Solution ….
While riding in a smelly, yellow taxi through pre-rush hour traffic, Meg watched the lights of various businesses roll by in the sea of traffic. One of them caught her eye, Windy City Women's Clinic. A sign in the window stated: Now Accepting New Patients, Dr. Andrew Milton, Fertility Specialist. Meg leaned closer to the window, trying to memorize the name and location of the building.
"I'll call for an appointment this afternoon." Meg thought to herself as she pulled an ink pen from her purse and wrote on the palm of her hand. If she couldn't have a family the old fashioned way, she'd have one the modern way, her way.
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"Good afternoon, Windy City Women's Clinic, how may I help you?" A friendly, woman's voice greeted Meg as she waited nervously on the other end of her cell phone line.
"I'd like to make an appointment with Dr. Milton." She tried to sound calmer than she felt. There was something so forbidden about it all for Meg.
"Name please?" The receptionist asked. The lady Mountie hesitated, not sure if she should give them her RCMP rank or not.
Finally, she went with, "Meg Thatcher." The receptionist gave her appointment options and the lady Mountie chose one for three days later.
"Constable Turnbull, please check the master schedule for any appointments on Thursday." Inspector Thatcher dialed her subordinate's extension after hanging up with the clinic.
"One moment please." Turnbull hummed as he flipped through the planner they all referred to for consular events.
"Inspector Thatcher, there's a luncheon scheduled for Thursday afternoon at one o'clock for the Swiss ambassador's birthday." Turnbull informed her in his annoyingly official, cheerful tone.
"Thank you, Turnbull." Meg hung the phone up. That didn't give her much time for a consultation appointment.
"I suppose if I'm going to be a working mother I should start learning how to juggle now." She thought to herself as she looked at the post-it note on her desk.
Thursday ….
Dr. Andrew Milton was an older man with white hair and thick glasses across a ruddy complexion. He looked like he should be helping Santa double check his list for Christmas. He walked into the exam room carrying Meg's freshly made chart, a forty-something nurse trailing behind him.
"Hello, Ms. Thatcher," He shook Meg's hand with a surprisingly warm grip. "I understand from your questionnaire that you're interested in in vitro fertilization." Dr. Milton spoke as if he were talking about something as simple as a sinus infection or a planter wart.
"Yes, my biological clock is ticking louder by the day." Meg adjusted the paper gown she'd had to change into for the initial examination.
"You're a professional woman then?" Milton washed his hands up past his wrists in a sink near the door of the exam room.
"Yes, I'm the Chief Liaison Officer attached to the Canadian Consulate here in Chicago." Meg answered, watching the doctor take his time.
"Sounds complicated." The doctor grinned, adjusting his eye glasses with a piece of paper towel he'd dried his hands on.
"More like stressful." Meg admitted, wondering how this exam would differ from her usual, yearly, gynecological exams.
"High amounts of stress can be detrimental to fertility." Dr. Milton said as he pulled a pair of exam gloves out of a box on the side of the sink.
"I'm going to have to transfer Turnbull, soon." The Inspector thought to herself as she laid back on the table.
Afterward …
Meg felt like every nerve was jangled after the exam. She'd had blood drawn, had to have a urine analysis, and a gyno exam. She looked at her watch and it was already twelve forty-five by the time she slipped back into her navy pumps. By the time she swung by the consulate and picked up Ambassador Jensen's gift it would be nearly one-thirty.
After checking out of the clinic Meg called the consulate, as much as she loathed it, she had to talk to Turnbull. Ten minutes of explanation later, she finally told him the reason for her call.
"Turnbull, have Constable Fraser take the ambassador's gift to the luncheon for me and I'll meet him there in a few minutes, I'm stuck in traffic." It wasn't quite the truth but Meg wasn't about to tell him she was going home to change after a gynecologist's exam.
"Understood, Sir, be careful." He wished her with his usual sunniness. Meg rolled her eyes and hung up.
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Fraser carried the Canadian whiskey wrapped in bubble wrap and placed in a tall, narrow, red gift bag with a very formal birthday card attached, white tissue paper crinkling with every step. Diefenbaker trotted along, people watching and sniffing trash cans as they passed them. A set of twins pulled away from their mother's hands and rushed toward him.
