitive. They pick up all the details, even in dim light. Personally, I’d rather not have a flash on my camera at all.”

  “Where’s your camera?” He indicated her empty hands.

  “I left it inside, but I was out here this morning before the sun broke through the clouds,” Harper said. “That’s the best time to find bugs. The light is softer, too.”

  “I’ll bet you took some great shots.” Peter was impressed, and curious.

  She swung toward him. “I’d be happy to show you, if you can stay a few minutes extra.”

  “Certainly.” Although that would be risking drawing closer to Harper, seeing her photos would be fun. Surely he could handle a simple friendship based on shared interests.

  For good measure, though, and to avoid giving anyone the impression that they were a couple, Peter did his best to keep his distance during the party. That wasn’t difficult, since there was always a child to console over a tumble or a camera lens to clean after it fell in the dirt. Then Reggie and Mia got into a squabble over who had spotted a butterfly first, and he helped Adrienne separate them while Harper went to set out tuna, chicken and cheese sandwiches.

  They were delicious, Peter discovered when he had a chance to eat. He liked the vegetables and dip, as well. “And there’s health food for dessert,” commented the woman standing next to him on the patio. Patty, that was her name.

  “I beg your pardon?” Peter regarded the cake, which looked so sweet his teeth ached. “Just because it’s called carrot cake, that doesn’t make it good for you.”

  “Sure it is,” Patty responded, blithely indifferent to a few leaves clinging to her short blond hair. “If a tiny piece of vegetable falls into the mix or somebody eats a banana and breathes on it, it’s health food.”

  Harper certainly had interesting friends, Peter thought as they watched Mia blow out her seven candles. The children crowded around eagerly for their perfectly square slices, although a few chose apple pie instead. Peter decided to skip dessert. Patty took a slice of each—to make up for him, she declared.

  “I take it you aren’t in the health care field,” he said.

  “That’s my husband’s department,” she returned cheerily.

  “He’s a doctor?”

  “Embryologist. Alec Denny.”

  “I’ve heard of him.” The name Alec Denny, Ph.D., appeared on the roster of fertility program specialists. This woman’s husband might even be the one who would inject Peter’s sperm into the eggs. Safe Harbor was a small world.

  And I’m likely to get caught if I’m not careful.

  Finally the gifts had been opened, the punch bowl emptied and Peter’s instruction sheets distributed. Parents arrived to claim their kids, while Harper’s friends removed trash, stowed food and cleaned the kitchen. The only remaining traces of the party were a few surviving clusters of balloons and the vinelike streamers draping the patio.

  Two little girls—Kimmie, who’d let Peter in at the door, and her stepsister, Berry—remained to play with Mia and her kitten. Their parents had phoned to say they’d bought new patio furniture on their shopping trip, and they’d be along as soon as they finalized arrangements.

  “Actually, I’m glad,” Harper told Peter as she set up her laptop on the kitchen table. “Having the girls here will keep Mia occupied. Otherwise she’d be bouncing off the ceiling.”

  “After all that exercise?” He stretched, feeling the effects of the afternoon’s intense activity. “At camp, the kids do wear out eventually.”

  “That must be a relief.” Harper activated her photo editing program. “But at this age, I’m sure they get a second wind. Unlike high school students.”

  “What makes you say that?” Peter rested his elbows on the table.

  “If I remember correctly, teenagers mostly want to sleep all day,” she responded.

  “A certain percentage of kids are kinetic—they learn best in motion.” It required all Peter’s patience and creativity to manage those students. “I fantasize about conducting classes on the athletic field. I’d be tempted to haul trampolines into the classroom if it wasn’t for the liability.”

  “Spoken like a coach.”

  “True.” He grinned at her accuracy.

  “You enjoy athletics, don’t you?”

  “As a sideline.” Sports camp presented a welcome change, for a few months. “I find teaching science more satisfying, though.”

  From the hallway came a burst of giggles. “Sounds like they’re having fun. Kimmie and Berry are sweet kids.”

  “And your daughter’s a charmer,” Peter said.

  It struck him that now would be a perfect time to mention that he was the dad who’d chosen her. He could allay her disappointment and invite her to...what? Become best buddies with his surrogate, Vanessa? And how would that change her relationship with him?

  It went against Peter’s nature to blurt such an important revelation without considering the consequences. He had to weigh the possibility that he might regret doing so.

  Might regret it for the rest of his life, if she became too emotionally involved.

  His attention shifted to the screen displaying row after row of pictures. Harper clicked on a stunning image of dewdrops shimmering like silver beads on a spiderweb. Close up, the wheel-spoke design of supporting threads and laddered rows achieved an astonishing symmetry.

  “That’s a remarkable shot,” Peter said.

  “I went out several mornings in a row before I spotted it.” Harper switched to another photo, in different light, showing a similar web. “They’re fascinating.”

  “It’s hard to believe that’s spun from a single continuous filament,” Peter said.

  “Here’s one with the spider at work.” She switched to a picture of a half-finished web, its eight-legged creator busily plying its thread.

