The Holiday Triplets Read online

  Because many countries restricted treatments such as in vitro and banned others, including the use of surrogate mothers, couples flocked to California with its open policies. “I sympathize,” Samantha said. “But when it comes to these high-tech procedures, we’re talking about the wealthy.”

  Nora shook her head. “Not necessarily. I have patients of very modest means who’re willing to spend every penny they can scrape together in order to have a family. And we’ll be accepting a percentage of charity patients. Even the wealthy have hearts. Don’t declare war on us.”

  Her use of the pronoun “us” brought Sam up short. She had been associating the fertility project so strongly with the corporate owner that she’d failed to consider the other stakeholders. Her fellow physicians. The patients. The babies that would come into the world loved and wanted.

  “I can’t just abandon…”

  “No one expects you to,” Nora said. “But don’t take us down as collateral damage. You have a lot of power. The press loves you. You’re famous.”

  “I am not!” Besides, what mattered was her cause, not her personality.

  “The media makes instant celebrities, and you fit the bill,” Nora countered. “Use your power wisely.”

  Things no longer seemed as blazingly clear as they had moments ago. While Sam hated shades of gray, the last thing she’d ever do was abuse power. “I’ll try to temper my remarks.”

  “Try hard,” Nora said.

  A moment later, Sam emerged on the walkway. To her right, in front of the hospital, she spotted a TV van. She should be able to catch the camera crew before Jennifer sent them away. But what was she going to tell them?

  THROUGH THE HOSPITAL’S front doors, Mark watched Samantha approaching. “Tell me this isn’t going to be the shoot-out at the OK Corral,” he muttered to Jennifer. Even though she’d done her best to call off the media, she hadn’t—as predicted—been able to reach everyone.

  The PR director’s only response was an absent nod as she raced to wave down a camera crew. She also rounded up Tom LaGrange, a reporter for a local Orange County newspaper.

  “I’m afraid we’ve had to call off the press conference,” she was informing them as Mark came abreast. “The hospital will have a major announcement, hopefully in a few weeks, but there’ve been delays. I’m sorry I didn’t get hold of you in time to save you a trip.”

  Hayden O’Donnell, an on-air television reporter, regarded her and Mark skeptically. “We understood the announcement involved Dr. Forrest.”

  “And here she is now,” added LaGrange. He and the TV crew swung toward the pediatrician.

  Mark had to concede that Sam cut a striking figure, her hair just wild enough to give her character, and her face alive with purpose. But apprehension took the edge off his instinctive pleasure at seeing her.

  They were in for it now.

  “Dr. Forrest.” A microphone was thrust toward her. “What’s going on? Is someone trying to muzzle you?”

  Her gaze met Mark’s. Despite everything that separated them, he felt a jolt of connection. And, amazingly, hope.

  “I’m not sure what our PR director has told you so far,” she began.

  Jennifer seized her chance. “That the hospital isn’t ready to make any announcement yet.”

  “That’s right, although I would like to tell the public about our upcoming fundraiser.” To Mark’s amazement, Sam spoke calmly, without a hint of defiance. “There’ll be an open house from 2:00 to 4:00 p.m. on Christmas Day at the Edward Serra Memorial Clinic, on the fifth floor of the Safe Harbor Medical Center. Food, piñatas and entertainment. Our theme is ‘A Hot and Happy Christmas.’ Admission is free, but donations will be appreciated.”

  He began to relax. Was she really finished?

  “And we’ll be needing them now more than ever.”

  Oh, damn. To explain that ominous statement, Mark jumped in to run damage control. “People’s generosity always gets stretched thin during the holidays, with so many appeals. Yet during the same period, stresses on families increase. The counseling clinic becomes more important than ever.”

  “Plus the fact that we have to move,” Sam added.

  Mark held his breath. If only they were in the auditorium, as planned, he could seize the podium and freeze her out, awkward as that might be. But here on the sidewalk, the reporters were free to ignore him.

  Which they did.

