Risking Her Heart On The Single Dad / The Neonatal Doc's Baby Surprise

“Mind you... I’ve never seen him like that.”

“Like what?” Kirri was enjoying this more than she should. But getting the low-down on her new boss was a whole jar full of awesome sauce from where she was standing.

“Tongue-tied,” said Malachy.

Gloria nodded in agreement.

“He isn’t exactly a Chatty Kathy at the best of times,” piped up another woman, Leigh, as she wheeled her chair over to a row of test tubes. “But it’s true. He’s normally not so...mute.” She shrugged, then tipped her head to a microscope. “Maybe he’s got a lot on his mind. It’s been a busy week. And next week’s even crazier, if what Stella was saying is anything to go by.”

“Who’s Stella?” Kirri asked.

“Surgical nurse,” they all answered.

“She was probably in there with you today,” one of them tacked on.

Kirri was about to quiz them about the surgeries Ty would be doing when Gloria patted the desk.

“Why don’t you put your bag down here and we can take you on a proper tour of the lab. We’re all real excited to hear more about your research. And, of course, show you our baby.”

Kirri grinned. “You mean the 3D printer?”

Gloria’s smile shot from ear to ear. “We didn’t think you’d flown round the world just to look into some Petri dish.”

Kirri felt an instant camaraderie with the group. Petri dishes had their place in the world of research...but 3D printers? They offered a gateway into modern medicine few things could.

She unshouldered her backpack, looked round the room and grinned. “I can’t believe I’m actually here.”

“Dr. Sawyer is a champion of innovative medicine,” said Nathan. “So, like you said, he’s a real knight in shining armor. For this kind of stuff anyway.”

He abruptly turned to his lab table and started scribbling down some notes.

Gloria shook her head and laughed. “Don’t worry. You’ll get used to us all soon enough. C’mon, honey. Why don’t we go and get you a cup of coffee or tea or something? And then you can tell me all about this baby grow bag of yours.”

Kirri threw back her head and laughed. “That’s a brilliant way to describe it. Much better than womb on a chip.”

They walked and talked their way out of the lab to a small kitchen area, where some coffee was just being brewed.

“And this has nothing to do with artificial womb technology?” Gloria asked.

“No,” Kirri said solidly. “I’m sure you know as well as I do that elements of AWT are mired in all sorts of ethical and moral dilemmas that’ll take years, probably decades, to resolve. That’s why sticking with the purely biochemical elements of helping premature babies survive seems to be the fastest route to making an impact.”

Gloria gave her a sidelong look. “But you’re not expecting any sort of major breakthrough over the next few weeks, are you, sugar?”

“Oh, no!” Kirri lied. “I’m just here to spread my wings.”

And totally to have a breakthrough.

It was the only way she could garner some attention for her own rather primitive research lab and get some funding back in Oz.

“Good call,” Gloria said, pulling mugs down from the cupboard and pouring them both a cup of steaming coffee. “Dr. Sawyer is real supportive of that sort of approach. His specialty is, of course, surgery. But he’s a firm believer in investing in innovation.”

“Any particular reason why?”

Gloria looked at her as if she was crazy. “He’s Dr. Cutting Edge! He got that way by going out on his own. Taking huge risks not many doctors would take. He wants to help folk who can see a reality that other people can’t. There’s a line a mile long to work in this lab. You’re a lucky woman being eagle-eyed by Ty.”

Interesting... So Ty was a surgical maverick? Having watched him today, it was clear he was highly trained in classical surgical styles. So much so it made her itch to learn from him. See the fetal surgical world through his eyes.

Gloria handed her a mug. “So. Give me the elevator pitch for this grow bag of yours.”

“Well, first of all, I’m stealing that description.” Kirri grinned. “Let’s see... If it was a longish elevator ride, I suppose it’d go something like this: imagine a 3D printed womblike environment, hosted by a microfluidic cell culture chip that would ultimately serve as a replacement for an incubator.”

“Good...” Gloria nodded. “And how would you explain that to the layman?”

Kirri took a sip of hot coffee, thought for a moment, then said, “The baby grow bag will revolutionize survival rates in premature births and help expectant mothers’ health.”

Gloria gave her a satisfied nod. “I look forward to being a part of that.” She lifted her coffee mug to Kirri’s and toasted her. “Welcome aboard, Kirri. May your research be fruitful. And don’t you pay no mind to Dr. Sawyer. His head is always off and away somewhere. Unless he’s in surgery, of course. And then he’s your man.”

She gave Kirri a little wink, then set off back down the corridor as if she knew a secret she wasn’t yet ready to tell.

Her man.

