One
Royal, Texas, was a great place to call home. Running her own ad agency, being a member of the esteemed Texas Cattleman’s Club and maintaining a hectic social life kept Simone Parker plenty busy. Busy enough not to worry about the ghosts of lost loves.
Today, her luck had run out. Five years. It had been five long years since she’d last laid eyes on Troy Hutchinson. Now here she sat in a freezing exam room at Royal Memorial, naked but for a thin paper hospital gown, and in walked the man who broke her heart. Pressing her knees together instinctively, she gripped the edge of the exam table and blurted out the first thing that came to her mind.
“Where’s Dr. Markman?”
Hutch—almost nobody called him Troy—stared at her impassively. “He took a position in Houston. I’m the new head of the maternal-fetal medicine department.”
Made sense. Royal’s state-of-the-art hospital hired only the best.
It occurred to her that Hutch didn’t look at all surprised to see her. But then again, he’d obviously glanced at her chart before entering the room. He was as gorgeous as ever—chocolate eyes, closely cropped black hair and mocha skin. The only thing missing was his killer smile.
Tall and lean, in his physical prime, the man was impressive even without the lab coat. Wearing it, he exuded authority and masculinity. Making Simone feel small and stupid.
Her stomach curled with nausea. Today’s situation was volatile enough without having to confront old lovers. As if the term applied. She’d been a twenty-two-year-old virgin when she and Hutch first hooked up. She’d had only one relationship after that, and it had been brief and unexceptional.
For most of her life she’d chosen to hide behind her reputation as a shallow party girl. Even Hutch had believed it in the beginning. Until he’d realized he was the first. Then there had been hell to pay.
Her palms started to sweat. “You can’t be my doctor.”
“Of course not,” he said. “Dr. Markman left rather abruptly. We’ve been in the process of notifying his patients. Somehow, your appointment fell through the cracks. Dr. Janine Fetter has agreed to take over your case...with your permission, of course.”
“That’s fine,” Simone said impatiently. “But that doesn’t explain why you’re here.”
> A faint smile lightened his face. “Don’t shoot the messenger. Scheduling should have postponed your ultrasound until next week. Dr. Fetter doesn’t have any openings until then. She’s not even here today.”
Great, just great. Hutch knew every inch of her body. Even so, no way in heck was she going to calmly put her feet in those stirrups and let him examine her. That was too icky for words. “What are my options?”
“You can make an appointment for next week and go home...”
“Or?”
“Or if you don’t want to wait, I can go over the ultrasound with you. But no exam,” he said quickly.
“Ah.” Simone had badgered the tech to explain all the grainy images on the screen, but the woman had been well trained. She’d done her job, escorted Simone to yet another exam room and left her to worry for forty-five minutes. Plenty of time for a single woman to regret the impulsive decision that had led her to this moment.
“So tell me,” she snapped, her nerves getting the best of her. “I’m not pregnant, am I? Don’t worry. I won’t fall apart. I knew the odds when I went into this.”
Pursuing fertility treatments and intrauterine insemination had been more involved than she had ever imagined. Even now, she wouldn’t be entirely unhappy if it hadn’t worked. Picking out a sperm donor and dealing with hormone shots had been stressful, expensive and time-consuming. It had also given her plenty of opportunity to rethink her hasty decision.
Her late grandfather had left instructions with the executors of his will that she would be entitled to half of his vast estate—five million dollars cash and the family homestead, worth infinitely more—if, and only if, she produced an heir to continue the family bloodline. With no plans to settle down anytime soon, she’d decided to go the route of single motherhood.
Trying to live up to the terms of her grandfather’s will—without weighing the cost—was, in retrospect, probably a stupid decision.
She must have had gut-level doubts from the beginning, because she hadn’t even told her two best friends, Naomi and Cecelia. Naomi had seemed distracted and tense ever since she got back from Europe, and Cecelia had been on cloud nine after reuniting with former flame Deacon Chase. So Simone had kept her plans to herself.
