The Doctors' Baby Miracle. Tina Beckett

again, a frown on his face. She mouthed, “Sorry,” then dug into her attaché for the notes she’d brought. How was she going to speak when it came her turn?

      The crowded room would have been nerve-racking enough, but to have someone who’d once known the most intimate details of her life sit there and weigh her every word?

      Her thumb scrubbed over the spot on her finger. Empty, but not forgotten. Neither had her muscle memory erased the habit of reaching for it whenever she was nervous.

      Or missing him.

      No, she didn’t miss him. Not anymore.

      The moderator gave a quick summary of the topic and then started down the line of presenters, reading from a sheet that evidently contained each person’s professional bio. She stared at her notes, willing the words to make sense. Willing herself to drown out the well-modulated voice from seconds earlier. Her thumb searched for that missing ring yet again.

      Stop it, Kady.

      She should have been counting people, so she could brace herself for the mention of her ex’s name, but since she didn’t remember how many seats there were, all she could do was sit there in dread.

      “Dr. Tucker Stevenson, pediatric surgeon specializing in fetal surgery at Wilson-Ross Memorial Hospital, New York City.”

      Her heart twisted. Even the best surgeon in the world couldn’t have prevented what had happened three years ago. And Tucker was one of the best.

      The moderator moved on to the next panelist, listing dry facts that barely scratched the surface of what made each person live and breathe...and grieve.

      “Dr. Kadeline McPherson, maternal-fetal medicine, at Wilson-Ross Memorial Hospital, Atlanta, Georgia.”

      No mention of anyone’s personal life, how many children, spouse’s name. Thank God. And she was even more thankful that she’d gone back to her maiden name. Kadeline Stevenson might have caused awkward questions that she’d rather not answer. She suspected Tucker would prefer that little tidbit to remain buried as well.

      She gulped.

      Buried.

      She hated that word. Avoided using it like the plague.

      Speech. Read your speech.

      Fiddling with her thin sheaf of papers that contained words she’d recited hundreds of times, she prayed for a clear head. The question-and-answer phase was the trickier part, trying to think up responses on the fly.

      With Tucker sitting in the same room.

      Forget about him, Kady.

      The table microphone inched its way down the line as each person finished.

      Tucker’s turn came, and his voice cut through her all over again. So much for forgetting about him.

      His words were sure and firm, with a confidence that came with being the top in his field.

      Kady closed her eyes and tried to drown him out with a bawdy mental rendition of “Ninety-nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall”, but it didn’t work. Especially since he’d sung that very song to her during her labor to take her mind off the pain.

      If only she’d known the real pain would come months after the baby’s actual birth.

      “Fetal surgical intervention is necessary in any number of cases. My most recent involved an obstructed urethra in an eight-month-old fetus. Surgery removed the blockage and mother and baby were both fine.”

      They were both fine. How many times did he say that in a day?

      Light applause followed his speech, just like it had everyone else’s. Kady realized she was the only one not clapping, but just as she went to join in, the sound died away, leaving her with her hands up, palms facing each other.

      Tucker chose that very moment to glance her way. One side of his mouth quirked up, a crease coming to life in his right cheek.

      Her breath caught as a spark of something dark arrowed through her abdomen. For a few awful seconds she couldn’t look away. He evidently didn’t have the same problem, giving his attention to the next speaker, who talked about controlling blood pressure in patients with preeclampsia.

      She wasn’t making that mistake again.

      She focused on some nameless audience member as the microphone moved again, capturing the topic of twin-to-twin transfusion syndrome. So far no one had mentioned genetic abnormalities, but no symposium of high-risk pregnancies would be complete without that element. Normally she could just sit there stoically, an expression of polite interest superglued to her face.

      But with Tucker sitting just down the row? Almost impossible.

      Was he thinking the same thing?

      Doubtful. He’d somehow seemed to be able to push Grace out of his life and thoughts with the same ease that he’d signed those divorce papers. Out of sight. Out of mind. Was that how it worked with him?

      No, she’d seen his grief firsthand. Raw and angry and ready to wreak havoc on the gods for what had happened. In the end, the only true havoc he’d wreaked had been on their relationship when he’d stated they were having no more children. Ever. She’d had no say. Her request to him to go with her to genetic counseling had fallen on deaf ears. Nothing had moved him from his stance.

      And yet a second ago he’d tossed her a smile that had napalmed her senses as if nothing had ever happened between them. As if they were old friends.

      They were not friends.

      The drone of voices went silent. Glancing up in a panic, she realized it was because it was her turn to speak. The microphone was already in front of her. How had she missed that?

      Clearing her throat and hearing it amplified through the whole auditorium made her wince. As did the light laughter that accompanied it. “Sorry. It was a long flight.”

      More laughter. Louder this time. Maybe because the flight from Atlanta to New York only took a little over two hours.

      The emotional distance, though, was much, much longer.

      She forced an amused crinkle to her nose. “Long day at the office?”

      This time the laughter was with her rather than aimed at her. It helped put her at ease and allowed her to temporarily block out all thoughts of Tucker Stevenson. Plunging into her brief five-minute speech, she allowed her passion for the subject at hand to propel her through to the end. Wasn’t her specialty all about empowering women during difficult times?

      And wasn’t that what her IVF quest was all about?

      The audience clapped, and she couldn’t stop herself from sneaking a glance back down the line of presenters. Tucker was leaning forward, his elbows planted on the table, head swiveled in her direction. This time he gave her a nod that she could swear contained at least a hint of admiration.

      For her?

      A shiver went through her.

      No, she had to be mistaken.

      A thought came to mind. Had he gone through with the procedure?

      The thought of her ex-husband never fathering another sweet baby girl like their Grace pierced straight through her. He’d been a wonderful daddy—once he’d got over his initial fears of inadequacy. He’d loved their daughter in a way that had made her go all gooey inside—had made her hot for him and him alone. No other man could touch what she’d once felt for Tucker.

      Watching as that pristine white casket was slowly lowered into the ground had changed him, though.

      It had changed both of them.

      Gone had been the days of frantic lovemaking. Of being unable to wait to get each other’s clothes off. In fact, Tucker had moved into another bedroom soon afterward, cutting himself off from her completely.

      The difference between them was that Kady