The Millionaire and the M.D.

By: Teresa Southwick

Amy shrugged.

To Grace’s credit, she didn’t react to the attitude. After making a note in the chart, she said, “The doctor will be with you in a few minutes.”

Gabe looked around the exam room, so similar to the ones he’d seen with Hannah. His chest tightened when he recalled those last times when the two of them and their baby had been together. He’d talked to her belly, telling the baby about baseball, football, how someday he wouldn’t think girls were from another planet and that hamburgers would be a lot more appetizing when they didn’t get processed by Mom first. In that little room decorated with poster-size anatomy charts and the blood pressure cuff mounted on the wall, he’d had everything he could possibly want. His fingers curled into his palms so tight his knuckles ached.

Then the door opened and a blonde wearing a white lab coat walked in, holding a chart. He did a double take because no way was this beautiful woman the doctor. Just like that, he felt like all the blood was sucked out of his head.

She looked at both of them. “Hi. I’m Rebecca Hamilton.”

“Gabe Thorne. And this is my sister, Amy,” he said, relaxing his fist as he extended his hand.

The doc took it, then shook hands with Amy. “Nice to meet you both.”

If she had questions about the situation, it didn’t show on her face—a practically perfect face with a sprinkling of freckles across her nose. And behind her wire-rim glasses were a pair of pretty brown eyes. He’d noticed a lot in a couple of seconds, including the fact that she seemed awfully young.

“I’m sure you hear this all the time, but are you old enough to be a doctor?”

She smiled and the unexpected brightness of it made him blink, then redirected the blood flow just returning to his brain.

“I promise I’ve taken all the classes, passed all the exams and done all the training,” she said.

“You hardly look older than Amy.”

“I am. Trust me.”

Trust me? Not exactly words that inspired confidence these days. Maybe he should have done some research. Access to a recommendation would have been pretty easy, and now he wished he’d made the time to ask instead of taking an appointment with the first doctor who had an opening. But why should he be concerned when Amy didn’t seem to give a damn?

He folded his arms over his chest. “I’m going out on a limb here and guess that you skipped high school and went directly to college.”

“Not quite. Just a few grades with a lot of AP classes thrown in.”

God help him he was going to hell for being a male chauvinist pig, and deserved to lose the hospital project that would expand the women’s wing, but it was hard to believe a knockout like Rebecca Hamilton could be that smart.

She smiled. “One patient asked if I was playing Baby Doctor Barbie. You’re quite the diplomat.”

If she could read his mind, she wouldn’t say that.

Rebecca sat on the rolling stool beside the exam table and carefully read the chart. “Amy, according to your paperwork you’re six months pregnant.”

“Yeah. I guess. I don’t know exactly.”

“She just arrived in Las Vegas,” Gabe explained.

“Okay.” The doc nodded. “We can request your records from your previous physician.”

“She hasn’t seen a doctor.”

For an instant, disapproval flashed through the doc’s eyes as her mouth tightened. “Is there a reason you haven’t been to a doctor?”

“I’m fine. He made me come today.” Amy lifted her chin and shot him a glare.

Rebecca met his gaze and nodded. “Good for you, Mr. Thorne—”

“Call me Gabe.”

“All right, Gabe.”

He wasn’t looking for a pat on the back, or anything else for that matter. So why in hell would her approval and his first name on her lips make him feel…What? Something. It was weird. He didn’t like weird any more than he liked feeling. If he had any choice, he wouldn’t do either.

“It’s hard to get medical care when you’re on the streets, Doc. She ran away from home. In Texas,” he added.

Amy gave him her best drop-dead-bastard look. “I’m eighteen. I can do what I want.”

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