West Wing to Maternity Wing!
Scarlet Wilson
Famous neonatologist Lincoln Adams is looking after the US President’s newborn daughter when nurse Amy Carson arrives at the hospital, posing as his very pregnant wife! Amy’s had first-hand experience of Linc’s skilful hands, and he’s the only person she trusts to look after her precious cargo. But trusting him with her fragile heart is another matter…
West Wing to
Maternity Wing!
Scarlet Wilson
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Dear Reader
This is my second story in the fictional setting of Pelican Cove based around the White House medical staff.
Picking a setting for a story is always difficult. When I started to write these stories I could see Pelican Cove very clearly in my head. A small town, sort of based on Murder She Wrote’s Cabot Cove, but set on the Californian coast. I also found a picture of a beautiful studio flat in San Francisco and used that as the setting for Lincoln’s apartment. I almost wish I could have stayed there myself!
Part of this story is about a young woman who has had breast cancer. I took this part of the book very seriously, and spoke to a number of women who have beaten this disease. I hope I’ve captured realistically everything that they told me. The most poignant part for me is the scene in front of the mirror with Amy and Lincoln. I just hope I’ve done it justice.
I love to hear from readers, so please come and visit me at: www.scarlet-wilson.com
Many thanks
Scarlet
This book is dedicated to my aunt—Margaret Wilson. Not everyone is as lucky as I am to have such a fabulous auntie. One who offers unfailing support to her three nieces and many great-nieces and nephews. And brings us wonderful holiday stories of ‘exploding’ strawberries and cream!
And to my editor, Sally Williamson, thank you for bringing me into the Mills and Boon family and looking after me so well. It’s been a pleasure working with you.
And to women the world over who’ve suffered from breast cancer. This one is for you.
PROLOGUE
LINCOLN ADAMS stuck his fingers into the collar around his neck and pulled—hard. The collar was at least an inch too small for him. It didn’t matter that the whole ensemble was Italian made from the finest materials. The suit trousers were an inch too short and the waist was an uncomfortably snug fit. He kept his arms firmly by his sides, his hands clenched in his lap, because if he leaned forward onto the table in front of him, the jacket would stretch across his back, restricting his movements. It was bad enough having to borrow someone else’s clothes, but when they were a size too small … The sooner he was out of here the better.
The White House press secretary swept across the room in a flurry of eye-catching blue silk with a tailored black jacket on top. Every pore of her skin emanated professionalism and efficiency, and she knew how to work a crowd. This was all her fault.
He gave a forced smile at David Fairgreaves, who sat down next to him. The old man didn’t look in the least fazed by the pandemonium surrounding him. In fact, he looked as if he might actually be enjoying it. Was he mad? Then again, for an international-award-winning doctor, this would be all in a day’s work.
Diane Green stood behind the podium next to him. Almost instantaneously the cameras started snapping around them and the noise level increased frenetically. She raised her hand and the press pack heeded. She had the information they’d all been waiting for.
‘Thank you for joining us here today at Pelican Cove for our happy announcement. You will all be aware that President Taylor and his wife, Jennifer, were expecting their first baby on seventeenth October. However, today, on the twenty-third of August, Charles and Jennifer Taylor are delighted to announce the arrival of …’ she paused for effect ‘… the First Daughter, Esther Rose Taylor, weighing four pounds ten ounces.’
The room around her erupted, questions being shouted from every angle. ‘Isn’t the baby too early?’
‘What was the First Lady doing in Pelican Cove?’
‘Where is her own obstetrician, Dr Blair?’
‘Was the President here?’
‘Where did the name come from?’
But Diane Green was the epitome of calm. Continuing with her carefully prepared statement, she lifted her hand again until the room was silent. ‘Esther Rose Taylor was born at thirty-two weeks gestation. The First Lady had been ordered to rest in the last few weeks of her pregnancy and had come to Pelican Cove to do exactly that. She was accompanied by her obstetrician, Dr Blair, who unfortunately had a myocardial infarction in the last few days. As a result of that the First Lady was looked after by …’ Diane Green gestured towards the seats to her right ‘… Dr David Fairgreaves, one of the foremost leading obstetricians in America, and Dr Lincoln Adams, one of our finest neonatologists.’ She gave a little nod towards the reporters. ‘I am pleased to report that the President was here for the arrival of his daughter and she is named after Jennifer Taylor’s beloved and much-missed grandmother. Any questions regarding the health of the First Lady and the First Daughter—’ a genuine smile swept across Diane Green’s lips, as if she was still to get used to saying that ‘—can be answered by our two highly qualified doctors here.’
Once again the room erupted and Lincoln Adams took a deep breath as this time the barrage of questions was directed at him. Let me out of here!
Amy Carson sat on the cold, clinical hospital bed, usually occupied by a patient, her hands fixed firmly on her swollen stomach. The plaster was falling off the ceiling above her and the wall hadn’t seen a coat of paint in—How long? What did the patients who usually ended up in this room think? The role reversal of staff member to potential patient wasn’t lost on her. Everything about this place was bland. Did she really want to end up delivering her baby in a place like this?
She gulped. How had she ended up here? The door opened and the nurse appeared again, wheeling the trolley that held the foetal monitor and sphygmomanometer. Amy felt herself tense. She knew it was going to be the same again—borderline.
She loved her colleagues here, but none of them had the specialist skills and expertise that this baby would need. More than that—nowhere in the surrounding area had facilities to deal with a premature baby. Everything about this made her uncomfortable. If only Lincoln would answer his phone …
Movement on the television in the corner of the room caught her eye. She leaned forward. ‘Can you turn that up, please, Lynn?’
Her colleague nodded and automatically twisted the knob on the antiquated television set. ‘Delighted to announce the arrival of …’
Amy listened to the announcement. Another baby born too early. But probably the most famous baby in the world. A baby that would have the most prestigious, experienced medical care that money could buy.
No! Surely not? Amy’s chin dropped to her chest. Lincoln Adams. Her Lincoln Adams was shifting uncomfortably on the screen in front of her. He tugged at his shirt and answered question after question about the baby’s condition. His voice was rich, smooth. If she couldn’t see his image on the television in front of her, she’d imagine he was the calmest man in the world. But he wasn’t. And she could tell he hated every moment of this.
Delivering the President’s baby. Wow. So that’s where he’d been.
Her heart constricted in her chest. Six years and he still had the same effect on her—even in her current state. She watched as he took a question from a blonde journalist, dazzling her with his twinkling blue eyes and easy smile. He was still a flirt. It was so ingrained in him that he didn’t even realise he was doing it. One smile from Linc and the journalist, covering the biggest story of her life, was a babbling mess.
She pointed at the screen as the nurse, Lynn, resumed her checks. ‘I know him.’
Lynn’s eyes darted over to the screen, taking in the hunk currently filling the screen. Amy bristled. She could almost hear her thoughts.
Lynn gave a small smile. ‘Well, you’re a lucky lady, then. I imagine he’s one of the best neonatologists in the world if he’s looking after the President’s baby.’
‘He is. I tried to get hold of him yesterday but he didn’t answer the text I sent him. I guess he was busy.’ The message “I need your help” had been direct and to the point without revealing anything. Her voice was quiet, thoughtful. Her hands rubbing up and down her stomach. ‘How is it?’ she asked as Lynn unwound the blood-pressure cuff. She knew the answer before Lynn spoke but her head was currently in another place. There was only one person in the world she trusted right now to take care of her baby.
