The Baby Bump. Jennifer Greene

me Ginger. And a minute later, he’ll call me Rachel. My grandmother’s name. And sometimes I’m Loretta. Do you have a clue who Loretta is?”

      Ike shook his head.

      “And then there’s Cornelius. Cornelius was old before I was born. Half the afternoon yesterday, they played cards. Rummy. And canasta. Cornelius was as balmy-headed as my gramps. Nothing’s getting cleaned. Cornelius seems to make food sometimes. And forget other times …” At the sudden sound of voices coming from inside the house, she said immediately, “Do you have a patient? I know I should have called first, before stopping by.”

      “First patient’s at ten. Ruby’ll let me know when he gets here.”

      “Okay.” She took a breath. “Listen, Doc—”

      “Ike,” he corrected her gently. “I’m your grandfather’s doctor, not yours.”

      She immediately launched into an emotional sputter. “He was perfectly fine at Christmas and Easter both! He’s been fine every darned time I call! I was here in June for Pete’s sake. I don’t understand how he could have changed so much, so fast!”

      “Because that’s how it hits people sometimes.”

      She launched into the next rocket round of nonstop sputter. “Well, what exactly is wrong with him—and don’t tell me Alzheimer’s. Or that there’s nothing you can do. I want to know what tests you’ve run. If you’ve sent him to specialists. I may not have a heap of money, but my grandfather can afford the best of any kind of treatment. And I can stay here. I mean … I don’t know how on earth I could find a job here. But for however long it takes, I can stay here, live with him. I could make sure he gets everything he needs, nutrition and medicine and exercise or whatever else you think he needs—”

      “Ginger.” He said her name to calm her. He was watching her face. She was so upset. Naturally. Who wouldn’t be, to suddenly find out someone you loved had a fragile health issue? But there was something more going on. He’d seen her take a sip of coffee, and then immediately put the mug down. She’d had peach-healthy color in her cheeks when she came in, but that color was fading, her face turning pale.

      Still, he answered her questions. “Yes, Cashner’s been prescribed some medications that help a lot of people. There’s no perfect medicine for this. I sent him to Greenville for tests, put him in the hands of two physicians I know personally. He’s been tested and evaluated and retested.”

      “Don’t you say it,” she warned him.

      He got it. She wasn’t ready to hear the words Alzheimer’s or dementia. “I’ll give you the other answer,” he said patiently. “Old age.”

      “He’s not that old!”

      Ike nodded. “I think it’s possible he had some mini strokes a while back. He’s been on high blood pressure meds from long before I came here. But he’s at a point where I’m not certain if he remembers to take them. I set up a schedule for him, to help him remember, conveyed the same information to Cornelius. But sometimes—”

      Ruby showed up in the doorway. “Doc. Mr. Robards is here. It’ll take me a few minutes to get him weighed in and BP done and then into a gown, but then he’s ready.”

      Ike started to say, “I’ll be there in a minute,” then noticed Ginger jump to her feet faster than a firecracker. Ruby’s interruption had given her the perfect excuse to take off. She either wanted to get away from him, a depressing thought, or she needed to absorb what he’d told her about her grandfather. Alone.

      Whatever her reasons, she stood up damned fast. The last pinch of color bleached from her face, and down she went. He barely had time to jerk forward, protect her head and help ease her to the ground. The porch only had matting for a rug.

      Ruby rushed through the door, muttering, “Well, I’ll be” and “What the sam hill is this about?” and then Pansy pushed through the door. Pansy invariably liked commotion. She jutted her jowly head under Ike’s arm, trailing a small amount of drool on Ginger’s hair. Ruby hunkered down just as intrusively.

      “Ruby. Pansy. She needs air. And I need space.”

      Ruby took several creaking moments to get back to her feet. “I’ll get a damp washcloth. And a BP unit.”

      “Good thinking. Thanks.” He nudged Pansy out of the way, thinking that he’d been hoping to get his hands on Ginger—but not in this context. She was already coming to. Her eyes opened, dazed, closed again. She frowned in confusion—another sign that she was regaining full consciousness—and then she raised a hand, as if her first instinct was to sit up.

      “You’re fine, Ginger. Just stay where you are for a minute. It’s just me. Ike.”

      No temp. He didn’t need a thermometer to be certain. Normal color was flushing back into her face. He brushed his hands through her hair, feeling for bumps or lumps, any injury that might have caused the faint. He pressed two fingers on her carotid artery.

      Accidentally, he noticed the rapid rise and fall of her breasts. The softness of her. The scent on her skin—not flowers, not for this one. Some sassy, citrusy perfume. It suited her.

      Ruby hustled back with the BP unit. He took it, finding what he expected, that it was slightly on the low side. Again, he took her pulse as he studied her face. Her pulse rate was coming back to normal. And then, when her eyes suddenly met his, that pulse rate zoomed way out of the stratosphere.

      Yeah. That was how he felt around her, too.

      “If you need me …” Ruby said from the doorway.

      “No. She’s fine. Or she will be in a minute. Just give Mr. Robards a magazine and tell him I’ll just be a few minutes, not long.” He never turned his head. Focused his gaze only on her, tight as glue.

      He knew a ton of women … but few with the fire of this one. Loyal. Passionate.

      Interesting.

      Her forehead crinkled in one last confused frown, and then she seemed to recover herself altogether. She muttered something akin to “Good grief” and pushed off the porch matting—or tried to.

      He didn’t forcibly hold her down, just put one hand on her shoulder. “I know you’re getting up, but let’s keep it slow.”

      “I’m fine.”

      “Uh-huh. You’re pregnant, aren’t you?” It was the doctor asking the question, but the man listening for the answer. Most of the time Ike didn’t have to separate the two, but for this question, for this woman, he definitely did.

      “Say what?” Wow. Those soft, sensual blue eyes abruptly turned glacier blue. Color slammed into her face. “What on earth made you ask that!”

      He’d like her to think he was naturally brilliant, but the truth was it had just been a gut call, a wild guess. It was her response that gave away the truth of it. He answered slowly, “Just a short list of clues. Everything about you looks healthy and fit. You asked for coffee, but your hand shot to your stomach when you took a sip. Then you fainted out of the blue.”

      This time she pushed free and fast, got her legs under her, stood up. He watched for any other symptoms of lightheadedness, but saw nothing. “If you’re diabetic, better tell me now. And are you on prenatal vitamins? Have anything prescribed for nausea?”

      Okay. He’d pressed too far, judging from the sputter. The smoke coming from her ears. Her hands fisted on her hips. “Let’s get something straight right now, Doc.”

      “Go for it.” He eased to his feet.

      “You’re my grandfather’s doctor. Not mine.”

      “Got it.”

      “My private life has nothing to do with you.”

      “Got it,” he repeated. “But if you haven’t been on prenatal vitamins—”