The phrase knocked around her chest along with a strangely weighted sense of longing.

She’d had a man about six years ago. One she’d thought she’d spend the rest of her life with...right up until he’d dropped her like a hot potato.

He’d wanted children. She’d waited too long to tell him she would never be able to give him children of his own. When she finally had it had been as if he’d flicked a switch on his heart and turned glacially cold.

For the first and last time in her life she’d lowered herself to begging. Said she’d do anything to keep the relationship going. Adopt. Foster. IVF or a surrogate. But he’d lashed out and told her she’d never be fit to be a parent. Not with her compulsive need to be on a professional par with her brother.

He’d said it as if wanting to be the best was a bad thing! As if being on a par with Lucius was an impossible dream. It had been a cruel comment he had known would speak to the little girl in her who knew she’d never please her father.

She took a sip of scalding coffee and let the sensation burn away the all too familiar waves of emptiness as she headed back to the lab.

No point in worrying about it now. Her role in life was to help other women who could have babies. Women who could lead the life she’d always imagined having herself. And the only way she was going to do that and survive was by being at the top of her game.

CHAPTER THREE

THREE DAYS LATER and Kirri was finally opening her eyes at the right time in the morning. The scent of brewing coffee might have had something to do with that.

Coffee makers with a timer. Who knew?

Apart from utterly humiliating herself in front of Ty on day one, she was absolutely loving it here. There was a freedom in not being Lucius West’s kid sister that felt positively liberating. Everywhere she went, she was just a girl in the crowd. A chick in a lab coat. No one to prove anything to—except for one deeply gorgeous, dark-eyed doctor.

She had a lot to prove to Dr. Ty Sawyer. The man had invested quite a chunk of money in her. In her brain, anyway. Not that he’d exactly been hovering over her in the lab, or anything. She’d barely seen him since Prince Charming-gate. Then again, it had been the weekend. Some people actually had lives.

Some people had someone to go home to.

She shook the thought away and re-centered herself. She wasn’t here to flirt. She was here to work.

Speaking of which... She glanced at the bedside clock. Time to get up and get on the road.

She rolled up and out of bed. The beautiful condo the clinic had provided her with was an amazing place to call home for the next few weeks. All glass and steel—a bit like the Medical Innovations Center—the corner apartment offered stunning views of central Atlanta and beyond.

If they wanted the place to act as an advertisement for the sprawling southern city it was working. Beautiful sunrises and sunsets... The lush surroundings of Piedmont Park in the heart of Atlanta...

Not that she’d seen much of the city center yet. She’d spent the weekend making good on her promise to read up on all the lab’s projects. It was going to be a fascinating place to work. They were exploring every area of fetal development and beyond, and didn’t seem shy of confronting wide-ranging and complicated issues like neonatal abstinence syndrome, fathers’ stress in NICUs, oxygen physiology and just about everything else under the rainbow so long as it offered preterm neonates a better chance of survival.

She took a slug of hot coffee, stared out the window toward the clinic and gave a wistful sigh.

No doubt about it. She’d been hit by the “new crush” bucket. Ty Sawyer had certainly made an impact. Literally and figuratively.

What an absolute dill she’d been.

Room for my womb?

What had she been thinking?

Very little, obviously.

Weekend aside, she’d barely seen him since he’d fled the research lab.

Her more practical side told her it was time to shake off that particularly large chip on her shoulder. So what if he hadn’t sat down with her to go through her research? It had been three measly days. Not checking up on her showed faith. Belief that she could get on with it on her own. Pragmatism.

Or abject horror that he’d hired her in the first place.

Even so... If the roles had been reversed she was pretty sure she would’ve invited him to a barbie, or on a guided tour of Sydney’s finest offerings, or at the very least offered him a quick glass of beautiful Aussie wine to break the ice.

Maybe he doesn’t want to break the ice. Did you think of that, Kirri?

The scenes of their brief encounters replayed on a loop.

There’d been a flash of something when their eyes had first met. Connection. A crackle of response when their fingers had brushed as he’d handed her the umbrella. The flare of it had blazed again when she’d seen him from the scrub room. Lightning bugs had danced round her belly and she was sure she’d sensed the same in him. But she’d thought the same of her ex. Thought the connection she’d felt zinging between them had meant they could weather any storm.

She put down the coffee and took a slug of ice-cold smoothie.

Delusion juice.

Her brother called it that when she’d appear, bleary-eyed, after another long night in the lab, wielding a green smoothie to be chased up by a double hit of espresso.

“Hitting the delusion juice early, are we?”