Lynn frowned. ‘Actually, it’s a little higher. I’m sorry, Amy, but as a fellow professional I’m not going to beat around the bush. With your other symptoms, it’s definitely looking like borderline pre-eclampsia. The good thing is we’ve caught it early. It’s time to see your obstetrician. And from one colleague to another, I definitely think it’s time to stop work.’
Amy nodded her head, tears prickling at the sides of her eyes as she swallowed the lump in her throat. ‘I can’t let anything happen to this baby,’ she whispered. ‘He’s my only chance.’
Lynn wrapped her hand around Amy’s. ‘I know that.’ She hesitated, glancing towards the television. ‘Maybe it’s time to ask a friend for help?’ Lynn’s eyes fixed on the television screen. ‘If I knew my baby was going to come early I’d want the finest neonatologist in the world to be at the delivery.’ Her voice was firm and strong. ‘Wouldn’t you?’
Her phone beeped and she reached into her pocket. Two words. Anything. Any time.
Their eyes met. Amy bit her lip and took a deep breath, the shine of unshed tears visible in her eyes. ‘Exactly how far away is Pelican Cove?’
CHAPTER ONE
LINCOLN burst through the doors to the adjoining office and wrenched the scarlet tie from his throat. The force popped the button on his shirt and sent it flying across the floor.
David Fairgreaves strolled in behind him and lifted one grey eyebrow. He took off his suit jacket, hanging it on the chair behind him. ‘Problem, Lincoln?’ He looked vaguely amused, another irritation to add to Lincoln’s list.
Lincoln stalked over to a nearby shelf and pulled down a pair of green scrubs—he wasn’t wearing this damn too-tight suit a second longer.
Washington’s finest shirt lay in a crumpled heap at his feet as he pulled the scrub top over his head and turned to face David. ‘How can they ask questions like that?’
David gave a little shrug of his shoulders, picked up an apple from the nearby table and crunched into it, putting his feet up on the desk. ‘They’re animals.’
Lincoln shook his head. ‘How can you stand it? How can you sit there and smile at those idiots?’
‘You’ve got to give it some perspective. I’ve just looked after the First Lady. It’s news that they’ll report all around the world. And they’ll all be looking for their own spin—their own edge to make them stand out from the pack. Truth be known—I really don’t care what any of them think. The only thing I care about is my patient.’
Lincoln stared at him. David was the only reason he’d come here in the first place. The chance to work with the man who’d been the first to retrieve stem cells was too good an opportunity to miss. The irony of it was—he looked like a bumbling old fool but was probably the most forward-thinking clinician Lincoln had ever met.
David caught him with his sharp gaze. ‘What’s with you anyway? You’ve been like a bear with a sore head all afternoon.’
Linc sighed. The man missed nothing. ‘I got a strange text message last night from someone I haven’t seen in years—at least, I think that’s who it was from. I’ve texted back but I can’t seem to get a signal right now, so I don’t know if she’s replied.’ He held his cellphone up near the window and turned in various directions. Still no signal.
David gave him a knowing look. ‘I take it this was a female someone?’
Linc nodded and smiled. ‘Let’s just say it was an unexpected blast from the past.’
‘A good one?’
‘She certainly wasn’t that easy to forget so I hope so. But with everything that’s happened in the last two days I’ve just not had a minute.’ He ran his fingers through his dark brown hair. ‘I can’t remember the last time I actually slept.’
David nodded. ‘Having the head of White House Security turn up at your door at three in the morning and tell you to pack up to deliver the President’s baby would flatten most men.’ He frowned. ‘Your text. Was it from a real friend? Or a fair-weather friend? I’ve experienced lots of those—people who the minute you appear in the media have apparently been your “best friend” or “closest colleague” for years—even though they don’t know when your birthday is or what car you drive. Fame does funny things to folks—you need to be careful, Lincoln. This is a whole new ball game for you.’
Lincoln looked thoughtful. He gestured towards the door. ‘Well, that was my first official television appearance, so she can’t have known anything about it. She sounded—I don’t know—in trouble.’
‘Just what every man loves—a damsel in distress.’ David flashed him a smile. ‘Come on, Lincoln, let’s go and look after our girls.’ He tossed his apple core into a trash can on the other side of the room.
‘I told you to stop calling me that. It’s Linc. My friends call me Linc.’
David looked aghast. ‘Linc? Certainly not. You, my friend, are named after the finest President we’ve ever had and you should wear that name with pride.’ He put his hand on the doorhandle as a frown puckered his forehead. ‘Just don’t tell Charlie Taylor I said that.’
Lincoln laughed. ‘I may well use that as blackmail material.’
Amy glanced at her watch as the cab seemed to meander up the coastal road. The traffic was almost at a standstill and she watched as only a few vehicles got through the cordon in front of them. The rest were directed to turn and head back down the hill. Her stomach churned. This had to be the worst idea she’d ever had.
A uniformed officer approached the cab and rapped sharply on the window. He glanced in the back seat towards Amy. ‘Where are you headed?’
The taxi driver gestured behind him. ‘Got a pregnant lady to drop at the hospital.’
The cop gave a little start. He looked like a man who had heard every line in the book today but he leaned forward a little to get a better look. He obviously hadn’t heard this one yet. ‘Can you step out the car please, ma’am?’
Amy fumbled for the doorhandle and stepped out into the warm sea air. She pulled some money from her purse and handed it to the driver. ‘Thanks very much.’
The cop ran his eyes up and down the length of her body. It was almost as if he was checking she actually was pregnant. Her white tunic and expanding trousers flapped in the wind, exposing every part of her body, including the currently out-turned umbilicus. She pressed her hands self-consciously over her stomach.
‘Your name, ma’am?’
‘Excuse me?’
‘You have to give me your name—and the name of the doctor you have an appointment to see.’
Amy hesitated. ‘I don’t exactly have an appointment, but I’m here to see Dr Lincoln Adams.’
The cop looked down at the list in his hand and stared at her. ‘This isn’t exactly the time for social calls.’ His eyes narrowed suspiciously, ‘Dr Adams, he’s a neonatologist, isn’t he?’ He nodded towards her stomach. ‘What do you want to see him for? You haven’t had your baby yet—shouldn’t you be seeing an obstetrician?’
Amy sighed. The sun in Mendocino Valley was strong. She could feel it beating down on the pale skin at the parting in her red hair. A parting she usually always kept covered—too bad she’d forgotten her sunhat. She swallowed nervously. Trust her to get the cop who was smarter than the average bear.
She fumbled around her bag, looking for the bottle of water she had been drinking in the cab. Two hours in a cab with no air-conditioning with the heat so strong you could practically see it rising from the ground. Four hours in a train beforehand that had been packed with tourists. This trip had been a nightmare. There was no way she wasn’t getting to see Lincoln.
She pulled her tunic from her sweating back. At least the sea winds around her were giving some relief.
‘Ma’am?’
The cop was getting annoyed. She could sense that good cop had retreated and bad cop was hovering near the door.
‘Here.’ She pulled out a battered envelope from her bag containing her medical notes. ‘Give these to Lincoln Adams, he’ll see me.’
The cop rolled his eyes. ‘Dr Adams is currently looking after the First Daughter. He won’t see you or anyone else.’ He pointed in the direction of a cluster of reporters as he handed the notes back to her. ‘Nice try, though.’
Amy felt a wave of panic wash over her as her baby gave a few anxious kicks. This heat was really starting to get to her. What if Lincoln wouldn’t see her? What if he refused to look after her baby when it was born? What if didn’t even remember her?