"Lindsey, Lilah, come here." The frantic woman called as she rushed to pull them away from the deaf half wolf. Fraser knelt down beside his furry friend, right on the first graders' levels.
"It's pretty!" One of the identical twins exclaimed as she stopped short of Dief. The wolf had stopped and sat back on his haunches, looking at Fraser for help. He loved children, but he didn't like the feel of their little fingers pulling at his fur or worse yet, getting something sticky in it.
"He's part wolf." Fraser said as he laid a hand on Dief's neck.
The twins' mother took her daughters' hoods and pulled them away from the strange dog. Her eyes were wide and she seemed a bit scared.
"That's neat, where'd you get him, Mister?" The other twin asked, her eyes as bright as the North Star.
"Diefenbaker saved my life five of six years ago, he found me." Fraser answered the child patiently.
"Does he howl like the ones on TV?" The first twin asked, pulling on her mother's grip.
"It's not polite to ask strangers questions, Lindsey, remember what we talked about the other day, you shouldn't speak to people you don't know." The mother squatted down and pulled her twins in close.
"I'm sorry, Sir, you know how kids are." She turned to Fraser and gave an apologetic smile. Both twins had her green eyes and dusting of freckles across their noses.
"Yes, Ma'am." He nodded with a friendly smile.
"Your mother is quite right, talking to strangers can be dangerous." Fraser agreed, looking from one girl to the other. Both of them pulled on their mother, trying to get their hands on Dief's silky coat.
"We know, it's just that he's so pretty." Lilah said, looking up pleadingly at her mother.
"Would you mind terribly if they pet your wolf, Sir?" The woman asked giving her daughter a wary glance.
"It's quite alright, Ma'am." Fraser answered, peering up at the petite woman. The girls pulled out of her grasp and began bombarding the deaf wolf with affection. He whined pathetically, making Fraser smile mischievously.
"Okay, girls, it's time to find a place to eat, we're late." Both girls hugged Dief and took their mother's hand.
"Thank you, Sir." The woman lingered, fishing for the handsome stranger's name.
"Constable Benton Fraser, RCMP." He obliged. From somewhere down the street came the sound of a church bell. A single chime; one o'clock.
"Oh dear, I should go." Fraser nodded toward Dief and the pair took off at top speed toward the luncheon.
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Meg arrived at the luncheon at five past the hour. She was shaking hands with the ambassador when she saw a flash of red. Her temper rose as she recognized Fraser. He stepped into line after her.
"My apologies, Sir, I was …." Meg looked up at him, her lips pursed and a dark brow raised above a cold, brown eye. Fraser simply gave her a small nod.
The Swiss Ambassador, Josef Jovanson, stood smiling and shaking hands with more people than he could possibly remember by himself. He was a tall, weathered man in his mid forties with a resonate voice and piercing blue eyes. Meg knew from experience he could dance with the best and that he was widely read with a dry sense of humor. He politely shook Inspector Thatcher's hand, lingering to ask her how she'd been since they'd seen each other last. Fraser waited in perfectly calm silence. That didn't keep his eyes from straying to the way Jovanson held Meg's hand in both of his or the way he kept glancing down at the crystal teardrop on a silver chain sparkling in the V of her maroon blouse. The Mountie clenched his jaw and took a deep breath as he waited for his superior officer to step aside.
"Ah, Constable Fraser, the Mountie I've read so much about in the local papers." Jovanson moved on to Ben, his handshake short and firm. Fraser couldn't help but give him the tightest grip he could muster. He saw the man wince a second before he smiled broader to cover it up.
"Ambassador Jovanson, hello." Fraser greeted him politely.
"Hello, Josef." An old golf buddy of the ambassador's called from the entrance to the dining area of the French restaurant where they'd been invited to dine.
"Licentious creep." Meg whispered when she got out of ear shot of the ambassador. She toyed with her necklace charm before pulling her blouse's lapels closer together. Fraser heard the remark but remained silent. Together they walked over to the round table for twelve in the corner of the large dining hall and sat down.
"I trust you brought the ambassador's gift as I had Turnbull tell you." Thatcher said through a smile as she sat down in the chair Fraser had pulled out for her.
