West Wing to Maternity Wing! Read online

  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 el
egant 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.