A Perfect Father Read online

  Then Blake stepped forward. “How about showing us your leg?”

  Henri obligingly lifted one leg of his pants and flexed his foot. Blake nodded as if pleased, and Moriah understood. The boy didn’t have full range of motion, but he was clearly much better off than the last time they’d seen him. In his mad dash across the room, she hadn’t noticed a limp.

  “Your leg looks great.” She smiled at the boy. “But why did you come back to see us?”

  His brown eyes were earnest as he glanced between her and Blake. “Remember? You told me you would fix my fingers when you came back.” He held up his hand to display the three mangled fingers of his left hand where burns had contracted the digits beyond recognition, making them useless. “See?”

  “That’s right, I do remember. We didn’t have time to complete your surgery last time.” Moriah met Blake’s gaze. “There’s a place for Henri on the schedule, right?”

  Blake took the boy’s damaged hand in his and gently examined it. “He’s lucky he has some use of his index finger and thumb,” he said doubtfully. “He’ll gain some additional movement from repairing the three injured digits, but not anything close to normal function.”

  “Please? Por favor?” Henri’s brown eyes were big enough to overpower his whole face.

  “Blake, we did promise him, last year,” Moriah reminded him. Blake might be hell on women, but he was a compassionate doctor. His determination to put his patients’ needs first was one of the traits she most admired in him. “Gaining any movement in his hand is worth the effort. I’ll stay late, or come in early. This surgery won’t take long.”

  Blake glanced at George who shrugged helplessly. Then he smiled. “Sure, why not? We’ll squeeze him in.”

  “Gracias!” Henri beamed at Moriah again. “See you later.”

  “Bye, Henri.” She reached out and smoothed a hand over his tousled black hair. She was somewhat surprised Henri remembered her so well, to the point he’d sought her out again a year later.

  The boy slipped from the room far more quietly than he’d entered. He was a great kid. In fact, Henri reminded her of Mitch, her oldest nephew. They were about the same age, and both seemed always to run from point A to point B, constantly in a hurry to get somewhere. Last year they’d had trouble keeping Henri off his injured leg long enough for it to heal.

  Longing for a family of her own pierced her heart.

  Her relationship with Ryan, her former fiancé, had disintegrated when he’d broken off their engagement months before he’d died, because he hadn’t been able to give up his player lifestyle.

  Then she’d fallen hard for Blake, Ryan’s best friend and bachelor buddy, who had comforted her the night they’d learned of Ryan’s death, then had left her the next day to move on to another woman. His rejection had sliced deep, although she shouldn’t have been so naive as to think she could change him.

  She sighed. She really had a lousy track record with men.

  CHAPTER TWO

  BLAKE’S gut twisted with regret as his gaze drifted once again toward Moriah. Damn, she was more beautiful than he’d remembered. He was disturbed by his physical reaction to her. The way his fingers itched to slide into the wealth of dark hair she’d pulled back into a clip at her nape to loosen the strands so they draped around her shoulders. The way her luminous brown eyes and softly curved mouth promised infinite pleasure. She wasn’t the right woman for him, but his body hadn’t seemed to care about that, the way it had reacted to her instantly when he’d bumped into her earlier that morning.

  He’d come on this mission as a favor to Ed Granger. Never once in his wildest imagination had he expected Moriah would be here, too. Hell, on the interminable flight out, he’d passed the time flirting with some nurse whose name now escaped him. But seeing Moriah here, he knew with fatalistic certainty he was going to make the same mistake as before.

  He didn’t understand why he was still so very attracted to her, but he was. He wanted her with a depth that scared the living heck out of him.

  He’d known her for years, since he’d been best friends with her fiancé, Ryan. After her relationship with Ryan had disintegrated, the tiny devil on his shoulder had constantly nudged him, reminding him she was free. Here in Peru last year, they’d grown closer, finally making love on their last night together. But the next morning he’d panicked, knowing that with her love of family she’d expect more than he was willing to give.

