The Holiday Triplets Page 13

  “They’re engaged again,” she told him. “Lori swears she isn’t going to waste time planning a big ceremony. They don’t want to wait.”

  “But didn’t you and Jennifer already buy bridesmaids’ dresses? Plus she’s got a big family in Colorado.” Last fall, Mark had overheard months of chatter about his nurse’s elaborate plans for a church wedding followed by a reception.

  “She wants a simple ceremony with a few close friends,” Sam replied cheerily. “Later, she and Jared will throw a big party.”

  He finished loading the dishwasher and asked the big question, “Which of them changed their mind about having babies?”

  Sam twinkled at him. “You sure you wouldn’t rather wait till tomorrow and ask them yourself?”

  Mark assumed a bland expression. “You’re right. It’s no big deal anyway.”

  “Of course it’s a big deal!” she flared. “That’s why they broke up.”

  “Then I guess you ought to tell me.”

  Sam poured a fresh cup of coffee. “Well…” She took a slow sip, drawing out the tension.

  “It must have been Jared,” Mark teased, although he suspected the opposite was true. “He’s around babies all day. Getting stuck with them at night, too, must have been too much for the man.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous! He didn’t feel stuck.”

  “So it’s Lori.”

  Sam settled onto the couch. “She says Jared’s nothing like her father, who refused to get up at night or even change a diaper. And her parents had six kids! That’s why her mother dumped so many child-care duties on her.”

  “And she developed an aversion to motherhood. But Connie, Courtney and Colin fixed her, did they?”

  “Those munchkins charmed the socks off her. She asked if she could borrow them now and then. I said yes, of course.”

  When Mark sat down beside her, Sam nestled against him. He looped an arm around her, careful not to jostle the coffee cup. “After the counseling clinic leaves, we should turn those offices into a wedding chapel. Lori and Jared, Tony and Kate—we’ve got a full slate of weddings coming up.”

  Sam’s eyes shone. “We could offer a full-service facility. Get married on the premises, conceive in the fertility suite, and deliver right in the same building.”

  “Dr. Tartikoff’s keen on innovation,” Mark mused. “He should love it.”

  “Dr. Tartikoff?” She looked impressed. “I had no idea we were aspiring that high.”

  “Nothing’s firmed up yet,” he warned. “In fact, I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

  Sam sighed. “Don’t worry. I’ve become the soul of discretion.”

  “How long do you suppose that will last?”

  “Two to three hours. Or possibly days. I’m in a beatific frame of mind, what with the Christmas party less than a week away.”

  At the thought of Christmas, a shadow flitted across Mark’s sunlit horizon. He ought to warn Sam that Mrs. Wycliff and her daughter might attend. But if he brought them up now and Sam went nuclear, that would be unfair to Ian, who’d stuck his neck out to invite them.

  Besides, no one had confirmed that they planned to be there. Why risk spoiling today’s mellow mood?

  Instead, he brought up a happier topic. “I spotted a Christmas tree lot on the way up here. We could surprise the triplets.”

  Sam set her empty cup on the coffee table. “They’re too young to be surprised.”

  “No one’s too young to be surprised,” Mark assured her. “Birth comes as a big surprise to newborns, believe me.”

  “It comes as a shock,” she corrected. “You can only be surprised if you’re expecting things to be a certain way in the first place. Babies don’t have a fixed sense of how things are supposed to be until roughly 18 months.”

  He regarded her in amusement. “I should know better than to argue about child development with a pediatrician.”

  “By the way, I’d love to get a Christmas tree.” She extended her legs across his, half sitting in his lap. “We don’t have to leave yet, do we?”

  “No. I have a much better idea of what we could do this morning,” he told her.

  As it turned out, so did she.

  FROM THE TOP OF AN OVERSTUFFED closet in her house, Sam retrieved a box of ornaments she’d collected, by chance and by luck, over the years. Rainbow glass globes and glittery stars, shimmering angels, cherub dolls, along with velvet bows and strings of lights. Some had been gifts, others yard-sale finds or impulse buys at post-holiday clearance sales.

