Starting Now (Blossom Street #9)(15)

Now that they’d met, she’d look elsewhere.

“Hello, girls,” said the woman at the nurses’ station. “Lydia phoned to tell me you were on your way.”

“Sharon Jennings?” Libby asked.

“That’s me.” Sharon was a middle-aged woman, dressed in a flowered smock and white pants. Her smile was ready and warm. “I see you met Dr. Stone.”

“What’s his problem?” Libby asked, unable to hold back the question.

“We call him Heart of Stone around here,” Sharon said, laughing.

“I can see why,” Libby muttered. “He’s about as friendly as a rattlesnake.”

“But he’s cute,” Casey countered, eager to defend the physician.

“Yup. Real cute,” Sharon concurred. “And a great doctor.”

“Why do you call him Heart of Stone?” Casey asked.

Frankly, Libby was curious to know herself. Clearly he wasn’t the warmest person, but it sounded like there was more to it than that.

“He breaks hearts. Plenty of women who work here have set their sights on Dr. Stone, but he isn’t interested. I suspect he had a bad experience with someone and avoids hospital relationships.”

Apparently, he was looking to avoid relationships altogether, if his reaction to her was typical. The nerve of the man. Rarely had Libby taken a dislike to anyone the way she had old Heart of Stone. From the look of it, the feeling had been mutual.

“We brought you more hats,” Casey said.

“That’s wonderful.” Sharon took the two plastic bags and set them behind the counter.

“I’m Libby Morgan.”

“Glad to meet you, Libby.”

“Can we look at the babies?” Ava asked.

“Of course.” Sharon led them to the window that overlooked the nursery. “The newborns are here but the preemies are in a separate section.”

The babies were lined up in neat rows in small cribs with the surnames posted on the headboards. Each one was swaddled in a blanket of either pink or blue.

“They’re so cute,” Casey said, staring at them through the window.

“That one is crying,” Ava said, pointing to the baby with the name Wilcox printed above his head. “Shouldn’t someone see what’s wrong?”

“Crying is good for their lungs,” Sharon explained. “But we’re also short-staffed. We rely on volunteers to come in and rock the babies.”

“Could I volunteer?” Casey asked. “I love babies.”

“Sorry, sweetie, you have to be over twenty-one.”

Libby noticed the rocking chair in the corner.

Sharon must have followed her gaze because she looked at Libby and said pointedly, “Like I said, we could use a few more volunteers.”

“Don’t look at me,” Libby said, pressing her hand over her chest. “I don’t know a thing about babies.”

“You don’t need to,” Sharon insisted. “All that’s required is to hold the baby and rock. You’d be amazed how comforting it is. I swear the rockers get as much out of it as the rockees.”

Comforting? Babies? Libby had given up her marriage because she’d insisted on delaying having children until her career was at the right point. Seeing these newborns stirred awake a long-buried desire. She couldn’t help but wonder what might have happened if she’d given in and had Joe’s baby. Well, it was a moot point now. Still, the thought lingered.

“You might consider volunteering,” Sharon urged softly.

The most astonishing thing happened to Libby—her breath caught in her throat as the suggestion took root. She’d taken up knitting, and now after only a few minutes in the hospital she was actually considering becoming a volunteer. Was this what Hershel meant when he suggested that she get a life?

Chapter 5

Phillip Stone stood and escorted the young couple to the door of his office. Friday morning he would be operating on their three-pound son, who had been born ten weeks prematurely. Baby Blaine had a defective heart valve, a not uncommon defect. Over the course of his career Phillip had done this same procedure more times than he could remember.

Still, he’d never performed it on their son, and both parents looked as if they were about to cave in from anxiety and fear.

“I’ll see you Friday,” Phillip said in his most reassuring voice.

The wife paused and held his look. Her own eyes were rimmed with tears. “Dr. Stone, do you pray?”

He debated on how best to answer. When he was a kid, he’d memorized the prayers his mother had taught him. She was Catholic and his father, well, his father wasn’t much of anything. His grandmother had given him a Bible for his high school graduation. He still had it … somewhere.

“Annie.” The husband urged his wife toward the elevator.

“This is our first baby,” the young mother said, her voice quivering. “He means the world to us.”

“I pray,” Phillip said, after a lengthy pause. He hadn’t recently, but there’d certainly been times over the last thirty-nine years when he’d called upon God. Not always in the politest of terms, or in ways that might technically constitute prayer, but it was as close as he got.

“Then pray on Friday,” she urged, before turning away and joining her husband.