Father By Choice. M.J. Rodgers

      She understood these questions probably had to be asked. But she was beginning to resent them. “Half a cup of coffee this morning,” she said. “But I’m trying to get clean.”

      Not even a twitch to his lip. So much for his purported sense of humor.

      “Have you had any operations?” he asked.

      “No,” she responded.

      He turned off the light. “How many fingers do you see?”

      “One.”

      And a strong-looking hand, well formed. At least the physical part of him appeared to be as advertised. When he positioned the listening end of the stethoscope in his ears, she knew what was coming. Even so, she gave a small start when he slipped the circular disk beneath the V-neck of her blouse.

      Brad showed no sign that he noticed, but the nurse smiled at her in sympathy. “Cold, isn’t it?”

      Thankful her response had been misinterpreted, Emily gratefully returned her smile. Before Brad could ask her to take a deep breath and hold it, she had done so.

      After listening to what was going on inside her from several different spots, he checked the reflexes in her elbows and knees all the while continuing to ask questions about her medical history.

      Emily was proud of her calm and cognizant answers. Especially when she considered how incredible it was meeting him this way. Or meeting him any way for that matter.

      Another nurse interrupted the examination when she poked her head into the room. “Two victims of a construction accident en route. Scaffolding collapsed from beneath them when they were two stories up. They’re both critical. ETA is four minutes.”

      “I’ll join you when I’m finished here,” Brad called over his shoulder before addressing the nurse beside him. “Why don’t you go help her prep. I’ll handle this.”

      The nurse nodded and followed the other one out.

      Brad’s hands circled to the back of Emily’s neck and felt their way into her scalp, his probing fingers firm but gentle.

      “Do you feel any tenderness here?”

      His expression was one of total concentration as he gazed at a blank wall to the right.

      She realized she was staring at the slight cleft in his chin and averted her eyes. “Uh…no.”

      “What about here?”

      “No. I’m fine. Really.”

      He ceased the exploration of her scalp, placed a finger on her pulse. His eyes focused on his wristwatch.

      “People who are fine don’t suddenly lose consciousness for nearly thirty minutes. Have you had anything to eat or drink today?”

      “Breakfast was light. Normally I have a full lunch at noon, but I had to attend to some business about that time. How did I get here?”

      Brad glanced at the clipboard that the nurse had left lying on the bed table. “A Josh Smithson called the paramedics. Identified himself as your assistant.”

      “Poor Josh. I must have scared him to death.”

      “What is your business?”

      “I take care of plants.”

      “Have you been using any new pesticides or fertilizers in your duties?”

      “No.”

      He released her hand. “Your pulse is a little fast.”

      With him taking it, she wasn’t surprised.

      He picked up the chart to make a note. “Any chance you’re pregnant?”

      Thank God he’d taken her pulse before asking that question. “No chance about it. I’m eight weeks pregnant.”

      His eyes shot to hers. “Why didn’t you tell me that when I asked if you had any medical conditions?”

      She sat up a bit straighter, annoyed at the insinuated censure of his question. “A medical condition implies something’s wrong. Nothing’s wrong with being pregnant. That’s why I fainted, isn’t it?”

      “Fainting during early and middle pregnancy is a common experience. The hormone, progesterone, is at an all-time high, relaxing the walls of the blood vessels, making the blood pool in your hands and feet and away from your head. The medical term for it is postural hypotension.”

      “So, it’s perfectly normal.”

      “Remaining unconscious for nearly thirty minutes is not normal. Fainting is the way the body gets the head down so blood can immediately return to it. You should have come out of the faint in a minute or two. We need to find out why you didn’t.”

      “The leaf blower.”

      “Excuse me?”

      “The exhaust from a leaf blower our maintenance man was using. The smell was bad enough out in the open air, but inside the greenhouse, the concentration was lethal. I’ve always been sensitive to fumes. When I was a kid, the buildup of carbon monoxide at the back of a school bus could put me out. And often did.”

      “What’s the temperature in the greenhouse?”

      “Ten to fifteen degrees warmer than the ambient outside air.”

      He scribbled something on the chart. “The prolonged unconsciousness could have resulted from the combination of postural hypotension, exhaust fumes and exposure to sudden heat. Your vital signs are normal. I don’t see that you’ve suffered any ill effects. But there’s no point in taking chances. I’m going to order some blood work to make sure we’re not missing anything.”

      If he ordered tests on her, there was a good chance that he’d discover her other records at this hospital. Emily couldn’t risk that.

      “I appreciate the thoroughness, but that won’t be necessary. I feel fine.”

      “Ms. Barrett, it’s important you have the tests. For you and your fetus.”

      “I believe you. And your concern is appreciated. Really. But I have an appointment with my doctor on Monday, and I’d feel more comfortable talking things over with her, woman to woman. I’m sure you understand.”

      It was the perfect out. No male doctor could argue with a woman about her preference in such a matter.

      But Brad Winslow sure looked as if he wanted to. “Your doctor will want to talk to me. Give me her name so that I can note the chart. When she calls, the nurse will know to put her through.”

      No way Emily was going to let her doctor call Brad Winslow—or let him know her doctor’s real name. He was waiting for an answer. She quickly searched her mind for a substitute and came up with her favorite grade-school teacher. “Landerman.”

      He wrote down the name. “Is Dr. Landerman new to Courage Bay?”

      “Her practice is in L.A.,” Emily lied, then realized the other questions that might raise. “She’s an old friend of the family, which is why I don’t mind driving so far to see her.”

      “What’s her number?”

      “I don’t have it memorized. Thanks for everything.”

      Emily could see her shoes on the bottom shelf of the cart next to the bed. She scooted to the side of the examining table, intent on slipping off it and getting to them.

      But before she could swing her legs over, Brad stepped forward, rested the hospital chart on the edge of the bed’s metal rim and effectively blocked her path.

      “Your assistant wasn’t able to provide your home address, number and next of kin. Let’s take a moment to fill in the blanks, shall we?”

      “No reason to take up your time