She shakes her head. “He’ll be fine. I don’t like that he’s a week old, and no one has detected the problem. He’s not allergic, but he can’t digest the milk properly. We need to take him to the doctor so we can confirm my suspicions.”
“Aren’t you a doctor?”
“Yes, but not the right one. We need a specialist. Do you happen to have a pediatrician on speed dial?”
“That mocking tone isn’t nice, Doc. And I do have someone who can help us.” I pull out my phone from the pocket of my jeans. “We’ll be in Seattle soon.”
Fisher: Can we get the helicopter? We need to see Dr. Hawkins.
I head to the kitchen to take a picture of the formula in case the doctor asks us what we’re feeding him.
Lang: Is the baby okay?
Fisher: He might have an allergy.
Lang: Don’t you have a doctor in town?
Fisher: She’s not a pediatrician—her words.
Lang: They’ll pick you up in thirty minutes. I’ll have a car waiting for you.
Fisher: Thank you, Langy.
“You’re coming with me, right?” There’s no answer. When I look up, I realize she’s not around. Fuck, where did she go? I’m about to send her a text when I see her come downstairs with the baby carrier and a big bag.
“What is this monstrosity and I’m not talking about the baby?” I ask, taking it from her. It’s as heavy as my camping backpack. Then I grab the baby carrier with the tiny human inside.
“It’s a diaper bag,” she answers. “We have at least three changes of clothes, all the necessities to clean any major disaster. I added two bottles, boiled water but no formula.”
“Do we need all this?”
“According to Tracy, we do. She sent me a list of things I needed to know, and how to pack a diaper bag was part of it. She suggested a change of clothes for the parents. I’m going to ignore that though.”
Her friend keeps saving me from my lack of parenting skills. “Once we get the handle of this baby thing, we’re sending her a basket of fruit or flowers or…what is the one thing she wants in the whole wide world?”
She gives me a mischievous grin. “I’ll tell you when it’s time to repay.”
I tilt my head toward the door. “Well, let’s head toward the farm. The helicopter should be here soon.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Fisher
Five hours later, we’re at home with three different brands of non-soy-non-lactose formulas to test. We want to make sure he eats something he enjoys. Dr. Hawkins said it didn’t matter, but it should matter, right? I love rocky road ice cream, but I don’t just eat any brand. Taste is not the point, of course. I’m just glad we figured out what was happening to our little demon.
It seems like Nathalie nailed what was wrong with Mr. Grumpy. He wasn’t feeling well because the food was upsetting his stomach. I’d be moody as fuck too if every time I was hungry they’d feed me something that made me sick.
“We need to name him,” Nathalie says as she squats and unbuckles the baby from his carrier. “You look happy. Is your tummy feeling better?”
“Thank you for figuring out what was wrong with him,” I say, placing the carrier and the diaper bag close to the stairwell.
“It was nothing.” She kisses the forehead of the baby, then pulls out her phone and takes a picture of him. “He looks so peaceful. We need to take several pictures of him like this, so when he’s five and terrorizing the entire neighborhood, you remember he was once an angel.”
The thought of having them both in five years intrigues me.
Will it be possible to keep them for that long? What if in just a few days they take everything away from me? Lang might come back and tell me he’s not mine. Nathalie will realize this place is a pit and we can’t fix it. Or worse, Dr. Hawkins might take her away because she saw potential wasted in a small town. She’s a rough diamond who needs a little polishing.
“So, what did you decide to do with the practice?”
The good doctor and Nathalie chatted about the practice during the baby’s examination. She gave her a few ideas that I didn’t love, but they made sense. Dr. Hawkins got upset when she learned that Dr. Westbrook left the practice without training Nathalie.
“I’m going to take the doctor’s offer. I’ll change the office hours to three times a week. That way, I can drive to Seattle to train with her during the other two. She’s right, you know. Even though I worked in the ER, I never had the proper training of a medical practice.” She takes a seat and rocks the baby.
They look adorable together. My mind keeps spinning, trying to come up with ideas on how I’m going to keep them with me.
“Names. We need to find a name for him.”
“Lucifer?” I joke.
She glares at me. “I’m serious. Open that book, and let’s try to figure out something. Are you using a middle name?”
“I don’t know. I hate mine.”
“Let me guess, it’s Constantine,” she laughs.
“I wish it was something like that.” I flinch as I say, “It was Wharf.”
She stares at me for a couple of seconds. “Your name is Fisher Wharf? Like the famous Pier 39 in San Francisco?”
I nod. “Well, it’s Fisherman Wharf but yeah that was the idea. I was Fisher Wharf Hannigan. At eighteen, I switched my middle name to W. I wasn’t going to live with that stupid name for the rest of my life.”
She covers her mouth and begins coughing. She starts laughing but stops when the baby protests.
“Enough about my pathetic name and my trendy parents. Let’s try to come up with a kick-ass name for him. Something that says I’m fucking fantastic.”
“We need to work on your language.”
I wiggle my eyebrows. “Are you going to punish me, Dr. Hottie?”
“What did I say when we landed? Stop hitting on me.”
“Don’t suck away the little fun that I have in this town.”
She reaches for the book and tries to open it with one hand. “How about Aurelius?”
I walk toward her, grab the book and shake my head. “Nope. That screams I was born in ancient Greece. At least give him the name of a god.”
Before she can say the next name, my phone rings. It’s Beacon’s ringtone. I set the book back on the table and answer. “What’s up, fucker?”
“Language,” Nathalie reminds me.
“You use that mouth to kiss your son?” Beacon asks.
I close my eyes and curse under my breath. Lang’s told everyone, hasn’t he? He’s a big gossip, but God forbid we use meeting time to catch up with what’s happening in our lives.
“So, you know?”
“Of course, we do. You haven’t called to congratulate me. I’m an uncle.”
“You have like a half-dozen nephews,” I remind him.
“Sure, but it never gets too old. Maybe in a couple of years you’ll get to be an uncle too. In any case, how are you?”
I run a hand through my hair. “Better? I feel like I’ve aged ten years since Lang dropped him off.”