Tina Beckett - The Doctors' Baby Miracle

Pregnant women were her passion. And she was committed to doing everything in her power to make each one’s delivery process as safe as possible. Was it because of the pain she’d gone through when she’d lost her child? Maybe. All she knew was that she was driven to help every woman she could. And every baby.

So here she was in New York, substituting for a panelist at the plea from a sister hospital. She’d come straight from the airport to the huge Westcott Hotel complex—her home for the next week. Hopefully the rest of her stay would be less chaotic than today had been.

* * *

She avoided looking at the sign again, instead tugging the heavy door and peering inside. The sound of chattering voices had her sagging with relief. People were still milling around the huge room, looking for empty seats, while someone passed out bottles of water to the panel members on the dais. Evidently she wasn’t the only one running late.

Making sure that envelope wasn’t sticking out, she shifted her purse higher onto her shoulder and made her way up four steps to the top of the platform.

So far so good. No one had noticed her entry.

She edged past the first three panelists as she tried to figure out where she was supposed to sit. The crisply folded nameplates were facing the audience, so she had no idea who anyone was. There were still two empty seats up here. Which one was hers?

She reached the first empty chair and leaned over it, tipping the paper name card so she could see it. Someone named Abe Williams. Okay, it wasn’t this one.

The person sitting to the left turned slightly to look up—did a second take.

Shock and horror snaked up her spine just as the lights from the huge overhead chandeliers faded and came back up. A signal that they were getting ready to start.

A signal she ignored, her tummy muscles spasming in protest. She pressed a hand to it, gritting her teeth to keep the sudden slash of pain from exiting her throat.

She couldn’t think, couldn’t speak...couldn’t move.

Oh, God.

All of a sudden, Grace’s face swam before her eyes in focus once again. Because she was the spitting image of this man, mirrored in those familiar features—that sharp nose, high cheekbones, those blue-gray eyes.

Saliva pooled in her mouth. A quick swallow sent it rushing to join the acidic lagoon growing inside her.

The lights winked again.

“Hello, Kady. Small world.” The low, graveled tone that had once driven her wild with need was now tight. With anger? Hatred?

If so, it wasn’t reflected in his eyes. They didn’t flicker away, just held hers with an impassivity that made her want to cry. The same impassivity he’d shown at the end of their marriage.

It had been two years since their divorce...three years since their daughter’s death.

Hurt made her draw a shaky breath, unsure what to do or say. The lights came back up a third time, and the moderator moved behind the podium. He gave them a pointed glance that sent her hurrying down the row without a word. She felt Tucker’s gaze follow her.

It could be worse. She could be sitting right next to him.

Worse?

What could be worse than attending the same convention as a man who’d had a vasectomy just to make sure he never fathered another child with you?

She’d pleaded with him. Had begged him to reconsider.

Remembered humiliation quickened her steps.

Never again. She would never rely on another man for her happiness. This time around she would be one in charge of her future. Of whether she had another child or not.

She dropped into the padded metal seat and scooted it under the table, cringing as the legs made an awful squealing sound against the polished wooden floor. The man at the podium glanced her way again, a frown on his face. She mouthed, “Sorry,” then dug into her attaché for the notes she’d brought. How was she going to speak when it came her turn?

The crowded room would have been nerve-racking enough, but to have someone who’d once known the most intimate details of her life sit there and weigh her every word?

Her thumb scrubbed over the spot on her finger. Empty, but not forgotten. Neither had her muscle memory erased the habit of reaching for it whenever she was nervous.

Or missing him.

No, she didn’t miss him. Not anymore.

The moderator gave a quick summary of the topic and then started down the line of presenters, reading from a sheet that evidently contained each person’s professional bio. She stared at her notes, willing the words to make sense. Willing herself to drown out the well-modulated voice from seconds earlier. Her thumb searched for that missing ring yet again.

Stop it, Kady.

She should have been counting people, so she could brace herself for the mention of her ex’s name, but since she didn’t remember how many seats there were, all she could do was sit there in dread.

“Dr. Tucker Stevenson, pediatric surgeon specializing in fetal surgery at Wilson-Ross Memorial Hospital, New York City.”

Her heart twisted. Even the best surgeon in the world couldn’t have prevented what had happened three years ago. And Tucker was one of the best.

The moderator moved on to the next panelist, listing dry facts that barely scratched the surface of what made each person live and breathe...and grieve.

“Dr. Kadeline McPherson, maternal-fetal medicine, at Wilson-Ross Memorial Hospital, Atlanta, Georgia.”

No mention of anyone’s personal life, how many children, spouse’s name. Thank God. And she was even more thankful that she’d gone back to her maiden name. Kadeline Stevenson might have caused awkward questions that she’d rather not answer. She suspected Tucker would prefer that little tidbit to remain buried as well.