The blood rushed to her cheeks. Surely he hadn’t forgotten her? How could he possibly forget those six months spent on the Amazon aid boat? She couldn’t forget a single minute. The hours they hadn’t spent working, they’d spent in his bed—and neither of them had been sleeping.
Trouble was, even though she remembered every minute of their time together, did he? She’d heard sneaky rumours that Lincoln had had a long line of female friends on his Amazon trips. Was it possible she had been just another pretty face to him? Had she just been a summer-long fling?
Six months with the most gorgeous man on earth. A man who hadn’t cared about appearances. He hadn’t been looking for a designer-clothed, styled woman, piled with make-up. Which was just as well since her luggage had gone astray at Iquitos airport in Peru and hadn’t arrived until two weeks later. She’d spent the first two weeks with her hair pulled back in her solitary hair bobble, wearing pale blue or green surgical scrubs and paper knickers. Just as well her breasts hadn’t been big enough to really need the support of a bra.
She looked downwards. Things had certainly changed in the last six years. In more ways than one. Her extended stomach was definitely evidence of that.
Her hands went back to guarding her stomach. Her precious bundle. Her one and only chance of motherhood. Was it so wrong to want the best man in the land to look after her baby? More than that, someone she trusted. Someone she’d seen battle the odds to help a baby survive. Someone who refused to take no for an answer.
She wanted that. She wanted that for her baby—her son. Lincoln was the best neonatologist she’d ever worked with. If anyone could help her with an early delivery, it was him.
Her eyes drifted upwards. The cop was dealing with someone else now and looking more and more agitated by the minute. The sun was obviously getting to him too.
She looked around her. Security was everywhere. And no wonder. If reports were to be believed, the President, the First Lady and the First Daughter were currently in the hospital at the top of the hill. So how was she going to get in there?
Amy took a deep breath. ‘Officer, officer!’
The cop scowled at her and walked back along the cordon. ‘You again. What do you want?’
‘You never let me finish,’ she panted as she pushed her stomach out as far as she could. ‘Lincoln Adams—he’s my husband. So you have to let me in to see him.’
Where had that come from?
Amy was starting to feel light-headed. She really needed a seat. Oh, boy. She was definitely going to be caught out now. The cop squinted at her, ‘You do know I’ll radio up and check, don’t you?’ It was almost as if he could read her panicking mind and was giving her a last-minute opportunity to give up the madness, admit that she’d lied and retreat—never to be seen again.
But Amy was determined. She would see Lincoln, no matter what. She would get him to look after her son, no matter what. She drew herself up to her whole five feet five inches and stared him straight in the eye. ‘Can you tell Dr Adams that his wife, Amy Carson, is here?’
‘Different names, huh?’ The cop eyed her suspiciously as he lifted his shoulder to speak into the radio attached to the front of his protective vest.
Amy’s hands rested on the steel grating in front of her. Her eyes drifted across the nearby ocean. It was beautiful here. But the Californian heat seemed to be suffocating her. She could feel the sun beating down, making her itchy and scratchy. In fact, her whole body felt itchy. She pulled her smock top away from her body in an attempt to get some air circulating.
She blinked. A wave of nausea swept over her. Her head was beginning to spin. Suddenly watching the boats bobbing up and down in the cove didn’t seem like such a good idea. The momentum of the waves was making her feel worse, her legs turning to jelly, and little patches of black had appeared at the edge of her vision …
‘Ma’am! Ma’am, are you okay? Quick! Someone get me an ambulance!
‘Dr Adams!’
The voice cut across the emergency department like a siren. Lincoln spluttered his coffee all down the front of his scrubs and onto his open white coat. He glanced at the cup of lukewarm coffee. His first since yesterday and he wasn’t going to get to drink it. He tossed the cup in the trash and turned towards the voice.
James Turner. Head of the President’s security detail. Not again. This man was beginning to haunt his dreams—both at night and during the day.
But something was wrong. He had someone—a woman—in his arms. Linc strode towards him as James Turner unceremoniously dumped the woman on top of a gurney behind one of the sets of curtains. Beads of sweat dripped down his forehead and nose. Linc wondered if he’d managed to change out of his obligatory black suit at all since he’d arrived in Pelican Cove.
‘I think I found something belonging to you, Dr Adams.’
‘To me? I don’t think so.’ Lincoln shook his head and moved over to the gurney.
‘Really?’ James Turner raised an eyebrow. ‘You mean you don’t recognise your own wife?’
‘My what?’
‘I knew it. Another scam artist. It’s ridiculous the lengths some of these reporters will go to. Don’t worry, I’ll get rid of her.’
Linc moved nearer the woman on the gurney. Her head and body were turned away from him but from the back the curly red hair looked like someone else’s. Someone he’d known five years ago. Only then she’d spent most of the time with it tied up in a ponytail, not spread across her shoulders and back, like it was now.
He leaned closer, then started. Yip. That definitely was a very pregnant abdomen. At least six months. His eyes flickered to her face. Pale skin, flawless, almost translucent, with a faint sprinkling of freckles across her nose. And she was out cold. And James Turner was trying to pull her upwards, obviously thinking she was faking.
‘Stop!’
This time his voice was every bit as loud as James’s had been.
The cold, hard stare he was getting used to met him again.
‘Get your hands off her.’ Lincoln walked around to the other side of the gurney. He had to be sure. He had to be sure his eyes were not deceiving him.
No. They weren’t. This was Amy Carson. This was his Amy Carson. The one he’d spent six hot, sweaty months with on the Amazon aid boat. Spending the days looking after a range of newborn ailments and spending the nights lost in the sea of her red hair. And he could absolutely authenticate it was her natural colour. This was definitely Amy Carson. The same one that had asked for help only forty-eight hours ago.
A very pregnant Amy Carson.
‘What happened?’ he asked James, as he spotted the crumpled envelope at the top of her bag. No one usually carried an envelope that size—not unless they were carrying their hospital notes.
‘I got radioed from the checkpoint. She was apparently making a scene, saying she had to see you. The cop on duty had her sussed the moment he saw her. The paparazzi have been trying every angle to get up here. Never thought they would resort to this, though. It’s really taking it a bit too far. She collapsed down at the checkpoint a few minutes ago.’
Lincoln stuck his head from behind the curtain. ‘Nancy, I need some help in here. Can you get me a foetal monitor, please?’ he shouted to one of the E.R. nurses. He turned back angrily to James, ‘And you? Go and get David Fairgreaves and tell him I need him to see a patient.’ He yanked the cardiac monitor leads and BP cuff from the wall. ‘Not every person you meet is trying to get to the President, Mr Turner.’ He touched the pale face lying on the gurney. ‘She—’ his voice lowered automatically ‘—was trying to get to me.’
He waited for James to depart and pulled the curtain tightly closed.
Amy Carson.
The girl he’d searched for. The only girl to ever get under his guard. He’d almost resigned himself to the fact he wasn’t going to see her again. But here she was, in the flesh, right before his eyes again. Except her flesh had expanded considerably, creating a nice neat bump under her breasts. Nothing like how she’d looked the last night he’d seen her as she’d danced about their cabin in her underwear, laughing and teasing him. This time she wasn’t laughing at all, she was out cold. And she’d been looking for him. What on earth was going on?
Nancy came in, clutching the Doppler scanner, and grabbed a nearby patient gown. She pushed Lincoln aside as he struggled with Amy’s long white smock top. ‘Here, let me,’ she said, as she deftly manoeuvred the top out of place, replacing it with a Velcro-fastened green gown. Her hand slid underneath the gown as she attached the leads from the cardiac monitor and pressed the button to switch the machine on. Lincoln fixed the cuff on Amy’s arm and watched for a few seconds as it inflated. Without saying a word, he already knew what it would say.
