Millionaire M.D.

Eleven

Winona had been afraid before, but never like this. Late that afternoon, she’d discovered who Angel’s mother was. At the time, she’d thought that nothing could possibly be more important or traumatic than that-but she’d been wrong.

Right now she was carrying the baby and pacing because she was too terrified to do anything else. She’d been busy, coming home from work, getting some dinner on and the baby down for the night, but everything had been basically fine-until Angel suddenly woke, making petrifying choking sounds.

She was afraid to put the baby down. Afraid to keep carrying her. Afraid anything that she did might be wrong-and yeah, of course, as a cop she’d had first aid. Intensive, extensive first aid, for that matter. But what the spit good was that? There was nothing in any manual about the emotional stakes being so screechy high and unbearable when it was your baby who was suffering and you were terrified of doing the wrong thing and risking hurting her worse.

Winona heard the front door open. “Justin? Back here! Hurry!”

She wanted to brace before seeing him. She knew it would hurt. Winona had no idea what was in that damn man’s head, but two days ago she’d finally added up two and two. For days, he’d been pushing her to marry him. First, making out like a marriage of convenience would enable her to foster Angel. Then, making out like he wanted a real marriage. Then, not just making out-but showing her-that he loved her in every way a man could love a woman.

But when it came down to setting a date, he’d ducked one too many times now.

She’d thought they’d had something. And no, she’d never bought into that marriage of convenience malarkey. Since when in the history of men and women was a marriage ever convenient? The concept was an oxymoron if ever there was one. But then she’d started to see how much Justin cared. How much he’d hidden. How he’d be as a dad, how he was as a lover, how much love poured out of him when the door was finally opened up.

Only the blasted man had made her fall in love with him. Practically forced her into falling hopelessly, helplessly, deeply in love. And then to stall out when it came to setting a date?

Man, it bit. In fact, it hurt so much that she’d prowled the floors for two nights in a row. Right now, though, she had no time for hurt or anger. There was only one thing on her mind-the baby.

She sensed his shadow in the nursery doorway, even before he’d said anything. She heard him yanking off his jacket, hurtling it aside. She didn’t look at him, because she was too sick-scared, soul-scared, to take her eyes off Angel for even a second, but she started talking. Fast. “She’s been half choking like this for almost twenty minutes now. Maybe I should have taken her right to the hospital, but I didn’t understand what was happening-I also didn’t want to take her out in the cold or do anything to make her worse. But I can see-anyone can see-something’s wrong. She’s not breathing right-”

“Keep talking. Just keep telling me everything that’s been happening to her.”

“I put her down for the night about forty-five minutes ago. All day she was fine. Completely fine. And she dropped off to sleep right away, only it was like she swallowed something somehow, because suddenly I heard her coughing. I ran in from the kitchen. It seemed like she was choking. I grabbed her, picked her up, started thumping her back, thinking that I could help her get something up-”

“And did you see anything come up?” Justin’s voice was calm, quiet, fast.

“No. But it had to. Because she wasn’t choking so bad after that. Still, it’s like now. You can see how she’s struggling to breathe. Her coloring is almost blue-”

“Did you call a pediatrician?”

“No, of course not. I called you. I want you.”

“Win, come on, you know I don’t have any specialty with babies-”

“You know trauma medicine like no one else. There’s no one I want but you.”

“Damnation, Winona. You don’t know what you’re asking me.”

That was such a strange thing for him to say that her head shot up. This moment wasn’t about her and him. It was about the baby…but somehow all her hurt disappeared at that instant. She didn’t know why he’d ducked on setting the marriage date, but love wasn’t the problem. She saw the way he looked at her. His dark hair was still gleaming with melted snow, his cheeks rubbed red from the wind, but his eyes were soft and haunted with love, fastened on hers for one long lonesome second-before he returned all his attention to Angel.

He’d already stolen the baby from her arms, already moved over to the crib, where he had a flat surface to lay Angel down. Gentle fingers were firmly, swiftly, pulling off the baby’s clothes, assessing her, studying, murmuring to her.

“What do you mean, I don’t know what I’m asking you?” she asked quietly.

“I can’t risk anything happening to Angel. Not her. I can’t, Winona, dammit. I mean it. I don’t do trauma medicine anymore.”

It was confoundedly bewildering. She heard his words, but they didn’t make any sense. He’d already competently, calmly, taken on Angel.

And the minute he’d walked in the door, Winona had felt herself stop panicking. Well, almost. Her head was still screaming, her knees still shaking, her hands slicker than slides. Because she’d never been the kind of person to panic in a crisis, she wasn’t prepared to deal with herself when the symptoms hit so hard. For Pete’s sake, it was her job to handle people in a crisis and she did it darn well.

But this was about a baby.

Her baby.

And it just wasn’t the same.

Still, once Justin was there-no matter what the blasted man said-everything eased. Not her worry that Angel was in trouble. But if anyone could save a baby, Justin could. If anyone could help Angel, Justin would find a way to do it. If she trusted anyone in the entire universe-and there weren’t many on that list, never had been for Winona- she trusted Justin.

Quieter than a whisper, he said, “Put on the overhead. Bring the black bag over here for me and open it, would you? And then get me a straw from the kitchen. Quick, okay?”

There was no panic in his voice, nothing to make her worry, yet she instinctively understood to put on the spurs. She returned quickly with the items.

“You know what’s wrong, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” he said. “It’s the whale.”

“Huh?”

“The stuffed animal. The minute I laid her in the crib-there had to be a reason for the symptoms, obviously? So I looked, and I saw the hint of loose stitches on the whale, the little fuzz of stuffing coming out. I’m guessing the baby put some in her mouth. And I’ll bet that’s where you were patting her-” He motioned to the carpet to her left “-because she spit some out on the carpet there.”

“Oh, my God. Do you think she swallowed some? Is that why she’s having trouble breathing? And could it be poisonous? Could-”

“Win.”

“What?”

“I need you to listen.”

She gulped in a breath. “I’m listening.”

“I can’t make this pretty. There’s still some in her throat. That’s exactly what’s clogging her air passage and why she’s having trouble breathing. It has to come out. Winona?”

“What?”

“I love you. And I promise-I promise, Win-she’ll be okay. But this isn’t going to be any fun to look at, so I just want you to go in the other room and sit down.”

She wasn’t about to go anywhere-although she did take a couple of seconds to grab the whale and hurl it into the trash before coming back to his side. He kept talking, using a low, easy voice to soothe the baby, but she was the one he was communicating to, warning her that he might have to do a tracheotomy, cut the baby’s throat, if he wasn’t able to suck the debris with a straw. One way or another it had to come out, and now, and the baby wasn’t