Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

M atteo

I sigh. "I thought we covered this."

"We did but… I don't have the base. My ex—he broke it to keep me from leaving." Her eyes are down, ashamed.

It's bullshit she's ashamed when he's the one who should be. An ex who wasn't a contact in her phone. A man who tried to trap her with him. Everything in me clenches tight at what she had to have gone through for her to flee him with a small baby. That it was so bad a place like the motel she's at was better than staying with him.

"We have car seats. I'll grab one. Have a rest. It will be a minute." I assure her.

She nods and lays her head on the exam bed next to her.

I go into the freebie room. Everything was donated. There are cans of formula, baby food, diapers in every size, bottles, pacifiers, a few sleepers, white shirt onesies, and a few plain white shirts. Snagging a large pack of diapers, I fill a diaper bag with five sleepers and as many onesies, along with odds and ends for the baby.

After studying the car seats, I grab one and took it along with the bag to my car. All my vehicles are purchased with safety as the most important thing in mind. After several months of working a rotation in the ER, I saw more deaths from car accidents than anything else.

I'm now regretting my decision not to go with the safest vehicle, which was a luxury vehicle. Because of my height and the need for comfort, I stayed with an SUV. However, I was concerned about how it would appear to the patients coming to the clinic to see me arriving in a vehicle that was more expensive than what most of them would make in a year.

After today, I'm going to use the luxury SUV my mother purchased for me—she was aware of the only criteria I previously used. I don't give a shit what anyone thought if it meant Amy and Layla would be as safe as they could be.

I find Amy asleep again in the room. The baby is awake, though. She studies me with dark brown eyes like her mother. "Hi, sweetheart. Have a good nap?"

She chuckles as her hands go up to her mouth, and she begins sucking on them. "Hungry? I'll get you home and a bottle real soon. I promise."

Her chubby baby hands clap at the news. I unfasten her from the car seat. Damn, she needs to be changed. Snagging the lone diaper and the wipes, I set the baby girl on the exam bed. Layla—she said the baby's name was Layla.

"Hi, Layla. I love your name." She chuckles around the fingers in her mouth.

I unbutton the sleeper from the bottom up and scoot it out from under her, only to find her diaper leaked onto the sleeper. It's a good thing I grabbed some sleepers for her, too bad they're now in the car. She's got a little white shirt on.

I find the wipes are actually damp paper towels. Layla doesn't seem to mind, as I clean her with them. I put on the new diaper and pick her up to take the sleeper off.

Carrying her with me, I go back down the hall to the freebie room. She's so light. The first thing for her will be a complete workup to confirm she's healthy. It's to the point I'm studying sleepers for six months. There are dozens of sleepers. She reaches for them.

"What do you think? How about this one with ladybugs on it? Do you like ladybugs?" It's brightly colored, and her little hand opens and closes for it.

Lady bugs it is. I grab it and take her back into the exam room. "Mommy is sleeping. You're going to be a good girl for me, aren't you?"

When I lay her down, she shows me a gummy smile. "Yeah, you're a good baby. Sleeping away so Mommy doesn't have to take care of you."

"Mama," she chuckles.

"I'm so proud of you, talking at only nine months. You're so smart." I talk to her as I get her dressed in the sleeper. I decide to take her outside first in case I need to help Amy out of the clinic.

Settling her into the car seat, I'm relieved when she only gives me a wave when I tell her I'll be right back with her mommy. What a good baby, I marvel as I go back into the clinic.

Back in the room I find Amy is still asleep. I hate waking her. Except the sooner I can get her home, the sooner I can get her into a comfortable bed where she will sleep better. "Amy, I've got Layla settled into the car now."

She stirs, then blinks a few times. "Layla?"

"She's in the car. Can you make it to the car by yourself?" I ask as she attempts to stand.

Nodding, she straightens and takes a step away from the chair. She would have gone down in a heap if I weren't as close as I am. I don't let it happen.

Catching her to me, I lift her in my arms. And my world comes crashing down around me. It's a thousand plates, a million glasses, all shattering around me at once. The sound is so loud and real to me that I run my eyes over the ground, wondering if I'll step on something.

I blink again to confirm there's nothing broken around me. My heart is pounding too fast, heat rushes over me, and my palms feel sweaty. I don't understand. What the hell was that?

"Doctor?" Is a croak from Amy.

