The stranger stopped, considered her for a moment, then asked, “Can I help you find an office at least?”
“That’s okay.” She pulled the card out and waved it triumphantly. “I’ve got it. But thanks.”
“All right. Good luck.” He nodded and waved and was off.
Melanie watched him go, vaguely hoping she might meet him again. Something about him was interesting, reassuring. She shrugged off the notion, and looked closely at Dr. Cross’s business card. Suite 818. Once the card was back in her bag, she followed the signs to her destination.
Five minutes later Melanie was sitting in the waiting room of Dr. Jared Cross’s office, trying to ignore the continuing radio coverage of Branson Hines’s escape. The announcer repeated warnings that citizens may be in danger, then returned to the Muzak program with an old Barry Manilow song.
Melanie tried to keep her thoughts on the fashion magazine she’d brought, but for some reason the Branson Hines story made her feel as if she, personally, were in danger. She’d only had premonitions a couple of times in her life; once before her parents died, and once when she was in college and she was sure she was going to fail a course. She’d been wrong about the latter, so she was probably wrong about this, too.
“Miss Tourbier?”
Melanie jumped, even though the voice was soft. “Yes?” she asked the petite red-haired secretary who had called her name.
“The doctor will see you now.” She gestured toward the door next to her desk.
Melanie gathered her things and gave a brief smile. “Thank you.”
“Say, did you know there’s a Tourbier champagne?” the secretary asked as Melanie walked past. “My husband and I had some just last night for our anniversary.”
“Well, happy anniversary,” Melanie said with a smile. Yes, she knew about Tourbier champagne. Her father had started the vineyard in Reims, France, thirty-three years ago.
“Thanks!” the woman answered with a shake of her flame-red curls. “Two years and counting.”
“That’s terrific.”
She passed the young woman and entered Dr. Cross’s office.
He was standing with his back to her, facing a wide shelf that was overflowing with books. She couldn’t tell much about him from behind except that he was very tall, and his hair was as black as a raven’s, or at least it seemed so in contrast to the generic white doctor coat he wore. His hair color and his physique suggested that he was much younger than she had expected.
“Dr. Cross?”
He turned quickly. “I’m sorry,” he said, flashing an apologetic smile.
It was the man from the elevator.
Her heart dropped into her stomach. “It’s you,” she heard herself say. “I had no idea…”
He looked equally surprised to see her. “Oh, hello again.”
“Hello.”
“What a coincidence.”
She swallowed. “Yes.” Things like this happened a lot in her life. She really shouldn’t continue to be so surprised by them.
He glanced at something on his desk and said, “I gather you must be Melanie Tourbier?”
“Yes, I am.”
He looked at her for a moment, as cool as a cucumber. “Please,” he said, waving a hand at the chair in front of his desk. “Have a seat.”
She did, wondering if he was right now recalling her talking to herself before.
That would not bode well for her.
But if he was thinking that, he didn’t let on. He sat and took out a folder. “So you are Miss Tourbier,” he said, taking a few sheets of paper out of the folder.
“Please, call me Melanie.” A flirty thrill ran down her spine, and she quickly reminded herself that this was not the time or the place or the man for those kinds of thoughts.
He looked at her over the papers. “Okay, Melanie. And you can call me Jared.”
“All right, Jared.” Still, maybe this was going to go well, after all.
He frowned and checked his notes, shuffling through the papers. “And you’re here for fertility counseling, is that correct? Artificial insemination?”
“Yes, I am.”
He looked at her again, then hesitated noticeably before setting the papers down.
She thought she saw a piece of newspaper in the pile and wondered what it was.
“I haven’t had a lot of time to familiarize myself with your case,” he said. “I understand this has all happened rather quickly.”
She smiled. “Why wait around?”
“Hmm.” He didn’t return her smile, but instead made a quick note on the top paper and returned his gaze to her. “Why don’t you begin by telling me why you want to undergo this procedure at this time.”
Melanie shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Something told her this wasn’t going to go as smoothly as she’d expected. She hadn’t planned on having to explain herself. “Because I want to start a family.”
“Alone?”
“I’m not married, if that’s what you mean.” She cleared her throat gently.
“No…significant other?”
“No, this is something I’ll be going about alone.”
He nodded, studying her with those disconcertingly green eyes. “Why have you decided on this particular route at the age of—” he glanced at the papers “—just thirty?”
She straightened her back. All feelings of flirtiness had left her. Now she was firmly on the defense. “Forgive me, but I’m not sure that’s any of your concern. My reasons are private.”
“Whatever you tell me will be kept in confidence, I assure you.”
“That’s not the point.”
He remained imperturbable. “What is the point, then?”
“The point,” she said, with more patience than she felt, “is that this is a very personal decision, made for very personal reasons. I came here for a medical procedure, not to justify myself. But please rest assured that I gave it a great deal of serious thought.”
“That’s what I’m here to help you with,” he said, with more patience than she suspected he felt. “To make sure the decision you’ve reached is the right one for everyone involved.”
“But I don’t need help with that.” Her patience slipped a notch. “As I said, I’ve already made the decision.”
“Miss Tourbier,” Dr. Cross said, then leaned back in his chair and scrutinized her like Columbus surveying the land ahead and wondering why the West Indies didn’t look right, “the Mission Creek Clinic requires that every patient have counseling before taking this very serious step. It’s vitally important that we are all in agreement that this is an appropriate action for you to take.”
He made it sound like a legal issue instead of one of the heart. “I assure you, I’m capable of making decisions for myself. And the reason I’m here is for a medical procedure, not a psychological one.”
He leaned forward, piercing her with a gaze that suddenly wasn’t attractive so much as intimidating. “With all due respect, Miss Tourbier, it is not you that I am primarily concerned with. I agree that you are old enough to take care of yourself. My concern is for the child you wish to have.”
Melanie