Smiling and holding up her phone, Eva said, “Just got a cancellation. Dr. Cavill-Hunter can fit you in at 6:45. How’s that?”
“Fine,” Anya replied, trying to keep the bite out of her voice. The other nurse should have more discretion than to approach a patient in front of others, but Anya was grateful for the appointment.
“See you then.” With a wave, Eva sauntered off.
Around the table, four very interested faces turned to Anya. “Is anything wrong?” Lucky asked.
“It can’t be routine or there’d be no reason to jump at a cancellation,” Karen observed.
“Need me to come along for moral support?” Zora asked.
Anya stood. “That’s the other reason.”
“The other reason for what?” asked her roommate.
“The other reason for not moving into the house.” Anya picked up her tray. “Gossip.”
She left without waiting for their reactions. Although she’d rather not offend anyone, she had bigger issues to deal with.
Chapter Two
“How is this possible?” Sitting on the examining table, Anya hugged herself through the thin gown.
Mercifully, Dr. Adrienne Cavill-Hunter had broken the news without Eva in the room. Anya’s skin was prickling with apprehension so one skeptical look, or even a sympathetic murmur, and her blood pressure might soar to dangerous levels.
The blonde obstetrician rolled her stool over to sit beside Anya. She had chosen this doctor not only because she saw patients in the evening, but for Adrienne’s quiet, rational manner.
“Are you taking any over-the-counter medications that might interfere with your birth control pills?” the doctor inquired.
Now, there was a question Anya hadn’t considered. It was almost reassuring in its medical focus. And it didn’t imply that she’d screwed up by missing any pills.
“The only thing I took was St. John’s wort after spending Christmas with my family,” she said.
The obstetrician tilted her head questioningly. “Why St. John’s wort?”
“It was kind of a depressing experience, and I heard it might help.” Anya had chosen the herb, widely available in capsule form, after reading that it was as effective as standard antidepressants with fewer side effects. “Can it interfere with birth control pills?”
“Yes, it can.” Dr. Cavill-Hunter—who’d expanded her name after her marriage last month—answered in a level, nonjudgmental tone. “St. John’s wort decreases the level of estrogen in the body, which reduces the effectiveness of the pill.”
Anya smacked her forehead. “That’s why I’m pregnant.”
“Not entirely,” the doctor said wryly.
True, there’d been no immaculate conception. If only she and Jack had used a condom, too. But in the heat of the moment, they hadn’t been able to find one.
Now here she was, stuck in a massive, life-changing situation that Anya couldn’t wrap her mind around, except for one important point. “I can’t have a baby by myself.”
“Many women do,” the doctor said gently.
“Not me.” Just supervising her three younger sisters had often overwhelmed Anya.
She still had nightmares about one afternoon when she was twelve. After her mother’s arthritis had worsened, it had been Anya’s responsibility to walk the seven-year-old triplets home from school each day. But Anya’s period had arrived unexpectedly and she had to borrow a pad from a teacher, causing her to be late. When she finally arrived at the elementary school, there’d been no sign of Andi, Sandi or Sarah. For a painful half hour, as she traced the path they should have taken home, frightening scenes from TV newscasts had rolled through her mind. What if someone had taken them?
Realizing they might have stopped for a snack at their grandmother’s house around the corner, Anya had run there and rung the bell with her heart pounding. Her grandma’s gaze had been reproving, but she’d been greatly relieved to find her sisters safe.
Until she faced her father’s fury later that night. You need to take your responsibilities seriously. Why can’t we depend on you to do things right?
Dr. Cavill-Hunter asked a question, jerking Anya back to the present. The doctor had asked about the father and was waiting for an answer. Anya said sharply, “We aren’t even dating. It was a mistake. Do you have any resources about adoption?”
“You can take several avenues in that regard.” Choosing her words carefully, the doctor continued. “But there’s no reason to rush this decision. This is a shock. It’s wise to consider what it means to have a child and what kind of family support you might receive.”
Anya shuddered at the thought of her family. Returning to Colorado this past Christmas to visit her parents and six siblings had reawakened painful old feelings and reminded her forcefully of why she’d moved to California. “Forget that.”
The obstetrician didn’t argue. “All right. You can choose a private adoption—either open, with continuing contact, or closed. Or perhaps you have a family member who might take the child.”
“No family.” Nor did Anya care to deal with a social worker. This was her decision, and she wouldn’t be lectured or questioned about her motives. “Can you recommend a lawyer?”
“The hospital’s staff attorney could give you a list of family attorneys in the community.” The obstetrician cleared her throat. “I’m adopting a child myself, a relative. We’re using a lawyer named Geoff Humphreys.”
That name rang a bell. “His associate is handling Zora’s divorce.” She’d have to tell her roommate anyway, so that seemed convenient. “Thanks for mentioning him.”
“There’s something else.” The doctor laced her fingers. “As I’m sure the attorney will inform you, the father has to sign a waiver of parental rights before the child can be released for adoption.”
“He what?” Anya would pull all her hair out by the roots before she’d involve that—what was the legal term she’d read?—casual inseminator.
Okay, that wasn’t fair to Jack, although other nurses had described him as a playboy. In her observation, his dramatically good looks simply attracted a lot of women. In her case, despite their joking around in the O.R., he’d always kept a respectful distance. Until New Year’s Eve.
That night, while they were dancing at the party, she’d imagined she saw a spark of tenderness in his gorgeous, sparkling green eyes. That, combined with a couple of unaccustomed drinks, had worked magic on her nervous system. Plus, she’d been feeling lonely and estranged from her family after that unhappy Christmas visit.
Jack had been wonderful in bed, fierce and gentle and very skilled. Too skilled, maybe. Anya hadn’t had much time for men in her younger years, and her college boyfriend had been sweet but fumbling. Now, her vulnerability scared her. Losing control of her emotions reminded her of how little power she’d had over her life until she left Colorado two years ago.
So over the past few weeks, she’d kept things cool with him, strictly business. He’d gone along at first, as embarrassed as she was, she supposed. Then he’d started flirting again. But she doubted he meant anything by it. He was notorious for avoiding relationships.
And now she needed his permission to choose adoption for her—their—baby? “It’s outrageous,” she added for good measure.
“It may seem unfair, but that’s the law,” Adrienne said. “Discuss this with your lawyer. I’m sure he can handle the paperwork.”
“So