Chapter 3
Chloe had left the River Café with a pleasantly full stomach and fifteen minutes to spare.
Since the doctor’s office was only one street over, she decided to walk, admiring the variety of shops along Main Street—everything from a bookshop with diamond-paned windows to a corner shop advertising fresh produce and homemade pies.
Colorful hanging baskets adorned the lamp posts lining the street, each one of them unique.
After a longing look at the coffee shop and bakery occupying one of the two story brick buildings, she crossed over to the next street.
The clinic was located in an imposing Victorian house with a brass plaque beside the door that read Dr. V.
Jackson, MD. The door opened into a wide entrance hall with high ceilings and elaborate woodwork that smelled of lavender and an intriguing spicy scent she couldn’t quite identify.
Watercolors of the surrounding mountains hung on the walls, and a fireplace crackled cheerfully in the parlor to the left.
The chairs in the parlor were empty, as was the reception desk.
“Hello?” she called.
A crash came from somewhere in the back, followed by a string of colorful cursing in a language she didn’t recognize.
“Just a moment!”
A few seconds later, the doctor’s receptionist emerged from the back of the house, carrying a stack of files that threatened to topple at any moment.
An older woman with a pleasant face, she had brown skin and orange petals woven into her neat dark bun.
Despite the old-fashioned cardigan buttoned across an ample bosom, she was clearly not human. A brownie, if she recalled correctly.
“Sorry, sorry! A bit of reorganization happening.” Petal placed the files neatly on the desk and beamed at her. “Hello again, Miss Bennington. You’re right on time.”
“Call me Chloe, please.”
“Of course.” Petal handed her a clipboard. “I entered the information you provided me with yesterday. Can you just confirm that everything is correct?”
She scanned the form—name, address, emergency contact (she’d left that one blank), medical history. Everything looked correct. She signed at the bottom and handed it back.
“Perfect.” Petal studied her thoughtfully for a moment. “I should let you know that the doctor can be a bit… brusque. He doesn’t mean to be, but he tends to be very focused. He’s an excellent doctor,” she added quickly. “I just don’t want you to feel intimidated.”
Intimidated? The warning suddenly cast her vision of a courtly southern gentleman in doubt.
“Right then. This way, Chloe.” Petal led her across the hallway, then knocked on one of the tall wooden doors.
“Dr. Jackson? Your eleven o’clock is here.”
“Send her in.” The deep voice sent an unexpected shiver down her spine as she entered.
The office was larger than she’d expected, and still retained much of its Victorian character with high ceilings and ornate floral wallpaper.
Morning light filtered through gauze curtains, bathing everything in a soft gold hue.
She was vaguely aware of Petal closing the door behind her, but her attention was caught on the man standing by the window.
He was tall, easily a foot taller than her, with broad shoulders and blond hair that curled slightly at the collar.
His features were sharp and aristocratic, with an unexpectedly sensual mouth.
He wore a white button-down with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, exposing muscular forearms, and charcoal trousers that fit him far too well for a small-town GP.
But it was his eyes that caught her attention—deep blue with an odd green tint, they studied her with an intensity that made her feel like he could see straight through her.
Petal had told her not to be intimidated but when their eyes met it wasn’t fear she felt.
Instead, it felt like a jolt of electricity ran through her body.
For a long moment she hung suspended in that luminous gaze before he cleared his throat and looked away,
“Miss Bennington.” His voice was deep and calm, without a hint of the southern drawl she’d expected. “I’m Vic… Dr. Jackson. Please, have a seat.”
Her feet finally remembered how to move. She crossed to the chair beside his desk, acutely aware of his gaze tracking her every step.
He’s my doctor. I’m his patient. That’s all.
So why did her pulse feel like it was trying to escape through her throat?
He rounded the desk and picked up her file, scanning the contents.
“It says here you’re twenty-four weeks along.”
“Yes.”
“And this is your first prenatal appointment since moving to Fairhaven Falls.”
“Yes. I’ve only just arrived in town. I had regular checkups with my previous practice,” she added hastily. “All the records should’ve been transferred.”
“They were.” He looked up, those blue eyes locking onto hers. “It appears to have been a healthy pregnancy so far. Your blood pressure is normal, and your glucose levels look good. You’ve been taking your prenatal vitamins?”
“Every day.”
“Good.” He set the file aside. “I’ll need to do a physical exam and an ultrasound today. Is that all right?”
She nodded, not trusting her voice. He rose and opened the door behind him to reveal a smaller room with a standard exam table in the middle, looking oddly out of place against the Victorian setting.
Long silk curtains covered the windows, no doubt for privacy, but they added to the intimacy of the room.
“Excellent. If you’ll step behind the screen and change into the gown—opening at the back, please—we’ll get started.”
She managed to stand without wobbling, which felt like a minor victory.
The screen was positioned in the corner of the second room, giving her a modicum of privacy.