Nancy pulled a white plastic patient clothing bag from the locker and folded Amy’s white smock. Her eyes fell on the patient notes, still in their battered envelope, currently lying at the bottom of the bed. ‘Have you read those yet?’
‘No. I haven’t had a chance. Why?’
‘Do you know her?’
He hesitated. But Nancy was as sharp as a tack. ‘Do you want me to get someone else to see her?’
Linc shook his head. ‘I asked James Turner to go find David Fairgreaves for me.’ He waved his hand over Amy’s stomach. ‘I’m not an obstetrician.’
Nancy picked up the notes beside the bed and started to write down her heart rate and BP. ‘I need a name, Linc.’
Lincoln picked up the Doppler scanner and put a little gel on Amy’s stomach. He pulled her maternity trousers down slightly, adjusting them to reach the area that he needed to. He slid the transducer across her abdomen and after a few seconds he heard it. There. Thump, thump, thump. Like a little butterfly beating its wings. The baby’s heartbeat. Whatever had happened to Amy, her baby was safe. A smile broke out across his face.
‘Linc, I need a name—for the admission notes?’
‘It’s Amy. Amy Carson.’
‘Do you know her date of birth?’
He blinked. ‘August 14.’
Then he realised something. He picked up the buff-coloured folder from the bottom of the gurney. ‘You could have got all that from the notes she brought with her.’
Nancy smiled. ‘Yes, I could have. But the fact you know it makes it all the more interesting why this young lady ran the gauntlet today to see you. Pelican Cove just got a whole lot more interesting. Something you want to tell me, Dr Adams?’ Her eyes were fixed expectantly on Amy’s stomach—as if Lincoln had a closely guarded secret to tell. She leaned over and stuck the tympanic thermometer in Amy’s ear.
He shook his head firmly and let out an almost forced laugh. ‘You can’t possibly think …’
Nancy rolled her eyes. ‘I never said a word.’ She picked up the notes. ‘I’ll go and get Ms Carson logged into the system …’ her eyes swept over the nearby locker ‘… and bring her some water. I think she’ll need it. This girl’s overheated. I wonder how long she was standing out in the sun.’
Lincoln watched as she swept out of the cubicle. His eyes drifted back to the monitor.
Amy’s heart rate was slow and steady but her BP …? It was way too high. He glanced at the chart. Her temperature was above normal too. He pulled up a nearby chair and sat down next to her. The noise of the E.R. seemed to fade away.
It was the first time he’d seen her in six years. His Amazonian fling. One of the best things that had ever happened to him. Six months of hard work and great sex. She’d left to go back to the US for a holiday but had told him she would be coming back in a few weeks to rejoin the boat. Next thing he knew, two weeks had passed and she’d quit. With no reason. And no forwarding address.
So what had happened to her? What had she been doing for the last six years? And why had she texted him two days ago, asking for help? Was it about this? About being pregnant?
Because this was last thing he’d been expecting.
Over the last few years he’d tried to push Amy completely from his mind. And if thoughts of her ever did creep in, they certainly didn’t look like this! He’d always imagined he might meet her again on another aid boat or working in a different hospital. He certainly hadn’t expected her to seek him out as a patient. And it made him almost resentful. A sensation he hadn’t expected.
He reached out and touched her skin again. She was hot. She hadn’t had a chance to cool back down in the air-conditioned E.R. One of her red curls was stuck to her forehead and his fingers swept across her skin to pull it back.
She murmured. Or groaned. He wasn’t sure which. His hand cupped her cheek for a second. Just like he used to. And her head flinched. Moved closer. As if his hand and her cheek were a good fit. As if they were where they were supposed to be.
Something stirred inside him. And he shifted uncomfortably. They hadn’t made each other any promises. He’d been surprised that she hadn’t come back—had been surprised that she hadn’t got in touch. She’d had his mobile number, scribbled on a bit of paper, but he hadn’t had hers. She hadn’t brought her phone to the Amazon with her, thinking it would never work there. And she couldn’t remember her number. But it hadn’t mattered, because he’d thought he would be seeing her again in two weeks.
Only he hadn’t. Not until now.
That was the trouble of having a reputation as a playboy—sooner or later you started believing your own press. Everyone had expected him just to take up with the next pretty nurse that crossed his path—so had he. But something had been wrong. That pale-skinned redhead hadn’t been so easy to forget. Amy Carson had got under his skin.
Even two years later, when he’d found himself swept along into an engagement with an elegant brunette, something just hadn’t felt right. The first whiff of wedding plans had made him run for the hills. And he hadn’t stopped. Until now.
His eyes darted to her notes and he picked them up, flicking them between his fingers. He wasn’t her obstetrician, he shouldn’t really read them. But he had acted as an E.R. admitting doctor, so surely that meant he should find out about his patient’s history?
But he couldn’t. He couldn’t do that. There was a boundary here. David Fairgreaves was much more qualified to look after her and he would be here in a matter of minutes. There were some ethical lines that he wasn’t sure he wanted to cross.
He looked at her overstuffed black shoulder bag. Maybe he should look in there? Maybe she might have her mobile and there could be someone he could contact for her? Or what about a next of kin? She was pregnant, so there was probably a husband.
The thought stopped him dead. He stared at her left hand. It was bare. Did that mean there was no husband? So who was the baby’s father?
He pulled the bag up onto his lap. For some reason it felt wrong. Awkward. To go searching through an almost stranger’s bag. Years ago, as an attending doctor he would have had no qualms about this. Lots of patients came into the E.R. in an unconscious state and had their pockets or bags searched. This was something he’d done a hundred times before. So why didn’t he want to do it now?
And then it happened. Her dark green eyes flickered open. And a smile spread across her face. ‘Linc,’ she whispered huskily, her lips dry and her throat obviously parched. ‘Do you always search through your wife’s handbag?’
CHAPTER TWO
HE STARTED. For a second he’d been lost in his own thoughts. He should have known better. That was what you always got from Amy. Miss Unpredictable. That was the nickname the staff on the aid boat had given her. She’d never said what you expected her to say. Maybe that was what made her so unforgettable.
Everything about her was the same. And yet, everything about her was different. She gave a little smile as she tried to sit up on the gurney and he moved swiftly to her side to help adjust the backrest and pillows, automatically pressing the button for the electronic BP monitor again. Her smile was disarming him. It reminded him of a hundred things that weren’t appropriate for an E.R. It reminded him of a hundred things that probably weren’t appropriate for a pregnant lady. He felt his breath leave his body—had he been holding it? And felt the tension leave his shoulder muscles. He could stop worrying. She was awake.
‘So what’s the problem, Mrs Adams?’
Amy’s heart was fluttering in her chest and she didn’t know if it was to do with her medical condition or from the effect of seeing Lincoln in the flesh again. Thank goodness she was currently lying down, because she was sure her legs had just turned to mush. Old blue eyes was back. All six feet, broad shoulders and dark curly hair of him. Hair you could just run your fingers through …
Her grin spread wider, then she laid her hand on his arm. ‘I’m sorry about that, Linc. But it’s like Fort Knox out there and I really needed to see you.’ Her mind was spinning. Could he hear her heart beating frantically in her chest? Could he know the effect that he still had on her, six years on? She hadn’t expected this. She’d expected to get in here and persuade him to look after her baby if she delivered early. Instead, she found herself being pulled into his deep blue eyes. Deeper and deeper.
‘Amy, I’m happy to see you. Doubtless, I would have been happier if it was six years ago, but you didn’t need to lie to get in here.’
