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“You surprised everyone,” she told her perfect little girl. “Here I thought I had plenty of time to get to my car and drive home. But you fooled us all. Does that make you happy?”

The tiny infant barely stirred.

“I love you so much. You and I are going to have a wonderful life together.”

Her daughter made a cooing sound in her sleep. Heather felt her heart fill with love and gratitude. Everything had turned out perfectly.

Chapter Three

That evening, Heather found herself watching the doorway to her room with a ridiculous impatience. Jim Dyer didn’t owe her anything, least of all a visit. He had just been kind earlier when he’d said he would drop by and check on her. No doubt he’d had a chance to think about all they’d been through together and he’d decided that the situation had been too stressful and embarrassing and not one he wanted to relive.

Under the circumstances, she couldn’t blame him. He’d been a Good Samaritan, but now he’d returned to his regular life. She and her daughter would be fine on their own. Besides, it’s not as if he would have done anything but say hello, then leave.

But all the cheerful, determined, logical words in the world weren’t making her feel any better. She wanted to pick up the business card he’d left her and call him. She wanted him to walk into her room and tell her…

At this point, her imagination failed her. What exactly did she want him to say? Nothing romantic. She’d given birth that afternoon, and even if she was in a position to pursue a relationship, which she wasn’t, she’d sworn off men, at least for the next fifty years or so. Besides, Jim might be married or engaged or simply not interested. Not that she wanted him to be interested. She didn’t. She wanted…

“Hormones,” she muttered to herself. All the books on pregnancy warned that after she gave birth, her body would be awash with lots of hormones, most of which had the unfortunate side effect of making her emotions run wild. She drew in a deep breath to calm herself. She was a strong, capable woman with a beautiful new baby and a bright future. The fact that she was feeling a little out of sorts was completely normal. She would give herself a break. It was perfectly fine to want to see the man who had helped her through a difficult time, but it wasn’t all right to do something about seeing him.

That plan of action—or inaction—decided, she turned her attention to the sleeping child in her arms. The nurse had told her it was acceptable to let her daughter sleep in the bassinet pulled up to the side of the bed, but Heather liked the feel of the slight weight of her baby pressed against her. When her arms got tired, she would put the child down, but for now, this was perfect.

Her eyes drifted closed and she might have slept. The next thing she heard was a faint knocking. She came to with a start and saw Jim standing just inside the door to her room.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said. “I can come back later.”

Her mouth went dry. It wasn’t supposed to, of course. She told herself it must be the result of not having enough to drink or the air-conditioning in the large hospital. It certainly wasn’t because of the man standing in front of her. A tall, handsome man dressed in a shirt and jeans, which should have looked ordinary but instead made her think that he was too good-looking to be real.

“I’m awake,” she managed. Not exactly the brilliant conversational opening she’d been practicing earlier, but her nap had apparently cleared her brain of all coherent thought. She felt herself smiling. “Thanks for coming to see me.”

“No problem,” he said as he stepped into the room. “I’m visiting all my patients to see how they are. So how are you doing?”

“We’re great.” She nodded at her daughter. “She had her first meal, and according to the nurse, it went well.” She grimaced, remembering the unexpected strength of the baby tugging on her breast. “Actually, it was easier for her than for me. Except for the excitement, she’s mostly slept. I’ve had a bracing walk around my room and I ate dinner. All in all, a full and exciting day.”

“You look great,” he said, then swallowed as if he hadn’t meant to blurt that out.

“Thanks.” She touched her freshly washed hair. “They let me take a shower. I feel a lot better.”

“These are for you.” He set a large plant and an even bigger stuffed giraffe on the small table by the window.

It took Heather a second to remember her advice in the elevator to pretend she was a giraffe about to give birth. The silly gesture touched her and she felt herself tearing.

Jim held up his hands and took a step back. “Wait a minute. You promised you cried once every four or five years. I figured I was safe.”

She waved toward the chair next to her bed. “You are. It’s all of my hormones out of whack, I guess. I’m completely not myself. But I will struggle to maintain control. Thank you for the gifts. They’re incredibly thoughtful and you really didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to.” He settled in the chair and grinned. “You should’ve seen the look the dry cleaner gave me when I dropped off my slacks. I told him what happened, but I don’t think he believed me.” He stared at her. “And to answer the question I know you’re thinking, no, you may not pay for the dry cleaning.”

“If I insist?” she asked.

“I’ll ignore you.”

She told herself his assumption that she would offer to pay was just a natural extension of their conversation, but she couldn’t shake the odd feeling that he’d somehow read her mind.

He leaned back and rested one ankle on the opposite knee. The masculine pose reminded her that Jim was a stranger in her life. She didn’t know anything about him, yet she felt oddly connected to him.

“This is very strange,” she confessed. “I’m not sure what we should talk about or what I’m supposed to say. I want to keep thanking you for everything—”

“Please don’t,” he said quickly. “I know you’re glad I was with you and I’m glad I was there, too. End of story.” He gave a slight shrug. “But I know what you mean about the situation being unusual. I’ve never walked up to a woman and said, ‘Hi, I’m Jim Dyer. Let me help you give birth.’”