  Despite their admitted mutual ignorance of tree trimming, she and Mark managed—with advice from the internet—to wedge the tree into a base, fill it with water and prop it upright. Then they hung and dangled ornaments and lights around the aromatic branches. For good measure, they also tacked a strand of colored lights across the front of the house.

  The triplets, who’d been fussy in the car, had calmed once Sam got them home. True, their feedings and diaper changes slowed the tree decorating, but she enjoyed the sense that they’d already begun to feel at home here.

  The little innocents hadn’t a clue that they’d already worked a Christmas miracle, Sam mused as she stood atop the ladder, capping the tree with a giant star. When she and Mark had arrived at Jared’s to pick up the babies, Lori had beamed at her fiancé, who’d scarcely stopped touching her while they regaled their two friends with their plans to get married as soon as next week.

  Lori still wanted Sam and Jen to be her bridesmaids, and there’d be a small reception immediately following the ceremony. Her list of a few close friends was expanding to include coworkers, and just before Sam left, Lori had mentioned that she would invite her family, after all.

  “I don’t want to hurt their feelings,” she’d said. “I mean, I only plan to get married once.”

  Tearing her thoughts back to the present, Sam descended the ladder. Mark gripped her protectively around the waist and lifted her from the last step to slide her down the length of his body.

  “I like the way that feels.” She draped her arms over his shoulders. “Think anyone would notice if we made the most of it?”

  Clearing his throat, Mark dipped his head toward their audience arrayed in carriers around the tree. “Let’s keep this G-rated.”

  “They’re too young to tell the difference.”

  “Science is always discovering unsuspected aspects to memory,” he murmured. “Do you want them to end up on a psychiatrist’s couch forty years from now, explaining why they have strange fantasies involving Christmas trees?”

  Sam poked him in the ribs. “All right, then. Stand back.”

  He complied. She turned off the overheads, then switched on the tiny lights.

  The tree glowed with a display of treasures transformed into fairy gifts. Outside, twilight had fallen, which only intensified the brilliance inside. One of the babies cooed appreciatively. If it was a burp, Sam didn’t want to know it.

  “Their first Christmas tree,” she said. “Mine, too.”

  “You mean in this house?”

  “Since I’ve been an adult,” she clarified. “How about you?”

  Courtney began to cry. Without missing a beat, Mark picked her up. “In Florida, my staff gave me a miniature tree that sat on my coffee table. Does that count?”

  “No,” she said.

  “Then it’s the first.”

  “We’re virgins.”

  “I wouldn’t put it that way.”

  Sam basked in the warmth of his gaze. Who could have imagined two weeks ago that today she’d feel so free and lighthearted?

  Must be the spirit of Christmas. And, she conceded as she stole a glance sideways in the dimness, it was because of Mark.

  He seemed easy and natural around her and the babies. There was, she supposed, a reserve in him that might always be there, but she’d never wanted the sort of relationship where a couple did everything in lockstep. He could live in his house and keep his schedule, and they could be together when i
t suited them both.

  Things were just fine.

  THE WEEK BEFORE CHRISTMAS always passed a bit slowly at the hospital. Patients avoided elective surgeries and the number of births dropped off slightly. As much as possible, doctors scheduled C-sections before or after the holiday period, when many of them went out of town.

  As a result, Mark had the treat of performing extra deliveries. Holding each newborn felt even more special than usual, because of the triplets. This little boy showed a trace of Colin’s spunk. That girl appeared worried, like Courtney. And when a small defect presented itself, like Connie’s discoloration, he could assure the parents from the heart that they would fall in love with the baby just as deeply.

  On Wednesday, Dr. Tartikoff called to discuss ideas for adding fertility center staff and to ask about the timetable for renovating the facilities. Although he hadn’t officially committed, he promised to make a decision soon after the first of the year.

  Informed by phone, Chandra was ecstatic. “Keep him happy, Mark, whatever it takes.”

  “Within reason.” He wasn’t sure how much to believe of Owen’s reputation for being difficult. So far, Mark had seen no signs of temperament, but then, he hadn’t crossed the man, either.