She sat back against the pillows. ‘Wow. You don’t beat about the bush.’
‘Neither do you apparently.’ His eyes were resting on her abdomen but his voice had reverted back to teasing.
She took a deep breath. It didn’t matter that something was currently doing flip-flops in her stomach. She needed to focus. To let him know how important he was to her right now. ‘I did need to tell lies to get in here, Linc. It was really important that I see you and the cop had already told me to go away.’
‘So you decided to faint?’ He raised his eyebrow at her.
She gave a little laugh. ‘Nah, the heat decided that for me.’ Her eyes fixed on his and she hesitated a little. ‘I did try to text you—but you weren’t answering—and then I saw you on the television this morning and realised where you’d been.’
He pulled the chair back over and sat next to her again. ‘Yeah, I’ve been kind of busy. And I should warn you—I haven’t slept in two days.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, no! You’re like a bear with sore head when you don’t sleep. I pity the poor nursing staff working with you.’
A lazy smile crept across his face. ‘You’re the second person to say that to me today.’
She felt something wrench at her. It was so easy to fall back into their way of teasing each other. It was so easy to forget the most obvious reason she was here. Six years felt like nothing. It was almost as if the last time they’d spoken had been yesterday. She knew him so well. But who else knew the same things about him that she did?
She bit her lip. There was every chance that Lincoln was happily married. But she wasn’t here looking for romance. She wasn’t here because he was the best lover she’d ever had. This was even more personal than that. He had no idea how much life had changed for her in the last six years. She was only half the woman he used to know … She gave herself a shake. She was here to find someone she trusted to look after her baby. The most precious thing in the world to her.
He shook his head. ‘Enough about me. Let’s get back to the matter at hand.’ His voice dipped. ‘Why are you here, Amy? What do you want from me?’
The professional head was gone again. This time, the hundred questions that were spinning around his head in frustration came bubbling to the surface. He hadn’t seen her in six years. She’d appeared out of the blue, pregnant and asking for him. What on earth was going on?
She touched her abdomen. ‘I have signs of pre-eclampsia and this baby means more to me than anything in this world. If my baby is born prematurely I want him to have the best chance in the world.’ She hesitated for a second, before looking into his eyes. ‘And I knew the best chance for my baby would be you.’
Lincoln shook his head and his brow furrowed. He waved his arm. ‘You must know a dozen doctors who could take care of your baby. Why me, Amy?’
Her answer was immediate and straight to the point and he could see tears glistening in her eyes. ‘I might know a dozen doctors, Linc, but none of them are like you. You’re the best. The best neonatologist I’ve ever known. You did things on that boat that TV movies are made out of—with virtually no equipment and only the most unskilled staff.’ She gestured towards herself.
He shook his head. ‘You’re not unskilled, Amy. You’re a damn fine nurse and you know it.’
‘I’m a damn fine theatre nurse, Linc. I had no experience at all with neonates. I went there as a specialist nurse in eye theatre, and that was fine for all the cataract, squint and glaucoma surgeries. I even managed to struggle through with cleft-palate surgeries and emergency appendectomies. But I’d never really worked as a general, medical or paediatric nurse before—I’d never looked after pregnant women before. I was seriously out of my depth and you helped me—you know you did.’
Lincoln leaned over and took her hand again. ‘But we were a team, Amy, we helped each other. Everyone was selected because of their individual skills and level of expertise. But at the end of the day we treated what came through the door.’
She shook her head. ‘No one was as dedicated to those babies as you were, Linc. You were the one who would stay up half the night, watching over them.’ His brow furrowed. ‘Why was that, Linc? I asked before, but you wouldn’t tell me.’
He shrugged his shoulders and she could see him searching for the words. His eyes looked darker than normal, heavier from fatigue. He sat down next to her. ‘My sister had a premature baby around twenty years ago. There weren’t any facilities near where we stayed and her daughter—my niece—died.’
Amy took a sharp breath and rested her hand on his shoulder.
He gave a rueful smile. ‘My sister was ten years older than me at the time. I watched my little niece struggle for breath, turn blue and die. Our family didn’t really talk about it after that. It was too painful. I hadn’t really been interested in school before then. I was just coasting along. But everything changed after that. I knew if I wanted to be a doctor to help babies like my niece, I had to knuckle down and get the grades—so I did. Medicine for neonates has come a long way in the last twenty years. If my niece had been born now, she would have survived.’
‘You never said anything. Why didn’t you tell me this on the boat?’
Lincoln met her with a pointed stare. ‘Some things are easier not to talk about—don’t you think?’
The heavy air hung between them. Amy held her breath, waiting to see if he would say anything else.
‘Dr Adams?’
A nurse appeared at the curtains, with David standing behind her. ‘They need you in NICU.’
NICU. The neonatal intensive care unit. A place that normally didn’t exist in Pelican Cove—there had never been a need for it. A place that currently held the First Daughter. In the last two days more personnel and supplies had been transferred down from San Francisco Children’s Hospital than he’d thought possible. Didn’t there have to be more than one baby for it to be termed an NICU? He pushed the thoughts from his mind.
‘What can I do for you folks?’ David strode through the curtains with his normal joie de vivre. Lincoln’s eyes met his and he lifted the battered envelope from the bottom of the gurney and handed it to him. ‘I need you to see a friend of mine, please, David.’
David’s face changed, his eyes taking in the patient on the bed. The pregnant patient on the bed. He pulled the notes from the envelope, glancing to see which hospital they had come from, then gave Lincoln an inquisitive stare.
‘My patient now, Dr Adams.’ David’s manner was brisk and to the point. ‘I’ll let you know if I need you.’ His tone was almost dismissive. Whilst at times he gave the impression of being a bumbling fool, as a clinician he was second to none. And Lincoln knew it—it was why he’d asked for David’s help. Amy couldn’t be in safer hands. But there was no mistaking who would be in charge here.
Linc took a deep breath and stepped away from the gurney. ‘I’ll be back,’ he muttered, his eyes not meeting hers, and he stepped through the curtains.
David’s hand caught his shoulder. ‘Dr Adams?’
The professional title. He must be annoyed. ‘Yes?’
‘Just remember your first and only priority is the First Daughter. Don’t let other things get in the way. Don’t get distracted.’
‘You think I am?’ The words came out automatically, snappier than he expected.
David’s voice was quiet. The voice of years of learning and experience, both academically and human. ‘I think you could be. Let me handle this.’ He turned and ducked behind the curtains, pulling them tightly shut behind him.
Linc walked the few hundred yards along the corridor. Pelican Cove was a small community hospital, not a sprawling metropolis with new technology sprouting from every corner. That was why, when the First Lady had gone into labour here, he’d had to transfer staff and equipment from San Francisco Children’s Hospital to ensure the safe delivery of the thirty-two-weeker.
As usual, the black-suited security detail was at the door—it was getting to the point they just blended into the background. He pushed open the door to the newly kitted-out NICU. The heat encompassed him immediately, the temperature warmer in here to compensate for the early arrival’s rapid heat loss.
He walked over to the incubator. Two of his best nurses were on duty.
‘What’s up?’
For a premature baby, the First Daughter had an air of determination about her, obviously a chip off the old block. She’d come out screaming, breathing on her own and continued to do so.
He glanced at the nearby monitor. Her O2 levels were good and there was no nasal flaring.
‘She’s not feeding well. In fact, we can’t get her to latch on at all.’
Lincoln frowned. A common complaint in premature babies who hadn’t yet learned how to suck. ‘What about kangaroo care?’