  “What do you mean?” O’Donnell demanded.

  “Is the hospital kicking you out?” That was LaGrange.

  “For the past few months, the medical center has generously allowed us to use an office suite free of charge,” Sam continued into the microphone. “However, we’ve always known that was a temporary situation.”

  She hadn’t grabbed the opportunity to bludgeon the hospital’s reputation. Or was she building to an attack?

  “After the first of the year, the Serra Clinic will need a new home. I appeal to corporations and other generous sponsors in the Safe Harbor area to contact me about any space you may have available free or at low cost.”

  Unbelievable. The outspoken Samantha Forrest had not only tempered her words, she’d cast the hospital in a somewhat favorable light. And refrained from putting the blame on the planned fertility center.

  Jennifer blew out an audible breath of relief. Fortunately, the members of the press didn’t appear to pick up on her reaction.

  All the same, there was no mistaking the skepticism in the questions that flew at Sam. Both reporters demanded to know if she’d been pressured into downplaying the need to move.

  She held fast. “We have the best interests of women and families in mind. No one’s forcing us to do anything.”

  Crisis averted, for now. Mark could have hugged the woman. In fact, he hoped he’d get the chance. Soon.

  “Looks like we’re in the clear,” he observed quietly.

  “Uh.” Jennifer’s voice seemed to stick in her throat.

  “Sorry?”

  Wordlessly, she nodded toward the parking lot, where a van had pulled into the nearest handicapped space. A pudgy young woman with frizzy hair was unloading strollers with the help of a pregnant girl, probably a friend from the teen group.

  Candy. He’d specifically requested that she come later, around four.

  And, in the process, he’d told her about the press conference. Mark swallowed hard. How could he have forgotten that she was an even bigger drama queen than Sam?

  Still, her motives might be innocent. “I’ll handle this,” he said, and set off to talk to his patient.

  “Hey! Over here!” She waved at the press.

  “Excuse me.” Mark walked in front of her, trying to block their view. “I thought we were going to meet at my office,” he said to Candy as quietly as he could.

  “My boyfriend dumped me.” Her lower lip trembling, the girl stepped around him. Raising her voice again, she declared, “This counseling stuff isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Look at these triplets! I should have put them up for adoption, but Dr. Forrest talked me into keeping them. Now I’m stuck with three kids and no future.”

  “Of course you have a future,” he told her, averting his face from the rapidly approaching reporters.

  “Not since Jon left! You can’t expect me to earn a living and raise three infants.”

  Sam had gone pale with shock. This had to hurt. Mark knew she’d been trying to meet Candy’s needs, not browbeat the girl.

  It was also ironic that just when Sam had moderated her pronouncements in the media, her old tactics were being used against her. Even worse, from the hospital’s perspective, her attempt to paint Safe Harbor Medical Center as a sympathetic supporter of her project had just backfired.

  Because if Candy succeeded in making the clinic look bad, so would everyone connected with it. Including the hospital.

  And, Mark reflected ruefully, he’d be top of the list.

  Chapter Seven

  Had she really talked Candy into maki
ng a colossal mistake? Samantha wondered as the young woman and her friend lowered the triplets into strollers. She’d intended to help, not harm.

  As she walked toward the new mom, she sorted rapidly through her concerns. For one thing, these newborns shouldn’t be out in public, exposed to the gathering crowd of press and passersby. For another, what on earth did Candy hope to accomplish by attacking Sam and the counseling center?

  Still, this was hardly the moment for reproaches. Clearly, Candy had suffered a blow.

  Sam tried to ignore the riveted members of the press. “Why did Jon leave?” she asked. If this was simply a clash of temperaments, it might blow over.

  Candy stuck her chin out. “What do you think? He’s, like, twenty-one. You can’t expect him to take on this much responsibility.”

  “Why don’t we take this inside where we can talk privately?” Mark said. Sam could have hugged him.

  “Why should I?” Candy replied. “I have nothing to hide.” She turned one of the strollers to give a photographer a clearer shot of the baby. It was Courtney, her little face scrunched in the sunlight.

