The Surgeon's Surprise Twins Read Free

Rayburn—but Dr. T. appeared to believe he ran every aspect of Safe Harbor that touched on fertility treatments. And since he was the darling of the corporation that owned the hospital, Dr. Rayburn allowed him a lot of leeway.
    The man still hadn’t bothered to speak, so Bailey took the initiative. “Dr. Franco’s left for the day.” Now go away and leave me to my checkup.
    He took his time jotting a note. Didn’t the man care that she was standing here awaiting his response?
    â€œWell?” Bailey demanded. “Can I do something for you or not?”
    That got his attention. Startled, cinnamon-colored eyes flared at her and then burned a trail down her enlarged body, from her shoulder-length, curly brown hair all the way to her feet. “Where are your shoes?”
    She resisted the urge to curl her toes like a kid. “I took them off.” Can’t you see I’m pregnant?
    He could, obviously, because he was taking another assessing look at her midsection. “You’re the nurse?”
    â€œBailey Wayne,” she confirmed.
    â€œNurse practitioner?”
    â€œNot yet.” Although she’d earned her degree as a registered nurse, she hadn’t qualified to provide routine care for her own patients. Once she delivered the baby, she planned to take additional courses, paying with returns from the savings she’d invested with Phyllis and Boone.
    The doctor tapped his pen against the clipboard. “When will Dr. Franco be back?”
    â€œOn Monday,” Bailey said.
    â€œWhen is she on call?” The obstetricians took turns being available to deliver babies.
    â€œTomorrow morning,” Bailey said. “Why?”
    He regarded her coldly. “We need to discuss some of her cases.”
    The notion offended Bailey. “Why are you reviewing her cases?”
    â€œDo you object?” Dr. T. stared down at her from what appeared to be a towering height.
    Being only five foot four on a good day, Bailey felt at an additional disadvantage without her shoes. “Well, there’s the issue of patient privacy,” she said.
    â€œOverseeing the quality of fertility care is my responsibility,” he snapped.
    As if it weren’t Nora’s! But she could see in his grim expression that she’d overstepped her bounds. Bite your tongue. “Yes, Doctor.”
    He was studying her abdomen again. What exactly did he expect to learn through her uniform? she wondered. For once, she appreciated her sister’s discretion in seeking out a clinic elsewhere. No way would she want this arrogant doctor prowling through her medical records.
    â€œYou’re Phyllis’s sister,” he said abruptly.
    That startled her. “How do you know Phyllis?”
    A pucker formed between his eyebrows. “She didn’t tell you about my relationship to Boone?”
    He must be one of their investors. “She doesn’t discuss business with me.”
    Mercifully, a light tap at the open door cut off further discussion. Hospital public relations director Jennifer Martin peered inside. “Oh, there you are! Dr. Tartikoff, the TV news crew is here. Remember, they called earlier, wanting comments on the septuplets born in Newport Beach?”
    â€œRight.” With a subtle straightening of the shoulders and relaxing of the jaw, he transformed from a nosy know-it-all to a gracious, self-possessed expert. “I’d be happyto answer their questions, as long as they understand that I’m speaking in general terms.”
    â€œThey’re aware that you have no involvement in the case.” Jennifer, a pretty dark-haired woman, seemed in awe of the distinguished surgeon. She stepped back, holding the door for him.
    Bailey supposed Dr. T. was used to being consulted by the press. Since the doctors directly involved in famous fertility cases couldn’t speak about them without their clients’ permission, reporters often sought