Ruth, the nurse, nodded and stared down at her charge, ‘The only reason Esther is back in here is because Jennifer Taylor is currently sleeping. She’s exhausted. Up until now it’s been skin-to-skin contact the whole time. Six hours since delivery and we’ve not managed to get her to feed yet.’ She leaned over the incubator. ‘And little missy is getting cranky.’
Lincoln scrubbed his hands at the nearby sink. He’d already examined Esther just after delivery, but there was no harm in rechecking. He pulled on some sterile gloves and slid his hands into the incubator. He ran his hand around and inside her mouth, ensuring her palate was correctly formed. Checked her skin tone, colour and fontanel for clinical signs of dehydration. Sounded her chest to check her heart and lungs and gently probing her small abdomen. Once he was finished he stripped off his gloves, washed and dried his hands again and checked her charts.
‘Okay, there are no immediate problems, except her blood glucose has dropped slightly since delivery. Once Jennifer Taylor wakes up, can you give me a shout and I’ll go and have a chat with her? I’m really reluctant to start any kind of supplementary or tube-feeding. At thirty-two weeks I think she’s more than capable of breastfeeding and I don’t want to do anything that will jeopardise that. We might have to suggest that Jennifer expresses some milk in the meantime to try and get some fluid into her.’
Ruth gave a nod. ‘I’m sure she’ll be awake shortly. I’ll give you a shout.’
Lincoln entered some notes in the electronic record and went back outside, glancing at his watch. Half an hour. Would David Fairgreaves be finished with Amy yet?
He walked over to the nurses’ station, glancing around him before picking up Amy’s notes. They were thicker than he would have expected for a healthy woman her age and he started to flick through them to read over her obstetric care. If he was going to look after her baby he needed to know what he was dealing with. IVF pregnancy. The words caught his attention instantly.
Why had Amy needed IVF? His fingers went backwards through the notes—away from the area of his expertise—and froze at the long clinical letter near the end. His eyes scanned it quickly, his breath catching in his throat. The diagnosis was in bold type at the head of the letter. Breast cancer. Amy had breast cancer.
No. She was too young. She didn’t smoke, rarely drank alcohol, and lived a relatively healthy lifestyle. How on earth could she be a candidate for breast cancer? It seemed unreal. Even though the words and clinical evidence were there in front of him. He couldn’t believe it. It was almost as if he were reading about someone else.
His eyes raked the letter for a date. And his brain did rapid calculations. He felt himself sag into a nearby chair.
Six years ago. Her diagnosis had been made six years ago when she’d left the Amazon boat. Had she known she was sick? Why on earth hadn’t she told him?
His hands skipped over her treatment plans, test results—some good, some bad. He turned to the inside cover of the notes, searching for her next of kin.
Nothing. No one listed. He’d known that her mother and father had died a few years before she’d joined the boat. She’d gone through all this herself?
Something twisted in his gut. Surprise. Anger. Hurt.
She hadn’t told him—and he was hurt. Six months he’d spent with her. They might not have confessed undying love to each other, but surely she’d known he would have supported her? Wasn’t that what friends did?
After all, that was why she was here now. She needed help—or her baby did. She obviously felt she could ask him for help now, so why not then?
He could feel the tension in his neck and jaw. Irrational anger built inside him. His fingers brushed the notes again. He had to push this stuff aside. He had to deal with her in a professional capacity.
He edged back along the corridor, approaching the curtains quietly. Two seconds later he heard a peal of laughter.
Not girly. Not tinkling. Deep, hearty, genuine laughter. David had obviously turned on his natural charm again. The man could have people eating out of his hand within two minutes of meeting them. Something about the ease and instant familiarity between the two of them bothered him. Made him want to march into the cubicle and stand between them. How crazy was that?
Linc cleared his throat loudly and edged his way between the curtains. ‘How’s things?’
David turned to face him, his head flicking back towards her. ‘Amy? Are you happy for Dr Adams to know about your condition?’
Amy blinked. They obviously hadn’t had that part of the conversation yet. ‘Actually, Dr Fairgreaves, Lincoln’s the reason I’m here. If this baby is coming early, I’m hoping that Lincoln will look after him for me.’
Lincoln cast his eyes over the monitor again, noting her rising blood pressure. ‘And is it, David? Is this baby coming early?’ Did he really want to have two premature babies in a community hospital not designed for the task?
David’s face remained static, expressionless to the underlying current of tension between the two of them. He nodded briefly and handed the notes to Lincoln.
‘Ms Adams in twenty-eight weeks pregnant. For the last few days Amy has shown some mild signs of pre-eclampsia. A slight rise in blood pressure, a trace of protein in her urine and some oedema. However, on today’s examination things appear to have progressed.’
He pressed a finger lightly into the swollen skin around Amy’s ankle, leaving a little dimple in the pale flesh that remained there once he removed the pressure.
‘Pitting oedema is now evident, her BP, both systolic and diastolic, has gone up by another 10mmg and the amount of protein in her urine has increased.’ He gave Amy a wry smile. ‘I’m giving Ms Adams the benefit of the doubt that she didn’t have the easiest job getting here today and that could account for the rise in blood pressure. She also assures me that, as of yesterday, she is now officially on maternity leave from her full-time job.’ His eyes went carefully from one to the other.
‘For the next twenty-four hours I’ve agreed with Ms Adams that she requires some careful monitoring. We’re going to monitor her blood pressure, her fluid intake and output and do a twenty-four-hour urine collection. So …’ he looked directly at Lincoln ‘… your services aren’t required in the immediate future but …’ he gave a little nod to Amy ‘… I’m not ruling it out.’
David took a measured breath, his cool grey eyes resting on Lincoln. ‘I’m sure you realise the importance of ensuring Ms Adams has a calm environment. I trust there will be no problems?’
Linc shifted uncomfortably. So David definitely had heard the earlier exchange. And even though his words were phrased as a question, this was a direct instruction.
Linc fixed a smile on his face. ‘Absolutely, Dr Fairgreaves. Thanks very much for agreeing to monitor Amy.’
His point made, David’s face relaxed and he gave a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. ‘Hey, what else am I doing?’ Then he slid out between the curtains.
The silence screamed in Lincoln’s ears. She was watching him again, waiting to see what he would say. His hand automatically ran through his dishevelled hair—what he wouldn’t give for a shower and a comfortable bed right now. What he really needed was twelve hours’ solid sleep, with some serious blackout blinds. But the way his brain was currently spinning, there was no chance of that.
He pulled the chair over again and sagged down into it. ‘Okay, Amy. Let’s get to it. What’s going on here? Where do you normally stay? And what did David mean about maternity leave? Where do you normally work?’
She crossed her hands in her lap. ‘Wow, an interrogation. Or is it an interview? Is this how you talk to all your potential patients, Dr Adams? Do I have to pass muster before you’ll take my son on as your patient?’
He shook his head. Sleep deprivation was making him ratty. It didn’t matter what he’d read in her notes. He wasn’t going to make this easy for her. She was going to have to tell him herself. ‘This is how I talk to the girl who walked away six years ago without a backward glance, and then turns up when she sees me on television.’
Amy felt her bottom lip tremble. This wasn’t going well. She could see he was tired. She knew he would be under extra stress looking after the First Daughter, but perfect timing was the one thing she didn’t have here. And she needed the assurance of Lincoln’s help now.
‘That’s not fair and you know it.’
He shook his head in frustration. His voice was quiet but even. ‘I know.’
