Starting Now (Blossom Street #9)(31)

Libby couldn’t stop smiling. It wouldn’t be long now. Intuitively she sensed this long dry period was about to come to an end. An oasis was in sight.

Sharon saw her and smiled. It was the same smile she’d had the day she’d insisted Dr. Stone was interested in Libby. Little did Sharon know the real reason he’d asked for a private word.

“Did Dr. Stone find you?” the nurse asked as soon as Libby entered the nursery.

Libby frowned. “No.”

Her smile grew to the size of a Cheshire cat’s. “He asked about you again.”

“Oh, goody.” If he had more news along the lines of what he’d shared last time they spoke, she’d rather not see him, she mused wryly. Then again he’d been on her mind almost nonstop since the day they’d met in the elevator, and then later when he’d asked her to coffee. No matter how many times she tried to keep him from her thoughts, he was there. It’d been a long time since she’d been this strongly attracted to a man. It irritated her that she felt drawn to Phillip Stone. She didn’t even like him. He was arrogant and rude and yet … yet he’d cared enough about a young girl to risk approaching Libby with his concern. That couldn’t have been easy.

“He … he hasn’t been to the gym in a while. If he wanted to talk to me, all he had to do was show up there,” Libby said, thinking out loud.

“That’s easily explained,” Sharon said. “His rotation for the operating room changed at the first of the month. He assisted last week, so if he hasn’t been following his regular workout schedule, that’s probably why.”

“Oh.” She hated to admit it, and she would not to anyone, not even Robin, but the fact was that she’d missed seeing him. She’d wanted to tell Phillip how she’d handled the situation with the girls and get his reaction. And truth be told … she was looking to feed this attraction. Yes, he had a great body and he was good-looking. Robin called him “hot stuff” and that was all well and good, but it was more than that. She appreciated what he’d done, and gradually her opinion of him had started to change. She’d heard from Sharon and other nurses how deeply Dr. Stone cared for his tiny patients and their parents. Despite herself, Libby found herself wishing she would run into him.

The last time Libby had felt like this was in college, when she first met Joe while waitressing. Joe’s personality was completely the opposite of Phillip Stone’s. Joe was funny and outgoing; he was the kind of guy everyone wanted at their party simply because he was so likable. Part of his charm came from his large, chaotic family.

After Timmy was killed, Libby had been raised as an only child. She’d been fascinated by the bantering exchange between Joe and his siblings. Family gatherings were noisy, chaotic affairs, with babies crying and children madly racing through the house. The men gathered around either the television or the barbecue, and the women congregated in the kitchen, exchanging recipes or housekeeping tips. Libby had felt completely out of place, and she’d often sat in the corner on her visits to his house, unaccustomed to the noise and pandemonium. Still, she’d loved it, and she missed spending holidays with his family even more than she missed Joe.

“Well, Dr. Stone wants to see you,” Sharon said, looking pleased with herself, as if she was solely responsible for matchmaking the two.

Rather than continue this unsettling conversation, Libby looked at the newborns lined up in neat rows in the nursery. There’d been a full moon, and Sharon had warned her that there were always more births at such times. The nurse had been right, because Libby had yet to see this many newborns at one time. But then again she’d been a volunteer for only a short while.

“You’re very good, you know,” Sharon mentioned, reaching for a chart.

Libby paused. “With the babies?”

Sharon set the chart down and looked at her. “You’re a natural. I’ve watched you. The first couple of times I could tell you weren’t accustomed to holding an infant.” She smiled, as though reliving the memory. “It was almost as if you were afraid they were going to break, and then after a while you relaxed and started to sing. The transformation in you was amazing. Really amazing.”

Libby was too tongue-tied to respond right away. “I remember my mother singing to me.” The memories were fleeting. She’d been sick with strep throat, Libby recalled, and her fever had raged for two days. It had hurt so much to swallow. Back then test results took twenty-four hours. Now, from what she understood, it took only minutes to diagnose strep, but when she was young it’d taken time to grow the culture.

Her mother had sat on the edge of Libby’s bed, under the pink canopy, and gently brushed the wet hair from her fevered brow and sang her to sleep. If Libby closed her eyes she could almost hear her mother’s melodic voice.

Sharon’s words meant a great deal. “Thank you,” Libby whispered. The nurse was right. In the beginning it had felt awkward to hold these tiny babies. This morning as she walked to the hospital, Libby realized how eager she was to spend time with the precious newborns.

“Do you have children?” Sharon asked.

Libby looked away and shook her head.

“You should. You’d make a wonderful mother.”

Her throat thickened and she moved toward one of the cribs rather than let her friend know how deeply the words had touched her.