The Heart Doctor and the Baby by Lynne Marshall

and walked her to the office of admissions.
    So much for sneaking out of the clinic early today.
    Â 
    The next morning Jon cruised by René’s office on his way to discuss his schedule with the receptionist, Gaby. The door was closed. A young woman with bright red hair, a stained-glass-patterned tattoo covering one arm and a brow ring, sat just outside, flipping through a magazine.
    Immediately forgetting Gaby, he pushed on to knock on René’s door to see how she was doing, and the woman jumped to her feet.
    â€œSorry, but it’s Dr. Munroe’s quiet time,” she said.
    â€œPardon?” He must have heard wrong. Since when had René employed a bodyguard?
    â€œShe’s resting. She had a long night of surgery, and needs extra time with her feet elevated to make up for it.”
    â€œAnd you are?”
    â€œGretchen. I’m her doula.” She extended her hand at the end of her highly decorated arm.
    Oh, right, René had told him about hiring a woman as her pregnancy advocate. He shook her hand and made aU-turn. He’d wait until later to quiz René about their patient and how the C-section had gone, and besides, he really did need to talk to Gaby about his schedule.
    At noontime, René didn’t come into the lunchroom, and even though he’d promised to avoid her as much as possible, he went looking for her. He’d been too busy all morning to call her office, and after seeing the size of Chloe’s heart on X-ray, he became really curious about the health of the infant.
    With cardiomyopathy of this magnitude in their latest patient, it made sense that the dusky lavender-rose color of her lips had nothing to do with lipstick and everything to do with low oxygen.
    He forked several bites of spaghetti and meat sauce before his curiosity got the best of him. He shoved his food aside. Rounding the corner to René’s office, determined to get some face time, he came to an abrupt halt. Tattoo lady stood behind René’s chair, massaging something into her temples.
    â€œTake several deep breaths,” she said, and René did as she was told. “That should help your headache.”
    This was wrong. Totally wrong. If she needed someone to give her a head and neck massage he could fill that bill. Hell, he could be a lot more creative than smelly cream and deep breaths. He’d distract her with a leisurely afternoon in his bed, working her into a frenzy and satisfying her every need.
    Damn, he had to quit thinking this way, because he wasn’t doing himself any favors. He’d had to fight off his imagination daily since he’d kissed her, and his resolve was growing weak. He cleared his throat, and Gretchen snapped her head toward him.
    René glanced up bearing a sheepish look, and peachypink cheeks, the color of the afterglow he’d guarantee her if she’d only jump into his fantasy—a fantasy he shouldn’t be having in the first place, remember!
    â€œHi,” she said.
    â€œHey. It smells like—” he sniffed the sweet aroma “—peppermint?”
    â€œAnd eucalyptus,” Gretchen added. “Perfect for tension headaches—that’s what pregnant women suffer from when they don’t get enough sleep.”
    â€œAh.” He honestly couldn’t think of a proper response.
    â€œGretchen, thanks so much, but I’d like to talk to Jon if you don’t mind.”
    The full-bodied and freckled, where she wasn’t tattooed, woman gathered her huge bag of goodies and prepared to leave the room. “Don’t forget to take your prenatal vitamins. Here.” She set a plastic container in front of René. “This is your lunch. It’s perfectly balanced for you and the baby’s dietary needs.”
    He understood women had different perspectives than men on many levels, but had their clinic nurse practitioner, Claire, really recommended this woman to René? And René had