Lucius had had a point. He’d had lots of points, actually. Despite the turn of phrase, she’d always known he wasn’t being snarky. He wanted her to focus on the job that she had. The one she was paid to do. Neonatal surgery. And she did focus on it. When she was doing it. The rest of the time it was all about holing up in the lab she’d crafted out of one of the old store cupboards, trying to tag team all the huge research centers that were also trying to create baby grow bags.

Or, in her brother’s words, letting her life pass her by.

Up until the moment she’d boarded the plane to Atlanta her day-to-day existence had pretty much been comprised of surgery to keep her brother happy, research to keep herself happy, and sleep because... Well, that part was obvious.

Eating had happened. The odd night out with colleagues had happened. Dates rarely happened. Which was another problem. Because she didn’t just want a child of her own. She wanted the whole nine yards. The doting husband. The cute little house. Nothing fancy. Just room for a barbecue and maybe an apple tree with a bench seat swing. A treehouse for the kids...

She conked her head on the breakfast bar and groaned. Her brother was right. She was on a full dose of delusion juice and showing few signs of recovery.

Creating a properly functioning artificial womb wasn’t just a pipe dream. It was a constant reminder of the one thing she didn’t have. A womb of her own.

She could joke, and wear tough-girl clothes, and maybe sometimes have one too many tequila shots, but the facts remained the same. Mother Nature had skipped over her when she was doling out baby-making equipment and it scraped her heart raw.

Mayer-Rokitansky-Küster-Hauser syndrome was a rare condition. She’d been born with ovaries, eggs and female hormones, but no womb. No ability to get pregnant. And there was nothing she could do about it. She’d never have a child of her own. There were, of course, womb transplants now, at a handful of hospitals around the world, but at thirty-seven years old, and chronically single, she didn’t see the point.

Besides, the break-up with her ex had been so scarring she’d unwittingly begun to fulfill his prophesy. He was right. Her work life had rendered her completely unfit to be a mother.

The only counterbalance was knowing she was trying to help women who weren’t in her rather fetching knee-high boots. Women who could get pregnant but struggled to carry the pregnancy to term. Hence the need for a baby grow bag, to nurture extremely preterm fetuses.

If she could develop it, it would be the most advanced neonatal incubator in the world. Not to mention that it would take fetal survival to the next level. There were other advantages too. Surgery, for example. Much easier on mother and child because they wouldn’t be compromising the mother’s life. And, of course, access would be much easier.

But, as with so many of these things, there was a complicated web of medical ethics to navigate and research was still—ha!—at the incubating phase. She’d be old and gray and maybe dead before it ever actually happened, so perhaps her brother was right. It was time to give up the delusion juice and start hitting the truth serum. She was a gifted surgeon, and if she really wanted to help she should give more of that gift on a daily basis rather than devoting herself to a pipe dream.

As if her brother had been reading her mind, her phone buzzed with a video call from him. It had been five days since she’d left. Maybe this time he was checking to make sure she was alive rather than detailing the terms of her contract in full capital letters. A contract she was very much breaking by being here in Atlanta.

But dreams were worth breaking a few rules for, right? So she pressed “accept”, put on her cheekiest smile and grinned at her brother.

“Hey, Luci!” She always called him Luci when she wanted to make him grumpy.

“Hey, yourself, Maple Top.”

Hmm... He was using the term of endearment he’d coined years back, because Kirrily meant leaf. He only ever did it very occasionally. He must want something. She braced herself for a speech.

“How’s it going up there?”

Unusual... Chit-chat before laying into her. It was a tactic he’d never used before.

She played along. “Good. The facilities are amazing. Dr. Sawyer’s got quite the set-up.” She launched into a vivid description of the modern lab, the access she had to all the Piedmont research and how exciting it all was.

“More exciting than down here?”

Was that...? Wait a minute. Was her brother missing her?

“No, not at all...” she floundered. Because it was—a little bit. “It’s just different. New. Nice to get a fresh perspective on things.”

She could almost see the words arrowing straight to Sydney and crashing against her brother’s solid stance. He still thought that the only thing she’d gain from coming to Atlanta were some frequent flyer miles.

“Right, well...” He scrubbed his hand through his hair and shook his head. “Thanks for sorting out the roster. See you in a few weeks.”

Suddenly she missed her brother like she’d miss a limb. Sure, he was a pain, and they never had deep and heavies or hugged out their differences, but even if he wasn’t a cuddly-bear-style big brother he always had her back. This call was proof that, no matter how cross he was with her, he still did.

“Thanks for ringing. I’ll be sure and keep you up to date with everything here.” Kirri swallowed back the sharp sting of tears, trying to keep her smile bright. He was a good man, her brother. She really needed to push herself hard at the clinic. Prove to him that what she’d done had been worth the risk.

