Wade frowned at a black-framed photo hanging on his office wall, taken when he was voted Baltimore’s Bachelor of the Year by The City Magazine readers last year. On its left, another picture, snapped when he won a similar award at the Heart Association Ball two years ago; on the right, a certificate naming him this year’s Most Loveable Doctor.
His participation in the contests and events helped to raise money for one worthy cause or another—the only reason Wade agreed to accept the invites. When the awards arrived, Wade gave them the attention he thought they deserved…by stuffing each into the trash can. If his secretary, Tara, hadn’t fished them out to mat and frame as Christmas gifts, they’d be buried deep in a Maryland landfill by now.
He pushed back from his desk, swiveled the chair around so that it faced the windows and propped his shoes on the credenza. Here, where other doctors kept pictures of their wives, their children and grandchildren, were more reminders of Wade’s bachelor-for-life status.
Wade stared past his certificates and awards, across the sea of cars in the parking lot below his window. Was it his imagination, or were there colorful baby seats and booster chairs in nearly half of them?
What would it be like, he wondered, hearing the words his best friend had so recently heard: “Honey, we’re going to have a baby!”? He’d never seen Adam that happy, and he’d known him nearly twenty years. Well, that wasn’t entirely true; the guy had practically done handstands on the day he married Kasey. If Adam Thorne, of all people, could make his life over, find lasting love and a life mate and the whole ball of wax, might there be hope for Wade, too?
He let out a bitter snicker. Not likely, Cameron, since you seem incapable of getting past a second date. Not that he didn’t want a lasting relationship….
“And what do you want?” he whispered to himself.
Moments passed, but no answer came. Not surprising. He’d failed to puzzle this one out, though he’d tried, dozens of times before.
Dropping both feet to the floor, Wade stood and grabbed the miniblind’s wand. After several angry twists, he effectively shut out the parking lot…and every child-toting vehicle.
His office door creaked open, and Tara said, “See you Monday, Wade.”
“You bet,” he answered. “Say hi to Matt and the kids for me.”
“Sure thing.” She started out the door, then poked her head back in. “Do me a favor?”
“If I can.”
“Get some sleep this weekend, will ya? You’re beginning to worry me.”
“Careful, or I’ll move in so you can mother me full time.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Tara said, waving away the comment. “Just what a guy like you wants—an infant and a toddler and mountains of diapers to come home to every night.”
He was about to say better than my one-room apartment, when he replayed what she’d said: A guy like him?
“If you’re gonna stay much longer, you might want to turn on a light in here. Eyestrain, y’know.”
He forced a grin. “Old wives’ tale,” he said, grabbing his sports jacket. “Besides, I’m right behind you.”
They walked side by side to the elevator. “Hot date?” Tara asked, pressing the down button.
He pictured Patrice, with her mop of auburn curls, doe eyes, sweet smile…. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”
The car whooshed them to the garage level. “Well, don’t burn yourself.” She patted his hand. “’Cause those babies are miracle workers.”
He resisted the impulse to pocket both hands. “You have one of those baby-carrying gizmos?”
“An infant seat, you mean?”
Nodding, he said, “Yeah. Infant seat. You have one in your car?”
“As a matter of fact, I have two of them. One for each of the kids. What kind of mother would I be if I—” She stopped talking mid-sentence and narrowed one eye. “Why?”
Wade pretended he hadn’t heard the suspicion in her voice. Truth was, he had no earthly idea why he’d asked the question. “Just wondering, is all.”
“Boy-oh-boy,” she said, giggling, “I’d give anything to meet the woman who has Dr. Nevermarry thinkin’ about baby seats!” She hopped out of the elevator.
And she was still giggling when the doors hissed shut.
Patrice stood in front of the foyer mirror and adjusted the earrings dangling from her lobes. “You sure you’ll be okay for a couple of hours?”
“Sure I’m sure.” Gus fiddled with the controls of his wheelchair. “I’m okay while you’re at work all day, aren’t I?”
Hands on her hips, she faced him. “Yes, Dad, but Molly is here with you while I’m at work.”
“Yeah, well, I’d go hoarse trying to convince you I don’t need her.”
“Save the tough-guy routine for somebody who’ll fall for it,” she teased. “Molly, for instance.” She winked. “I know you like having her around.”
He shrugged. “She’s okay.”
“Okay? Who else would let you beat them at board games the way she does!”
Gus grinned. “You make a good point.” He sniffed the air. “You smell pretty.”
“It’s the perfume you gave me last Christmas.” She leaned closer. “He said casual. I didn’t go overboard, did I?”
Gus inspected her outfit: black flats, blue jeans, a pale pink turtleneck. “So who’s ‘he’ and where’s ‘he’ taking you?”
She went back to fussing with her hair. “To a Mexican restaurant, somewhere here in Ellicott City.”
“And where’d you meet him?”
“His name is Wade Cameron, and I met him at the hospital.” She paused, wishing she didn’t have to say it. “He’s a cardiologist.”
“Oh-h-h, no-o-o,” Gus groaned. “Not another doctor!” He shook his head. “Every time you get involved with one of those pompous know-it-alls, you get your teeth kicked in. When are you gonna learn, Treecie?”
Patrice couldn’t very well argue with him. But she didn’t have to agree with him, either. “It’s a meal, Dad.” Besides, she added silently, it’s going to be different this time. This time I’m not going to fall crazy in love on the first date. “So please, when he gets here, be nice?”
Gus raised both eyebrows and feigned innocence. “I’m always nice.”
“True.” Bending, she kissed his cheek. “So be extra nice, then, for me, okay?”
“Well, I’ll—” The doorbell rang, interrupting his promise.
Patrice took a deep breath, then opened the door. Earlier, Wade had looked incredible in his lab coat and stethoscope. He looked even better now in khaki trousers and a fisherman’s knit sweater.
“Hey,” he said, smiling. “How goes it?”
“It goes pretty well. Come in. I’d like you to meet my father.” Patrice watched carefully, studying his reaction to the man in the wheelchair. If she’d learned this trick years ago, she might have spared herself a heartache…or two. “Dad, this is—”
“Wade Cameron,” he broke in, grasping Gus’s hand. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. McKenzie.”
“Good to meet you, too,” Gus said. “Treecie, here, tells me you’re a cardiologist.”