She switched into professional mode. ‘Okay, Dr Adams. I normally live in Santa Maria in Butte County—around four hours from here. I work in one of the free clinics there. And my maternity leave started …’ she glanced at her watch ‘… officially around twelve hours ago.’
Her notes were still in his hands. But he wasn’t looking at them. It looked as though he hadn’t read them. It would be so much easier if he did, then at least he might understand why she’d left.
‘Why me, Amy, and why now?’
A loud burr came from the monitor beside her and the electronic blood-pressure cuff started to inflate again. Amy winced as the cuff over-inflated on her arm. Linc watched with alarm as the reading on the monitor climbed higher and higher. One-eighty … one-ninety … two hundred. Please don’t let her blood pressure be that high.
Amy’s voice cut through his thoughts. ‘There are a lot of kids currently alive in the Amazon because of you, Linc, and you know it. Kids who would have died if you hadn’t been on that boat.’
She saw him bite his bottom lip. Linc was a team player, not a glory hunter. She knew how uncomfortable he’d been in that press interview. He must have said the words ‘I have a fantastic team’ at least five times. She knew he wouldn’t be interested in the chat-show interviews or celebrity magazine spreads that would materialise in the near future.
A black-suited figure crossed the gap in the curtains. She waved her arm. ‘Look at all this, Linc. When the First Lady went into premature labour, who did they call? You. They must have been able to get almost any doctor in the world, but they chose you to look after the First Daughter. The first presidential baby in nearly fifty years. What does that tell you?’
‘It tells me I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, Amy, nothing else.’ He shook his head, ‘You make it sound grander that it actually was. Abby Tyler was the admitting physician here in Pelican Cove. She works with me at San Francisco Children’s Hospital. They asked her for a neonatologist and she recommended me.’
Amy waved her arms, ‘And you’re telling me that the whole secret-service brigade out there didn’t check your credentials? To make sure that only the absolute best of the best was looking after the President’s baby? I seriously doubt that. Hell, the other doctor is an award-winner.’
He smiled at her. ‘You’ll find it hard to believe, but that was sheer coincidence. David Fairgreaves has a boat moored in Pelican Cove, the man is an old sea dog. Whenever he’s here, Abby has an arrangement to call him for any obstetric emergencies. He apparently likes to keep his hand in.’
Amy folded her hands across her chest. ‘Oh, come on. You’re telling me the secret service didn’t check on him too? Especially that old stony-faced one. Does he ever smile?’
Linc laughed at her description of James Turner, the head of the presidential security detail, the original man-in-black. ‘I think I’ve only seen him smile once in the last three days—and that’s when he told Luke Storm, one of the other docs, that he couldn’t leave. Somehow I think his job must drain all sense of humour from his body. He spends his life looking over his shoulder for potential threats to the Presidential family.’
The blood-pressure cuff stopped abruptly. The hiss of air seeping out from it. Linc glanced at the screen again—150/96. A bit higher than before, but not yet dangerous. Still worth keeping an eye on. His eyes fell to his watch. There were a million things he wanted to say right now. A million things he wanted to know. Six years to catch up on. But David had been right. He had other duties—other priorities—that he couldn’t get distracted from.
‘I’m sorry, Amy, but I seriously need some shut-eye and I’ve a neonate to deal with who doesn’t want to feed.’
Her eyes fell to the notes, still clutched in his hands. She couldn’t hide the slight tremor in her voice. ‘Will you read my notes and tell me if you’ll agree to be my baby’s doctor?’ Her hands were back at her stomach, protectively rubbing her extended abdomen.
The notes. She knew exactly what he would read in there. But for some reason he didn’t want to give her an easy way out. Why couldn’t she just find the words to tell him? She had no idea he’d already read them. And he was beginning to feel too tired to care.
‘In the interests of professionalism I’ll read your notes, not now—later—but I want to hear everything—straight from the horse’s mouth, so to speak. There’s nothing in these notes that you won’t be able to tell me yourself. I’ll come back later. We’ll talk then—and I’ll decide if I can be your baby’s doctor or not. I can’t do it if there’s going to be a conflict of interest for me, and …’ his eyes rolled towards the outside corridor as he gave her a crooked little grin ‘… your timing could have been better.’
Amy watched as he exited through the curtains, her throat tight.
She needed him. She needed him to be there for her baby—and for her. He was the best in the world. No one else would do. She couldn’t lose this baby.
It had all seemed so simple in her head. As soon as she’d known she was at risk of pre-eclampsia, she’d known she had to find Linc. She’d seen him bring neonates that should have died back to life. And that was normal for him.
The long line of mothers who’d queued up on the banks of the Amazon to show them their healthy, growing children—children he had saved in previous years—was testament to that.
There had been no doubt in her mind. This was all about her baby. All about the little boy currently growing in her stomach.
So why was she feeling like a teenager with a schoolgirl crush? She hadn’t thought about Lincoln for the last five years.
No. That wasn’t strictly true. He’d crept into her dreams on a few occasions—all of them X-rated. But dreams you couldn’t control. Truth be told, she hadn’t let herself think about playboy Linc for the last five years. Too much potential for heartache. She’d had to concentrate all her energy on beating the cancer.
And now she was only here because she needed him for her son. Really.
When she’d had her detailed scan she almost hadn’t asked what sex her baby was. But at the last moment she’d changed her mind. She’d wanted to prepare for her son or daughter. She’d wanted to pick his pram, his bedclothes and the paper for his nursery wall. She’d even picked his name. Zachary. Zachary John Carson.
She whispered the name as her hands ran over her stomach. ‘Stay inside just a little longer, Zachary. I need you to be as healthy as can be when you come out. Momma needs to know that you’re going to do just fine.’ A tear slid down her cheek and the anger started to rise in her chest.
Why should the First Lady’s baby be any more important than hers? And why did she, after everything she’d been through, have to develop a condition that could threaten her baby?
But this was it. Cancer had crept through her body tissues and the chemotherapy had ravaged them. She’d lost her ability to have a baby naturally and this embryo was her last chance. Her only chance.
So how come she couldn’t just focus on her baby?
From the first second she’d opened her eyes and seen Lincoln again, her heart had gone into overdrive. There were so many things about him she’d forgotten. His intense gaze. His lazy smile. His flirting. The way he could comfort her with the touch of his hand and the stroke of his finger.
And the camouflage he kept around himself.
She’d seen how he jumped from being really comfortable around her one minute, like it had only been a few days since they’d seen each other, since they’d slept together and been wrapped in each other’s arms, to shifting into the professional role, the possibility of being her baby’s doctor and all the lines that blurred in between.
But she wasn’t asking him to be her doctor, so surely that simplified things?
So why did her heart keep beating rapidly in her chest every time he was next to her? Why did her hairs stand on end when he touched her and make her feel as if an electrical charge had run up her arm?
Amy squeezed her eyes shut tightly. She couldn’t allow herself to feel like this. Lincoln wasn’t interested in her. She was a six years past girlfriend who’d had a mastectomy and was carrying a child that wasn’t his. Why would he even give her a second glance?
He was only being kind. He was only being a friend. He couldn’t possibly want anything else from her, could he?
This was Lincoln Adams. And yesterday this gorgeous blue-eyed, brown-haired doc had been announced on television as looking after the First Daughter. He was world news. Women would be throwing themselves at his feet.
She had to concentrate on the most important thing right now—a safe delivery and outcome for her baby. She’d come here to find Lincoln Adams because he was the best doctor to care for her baby. Nothing else. No matter how he currently made her feel.
CHAPTER THREE
‘LINC? Linc?’
The voice was quiet, softly spoken, but the hand pressing down on his shoulder was firm, stirring him from the first hour’s sleep he’d had in two days.
