Heart of Ice. Diana Palmer

      “In my book, you do,” her friend said loyally.

      Speaking of Chief Sorrell reminded Natalie about the crafts bazaar. She dug into her shopping bag. “By the way, I brought you something.”

      “Nat!” Amy leaned forward. “You’re too generous.”

      “It’s fun to do nice things for my pals.” Natalie handed her the ceramic wishing well. “Drop in a coin and your wish will come true.”

      “I wouldn’t dare wish for what I want,” Amy said.

      “Why not?”

      “I’m scared of getting in over my head, too,” she said. “No, don’t ask questions. I’m not going to say another word about it.”

      Natalie didn’t pry. Over the years she’d discovered that, like her, Amy and Heather preferred to keep parts of their lives private. This sort of reserve was one of the things the three women had in common.

      AS IT TURNED OUT, Heather’s first available appointment wasn’t until Wednesday, so Natalie vowed to follow Amy’s advice and do nothing until then. Keeping such a volatile secret proved more uncomfortable than she had imagined, though.

      Working in a facility full of doctors and nurses, she felt as if everyone could read her condition on her face. Surely they noticed the telltale early signs of pregnancy like flushed cheeks and frequent trips to the bathroom.

      Natalie saw Doctors Circle differently now. The bubbling fountain in the courtyard, despite its cherubic sculpture, made her feel queasy. On the other hand, the two front wings and the Birthing Center with its white stucco walls gave her a sense of being surrounded by warmth.

      When her duties took her into the Birthing Center, Natalie dawdled as she passed the labor-and-delivery area with its busy triage center. Eight months from now, she might be a patient here. The possibility seemed unreal and miraculous and scary.

      “Natalie?” Patrick asked. They were standing by the antepartum area where pregnant women came for ultrasounds, amniocentesis and monitoring. “Let’s eat at the hospital cafeteria, if you don’t mind.” He made a point of checking out the food quality from time to time, to make sure it maintained high standards.

      “You bet.” Since she had one more day to wait before her appointment with Heather, Natalie’s nerves had nearly vanquished her appetite. But not entirely.

      She tucked the color-scheme portfolio under her arm. During the next few months the whole complex was to receive a facelift to coordinate with the remodeled infertility center. She’d been trailing Patrick through the buildings as they visualized how the designer’s plans might look.

      Gorgeous, that was how. Natalie loved the choices of turquoise, mint-green and sunny yellow, played out in a variety of window treatments and wall coverings.

      The cafeteria would benefit from a touchup, that was for sure, she reflected as the two of them got in line. The large room had a lovely vista of a plant-shaded patio, with an outdoor, as well as indoor, eating area, but the nondescript paint had become discolored and the linoleum was worn.

      Patrick chose a table in the middle of the crowded room, one of the least-attractive places to sit. Typically, he was too busy assessing the quality of the food to pay attention to his surroundings.

      “We need to update the salads,” he said. “I’m hardly a food critic, but I find this boring. What do you think?”

      Natalie glanced at her bowl of iceberg lettuce, shredded cabbage and a single cherry tomato. “How about some sun-dried tomatoes and feta cheese?”

      And a declaration of undying love on your part, she added mentally. Or at least a hint that you’d like to get me alone on your yacht again, so that before I risk telling you everything, I know that our interlude meant something to you.

      “Good idea, although the cheese should be served on the side, since not everyone can eat it. Also, the Italian dressing ought to be made with olive oil, instead of soybean oil. It’s better for your heart.” Patrick made a note on his Palm organizer.

      How could the man sit opposite her and remain so blind to her state of mind? Natalie wondered. But then, after working for him for five years, she knew how single-minded Patrick was. Time for a little gentle prompting.

      “Now that we’ve resolved the salad situation, what do you say we move on to other topics?” she murmured.

      “Absolutely,” he said. “Take the eggplant parmesan. It’s not bad at all.”

      She wanted to give him a poke. “Aside from the food,” she persisted, “is there anything you’d like to discuss?”

      “As a matter of fact, there is.” Looking up, he met her gaze. “Something personal.”

      Her heart rate sped up. Finally he’d taken notice of her. “Yes?”

      Patrick smiled. “I just want to say I’m glad we’re back to normal.”

      “Normal?”

      “My behavior on the yacht was inappropriate,” he explained. “I don’t blame you for being standoffish afterward. I’m glad we’re back to our old selves.”

      Was that what he wanted, to go on forever as boss and secretary? Sadly Natalie reflected that that was no longer an option.

      Sooner or later the truth would become all too apparent. She just hoped it was a whole lot later.

      “I’m sure we’ll catch some flak from the cafeteria manager about changing the seating around,” Patrick continued, failing to notice her silence. “But I like the designer’s idea of creating privacy zones. This place feels too much like a high-school cafeteria.”

      “Right.” At the moment Natalie wouldn’t care if the designer made people eat on the floor, but she had no intention of saying so.

      “Everyone’s going to have to be flexible, with all the changes we’re planning. They can’t fight their own petty turf wars. It’ll be worth it.” Patrick went on discussing the upcoming modifications.

      Gradually, as she listened, Natalie forgot her irritation. She loved hearing the excitement in Patrick’s voice and seeing the fire in his brown eyes. When he leaned forward to make a point, his intensity was like a caress, sending thrills down her spine.

      She ached to touch his face and bring his mouth to hers. Would it ever happen again?

      After they finished eating, they left the Birthing Center and cut across the courtyard. From nearby came the lilting sound of a chorus singing a hymn. The Serenity Fellowship Church, located next door to the medical center, was known for its choir, which practiced several afternoons a week.

      The central courtyard, with its fountain and brand-name coffee kiosk adjacent to a breezeway, attracted a cheerful assortment of brown-bagging staffers and family members waiting for patients. Across a small round table, two women were talking earnestly. At another, an elderly couple beamed as their grandchild read from a picture book.

      A wistful look flashed across Patrick’s face. Following his gaze, Natalie saw two women carrying infants into the Well-Baby Clinic on the first floor of the West Wing. Her spirits lifted. Maybe he was eager to have a child, in which case he might not be so upset when she told him….

      “Spencer Sorrell doesn’t know how good he has it.” Patrick kept his voice low so no one else could hear. “He wants to be a full-time administrator and resents having to examine babies. That’s the best part of his job, if only he realized it.”

      “Do you want to be a pediatrician again?” Natalie asked.

      He shook his head abruptly. “Of course not, when I can be accomplishing so much in administration. You’ve seen the statistics, how birth defects and infant mortality in Serene Beach have dropped each year since this center was established. What more could I ask?”

      “If