She gulped.

Buried.

She hated that word. Avoided using it like the plague.

Speech. Read your speech.

Fiddling with her thin sheaf of papers that contained words she’d recited hundreds of times, she prayed for a clear head. The question-and-answer phase was the trickier part, trying to think up responses on the fly.

With Tucker sitting in the same room.

Forget about him, Kady.

The table microphone inched its way down the line as each person finished.

Tucker’s turn came, and his voice cut through her all over again. So much for forgetting about him.

His words were sure and firm, with a confidence that came with being the top in his field.

Kady closed her eyes and tried to drown him out with a bawdy mental rendition of “Ninety-nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall”, but it didn’t work. Especially since he’d sung that very song to her during her labor to take her mind off the pain.

If only she’d known the real pain would come months after the baby’s actual birth.

“Fetal surgical intervention is necessary in any number of cases. My most recent involved an obstructed urethra in an eight-month-old fetus. Surgery removed the blockage and mother and baby were both fine.”

They were both fine. How many times did he say that in a day?

Light applause followed his speech, just like it had everyone else’s. Kady realized she was the only one not clapping, but just as she went to join in, the sound died away, leaving her with her hands up, palms facing each other.

Tucker chose that very moment to glance her way. One side of his mouth quirked up, a crease coming to life in his right cheek.

Her breath caught as a spark of something dark arrowed through her abdomen. For a few awful seconds she couldn’t look away. He evidently didn’t have the same problem, giving his attention to the next speaker, who talked about controlling blood pressure in patients with preeclampsia.

She wasn’t making that mistake again.

She focused on some nameless audience member as the microphone moved again, capturing the topic of twin-to-twin transfusion syndrome. So far no one had mentioned genetic abnormalities, but no symposium of high-risk pregnancies would be complete without that element. Normally she could just sit there stoically, an expression of polite interest superglued to her face.

But with Tucker sitting just down the row? Almost impossible.

Was he thinking the same thing?

Doubtful. He’d somehow seemed to be able to push Grace out of his life and thoughts with the same ease that he’d signed those divorce papers. Out of sight. Out of mind. Was that how it worked with him?

No, she’d seen his grief firsthand. Raw and angry and ready to wreak havoc on the gods for what had happened. In the end, the only true havoc he’d wreaked had been on their relationship when he’d stated they were having no more children. Ever. She’d had no say. Her request to him to go with her to genetic counseling had fallen on deaf ears. Nothing had moved him from his stance.

And yet a second ago he’d tossed her a smile that had napalmed her senses as if nothing had ever happened between them. As if they were old friends.

They were not friends.

The drone of voices went silent. Glancing up in a panic, she realized it was because it was her turn to speak. The microphone was already in front of her. How had she missed that?

Clearing her throat and hearing it amplified through the whole auditorium made her wince. As did the light laughter that accompanied it. “Sorry. It was a long flight.”

More laughter. Louder this time. Maybe because the flight from Atlanta to New York only took a little over two hours.

The emotional distance, though, was much, much longer.

She forced an amused crinkle to her nose. “Long day at the office?”

This time the laughter was with her rather than aimed at her. It helped put her at ease and allowed her to temporarily block out all thoughts of Tucker Stevenson. Plunging into her brief five-minute speech, she allowed her passion for the subject at hand to propel her through to the end. Wasn’t her specialty all about empowering women during difficult times?

And wasn’t that what her IVF quest was all about?

The audience clapped, and she couldn’t stop herself from sneaking a glance back down the line of presenters. Tucker was leaning forward, his elbows planted on the table, head swiveled in her direction. This time he gave her a nod that she could swear contained at least a hint of admiration.

For her?

A shiver went through her.

No, she had to be mistaken.

A thought came to mind. Had he gone through with the procedure?

The thought of her ex-husband never fathering another sweet baby girl like their Grace pierced straight through her. He’d been a wonderful daddy—once he’d got over his initial fears of inadequacy. He’d loved their daughter in a way that had made her go all gooey inside—had made her hot for him and him alone. No other man could touch what she’d once felt for Tucker.

Watching as that pristine white casket was slowly lowered into the ground had changed him, though.

It had changed both of them.

Gone had been the days of frantic lovemaking. Of being unable to wait to get each other’s clothes off. In fact, Tucker had moved into another bedroom soon afterward, cutting himself off from her completely.

The difference between them was that Kady had never completely let go of hope. Even in the aftermath of Grace’s death.

It took two recessive genes coming together to cause Tay-Sachs. He could have had children with someone else and not had a problem. Although since neither of them were of Ashkenazi Jewish heritage, it had never dawned on them that they could be carriers until it was too late. What were the chances? Enough to land them with a horrific diagnosis.

Any future children they’d produced would have had a one in four chance of having the same deadly genetic imprint.