"I must have left before Turnbull received the phone call." Fraser said, pulling out a chair for himself. Meg's eyes went wide with shock.
"I didn't stop by the consulate after my doctor's appointment." She gasped, turning to her subordinate.
Fraser turned his head to the side, confused. A doctor's appointment, whatever for? He didn't like the sound of that.
Meg wanted to sink into the chair upholstery and disappear. She hadn't told anyone about her appointment. Trying to explain it would only make it seem suspicious so she said nothing.
"I took the liberty of bringing the ambassador's gift and card when you hadn't arrived at the consulate by a quarter after twelve." Fraser spoke low, his eyes steady on Inspector Thatcher's. He saw her relax.
"Thank you, Constable Fraser, that shows initiative." Meg managed to sound condescending and thankful at the same time.
"You're most welcome, Inspector." Fraser laid his napkin in his lap as other guests arrived at the table. Waiters in dark, elegant uniforms served prepared dishes and wine. The Mountie abstained from the wine, laying his hand across the glass when they offered. Meg looked at the red wine then frowned. She drank a glass on rare occasions, like this luncheon, but with the prospect of getting pregnant looming, she decided to start herself on a healthy diet. Alcohol did not fit into her meal plan anymore.
The luncheon was a bore but with good food. A few of the ambassador's cronies gave speeches and they all sang "For He's a Jolly Good Fellow" before he opened presents. Meg's head ached from boredom by the time the first speech and the first course were over. Fraser had struck up a conversation with a deputy foreign affairs director's wife. She was old enough to be his mother but they seemed to be enjoying a lively discussion on the American justice system. When the older woman excused herself to the powder room an hour and a half later, Meg leaned over and whispered,
"I'm going to pretend to go to the restroom, leave ten minutes after I'm gone and I'll be waiting down the block for you." She advised.
"Isn't that rude, Inspector?" Fraser whispered back. Meg gave him an exasperated expression.
"Constable, I've got matters to attend to at the consulate, I simply wish to leave this luncheon without being asked a million questions that aren't anyone's business." She smiled but her low voice had an annoyed growl to it.
"Understood, Sir." Fraser nodded. Meg left for the restroom then ducked out the front door. It was good to be out in the open air, to hear the noise of cars and trucks as they moved past along the street. Birds flew between buildings or landed on traffic posts. Meg stood watching doves flit about when Fraser joined her down the block from the restaurant.
"Would you like me to hail you a cab, Inspector Thatcher?" Fraser volunteered, Diefenbaker catching up from sniffing a fire hydrant.
"How far are we from the consulate?" She asked, shouldering her purse.
"Four blocks." Fraser answered automatically.
"Let's walk back, shall we." Meg took off at a fairly swift clip, her purse bouncing at her side. She was quite a vision in her charcoal skirt and blazer with a maroon blouse, the wind toying with her pixie cut locks. Fraser watched her, enjoying the way she walked with confidence and a self-assured stride, her head held high and her shoulders back. Other men along the sidewalk watched her walk as well, some of them turning as she passed, some smiling as they walked toward their destinations. Meg didn't pay them any mind, watching where she was going or glancing at a shop window as she passed. Ben could have walked all day behind her.
Meg took off toward the consulate to keep her thoughts to herself. She liked the busy, white noise going on around her. The sight of Fraser's reflection in the shop window glass wasn't bad either. Four blocks went by entirely too fast to suit her. The lady Mountie fantasized about walking to a nearby park and sitting in the afternoon sun, Fraser beside her on the wooden bench. They'd talk about something besides the consulate, something inconsequential and he'd lace his fingers with hers and smile slowly as he gazed into her eyes. It was a tame, G-rated fantasy, but it made her happy just the same.
"Good afternoon, Inspector Thatcher, Constable Fraser." Constable Turnbull greeted them, rousing her out of her fantasy. He held a package that had just been delivered and a stack of envelopes.
"Hello, Constable Turnbull." Fraser greeted his fellow officer while Thatcher walked up the consulate steps and through the door her junior officer held open for her.
"I'll have your mail sorted in just a moment, Sir." Turnbull closed the door behind them as Meg walked to her office without responding.
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