Dr. Daddy. Elizabeth Bevarly

“Coffee?” he asked.

      “Please.”

      He brought two generous mugs steaming with the strong brew to the table, then went back for sugar and cream. “Are you hungry?” he asked her. “I could fix you some scrambled eggs and bacon.”

      She shook her head. “Thanks, but that’s all right. I’ll have something at home later.”

      He nodded again, and suddenly had no idea what to say. So he sipped his coffee and stared at Zoey and wondered how she could look so beautiful after coming off the graveyard shift.

      “You were going to tell me about Juliana’s parents,” she said after a sip of her own coffee.

      That’s right, Jonas remembered. He knew there was another reason for her having remained at his house after completing the duty assigned her. Other than the simple fact that he wanted her there, of course.

      “But if you’d rather not,” she added.

      “No,” he quickly assured her. “It’s not that.”

      “Then what?”

      He shook his head. “It’s nothing. Forgive my frequent bouts of miscommunication. I just haven’t been getting much sleep since Juliana’s arrival.”

      “How long ago was that?” Zoey asked.

      “New Year’s Day,” he said, still marveling at the irony of the date. “My brother, Alex, and his wife were killed in a car accident in Portugal on Christmas Eve just a couple of weeks after Juliana was born. They left behind a will that donated everything they owned to charity and indicated that the care of their daughter should fall to me.”

      “Yet you hadn’t seen your brother since you were a child,” Zoey said, sipping her coffee again.

      She wasn’t nearly as unaffected by the story as she was letting on, Jonas thought. He could see in her eyes how deeply moved she was by Juliana’s situation.

      He shook his head. “No, but we somehow kept up with each other so that we at least knew where the other was and what he was doing. My mother and father split up shortly after my fifth birthday. Alex was about two when it happened, I guess. By my parents’ mutual agreement, I went to live with my father in upstate New York, and Alex accompanied my mother back to Europe, where her family lived. My father remarried when I was about ten, and I’ve always thought of my stepmother as my mother. I can just barely remember the woman who gave birth to me.”

      Zoey nodded. “I lost both my parents when I was three. I can’t remember much about them at all.”

      For some reason, Jonas wasn’t surprised. He had detected something in her demeanor that seemed to sympathize immediately with Juliana. “Who took care of you after their deaths?” he asked.

      “Two of my aunts raised me,” she said. “They were nice enough ladies, but they weren’t very realistic about the needs of a little girl growing up when I did. As a result, I was something of a...a difficult child.”

      Jonas couldn’t help smiling. “That doesn’t surprise me. You’re a difficult adult, too.”

      Zoey’s head snapped up and her eyes were ablaze when her gaze met his.

      He chuckled. “Why is it so easy to get a rise out of you?”

      She lifted her chin defensively. “Why do you get such a kick out of provoking me?”

      He couldn’t deny her assertion, but he didn’t want to fight with her right now. So he went back to the original topic, picking up where he left off.

      “All in all, my parents’ divorce was a surprisingly painless experience. Four people who split up and went their separate ways only to find happiness in other arenas. To this day, I can’t even form a mental picture of Alex as a two-year-old.”

      “Then why did he leave his daughter in your care?” Zoey asked.

      Jonas shrugged. “I’ve asked myself that question a hundred times since January. Our parents have both been dead for years. And from what the attorney said, Alex’s wife had estranged herself from her own family to the point of not seeing them at all. I suppose I am, in effect, Juliana’s closest living relative. And really, what couple in the prime of life draws up a will expecting their wishes to be fulfilled before their child reaches adulthood?”

      Neither answered the question, because no response seemed necessary. They sipped their coffee in thoughtful silence for a moment until Zoey ended it with a quietly offered, seemingly benign observation.

      “So now you’ve got a baby to raise, Dr. Tate,” she said with a smile.

      Jonas wished he could embrace the same warm, positive attitude about it that she so obviously did. “Yes,” he replied.

      And with that simple, one-word response, his first good mood in more than two months evaporated, and he felt the world drop out from beneath him. Everything he’d been refusing to think about since Juliana’s arrival exploded in his brain like a time bomb. He was solely responsible for another human being, a girl child he didn’t know the first thing about raising.

      “Help me, Zoey,” he said suddenly, unable to stop the words that tumbled from his mouth without him even thinking about saying them. “Please. I can’t do this by myself.”

      Three

      Zoey stared at him in disbelief, her voice failing her completely. Help him? she thought incredulously. Help him? Help Jonas Tate? With a baby? What was he, nuts?

      She continued to gaze at him in silence, and the coffee she had sipped as he’d uttered his request—his plea—sat in her mouth until it tasted like mud. Finally, she remembered to swallow, but when she did, she gagged and began to choke. The hacking that ensued brought Jonas around the table to pat her soundly on the back, an action that just made her cough harder because it was such an unexpectedly inflammatory gesture. Inflammatory because the feel of his palm pressing into her well-covered flesh, in a manner that was in no way seductive, somehow felt just that—seductive.

      Alarmed, Zoey jerked away from him and leapt out of her chair, moving blindly toward the sink in an effort to escape. But Jonas followed her, seeming to pen her in where the countertops came together at a ninety-degree angle. Honestly, all he was doing was making sure she was okay, she told herself. But for some reason, he seemed to be much closer than he really needed to be, seemed to be intent on doing much more than helping to alleviate her cough.

      Zoey had never liked it when people got too close—emotionally or physically—without her permission. There was a reason for that, she recalled all too readily, and without thinking further, she flattened her palms against his chest and pushed him away. Hard.

      Jonas stumbled backward, his eyes reflecting his surprise at her gesture. But apparently undaunted, he approached her again and lifted his own hand slowly toward her. “Are you all right?” he asked as he cupped his palm cautiously over her shoulder.

      Zoey flinched a little, but made no move this time to restrict him. Evidently encouraged by the less violent reaction, he dipped his hand lower to rub her back again. She told herself to stay calm and not overreact, forced herself to stand still and let him touch her. Unfortunately, that plan of action didn’t work, either. Because his simple caress still felt like the most inviting of gestures and, instinctively, she wanted to pull away before things got out of hand.

      “I’m fine,” she lied, taking a few deep breaths to steady her heart rate and get her lungs moving normally again. For some reason, though, when she inhaled the musky aroma of him, her heart rate became anything but steady, and her lungs wanted to gulp in the air at a staggering speed. “I’m fine,” she repeated, though whether she was trying to convince Jonas or herself of that, she wasn’t entirely sure.

      His hand continued to make lazy circles on her back, and she found herself standing there, immobile, gazing into pale