  So he’d ended up hurting her, just like Ryan had.

  Realistically, he’d figured it was better to break their budding relationship off early, before things had grown too complicated. They wanted different things from their futures. She was a woman who wanted to settle down, to have a family, while he simply didn’t. Kids were a huge responsibility, one he didn’t want to tackle.

  He and Moriah were at completely opposite ends of the spectrum on this crucial matter, and always would be. So he had to be strong. To avoid hurting her again, he somehow needed to find a way to keep distance between them.

  George Litmann’s presence wasn’t enough of a deterrent, though. No, he needed more than that to keep himself from hauling her into his arms and kissing her senseless. He needed to be further away, like rocket-blasted to another planet. Dammit. Where in the hell was the blonde, Claire what’s-her-name, when he needed her?

  “It’s late. Should we head back to the hotel for dinner?” George asked.

  “Hmm.” Blake couldn’t tear his eyes off Moriah. She seemed lost in her thoughts, gazing through the empty doorway where the boy, Henri, had disappeared. Her eyes were filled with such heartfelt longing, reminding him only too clearly of the dark pain he’d seen in her eyes last year.

  “Moriah? Would you join us?” George asked.

  “Huh?” With a guilty start, she brought her eyes to his, then just as quickly glanced away. “Oh, no, thanks anyway. I have a patient I need to see.”

  “A patient?” Blake frowned. “You mean from the group we saw today?”

  “No, not from the clinic. This morning I helped a pregnant woman avoid giving birth in her car.” Moriah’s face broke into a beaming smile, sucker-punching him in the gut. “I stayed with her while she delivered a beautiful baby girl. I’m heading over to check on her.”

  He wasn’t surprised she wanted to go back and see the baby. Did he need another reminder of how wrong they were for each other? When George glanced at him questioningly, he shook his head. “Go ahead, I have a few things I need to do yet.” He’d actually promised to have dinner with the blonde from the plane. He should have been more than ready to move on.

  But he couldn’t seem to drum up enthusiasm for his date.

  George nodded, then left the clinic, walking out with Moriah. It took all Blake’s willpower and then some not to follow them.

  He sat heavily in a chair and cradled his head in his hands. Self-loathing dripped and burned like battery acid down the length of his esophagus.

  He’d hurt Moriah once—he had no business resurrecting the past all over again. She’d taken the news of Ryan’s death hard, even though they had no longer been engaged by the time he’d died. She didn’t need him crawling back to her, after the way he’d left her before.

  Blake scrubbed his face with his hands, as if he could erase the image of Moriah’s hurt expression that was permanently etched in his brain. Then, with a determined effort, he stood and headed to the hotel lobby where Claire what’s-her-name was waiting for him.

  Except he’d lost all interest in pursuing a romantic interlude with her, or anyone else. Still, he forced a welcoming smile on his face, determined to enjoy some harmless flirtation with a woman who knew the score. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d whiled away the hours with one woman while knowing his heart belonged to another.

  Hell. He was a pro at keeping up the pretense by now.

  Hours later, Blake took a walk outside in a vain effort to clear the scent of Claire’s cloying, flowery perfume from his head. Man, the woman just
hadn’t stopped talking, idle chit-chat he’d barely been able to concentrate on, until the end of the meal had finally approached and she’d gotten bolder, telling him straight out he was welcome to come to her room after dinner, if he so desired.

  He didn’t, so he’d claimed he needed to meet with one of the Peruvian doctors at the hospital about arranging the logistics of the operating room schedule, and had made a quick escape.

  Taking a slow, deep, cleansing breath, he forced himself to face the truth. These next three weeks were going to be the longest in his entire life. No way would he be able to convince himself he was attracted to another woman when Moriah was close enough to see. To smell. To touch.

  Sounds of footsteps on the road ahead of him made him squint through the darkness to see who else had sought the quietness of the night. When he rounded a bend in the curved road, he caught sight of a dark-haired woman. His jaw tightened in recognition and he bit back a groan.

