Baby Did a Bad Bad Thing (Hautboy Series Book 3) Read Free

break.”
    “But he’s right there,” she exclaimed, gesturing toward their room.  “The man I have dreamt about for the past ten years is like six yards from where I’m standing.”
    “No.”
    “But—”
    “No!”
    “I’m hurt,” Monica declared.  “I’ll never know the answers to so many questions.  For example, does he smell good?  Does he have big hands?  Are his hands calloused?  How would they feel against my tits?”
    “I don’t know how you’ll sleep at night.”
    “I won’t.  I’ll be busy developing carpel tunnel just like you.”  With a whirl and a fan of dark hair, Monica marched off.  Her back shook with laughter as her white clogs squeaked against the hardwood floors.
    She was probably the closest friend I had.  Though, I’d consider her more of an acquaintance.  She was good for finding out the scoop on the latest scandal among the Udub staff, or going out for a drink after work, but that’s as far as things went.
    Despite lusting after Tate Watkins, she was in a relationship, which meant that she was on a virtual tether.  She wasn’t available to act on a whim unless it included her boyfriend.  It was hard to find someone who could or would—on the spur of the moment—fly to Cancun to soak up some sun, or hop on a plane to Colorado for a weekend of skiing.  Not that I did it often.  But she didn’t do it ever .  I suppose that was a boundary set beyond the white picket fence.
    “Excuse me.”  Turning, I found Dr. Watkins behind me.  She smiled warmly.  “How are you, Paisley?”
    I worked in her office a very short time.  I worked in many offices a very short time.  I was still trying to find the right field to settle in.  Much like my personal life, I was aimless and undecided.  At least maternity offered a measure of reward.  While I didn't want children, and pregnancy held no appeal, I still found it fascinating.  Birth was a miracle that never ceased to amaze me.
    “Hi Dr. Watkins.  I'm good, thank you.”
    “Could you tell me what room I could find Tate?”
    “Six twenty-one.  They're mine.”
    “Oh, good!  What can you tell me?”
    “She's doing well.  Vitals are normal.  The contractions are subsiding.  But we'll know more once the doctor checks for dilation.”
    “From experience?”
    I shook my head.  “They’ll want to monitor her for a few hours.  Multiple births are always a risk.  When they do release her, she’ll likely be on bedrest.”
    “Through the duration?”
    “Likely.”
    Dr. Watkins winced.  “That’ll roll over well.”
    “Her son?”  A toddler would be difficult to manage while on bedrest.
    “He’s three.  He’s a good kid, but she’s pretty active with him.”
    “That sucks.”
    “Yes, it’s unfortunate.”
    “Well, she won’t be running any relay races with him, but she might not need strict bed rest either.  Keep your fingers crossed.”
    “You think it’s stress.”
    “I’m not a doctor, but she was pretty upset about her tablet being hacked.”
    Dr. Watkins’ lips pressed tightly together.  She glanced toward their room.  “She’s quit her voice rest, hasn’t she?”
    “Yeah.”
    “I’d better get in there and see if I can salvage my hard work.  I didn’t barter my soul in exchange for that second surgery so that she could throw it all away.”
    “You did a great job.  Her voice is beautiful.”  Dr. Watkins was the best otolaryngologists in the state.  If one of Tate Watkins’ psychotic fans was going to cut my throat, I’d want her as my surgeon.
    “She hates it.”
    I raised my eyebrows.  “She said that?”
    “No, she would never.  She has manners.  But she lost that rasp.  She thought it made her sound sexy.”
    “She did have that Etta James thing going on.”  I’d seen the video on the internet.  Everyone had by now.  Cooper Hale had what it took to make it as a vocalist.
    “She was doing more harm than good,” Dr. Watkins argued.  “It only