  As she leaned forward, the residual aroma of sun-warmed skin teased his senses. Despite his appreciation for the artistry of both spider and photograph, Peter had trouble concentrating on the picture. Instead, he observed how honey-colored strands added richness to Harper’s chestnut hair, and how satiny her skin looked at close range.

  Peter cleared his throat. “Your work shows a real gift. Ever think about doing that professionally?”

  “I have to be realistic.” Harper sat back. “Trying to earn a living at art photography is a good way to go broke. Oh, look at this one.” On the laptop, she brought up a yellow-and-black butterfly on a red flower.

  “That’s brilliant.” Peter recognized the coloring. “It’s a dogface butterfly, the California state insect.”

  “We have a state insect?” Harper’s mouth quirked. “Do we have a state spider, too?”

  “Probably.” If he knew what it was, though, it had slipped his mind. He found it hard to concentrate when the green of her blouse intensified the color of her eyes.

  “Snakes? Rabbits?” Harper asked.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Do we have a state bunny?” she prompted.

  Somehow Peter dredged up a coherent response. “Not officially, but there is a domestic California rabbit that was bred here. It has big fat ears and it’s mostly white except for dark feet, nose and tail.”

  “The stuff you know!”

  And the stuff I can’t help seeing. Such as that, from this angle, Harper’s top clung to the inviting curve of her breasts.

  He had no business lusting after her. It felt disloyal to Angela. Yet, for a startling moment, he almost resented his late wife.

  To change the subject, he broached a topic he’d been toying with. “Whil
e I was picking out a book for Mia about insects, it occurred to me that I’d like to write one of my own someday. I’d use photos instead of illustrations, and go into the biology with more depth.”

  “What a great idea.” Harper studied him admiringly. “I’ll bet you’d have a blast.”

  “I would enjoy doing that.” Despite the risks inherent in spending time with her, this presented an irresistible opportunity. “Would you be interested in collaborating?”

  She paused with her fingers above the keyboard. “You mean, take the pictures for you?”

  “You’ve already made a good start.”

  Her gaze swept the screen. “I guess I have, haven’t I?”

  Now that they were discussing it, Peter considered the practical side. “I have no idea how we’d find a publisher, or whether we’d earn any money. If we did, we’d split it.”

  “I hear a lot of people are publishing on the web.” The fringe of lashes around her eyes seemed darker at close range, Peter noted irrelevantly. “As you say, it probably wouldn’t pay much, but having my name on a book would give me a professional credit that could lead to occasional photography jobs. It might boost your reputation as a teacher, too.”

  They’d be working closely together—very closely. He’d better make sure there was no misunderstanding. “We’d have to finish it in a few months, before I move East.”

  The room became very quiet. The only noises were the refrigerator’s hum and, from deep within the house, girlish chatter. It sounded like Mia and her friends were playing a game.

  “You’re...moving?” The question seemed to stick in Harper’s throat.

  Peter nodded.

  Her mouth formed the word, “When?”

  Although a lump had formed in his throat, as well, Peter pushed out the words, “Next summer. After school finishes.”

  “Oh,” Harper said. “I didn’t realize.”

  “It’s a recent decision.” But a good one. Today, Peter had planned to ease out of Harper’s sphere, and instead he was carving out a larger role for himself. The deadline for his departure would make it easier to set boundaries. “My sister’s having a baby. Since my parents decided to live close to her, I’m going, too.”

  “Where?” She kept her gaze trained on the screen.

  “Maryland, in a suburb of D.C.” Speaking about his plans gave them a kind of solidity. Until now, Peter hadn’t confirmed the move to his parents, other than to mention he was considering it.

  “The other side of the country.”

  “So it is.” Having dropped that bombshell, Peter hoped he hadn’t discouraged her from their project. “When’s a good time for us to have a planning session?”

  “For?”

  “The book.”

  “Oh, right.” She checked a calendar on the computer. “Mia has a ceramics workshop next Saturday. She’s been dying to play around with clay, which gives me a free day.”

  “I’m free, too. How’s 10:00 a.m.?”

  She was entering it into her calendar when the doorbell rang. The Sargents had returned.

  Peter said his farewells, accepted the remaining half of the pie at Harper’s insistence and departed. All the while, his body reverberated with an awareness of her—the touch of their hands as he accepted the pie plate, the sweetly sad curve of her lips as she murmured goodbye.

  Perhaps joining forces on this book was a mistake. But Harper’s photos had provided the special quality he’d been searching for. This might be his only chance to put his ideas into action.

  Peter could steer this course smoothly. He wasn’t some hormonal adolescent with a crush.

  And so, when he arrived home, he set to researching children’s books currently published on backyard biology, both in his collection and online. The more he studied what was available, the more he became convinced that his—his and Harper’s—would be special.

  * * *

  PULLING DOWN THE CREPE paper streamers after the Sargents left, Harper tried to calm her ricocheting emotions. Sitting with Peter, aware of the strength of his body next to hers, she’d felt something beyond physical attraction. A bond, a shared eagerness and a sense of vistas opening before her.

