“He needs a place to live. That’s all.” Heather clicked to another page on the computer screen. “What do you think of this one? I wasn’t sure whether you liked scooped necklines.”
“So I can show off my nonexistent cleavage?” Her daughter sighed. “I wish I’d inherited your figure, Mom.”
“You have a great figure!”
“Not as great as yours.”
“I have a hard time finding clothes that don’t make me look fat,” Heather protested.
“What you look is stacked,” Olive said. “No wonder this hunky guy wants to be our neighbor.”
When Heather had mentioned Jason’s first visit the previous day, Olive had been too distracted by her armful of brochures and brainful of wedding ideas to pay much attention. After learning that he’d actually rented a place, however, she’d seized on the topic with glee.
“You’ve never met him,” Heather pointed out. “What makes you think he’s hunky?”
“The little smile you wear every time you mention him.” Leaning over her, Olive flicked from one web page to another so rapidly that Heather couldn’t keep track of what they were looking at. She supposed you had to be under twenty-five to master that skill. “You smile the same way whenever you see one of your favorite actors.”
“Oh, seriously!” she scoffed.
Olive paused at a Victorian-style gown, studied it intently for about five seconds, then zoomed onward. “Let me guess. He’s tall, dark and handsome.”
Heather wondered if her daughter were psychic, since her taste in movie stars was wide-ranging. “How on earth did you know that?”
“Because my father must have been.” Olive paused in her surfing. “Obviously I didn’t get my coloring from you.”
“You have my eyes, though. Ned’s were darker.” Heather smiled. “It’s funny how the red hair skipped a generation.”
“You haven’t met John yet,” Olive pointed out.
In Olive’s favorite photo, they both wore ski caps and jackets. Until now, Heather hadn’t realized she’d never seen his hair.
“He has red hair?”
“Like a carrot with a sunburn.”
Olive logged off the Internet. She must be nearing wedding overload, at least for the moment. Besides, it was dinnertime.
The younger woman set the table while Heather made spaghetti. “You should invite him for dinner,” Olive said as she worked.
“By ‘him,’ should I assume you mean Jason?” Heather checked the hot water, but it wasn’t quite at a boil yet.
“None other.” Olive clinked down two plates.
“I’d be happy if I never saw him outside the office again.” She meant it. Brisk professionalism was the best attitude to adopt where that man was concerned.
“What’s his voice like?” Olive turned to offer Ginger another spoonful of baby food. Strapped into her high chair, the little girl swallowed it hungrily.
“What difference does it make?”
“There’s nothing like a sexy voice.” Olive paused as if listening to something Heather couldn’t hear. “John has a slow, sensuous way of talking. I guess it’s the Texas accent. What kind of accent does Jason have?”
“Boston.” Heather hadn’t given it any thought until now. “Not a strong one, though.” And a deep voice, but she wasn’t going to give her daughter the satisfaction of mentioning it.
“Mom, have you had a serious relationship in your entire life?” Olive resumed feeding Ginger. “I mean, aside from my father?”
After their reunion, Heather had related the story of their ill-starred romance, softened to depict Ned as immature rather than self-centered. To Heather’s relief, her daughter had shown no interest in locating him.
“No. I haven’t met a man I could love. Sometimes I doubt he exists.” Although Heather dated from time to time, her self-protective instincts had led her to keep men at bay, at least until that night with Jason. In retrospect, she was grateful that he’d fallen asleep. If they’d made love, his thoughtless remark the next morning would have been devastating.
“Stop!” Olive waved excitedly.
Looking down, Heather discovered she’d been about to drop the uncooked spaghetti into the simmering tomato sauce instead of the boiling water. “Oops. Thanks for warning me.”
“Don’t try to convince me you weren’t daydreaming about someone of the male persuasion.” Her daughter grinned. “Care to mention any names?”
“Brad Pitt,” Heather said quickly. “Ewan McGregor. Heath Ledger.”
“Jason Carmichael?” suggested her impish tormentor.
“Why does he fascinate you so much?” Heather stirred the spaghetti with a pasta fork, separating the strands.
“It’s long past time you got over my father being such a jerk.” Apparently Olive had drawn her own conclusions about Ned’s behavior despite Heather’s attempt to spare her the worst. “Maybe it’s because John and I are so happy that I want you to find the right man, too.”
“I have no problem with that,” said Heather. “When I find him, I’ll let you know.”
“Sure you will.” Skepticism rang in every word.
Heather hoped this was the last she’d hear of the topic. She didn’t need a matchmaker living in the same house, particularly one who’d seized on the misguided notion that there was some kind of chemistry between her and Jason.
With luck, plans for the wedding would put the whole thing out of Olive’s mind soon enough, she told herself, and switched off the burner under the tomato sauce.
THE PATIENT was thirty-four years old and had been trying to get pregnant for five years. She and her husband had undergone a battery of tests with no definitive explanation for their infertility, which was often the case despite advances in medicine.
Loretta Arista was also, Jason knew, the public relations director at Doctors Circle. She’d organized a press conference for him last fall to announce his appointment to this position.
Sitting across the desk from her, he recommended in vitro fertilization, which she hadn’t yet tried. “It’s a lot simpler than it used to be,” Jason said. “We no longer have to perform surgery. Both the egg retrieval and the implantation are out-patient procedures.”
“That’s good.” Loretta hugged herself defensively. She had short, dark hair with a vivid white streak in the front.
“It’s basically a three-week procedure.” Jason produced a brochure to illustrate his words. “For two weeks, you’ll be intensively prepped with hormones.”
When the eggs were ripe, they would be removed with a needle under local anesthesia and grown in a laboratory for several days. After fertilization with her husband’s sperm, they would be implanted in her womb. The odds of a pregnancy resulting were about one in four.
“That means a 75 percent chance of failure, doesn’t it?” Loretta explained that her sister, Rita, was pregnant with triplets, which only made her more eager to have a child herself.
“I understand.” Jason was pleased to see from her file that Loretta had been seeing the staff counselor to deal with the emotional fallout of infertility. “Have you and your husband considered adoption?”
“We already went through the home-study process, but I understand it’s difficult to find an infant,” Loretta