Jacqueline Diamond - Prognosis: A Baby? Maybe

“That’s Frodo. He’s my favorite.” The younger boy indicated the black-and-tan pup, whose tail was wagging so hard that Jason half expected it to propel its owner into the air.

“I can’t have a dog because I’m renting,” he said.

The older boy’s face scrunched. “What’s the use of being a grown-up if you can’t have a dog?”

“Good point.” Jason got to his feet. “I hope you find homes for them.”

“Thanks,” they chorused.

What was the use of being a grown-up if you couldn’t have a puppy or roses or any other reasonable thing that you wanted? he mused. It was an internal discussion that would have surprised Heather Rourke, Jason supposed.

He’d certainly bristled when she’d showed him her flower garden. Its blooming lushness had filled his senses with perfume and his soul with an intense yearning. For what, he wasn’t sure, but he’d yanked himself back to reality in a big hurry.

As he strolled around the complex to check out its amenities, Jason wondered if he would ever feel ready to settle down in one place or with one woman. He didn’t believe in love sweeping people off their feet, though, especially not a scientist like him. Some guys weren’t cut out to be husbands, and he was one of them.

He tried to remember what impulse had prompted him to get engaged during his residency. He’d met Eileen, a law student at Boston University, through family friends. They’d had a lot in common, including busy schedules, a taste for Greek food and a love of jazz. Eileen had understood about Jason’s long hours and seemed to share his vision of a future devoted to becoming among the best in their fields.

Somewhere along the line, the subject of marriage had come up. Knowing that he needed a wife with similar goals and attitudes, Jason had fallen in with the idea. Both of them agreed that they wanted to work the long hours required by their professions, with children postponed indefinitely.

He tensed as he recalled his last year of residency. During a difficult period, he’d driven himself harder and, he knew, become snappish to those around him. Perversely, Eileen had chosen that time to press him to set a date for their wedding.

He’d told her frankly that he couldn’t handle getting married right then and needed the freedom to relocate if necessary. Her response had been tears and nagging. Jason knew he should have tried to understand, but he hadn’t possessed the energy to deal with her. When a prominent institution in England invited him to pursue his work there after completing his residency, he’d ended his engagement and removed himself from the situation.

Later, through friends, he’d learned that Eileen had planned to drop out of law school and didn’t want a demanding career. She wasn’t crazy about Greek food or jazz, either. Their relationship had been built on her molding herself to suit him, without his realizing it. Perhaps she hadn’t been honest with herself about what she was doing, either.

Although Jason regretted having disappointed her, marriage would have been a huge mistake. Perhaps that was why he’d reacted so strongly to the flowers yesterday. Subconsciously, he’d pegged Heather as being dedicated to her work, and it disturbed him to discover that at heart what she wanted was the whole picket-fence, rose-trellis scenario. Just like Eileen.

Seeing the playpen and toys in her living room had given him a start, too. Oddly, Jason had found them kind of appealing, although he was relieved to know they belonged to Heather’s niece.

Babies were cute. So were little boys like the pair with the puppies. Their dad probably loved taking them to ball games and playing on the beach with them. Someday, Jason supposed, he might want kids of his own. Someday, like in another ten years.

Lost in thought, he didn’t realize he was passing Heather’s unit until he saw her standing in front, trimming dead blossoms from an azalea. In a tan T-shirt and beige jeans, she was shapely enough to catch any man’s eye.

When she caught sight of Jason, her hand jerked and she mangled a branch. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m glad to see you, too,” he said.

Heather ducked her head, acknowledging the veiled complaint. “You’re right. It’s nice to see you again, Dr. Carmichael. Did you have some questions about the care and feeding of rose bushes?”

“I’m afraid not,” he said. “If you see me traipsing by later with my arms full, you can lend a hand if you care to.”

Her half smile shaded into a frown. “You rented a place?”

He shrugged. “Serene Beach turns out not to have a very big supply of available housing.”

“You swore you’d decided against renting a town house.”

“That was before I looked all over town,” Jason said. “I honestly tried to find a place somewhere else. I combed the newspaper and an Internet referral service.”

“You haven’t been looking very long,” Heather retorted mercilessly.

“I’m sick of the hotel and I’ve got a busy week ahead.” He knew it was a low blow, to use work as an excuse for encroaching on her territory, but it truly was part of the reason for his rush. “There’s no reason for us to see each other except in passing.”

“We’ll run into each other at the pool,” she countered.

The image that came to mind, of Heather’s full breasts and slim waist displayed in a bikini, almost broke down Jason’s determination to regard her purely as a colleague. His voice catching, he choked out, “I don’t plan to do much swimming.”

“Good.” Returning her attention to the azalea, she cut the broken branch and tossed it into a plastic bucket. “I trust you won’t be running over to borrow a cup of sugar or a pair of pruning shears.”

“Scout’s honor.” She hadn’t mentioned laundry detergent, he thought. He might run out of that.

“And don’t you dare go anywhere near my health club!”

“Which health club is that?” he asked, his interest perking.

“Never mind.” Heather appeared fascinated by a weed near the base of the bush. “I’ll see you around.”

“You bet.” Although he would have enjoyed lingering, Jason knew he had a lot to accomplish this evening.

With a wave, he strode away, his thoughts flying ahead to the process of moving. The heated buzz in his nervous system abated too slowly for comfort.

A health club, eh? He’d make a point of finding it. A man needed exercise, after all.

“OH, COME ON, Mom,” Olive said. “You can’t tell me his moving here doesn’t mean he likes you. I can’t wait to meet this guy!”

“Jason Carmichael is my boss and an annoying one, at that.” Heather glowered. The last thing she wanted was for her daughter to start trying to pair them off.

“That doesn’t mean he can’t be interested in you! Besides, he’s your supervisor, not your boss. He doesn’t have the power to fire you, does he?”

“No.” The hospital administrator was the only one who had that right.

“See?” Olive crowed.

“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.