For the first time, Hutch’s facade cracked. His jaw firmed, and his eyes were bleak. “No one told me you had gotten married, Simone. Though, knowing you, I’m not surprised you kept your maiden name. Don’t you want the baby’s father to be here when we talk about these results? Can you contact him? We could reschedule for later this afternoon.”
She stared at Hutch. “Have you read through my file?”
“Not yet. But I will, of course. All I’ve seen is the ultrasound report. I only came on board officially yesterday. To be honest, I’m still a little jet-lagged.”
And no wonder. He’d spent the past half decade in Sudan with Doctors Without Borders. The man was almost too good to be true, strong, sensitive and—when he unleashed that boy-next-door charm—virtually irresistible.
Though they had no longer been a couple when he left Royal, Texas, in the intervening months and years, she had worried about him. Malaria. Viral hemorrhagic fever. Political uprisings. He had thrust himself into a hotbed of danger and never looked back. Even without being there, Simone knew he had saved untold numbers of mothers and babies.
Hutch had completed not one but two stints in Sudan. When he hadn’t returned after the first one, she knew for sure he was no longer interested in resurrecting their relationship—although that was possibly too mature a word for the affair. She and Hutch together had been like fireworks, burning hot and bright and beautiful, but over too soon.
While she mentally rehashed the painful past, Hutch waited patiently, his expression guarded. Having him eye her with the impassivity of a medical professional hurt. A lot.
Whipping up a batch of righteous indignation helped. It was none of Hutch’s concern what she did with her life. “There is no father in the picture,” she said bluntly. “Go ahead and tell me what you have to say.”
For a split second, something flickered across his face. Shock? Probably. Relief? Unlikely.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, his tone so formal it could have frozen the air itself. “Are you divorced? Widowed?”
“I don’t think you’re supposed to ask me that, Dr. Hutchinson.” She was furious suddenly—at herself for making such a mess of things, at Hutch for having the audacity to come home looking wonderful and completely unapproachable, if a bit tired, and at life in general.
He swallowed. “My apologies. You’re right. That was out of line.”
Despite her best intentions, she couldn’t stay mad. Not today. And besides, what did it matter if she told him? Not the whole truth, of course. But he had her file at his disposal. Sooner or later, he would know. She might as well put a good spin on it.
“I wanted to have a baby,” she said bluntly. Maybe for all the wrong reasons, but still... “I chose to use an anonymous sperm donor, because I had no significant other in the picture. This baby will be mine and mine alone. There are plenty of single mothers out there doing very well. I have a good job, financial resources and plenty of friends. I’ll be able to handle motherhood, Hutch. You don’t have to look at me like that.”
Her decisions about parenthood and her grandfather’s bequest were her own. She didn’t want to be judged, and in truth, the facts could very easily be misinterpreted, leaving her in a bad light.
It was a real worry, particularly since the mysterious Maverick had somehow found out about her fertility treatments and threatened to expose her secrets. She pushed that situation to the back of her mind. Dealing with Hutch was enough drama for one day.
He stared at her with such intensity she felt oddly faint. Her heart beat loudly in her ears. Hutch’s expression was a mixture of incredulity, pity and disapproval. Or at least that was how she interpreted it. At one time, she could guess what he was thinking. That was long ago, though.
Tossing the manila folder on the counter beside the computer, he shoved his hands in his pockets. “I have no doubts about your ability to care for a baby,” he said.
She frowned. “Then why all the mystery? Why do you look like you’re about to deliver words of doom? Is it something else? A tumor? Some weird cancer? Am I dying? That would suck.”
His lips twitched. “Not at all, Simone. You’re having triplets.”
* * *
Hutch cursed when Simone went milk pale and keeled over. He caught her before she hit the floor, but just barely. Hell, he knew better. It wasn’t the kind of news one delivered with a baseball bat. As usual, though, she rattled him. Even now.
Cradling her in his arms, he turned back to the exam table. His instinct was to hold her until she woke up. But that was all kinds of unethical. Instead, he laid her gently on her back and reached into the cabinet for a soft, mesh-weave blanket. Covering her all the way up to her neck, he tried not to notice the way she smelled. He could have identified her scent with his eyes closed. A mix of floral and spicy that was uniquely Simone.