  “That’s too bright. It’s hurting her eyes.” Sam shifted the stroller. “Please, everyone, stand back. You don’t want them to catch an infection, do you?”

  The reporters shuffled slightly. Giving a few inches, at most.

  “You said you’d told him something that upset him.” Mark spoke in a level tone, his gaze fixed on Candy.

  “I told him the truth.”

  “About what?” Sam hadn’t suspected there was any hidden truth to reveal. The reporters leaned forward, trying to catch every word.

  “That I got pregnant on purpose. I figured he’d marry me.” The girl shrugged. “I wasn’t counting on triplets.”

  O’Donnell broke in. “Did you have fertility treatments, Miss, uh—could you tell us your name, please?” He gestured for a crew member to hand the mic to Candy, which was, in Sam’s opinion, akin to giving a hand grenade to a three-year-old.

  Or to me. For the first time, she understood how Mark must have felt all those times when she had seized the floor.

  “Candy Alarcon,” the girl said. “No, I didn’t need treatments. Twins run in my family. I just got one extra.”

  More people were gathering, attracted by the TV lights. “Everyone step back,” Mark ordered. “As Dr. Forrest pointed out, these newborns are susceptible to airborne illnesses.”

  At his commanding tone, the onlookers scattered. Even O’Donnell retreated before Mark’s stare.

  “Let’s go inside,” Sam murmured.

  Candy folded her arms. “No way. Look at that ugly Mark on Connie’s face! It’s still there.”

  The TV reporter perked up. “One of them has a birth defect?”

  Sam was losing patience. “It’s called a port-wine stain and we’re planning to treat it. Connie is a wonderful child with a minor problem. Candy has no idea how lucky she is. Giving birth to three healthy triplets is a blessing.”

  “Lucky? I’m the victim here.” Candy made sure the camera was trained on her before she added, “If people want to help, they can send donations to me. Candy Alarcon. I’ve set up an account at…”

  “Shame on you!” To Sam’s amazement, the words burst out of usually low-key Jennifer, who’d been doing her best to shoo away newcomers. “Exploiting these poor little babies when Dr. Forrest arranged for donations of supplies and services! What kind of mother are you?”

  For a tense moment, Sam feared Candy would retaliate. The press would love an open battle. Judging by Mark’s tense expression, she could tell he was thinking the same thing.

  He’d been right, Sam realized. She should have stayed away once he called off the press conference. Matters always seemed to get too volatile around her.

  “What are you going to do?” Tom LaGrange asked Candy.

  “Are you filing a lawsuit?” added the TV reporter.

  Did he have to bring that up?

  While the young mother weighed her reply, Sam moved to check on the babies. Courtney was grumbling so low she could barely be heard above the ambient noise. Colin’s mouth pursed, likely in search of a nipple. They needed to be fed. Connie waved an arm as if reaching for comfort. For her mom.

  Never mind the hullabaloo. Sam yearned to gather them all close. They deserved responsible, caring parents. Why had she foolishly imagined that someone as immature as Candy would rise to the occasion?

  Perhaps she’d projected her own feelings onto the young woman, imagining an inner strength that didn’t exist. With the best motives in the world, Sam had done these infants a terrible disservice. How was she going to fix that?

  The young woman’s words broke into her reflections. “I’m going to give them up under the safe harbor law.”

  “Safe Haven,” Jennifer corrected automatically.

  “Are you sure?” Mark asked. “Candy, these aren’t the best circumstances for making such a decision.”

  The girl stared at her infants. Courtney let out a cry, and Colin had started fussing. “I feel like I ought to love them, but I don’t. Not like a real mom. I thought maybe if I had enough money or something… I was just mad at Jon. I’m sorry, Dr. Forrest. I know you were trying to help.”

  “But aren’t you past the seventy-two-hour limit?” queried O’Donnell, his voice resonating as if he were revealing something of earthshaking importance.

  “The what?”