Words are too hard to string together. My chest is heaving as it works to get air into my tight lungs.

Her eyes are wide in surprise. Blinking a few times, she sighs. I see her hand moving, yet the touch of her small hand to my cheek shocks me. She runs her hand down my cheek. Closing her eyes, she sighs. Then snuggles into me and promptly goes back to sleep.

I'm not a man who cuddles—ever. Yet the way she snuggles into me has that damn tug thing happening in my chest again. It isn't only the weird sensation in my chest. My skin is hot and tight. I want to hold her closer until there is nothing separating us—until I can inhale her into not only my lungs but beneath my skin. Nothing in this world has ever felt more right than holding her.

I shake my head as I try desperately to understand what is happening. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and exhale slowly as it all becomes clear. This woman is mine. It doesn't matter that it makes no fucking sense.

I'm a doctor. A man of logic. Twelve years of education at the best universities in the country combined with another fourteen years of continued education and reading research. I don't have faith in…anything.

I don't believe in what I can't see and touch. While there have been things that I wouldn't believe were possible. I believed in them because they happened. The why doesn't always have to be explained.

Looking into Amy's eyes, I was lost in her. In touching her, holding her in my arms, every cell in my body recognizes her as mine. The woman who I will care for until I take my last breath.

It didn't matter that I don't believe in destiny or fate. Those things didn't need me to believe in them to exist. The date on the first receipt for her checking into the motel was the day I purchased this building—when I finally felt like I was where I should be.

I was meant to be here when she needed me. For the first time since my patient died, I feel again—for Amy. The how or why of us coming together doesn't matter. It simply is.

A little sigh comes out of her that reminds me so much of Layla—shit.

Once I have Amy in the car, an odd relief comes over me hearing her soft snoring and Layla babbling behind me. It feels like it could be any day driving my family home.

Family? Home…the word feels different from when my mother declared me home—from even an hour ago. Now home means Amy and Layla.

My head is spinning on the fifteen-minute drive. The building is in Deep Ellum, an area of downtown Dallas known for its hip, almost bohemian vibe—a vibe completely at odds with the slick, monied veneer most of Dallas wore.

Javier's condo, where I'm still living, takes up the whole top floor. I appreciate the quiet of the place. There are only three other floors of condos and only two per floor. It's peaceful for a place in the middle of the city.

Pulling into the garage I park as close to the elevator as I can. I look down to see Amy blissfully asleep and decide to take Layla upstairs first.

When I open the door to her, Layla gives me a smile and her little arms go out for me to lift her up. Her smile has my heart expanding until I wonder if it will burst out of my chest. She cuddles into me just like her mama, burying her face in my neck. Damn, there's that twisting in my chest.

I tell her everything that's going to happen, how I'm taking her upstairs, then I'll come downstairs to get her momma. Once I have Momma settled into bed, I'll get her a bottle. When the elevator moves, she startles and clings tighter, yet she doesn't cry.

"Mama." She nods.

"Yes, I'm going to get Momma. Once, I have you in your crib where you can't escape. Then I'll make you a bottle."

"Baba. Baba." The words are adamant.

She might be small in terms of growth, but her ability to speak so clearly and with understanding places her months ahead in her development. "Yes, I'll get you a baba."

Once the elevator doors open into the foyer, I have to unlock a door into the condo.

"We're home."

A little eyebrow goes up at the statement. She looks around curiously as I close the door behind me. Her sigh is small as she lays her head on my shoulder. The trust she has in me humbles me. That trust sends me into my office.

I scan the resumes I tucked into the corner in case the people I hired didn't work out. They were all sent to me through a healthcare staffing company that already screened them as having good references and passing drug tests. I find the resume I want.

It's for a physician assistant, Sasha Herndon. She answers with surprise clear in her voice. Her happiness with the pay isn't something she hides.

Every member of staff in the clinic earns twenty-five percent more than the average annual salary for the Dallas-Fort Worth area. They also have sixty days of PTO per year that I want them to use, plus their medical insurance is excellent and paid for by me. I want people happy to come to work and benefits are as important as salary.

She hesitates when I tell her I need her to start Monday full-time. I'm not leaving Amy on her own. Just when I think she's about to turn me down, she accepts. I'll call Cleo and have her work Sasha in to cover for me.