  Not only did the prospect of putting her photos to use thrill her, but—at first—she’d imagined that working closely with him would give their friendship a chance to develop naturally. None of those awkward are-we-dating-yet? issues. Instead, they’d have an opportunity to discover if they meshed on more than a casual basis.

  Moreover, unlike with Sean, she wouldn’t have to set aside her passion for photography. Quite the opposite: Peter inspired her with fresh ideas.

  Being around him sparked her intellectually and awakened a longing to be held and caressed. Harper had underestimated how much she craved that kind of connection.

  But he was moving away. Several thousand miles away. Best to put him out of her mind.

  With a sigh, Harper shoved the last of her decorations into the trash can. The party had been a hit, leaving Mia happy to snuggle up with Po for a rare nap before dinner.

  Harper was free to spend her time as she chose: sorting through her photos, deleting the weaker shots and touching up the stronger ones. But after a few minutes, she discovered that she needed to rest. Her breasts felt sore, a side effect of the birth control pills. Ironic that she and the surrogate were taking pills developed to prevent conception as the first stage in the fertility process.

  Thinking about the babies-to-be lightened her mood. She was involved in a project far more important than a children’s book.

  She’d rather not tell Peter what she was doing, Harper decided. He’d be gone soon, and this was too precious to share with someone who was only passing through her life. If he’d overheard any of her conversation with Stacy and Cole, he’d given no indication, and surely had the discretion not to bring it up.

  She’d keep him safely compartmentalized. With so much going on, that shouldn’t be difficult.

  Chapter Seven

  By midweek, Harper still felt sore, plus she’d gained a few pounds, another side effect of the pills. Eating cake at the party hadn’t helped, she conceded.

  Another week to go. According to Zack, that would coordinate her cycle and the surrogate’s. Then she’d have to self-administer hormone shots daily for a week, to stop the normal functioning of her ovaries. It all seemed so contradictory, when the point was to produce eggs, but this was how the system worked.

  On Wednesday morning, a couple of Nora’s appointments canceled, leaving both her and Harper with a long lunch break. By contrast, Dr. Paige Brennan had to work in a couple of patients.

  “Do you want me to prep the next one?” Harper asked Keely, aware that she owed the other nurse a favor.

  Without speaking, her coworker handed her a face sheet with basic information, although most of the patient’s records were in the computer. Heavyset with straight, graying black hair cut chin-length, Keely conveyed her usual air of truculence. “Make sure you check for side effects to her hormones. She’s a surrogate.”

  Harper glanced at the sheet. Vanessa Ayres, age thirty-two. Taking birth control pills to coordinate her cycle.

  A wave of unease swept over Harper. What were the odds of two surrogates at Safe Harbor undergoing the process at the same time? She didn’t mean to intrude on anyone’s privacy by learning anything further about Mrs. Ayres. “Maybe I’d better not....”

  Keely disappeared into an examining room. Given her mercurial temper—although she never vented it on Dr. Brennan, whom she adored—Harper hesitated to call her back.

  Did this violate ethics? She’d already seen the name, so it was too late to avoid that. All she had to do was confirm some key points of the medical history, take the woman’s vitals, ask about side effects and carry out whatever direc
tions Paige gave.

  There wasn’t time to consult Nora, who’d left for lunch. Harper might as well perform her duties in a professional manner and be quick about it. Besides, it wasn’t the surrogate who’d declined contact with the egg donor. Mrs. Ayres was probably willing to go along with whatever the recipient requested, so Harper wouldn’t be breaching her rights.

  In the waiting room, she called the patient’s name. A tall woman—about Harper’s height—responded. With reddish-blond hair and a sprinkling of freckles, she bore no other obvious physical resemblance. But then, why should she?

  My babies, her uterus. What a weird situation.

  As Harper went through the prep, she couldn’t help empathizing when she asked about side effects.

  “A little bloating,” the surrogate reported as she sat on the examining table.

  “That must be uncomfortable.” As if I didn’t know.

  “I’m too excited to care about that.”

  “You’re enthusiastic about being a surrogate?” Despite Harper’s reluctance to pry, the question slipped out. “I suppose you must be, or you wouldn’t do it.”

  “It’s been three years since my first one.” Vanessa beamed. “She lives in Paris. The family emails me photos on her birthday. She’s so cute!”

  Harper had heard that many countries, including France, banned surrogacy, with the result that foreign parents came to California for fertility services. The state’s laws protected all parties in such arrangements while leaving medical decisions to the individuals.

  “Was it your genetic child?” she ventured.

  The woman nodded. “My twelve-year-old daughter’s thrilled to have a half sister. She plans to study French in high school so they can talk if they ever meet.”

  Goose bumps rose on Harper’s arms. “Your husband’s okay with this?”

  “In addition to our daughter, he has a twenty-year-old son from his previous marriage.” Vanessa’s straightforward manner assured Harper that she didn’t mind the line of questioning. “He’s relieved that I don’t insist on enlarging our family, because we can’t afford it. I’m sure you’re aware how much college costs these days.”