West Wing to Maternity Wing!

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.