Hanging up, I look down at the baby in my arms. "It's easy to be home when there's something worth being here for."

I get her settled into the crib, wincing when I see there aren't any sheets on the mattress. I'll make it up once I get Amy into the guest bedroom. At least those sheets were changed a week ago. A former colleague from Baltimore was in town for a job interview at a hospital here in Dallas.

Layla frowns when I tell her that I'll be right back. I'm grateful there are no tears as I walk away. She's a really good baby.

In the guest room, I pull back the covers so I can easily put Amy in bed.

Getting her out of the car isn't as easy as getting her in. There's no way around it—I need to wake her up.

"Amy, we're here."

Nothing.

Remembering how she wakes and sharpens each time I mention Layla, I try again. "Amy, I have Layla upstairs."

Works like a charm. Warmth floods me. I might not know nearly enough about her, but I know she's a good mom. She hadn't wanted to depend on anyone else. Until I reminded her it wasn't just about her—Layla's needs superseded her pride.

She blinks up at me and pushes herself up from the seat. Looking around the car, she sighs. "Layla? Where's Layla?"

"Layla is upstairs waiting impatiently for her bottle. Once I have you in bed, I'll see to her." I promise.

Sighing, she nods. Her feet go down to the concrete of the garage. She pushes up and out of the car. I'm right beside her and catch her as her legs go out from under her.

It happens all over again. Everything in me is rioting for more—to hold her tight, to taste her sweet mouth. Chocolate eyes are big and afraid. The fear is a fist to my chest. I never want to see it again. To cover the chaos inside me, I say the first thing I would to any other patient. Because she is, and this is all so wrong to feel when she's ill.

"You really waited until the last minute." I sigh as I lift her and close the car door with my hip.

"I was sure it would get better on its own." She croaks out as she allows her head to fall onto my chest.

I shake my head. "You could have wound up with rheumatic fever or harmed your kidneys."

She flinches at my admonishment. Big pools of melting chocolate are on me. "I'm sorry." It's nothing more than a whisper.

The words pierce deep into my chest. "Hey, it's okay. I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to make you feel bad. It's the doctor in me worried about the damage you could have done to yourself. All that matters is you got the treatment you need and you'll be better soon."

Her eyes slide closed. "Thank you."

I'm thankful her eyes are closed so she can't see what it does to me when she allows her head to fall against my chest. It's wrong, so fucking wrong, to want her this badly as I'm taking her into my home.

It doesn't help when she snuggles into me. I can't take my eyes off her. With her in my arms, it isn't simply emotion I'm feeling—it's a sense of peace I don't believe I've ever felt. Amy is in my arms where she belongs.

I can do this. I can take care of her without losing control of my base instincts. I will treat her like the patient she is until she's healthy enough for me to move beyond a doctor-patient relationship. And no matter what she decides, I will respect it.

In her bedroom, I lower her down on the bed. The moment she's out of my arms, they feel empty—I feel empty. Inhaling deep, I force air into starving lungs. Babbling interspersed with vocalizing that's coming closer and closer to crying warns me to move, or Layla is going to start howling.

I take off Amy's shoes. An urge to throw them away wells up inside me. She's not going to wear anything like them again. The same goes for her clothes—cotton, linen, and silk are what she deserves. No more holes or clothes that don't fit her. Layla too, she'll never wear something stained and second-hand ever again.

Leaving the door ajar a few inches, I go across the hall to the baby's bedroom. When she sees me, she gives a little cry of happiness. "You've been such a good baby girl, Layla. Thank you. Let's get you your baba."

Her little cry of recognition, followed by her reaching for me, hits me square in the chest. Cuddling her close, I'm overwhelmed by the way she clutches at me and babbles happily.

It takes a few minutes to make the bottle one-handed. Once she has the bottle in her mouth, she sucks greedily. I sit with her on the long leather sofa. I'm worried about how quickly she's drinking it.

Every time I try to pull the bottle out to burp her, she gets pissed. Considering how long it took for me to get her the bottle, and she didn't scream for it, I can't bring myself to take it away.

She finally slows as she gets to six out of the eight ounces. Finishing the bottle, she's happy and smiling. I lay her on my legs, putting my feet up on the coffee table to bring her up more to see me. My cell phone rings in my pocket. I snag it and sigh at the display warning me it's my mother.

Fuck.