  “The board is counting on you to land him,” the vice president said. “Don’t let us down.”

  “I’ll do my best. Merry Christmas.” Mark hoped she didn’t detect a note of irony.

  “Yes, yes, of course. Merry Christmas.”

  Chandra had once mentioned having two grandchildren. He hoped that when they jumped onto her lap, they didn’t get frostbite on their little rear ends.

  On Thursday afternoon, Jennifer stopped into Mark’s office to confirm that Mrs. Wycliff and her daughter would be dropping by the party. “She’s a real dynamo,” the PR director told him. “Honestly, Sam’s met her match. Or rather, she will be meeting her match.”

  “Let’s hope they hit it off.” Mark felt a moment of disquiet. But surely Eleanor’s involvement was the best Christmas present the clinic could receive.

  “Samantha’s been happier this week than I’ve ever seen her,” Jennifer added. “You’re good for her.”

  Obviously, Sam’s closest friends knew of the weekend excursion, but Mark felt obliged to sound a note of caution. “I’d rather this didn’t become a topic of general discussion.”

  “It won’t.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Ready for tomorrow night?” Jennifer asked.

  He had nothing scheduled Christmas Eve except on-call duty. “What do you mean?”

  “You haven’t forgotten our annual caroling?” she chided.

  “Actually, I did.” Members of the senior staff traditionally sang carols throughout the hospital to cheer up those who had to work as well as patients stuck here when they wanted to be home. “Thanks for reminding me.”

  “I’ll drop the lyric sheets on your desk,” Jennifer said. “Seven o’clock. We’ll start on the top floor and work our way down.”

  “Great.” He did enjoy the tradition. Last year, Samantha had displayed a throaty contralto that struck Mark as incredibly sexy.

  After Jennifer left, he checked his email and clicked open an angel-bedecked card from his sister. It included the notation, “See you around three o’clock Saturday.”

  He emailed back directions to the hospital, details of the party and a reminder of his cell phone number. “I can’t wait to see how you’re doing.”

  Bryn was really coming. She’d be keeping her word, at last. This year, he felt certain—almost—that if he were a fortune-teller, he’d see a yard sale and a glass knickknack in his future.

  This was one bet he looked forward to losing.

  Chapter Fourteen

  On Christmas Eve, after eating a quick dinner at home, Sam took the babies to the hospital nursery. With plenty of cribs available on the holiday, the staff had volunteered to babysit for the carolers.

  Jennifer’s Rosalie was already here, along with Tara, Tony’s month-old daughter. Tiny as they were, each baby already had quite a story, Sam mused. Rosalie and the triplets had been relinquished, while Tara had been born to a surrogate mother. At least, Kate had started out as a surrogate. After Tony’s wife, Esther, also an attorney, abandoned him and their unborn baby for a high-powered job in Washington, he’d stepped in as Kate’s birthing partner. By Thanksgiving Day, when Tara arrived, the couple had fallen in love. They planned to marry in the spring, as soon as his divorce became final, and Kate now volunteered at the clinic as a peer counselor.

  Lingering beside Connie’s bassinet, Sam tried to imagine what it would be like to be a bride walking down an aisle. As a teenager, with the threat of cancer hanging over her head, she’d never dared fantasize about her wedding. Later, she’d figured she would rather spend her money on a good cause than a fancy ceremony. Now, she had to admit she’d love to indulge just a little. Beautiful flowers filling a chapel, a couple of friends in elegant dresses, and, most important, a man waiting for her by the altar, his face suffused with love.

  Wonder who that could be….

  “Dr. Forrest?” A nurse signaled for her attention. “There’s a woman in the hall asking for you.”

  “About the caroling?”

  The nurse frowned. “I don’t think so.”

  Sam shifted into take-charge mode. “Thanks. I’ll handle it.” Who could this be on Christmas Eve?

  In the nearly deserted third-floor corridor, a stocky woman with disheveled graying hair stood, arms folded. From her wrinkled housedress to her truculent expression, she inspired immediate wariness. But Sam strove not to judge by appearances.