  “Under the Safe Haven law, babies can be surrendered with no questions asked if it’s within seventy-two hours of birth,” Jennifer explained.

  Candy frowned. “How many days is that?”

  “Three.”

  She stared at them in dismay. “You mean I’m stuck?”

  Colin chose that moment to let out a piercing screech. His mother glared at him.

  “Absolutely not.” Sam didn’t give a rat’s tail about the camera swinging toward her or the fascinated observers still lingering around them. “You want to relinquish your babies for adoption? I’ll be more than happy to take them. All of them.”

  “Even her?” Dubiously, Candy indicated Connie.

  “Especially her.”

  “Can she just do that—give them to you?” LaGrange asked.

  “It’s called a private adoption,” Sam told him. “It’s more complicated than a Safe Haven relinquishment, but we can take care of all the legal requirements in due time. Right now, she’s free to yield physical custody of the babies if she chooses to. What do you say, Candy?”

  As she registered the girl’s uncertainty and Mark’s raised eyebrows, it occurred to Samantha that she might have spoken hastily. Three babies with her full schedule? Cribs and a changing table and all that other stuff wedged into her two-bedroom house with zero preparation?

  None of it mattered. She loved these little ones. And she felt suddenly as if the events of the past week, from learning about her early menopause to her sadness at saying farewell to the triplets, had been preparing her for this moment.

  If Candy agreed, Sam was about to become a mother. In triplicate.

  CRAZY AS THIS WHOLE IDEA might be, Mark stood there silently rooting for Sam. If Candy had any sense, she’d accept the offer.

  And if Sam had any sense? Well, that wasn’t up to him.

  “Okay,” the girl said.

  The press appeared at a loss for words. That didn’t last long. “Tell me, Dr. Forrest,” intoned O’Donnell, “exactly what are the differences between surrendering a baby under the Safe Haven law, and signing one over for adoption?”

  She glanced past him. “I’ll let our staff attorney handle that. Here he comes now.”

  Mark spotted Tony striding toward them. “That’s good timing,” he murmured.

  Jennifer tapped her cell phone. “I called him.”

  “Thanks.” He appreciated her efficiency.

  As the press focused on Tony, Mark felt his concerns ease. He couldn’t blame Sam for a colorful tendency to shoot from the hip. In fact, her
knack for publicity would no doubt boost the fundraiser, and she’d handily deflected any negative impact on the hospital or the counseling center.

  On the other hand, under the glare of the cameras, she’d just made a lifetime commitment with scarcely a moment’s thought. Did she understand what she was getting into? While Mark had every respect for Samantha’s pediatric knowledge, that didn’t necessarily translate to a realistic understanding of parenthood. He might not be experienced in that regard, either, but he at least had the sense to recognize how much he didn’t know.

  Despite his impatience to talk to her, he paused to listen as Tony explained that before the Safe Haven law, a parent who dropped off a baby—even at a safe facility—and fled could have been charged with the crime of abandonment. The tragic result had been that women in desperate circumstances used to dump newborns in trash cans or other unsafe places. Now that they could leave them at a designated hospital or fire station without the risk of charges, far more babies were being saved.

  Still, it was better if the mother stayed long enough to provide a medical history and sign legal papers, Tony told them. That way, the infant could be placed for adoption without an investigation to ensure the child hadn’t been brought to the drop-off location by an unauthorized person such as a babysitter.

  “What about the triplets?” the TV reporter asked. “They’re over the time limit.”

  “Their mother isn’t abandoning them, so she hasn’t violated any laws,” Tony continued. “She’s free to relinquish them for adoption by signing the appropriate documents. The adoptive parent or parents must file a legal petition with the court and undergo a home study to make sure they can provide a suitable environment for the child or children. I’ll assist Dr. Forrest in making those arrangements.”

  “Doesn’t the father have any rights?” LaGrange queried.

  “That depends on the circumstances. We’ll try to get his signature, but if he refuses to take responsibility for the children, that may not be necessary.”