She peeled off her cardigan and dress, her fingers clumsy on the buttons, and pulled on the paper gown. It crinkled loudly with every movement.
Deep breath. This is just a routine exam.
She emerged from behind the screen, her arms wrapped around herself. He had moved to the examination table, his expression completely neutral, and he gestured for her to sit.
“This will just take a few minutes. I’ll need to check your heart, lungs, abdomen. Let me know if anything feels uncomfortable.”
His hands were warm and gentle as he pressed the stethoscope to her back, and her heart sped up.
“Deep breath.”
She inhaled, trying not to focus on how close he was, on the faint scent of cedar and that intriguing spicy scent.
“Again.”
She breathed. He moved the stethoscope and listened again, then frowned slightly.
“Your heart rate is elevated.”
No kidding.
“Is it?” She aimed for casual. “I walked here. Maybe that’s why.”
His gaze flicked to hers, assessing. For a moment, she thought he’d call her on the lie. Instead, he nodded.
“Possible. We’ll monitor it.”
He checked her reflexes and her abdomen, each touch of those big warm hands creating a completely inappropriate spark of pleasure. She was painfully aware that her nipples had pebbled under the thin paper gown, and she kept her eyes fixed on the floral wallpaper.
It’s just because no one has touched me in so long, she told herself, but she’d seen at least four other doctors at her old practice and she hadn’t reacted that way to any of them.
He asked her questions about nausea and fatigue and movement.
She forced herself to breathe and concentrate on her answers, relieved when her voice came out mostly normal.
Finally, he stepped back.
“Everything looks good. I’ll do the ultrasound now.” He moved to the machine in the corner, flipping switches. “Lie back, please.”
She obeyed, staring determinedly at the ceiling as he draped a sheet across her lower half. “Now lift the gown to just beneath your breasts.”
Her hands shook as she obeyed, feeling utterly exposed, but at least it gave her an excuse to cover her traitorous nipples. He pulled the machine closer, then picked up the bottle of gel. He squeezed a generous amount onto her stomach and she jumped at the cold.
“My apologies.”
His voice was low. She risked a glance at his face and found him watching her, his expression unreadable. Then he picked up the wand. His knuckles brushed against her side as he pressed it to her skin, and she had to bite back a gasp at the sheer intimacy of the touch.
“You’ll be able to see everything on the screen.”
She looked. At first, all she could see was a swirling mass of grey and black, a chaotic storm of shapes. Then he moved the wand slightly and she heard it. A rapid, rhythmic drumming filled the room, like the wings of a hummingbird. The steady, relentless thump-thump-thump of a tiny heart.
Her own heart seized.
“That’s the heartbeat.” His voice was softer now, almost reverent. “Strong and steady. Everything looks perfect.”
She couldn’t speak. She just watched the screen, at the small, perfect being moving inside her. She’d had ultrasounds before, but this one felt different, more real somehow. Her vision blurred. She blinked hard, but the tears came anyway, spilling hot down her temples.
“Is everything all right?” His voice was closer now, concerned.
“Fine,” she managed. “Just… that’s my baby.”
He hesitated for a moment, then said quietly, “Yes. It is.”
She risked a glance at him. He was staring at the screen, his expression unreadable, but something flickered in his eyes. Something almost… possessive.
He cleared his throat, the spell broken. “As you can see, the head and limbs are the appropriate size for twenty-four weeks. All the organs appear to be functioning normally. Do you want to know the sex?”
The question caught her off guard. In the city, the question had been asked by a nurse who barely made eye contact, her hand already poised over the chart to check the correct box. Here, with his blue eyes waiting for her answer, it felt more significant.
“No,” she whispered, her gaze returning to the screen. “No, I want it to be a surprise.”
A ghost of a smile touched his mouth. “A wise choice. One of the few genuine surprises left in the world.”
He finished the ultrasound with efficient professionalism, though his touch seemed to linger a second longer than necessary when he wiped the gel from her stomach.
Then he told her to get dressed and meet him in his office.
She hurried behind the screen, her hands trembling as she pulled her dress back on.
What was wrong with her? He was her doctor.
She was pregnant and alone and she was mooning over him like a teenager.
No, not like a teenager. Like an adult woman whose hormones had suddenly roared back to life with a vengeance.
She’d never responded to a man like that before.
Not even Travis, at their first meeting, when he’d been charming and attentive and everything she thought she wanted.
Travis had been polished, controlled, a perfect fit for her meticulously planned life.
Victor Jackson was the opposite. He was controlled, yes, but it was the control of a dam holding back a flood.
There was a wildness to him, and it called to a part of her she hadn’t known existed.
Which is ridiculous. He’s my doctor, she reminded herself again. Nothing is going to happen between us.
Telling herself she wasn’t disappointed, she took a deep breath, smoothed down her dress, and did her best to fix a pleasant, neutral smile on her face as she went to join him.