‘What … what is it?’ His hands automatically went to his sleep-filled eyes and he rubbed hard. He looked around him. He’d sat down for just a minute in the NICU, waiting for the First Lady to awaken and try to feed her baby again, but the heat from the unit had enveloped him and before he’d known it …
Val, one of his nurses, was standing next to him smiling. ‘Wake up, sleeping beauty, you’re needed.’
‘Is Jennifer Taylor awake?’
Val nodded. ‘She’s been awake for the last half-hour. Both Ruth and I have tried to assist her with breastfeeding, but the truth is we just can’t get this baby to latch on.’ She glanced down at her watch. ‘And if we’re going to follow the protocols we normally use at San Fran then we’re at our time limit for getting some fluids into this baby. You’re going to have to come and talk to her.’
Linc gave a nod, stood up and tried to flatten his rumpled scrubs. He walked over to the nearby sink and splashed some cold water on his face and hands.
Neonates could be hard work. Esther, who had been born at thirty-two weeks, hadn’t yet developed her natural mechanism to suck and feed. It was a common complaint in premature babies and one he was used to dealing with. The last thing in the world he wanted to do was to put a tube into the baby’s stomach and feed it artificially. The First Lady wanted to breastfeed and he would make sure that he and his staff did everything they could to make that happen.
He pulled some paper towels from the nearby dispenser and dried his face.
‘Have you had any success expressing some breast milk?’
Val nodded. ‘Ruth’s in there with her now—we knew that would be the next step.’
Lincoln took a deep breath and pushed open the door into the adjoining room. Charles Taylor, the President of the United States, was perched on the edge of the bed one arm wrapped around his wife’s shoulders, the other cradling daughter Esther. By neonatal standards Esther was a healthy weight at just under five pounds. Would Amy’s baby be so lucky? Where had that come from? Lincoln felt a little shudder drift down his spine. He had a job to do. He couldn’t allow himself to be distracted.
Jennifer’s brow was furrowed, her eyes fixed on the pump that the nurse Ruth was using to help her express some milk from her breasts. She looked exasperated as the smallest trickle of creamy breast milk started to collect in the receptacle.
‘What’s wrong with me?’ she gasped. ‘Is that it? No wonder my baby can’t feed.’
Lincoln crossed the room in a few steps and sat down at the bottom of the bed. This was no time for pomp and ceremony. The last thing he wanted was for Jennifer to think she was failing at feeding her child.
‘Give it a few minutes, Jennifer. Ruth is an expert at this and it takes a bit of time for your milk to come in. Remember, Esther is a tiny baby and she won’t need a huge amount to start with.’ He pointed at the small amount already collected. ‘That is called colostrum. And it’s like gold dust for babies. It contains antibodies and is rich in protein and carbohydrates—exactly what your baby needs.’
The tears were already starting to form in Jennifer’s eyes. ‘But she won’t feed. I can’t get her to take anything.’
Lincoln nodded. ‘And that’s entirely normal for a thirty-two-weeker. Her natural instincts to suck and feed haven’t kicked in yet. Sometimes it can take a few weeks. In the meantime, we have to look at how to get some fluids into her. The last thing we want is for your baby to dehydrate.’
Jennifer sagged back against the pillows behind her. The effect of the relaxation had an immediate impact on the flow from her breasts. ‘Look, there’s some more. Once we have a few more mils we’ll start to look at an alternative method for getting some breast milk into Esther. Any extra milk we can refrigerate or freeze.’
‘But I want to breastfeed. I told everyone I want to breastfeed.’
Lincoln could see the stress on Jennifer’s face. He reached out and automatically touched her hand. ‘And you will. In the meantime, in order to keep your daughter from screaming the house down, we’ll give her your breast milk another way.’
‘How?’
‘There’s two possibilities and it all depends on the baby. We can try cup feeding or finger feeding. What we definitely won’t do is put your breast milk into a bottle.’
‘I’ve never heard of these. How on earth can a baby drink from a cup?’ She turned to face her husband. ‘Have you ever heard of these?’
Charles lifted his eyes from his daughter, still caught in the rosy glow of new parenthood, smitten with his daughter’s face. ‘Nope, you’ve got me. Never heard of them.’
Lincoln smiled. ‘The word cup might not be strictly true. We don’t use a regular cup—we use a medicine cup and, to be honest, this type of feeding isn’t anything new, it’s been around for a long time. We place the edge of the cup at the baby’s mouth and bring the liquid up to baby’s lower lip, so she can lap it up—a bit like a pussycat. It can get a little messy.’ He smiled at Charlie, who still had his suit on. ‘We can you give something to change into.’ He nodded at Val, who had just detached the breast pump. ‘One of us will take some time and teach you how to do it. It can take a little bit of practice to get it right. It does mean, though, that you can both help with Esther’s feeding.’
Charlie gave a broad smile. There was no mistaking the joy in his eyes as he looked at his daughter. ‘Whatever she needs,’ he murmured.
Lincoln watched Jennifer’s face. She looked a little easier. ‘This is only a temporary measure to help get some fluids into Esther. We’ll still try putting Esther to the breast and encouraging her to latch on.’
‘Wouldn’t it just be easier to put a tube down?’
‘In theory it might be. But if we feed Esther by tube and she has the sensation of feeling full, she won’t have any motivation to suck. That’s what we really need to work on. Feeding by tube would be the last resort and I don’t think we’ll need to do that.’
Jennifer nodded slowly. ‘So how do you know if she’s getting enough?’
‘We’ll monitor her diapers and check the tone and elasticity of her skin.’ His eyes caught sight of Val, transferring some of the breast milk into one of the medicine cups. He stretched his hands out towards Charlie. ‘Do you mind if I take her for a minute? We want to be sure and have her wrapped up securely before we start—little hands can make a terrible mess when we’re cup feeding.’ He smiled at the President’s suit. ‘Wanna play doctor for the day and change into a set of scrubs?’
Charlie nodded. ‘Come with me,’ Ruth, the other nurse, said as she headed towards the door. ‘I’m sure we can find something for you.’
Lincoln tried hard to focus on the task at hand. Getting the First Daughter to feed should be his first and only priority. So why were his thoughts filled with pale skin and red, curly hair?
The buzz from the monitor and the tightening cuff on her arm woke Amy from her daze. Damn cuff. How was anyone supposed to sleep with this stupid thing going off every thirty minutes? No wonder her blood pressure was rising—she couldn’t get any peace and quiet.
A smile crossed her face. Things were different from a patient perspective. She’d never really given much thought before to the electronic monitoring devices that she used as a nurse. Cardiac monitors that beeped incessantly, IV fluid pumps that alarmed when they needed changing and syringe drivers that required hourly monitoring. It was no wonder patients complained.
She turned her head and glanced at the screen beside her. Damn! Her blood pressure hadn’t gone down at all. The curtains surrounding her had been pulled tightly and lights around her had been dimmed. What time was it? Was it night-time? It must be—she’d just been about to slip into another X-rated, Lincoln-filled dream. Definitely not suitable for a hospital stay.
She swung her legs from the trolley and reached for her bag. Somewhere in the depths of this giant tote bag should be her watch—she’d slipped it off earlier when her wrist had felt uncomfortable. She rummaged around inside the bag—lipstick, phone, receipts, purse, umbrella, spare undies, fold-up flat shoes, pens, pens and more pens. Ten minutes later she gave up. She pulled the cuff from her arm, the ripping Velcro echoing around the quiet emergency department. Where had everyone gone?
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