Free The Holiday Triplets by Jacqueline Diamond Page B

wide-eyed. The little girl ducked behind her mother, who regarded Sam with relief.
    â€œThe sight of you puts the fear of divine retribution into them,” the woman said admiringly.
    â€œNow let’s put the fear of divine retribution into that earache,” Sam replied, and helped the boy onto the examining table.
    By a little past noon, she’d prescribed antibiotics for earaches and ointments for rashes, completed well-baby exams, stitched a cut in a boy’s forehead and persuaded a tearful mom to seek family counseling for her marital problems. Between patients, Samantha’s outrage found its focus.
    Despite Jennifer’s attempts to call off the event, the press would be trickling in soon. The evil powers-that-be at Medical Center Management had seriously misjudged the situation, Sam mused with satisfaction as she took the stairs down. She’d corral the press in the parking lot and fire away.
    The center had aroused widespread support in blogs and tweets and social media. While most of the donations that trickled in were modest, sometimes just a few dollars, they came from a significant number of individuals. Thepublic appreciated this nonbureaucratic, caring attempt to reach out. Once reporters learned the whole story of the center’s ousting, there’d be a firestorm.
    Just what MCM deserved. As for Mark, he’d chosen his alliances. Despite a pang of concern, Sam refused to back down simply to spare him the embarrassment.
    On the ground floor, she met up with Nora Kendall. The gynecologist pinned her with a glance. “How are you doing? I’ve been worried about you.”
    â€œThe counseling center…”
    â€œI’m talking about your health.”
    â€œOh, that.” Sam glanced around to make sure no patients were nearby. She preferred to keep her medical issues private. “Not sleeping terribly well,” she admitted. “I’ve had a lot on my mind. I’m sure you’ve heard.”
    The other woman nodded sympathetically. “The hospital grapevine has been working overtime. I hope you locate new offices quickly.”
    â€œI suspect we’re about to get a lot of support.” Sam explained about the canceled press conference and the opportunity to make a public appeal, free of the restraint she’d promised Mark.
    Alarm flashed in Nora’s green eyes. “Hold on, Sam.”
    â€œDon’t you start into me, too!”
    â€œJust listen,” the other woman said.
    Sam planted hands on hips. “I’m listening. Talk fast.”
    â€œI realize that this feels like big business pushing around poor helpless women and kids,” Nora began.
    â€œThat pretty much sums it up.”
    â€œYou of all people should understand how it feels to have your chance at motherhood yanked away.” She paused as a couple of pregnant women walked past, before continuing in a low voice, “The new fertility center will help people from all over the world.”
    Because many countries restricted treatments such as in vitro and banned others, including the use of surrogate mothers, couples flocked to California with its open policies. “I sympathize,” Samantha said. “But when it comes to these high-tech procedures, we’re talking about the wealthy.”
    Nora shook her head. “Not necessarily. I have patients of very modest means who’re willing to spend every penny they can scrape together in order to have a family. And we’ll be accepting a percentage of charity patients. Even the wealthy have hearts. Don’t declare war on us.”
    Her use of the pronoun “us” brought Sam up short. She had been associating the fertility project so strongly with the corporate owner that she’d failed to consider the other stakeholders. Her fellow physicians. The patients. The babies that would come into the world loved and wanted.
    â€œI can’t just abandon…”
    â€œNo one