  “I’m Dr. Forrest. What can I do for you?” She dispensed with the usual holiday greetings, since this woman didn’t appear to be in the mood.

  “I’m Vivien Babcock. I’d like to know why there’s nobody at the counseling clinic. You must all be too busy planning your big party tomorrow to waste time on actual clients.” The woman’s jaw thrust forward.

  Sam fought down her instinctive dislike of an exaggerated sense of entitlement. Experience had taught that sometimes the most disagreeable people were the most in need of help. “Is this an emergency?” It had better be, on Christmas Eve.

  Vivien continued to glare. “I’ve decided to leave my husband. He’s a rotten piece of scum.”

  Sam scrutinized the woman for signs of abuse. She detected no obvious bruises and no wincing or favoring an arm or leg that might be injured. “You’re leaving him tonight?”

  “That’s right—you know how they always get ugly on holidays” was the vague reply.

  Upstairs, the carolers must be wondering what had delayed Sam. Straining for patience, she asked, “Who are ‘they’?”

  “Men,” Vivien snapped. “He’s my third husband, so I guess I’m an expert.”

  An abusive husband was likely to use force to prevent his wife from leaving. “I can arrange to admit you to a women’s shelter.”

  “Is that all?” Her lip curled.

  “If you feel in danger, you should ask the police to accompany you, or simply leave without telling him,” Sam advised. “Walk away from the hospital and don’t go home again. Are there children who might be in harm’s way?”

  “My kids are grown, and a fat lot they care what happens to me. Is that all you have to say?” Vivien’s voice rose, with no apparent concern for the open doors to patient rooms along the hall.

  “I run a small counseling clinic, not a crisis center,” Sam told her. “However, I’d be happy to put in a call to—”

  “Never mind.” With a toss of her unbrushed hair, the woman marched off. Not limping, Sam noted.

  Perhaps she should hurry after her, try to learn the whole story and figure out what resources she needed. Sam hated turning away a person who was clearly in pain and possibly in danger, no matter how obnoxious she might be. But tonight, she lacked both the energy and the will to pursue the matter.

  After that wondrousl
y relaxing getaway with Mark, she’d had a busy week. On Monday, the triplets’ father had gladly signed papers giving up his rights. Although Candy still had roughly three weeks before signing her final relinquishment, she’d admitted to feeling relief at being free again.

  “My aunt in Colorado invited me to move in with her,” the young woman had told Sam. “She’s a hairdresser and she’s going to help me get into cosmetology school. It’ll be fun.”

  “You sure you’re okay with this?” Sam had pressed, despite her anguish at the possibility that Candy might renege.

  “If I gave them to someone else, I’d probably worry,” Candy had said. “But it’s you, Sam. In a funny way, I always kind of felt like you were their mother.”

  “I guess I did, too.”

  While the situation with the babies seemed on track, the clinic’s immediate future still hung in the balance. Several volunteers had suggested possible new locations, but despite Sam’s inquiries, none had panned out. Then a salsa band canceled its promise to play for free at the fundraiser. Luckily, she was able to replace it with a mariachi band. She already knew some of the musicians, who were related to a twelve-year-old brain cancer survivor, a onetime patient of Sam’s whom she’d referred to Children’s Hospital, a few miles away in the city of Orange. According to the last report she’d received, his cancer was in remission.

  Another battle won, at least temporarily.

  On the top floor, she emerged from the elevator and followed the strains of “We Three Kings” around a corner. There stood a hardy and mostly on-key band: Jared and Lori, on whose finger sparkled a ring; Tony and Kate with her five-year-old son, who kept muffing the words; Jennifer and Ian, nursing director Betsy Raditch, PR assistant Willa Lightner and her teenage son and daughter. And, overshadowing them all, Mark. His gaze lit instantly on Sam as if he’d been watching for her.

  Happiness tingled through her. As the carolers launched into “Joy to the World,” Sam moved to his side and united her voice with his.

  ON CHRISTMAS MORNING, Mark awoke in a bed that wasn’t his. Today, however, he felt very much at home in it.