  Moriah.

  Of course, the one woman in the whole world who was off-limits to him would be the one within reach. He should turn and head in the opposite direction before she saw him and they were forced to exchange polite greetings while he vainly tried to ignore the sizzling electric awareness that leapt between them whenever they were within two feet of each other.

  An awareness he knew wasn’t completely one-sided.

  Too late. His traitorous legs carried him forward just as she turned to see who he was. Her eyes widened with recognition.

  “Hello, Blake.”

  “Moriah.”

  An awkward silence hovered. Would it always be like this between them? He longed for the early days of friendship, before he’d let his desire overrule logic. Yet even now the unruly desire was difficult to control.

  His hungry gaze feasted upon her. She was breathtaking in the moonlight. She hadn’t changed much in the past year, and a quick glance at her hand showed she hadn’t gotten married during the months they’d spent apart.

  He had no right to feel delighted about the absence of a ring. She deserved to find a man who would eagerly give her the family she desired. She deserved to find peace in a life he had no interest in pursuing.

  The fresh citrus scent clinging to her teased his nostrils. Memories tumbled through his head. A night like this one, when a comforting embrace had changed into something very different. His body stirred at the memory. Her soft frame pressed urgently against his chest, her mouth hot and demanding beneath his…

  Inside the pockets of his lab coat, his hands clenched into fists. Why did he respond to her like this? Especially when he hadn’t seen her in months? What deviant gene in his DNA longed for a woman who didn’t want the same things as he did from life?

  Damn. He needed to find a way to stay away from her. And soon.

  “Well, it was nice chatting with you, Blake.” She broke the tangible silence between them with a tiny bit of sarcasm. “But it’s been a long day. Good night.”

  “We need to talk.” The words popped out of his mouth before he could stop them.

  She paused in the act of leaving, and partially turned toward him. In the dim light shining from the hotel windows, he could see her dark gaze was wary. “Really? About what?”

  Tell her, the tiny voice in his head urged. Tell her the truth. After all this time, she deserves to know why you hurt her by walking away. By finding someone else.

  “The surgery schedule.” Coward, he mentally berated himself. “We start tomorrow with only three rooms. I think things will be easier for both of us if you work with one of the other surgeons.”

  “Fine with me.” The way she’d readily agreed with his suggestion set his teeth on edge. “Take care, Blake.”

  “Good night.” He called himself several kinds of a fool as he watched her head back into the hotel. Instinctively, he began to follow her inside, then realized what he was doing and abruptly turned away.

  What was he thinking?

  Blake resisted the urge to bang his head against the bright yellow stucco-covered building. Stupid. He was so damn stupid. Moriah had happily-ever-after written all over her. Hell, hadn’t she spent hours telling him her dream of having a large family with Ryan? She’d come from a large family herself, the third youngest of eight, and longed for the same closeness for her children.

  While he was a man who needed his solitude, his space. He didn’t have anything personal against kids—they were fine for people who wanted to have them. But his limited experience with children had been enough to cement his decision not to have any.

  He liked his privacy. He liked peace and quiet, especially in the mornings, when the sun was just peeking over the horizon. He liked dedicating his life to his career, not feeling torn between the demands of his work and the even more emotional demands of a family. He didn’t regret the choices he’d made.

  So why did his body seem focused solely on Moriah, the one woman whose feelings were the complete opposite of his?

  Blake pressed his eyes against the magnifying goggles he was using to repair a three-year-old patient’s severe facial burn. He’d already debrided the affected area and was trying to place a full-thickness skin graft over the worst of the damaged tissue. This was the most delicate part of the surgery, but as he operated he was keenly aware of Moriah seated mere inches from him, monitoring little Anita’s anesthesia. Despite his attempts to arrange otherwise, Moriah had been the anesthesiologist assigned to his first case. Rather than create a scene in front of George that would have required some sort of explanation, he’d left the room assignments as they had been and tried to ignore her presence while he concentrated on the delicate surgery.

  He was failing miserably on the ignoring part.

  For years, he’d admired Moriah from afar. Her laughter. The way she smiled, so her whole face lit up like a Christmas tree. Her patience and skill as an anesthesiologist. The way she’d go from prim and proper to wild woman with one deep kiss.

  “I’m having trouble here.”

  Her voice drew him from his musings. He lifted his head from his microscope and met her gaze. “What is it?”

  “Anita’s pulse ox is dropping.” All he could see of Moriah was her deep brown eyes above her surgical mask, but they were filled with worry. “I can also hear wheezes through both sides of her lungs. I think she might have asthma.”

  “Was asthma reflected in the pre-op assessment?” Blake asked, turning his attention to the task at hand. The sutures he’d placed on the facial skin graft were nearly complete, the worst part of the surgery almost over. He needed little Anita to hang on a little longer.

  “No, her mother denied she had asthma.” Moriah’s tone was filled with doubt. “I suspected she might, because her lungs sounded a little tight even then, but I didn’t push.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up about it. We’d have probably taken the risk anyway. Her burns were pretty severe.” Blake placed the final suture, then raised his head in relief. “The graft is finished. All I need to do is dress the donor graft site and she’ll be ready to roll.”

  “I’m giving her a dose of solu-medrol,” Moriah told him. “Let’s hope this works.”

  “Good. Keep me posted on how she’s doing.”

  “I will,” Moriah said. He didn’t doubt her for a minute. She was one of the best anesthesiologists he’d ever worked with. Maybe that was partly the reason he hadn’t pushed George into changing room assignments.

  A few minutes later, she announced, “Pulse 130, BP 96 over 40, pulse ox still marginal at 90 per cent. If her pulse ox drops any lower, we may have to abort the case.”

  Aborting the surgery wasn’t optimal, but he understood Moriah’s concern. Prepared for the worst, he concentrated on placing one tiny suture at a time. These burns were the most difficult procedures they’d perform over the next few weeks. The contracture releases were less complicated and there were a few cleft lip and cleft palate repairs to be done as well. All types of surgery posed a risk, especially when there were so
many potential complications, and the risk was even higher when your patient was barely three years old.

  “Anita’s pulse ox is still dropping, Blake, it’s hovering at 89 per cent. Do you think I should give her another dose of steroids?” Moriah’s voice wavered with uncharacteristic uncertainty.

  “Yes. I’m almost finished here.” He wished he had time to reassure Moriah, but he’d just have to talk to her later. He glanced at the nurse who hovered nearby. “Will you help me dress this graft site? We need to get this patient finished quickly, before her condition deteriorates further.”

  “Of course, Doctor.” The scrub nurse began dressing the wound, a job he normally preferred to do himself. Still, he knew she was more than competent at the task.

  He placed the last suture, then carefully examined his work. Not because he thought it was the best he’d ever seen, but to make sure he hadn’t missed anything.

  “I’m all finished here. Go ahead and reverse her,” he told Moriah.

  “Are they ready for us in PACU?” she asked.

  All patients went to the post-anesthesia recovery unit after surgery. The nurses there were skilled in bringing patients out of anesthesia and getting their pain under control before they went to their rooms.

  “They’re ready.”

  “Good. I’m going to extubate her, I think breathing against the vent is making her worse.” Moriah removed the tiny pediatric-sized endotracheal tube, then covered Anita’s face with an oxygen mask. Blake noticed she kept a wary eye on Anita’s face as he helped her move the patient over to a gurney and wheel her into the PACU, located down the hall and round the corner from the OR suites.

  Greta, another American nurse, stepped forward to help settle Anita. They didn’t have all the equipment normally found in the States, but in some ways he liked that part. It forced them to examine the patient more closely, rather than depend on machines, which were known to malfunction at times. Greta listened to the girl’s heart and lungs the old-fashioned way, with a stethoscope.