“You take good care, then.” He hung up the phone.

Kirri stared at her handset in disbelief. It was possibly one of the longest personal conversations they’d ever had. Usually just about everything they talked about at length involved the clinic.

Before she had a chance to think about it too much, her phone rang again. Kirri didn’t even bother looking at the number and answered playfully, “Well, hello again, stranger.”

“Kirri?”

Kirri’s cheeks flushed hot pink. What was Ty Sawyer doing on the end of her phone?

“Dr. Sawyer! Apologies. I was just speaking with my brother. Sorry. What can I do you for? For you?”

Stop! Talking!

Ty, unsurprisingly, sounded confused. “We’re a surgeon down today. Childcare issues. I was wondering if you might be up for a day in the OR rather than in the research lab?”

Was this an olive branch? Or desperation? Didn’t matter. She was going to pounce on the invitation like a hungry cat.

“Absolutely. What sort of surgeries are on the roster?”

He rattled off a few in-utero procedures she’d done before. Nothing wild, but operating on a baby still inside its mother always made life interesting.

“Are you sure you’re up for it?” Ty asked.

Hmm... Make microscopic advances in her research or spend all day making magical medicine with Dr. Chocolate Eyes?

“Of course. Definitely. Can’t think of anything I’d rather do.”

Especially if it got her in Ty’s good books again. Even his normal books would be good. Whatever those were.

Ty Sawyer was still very much an enigma to her. And he might stay that way if she didn’t start behaving like someone who didn’t go all fluttery and googly-eyed whenever she was in his presence.

“Any particular time?”

“Whenever you can get here.”

“Consider it done.”

Kirri flew in and out of the shower, tugged on a lime-green A-line skirt and a T-shirt bedecked with a unicorn jumping over a rainbow and was out the door in a matter of minutes.

Once scrubbed up and in a surgical gown, she felt more grounded. The OR was her “can-do” zone. A place where she felt comfortable. Confident.

But hitting the right note was critical. A day showing the team what she was really made of would set her up perfectly for the next six weeks of research. And perhaps the next six weeks of Ty Sawyer.

Ty had to admit it. He was impressed. Three surgeries down and Kirri seemed indefatigable. She was a precision surgeon. Gifted, even. She approached repairing the most delicate components of a tiny infant’s body as naturally as she might approach breathing. She was also excellent with anxious parents. Both the mothers who had to go into surgery and the parents who had to watch their infant children being wheeled down the hall on a gurney. He found those moments tough. Especially as a father himself.

Amanda had been right to push him into asking her to join them in the OR today. Just as well, considering he hadn’t exactly given Kirri a warm welcome. Before he’d met her, he’d planned on inviting the visiting doctor to dinner with his family over the weekend. Taking her and Lulu on a cycle tour of the sprawling Piedmont Park. Pointing out the best places for that essential morning cup of coffee.

In short, he’d planned on pushing himself out of his normal mode—recluse—in an effort to get to know the woman behind one of the most exciting medical innovations he’d seen.

And then he’d met her.

The lack of a specialized surgeon this morning had backed him into a corner. Get over himself or cancel the surgeries. He hated leaving patients hanging, so he’d relented and called Kirri, convinced she’d barely make it through one surgery, let alone three. But working with her was like working with an extra set of his own hands. Pure synchronicity.

They often had visiting specialists, and there was always some new little technique to pick up, or a different instrument to try. Sure, surgery was meant to be textbook—but someone had to write those textbooks and Kirri was definitely in that league. Beyond it really. She was the definition of “in a league of her own”.

“So who’s next?”

Kirri pushed through the OR doors with a fresh surgical gown billowing behind her, looking like a pop star about to dazzle thousands of fans. She was doing that, all right. Even if those fans were an OR full of nurses, anesthetists and surgical students. And, Ty had to admit, one single dad who had been figuring out the best way to tactically avoid her for the next six weeks.

Ty ran her through the case. A six-month-old little girl, Meredith, who had gastro-esophageal reflux. The poor little thing wasn’t getting all her nutrients and, more importantly, was in danger of breathing food or drink into her windpipe, which would irritate her lungs or cause infections.

They’d be performing a fundoplication. If things went as smoothly as they had in previous surgeries, the non-invasive procedure should have the little one right as rain in a matter of weeks.

It had been Amanda’s idea to call Kirri when Ty’s senior partner Mark Latham had called in, unable to come to work. His wife was out on the West Coast, doing some corporate lawyer thing, and one of his little girls was sick. When Amanda had suggested they call Kirri, rather than reschedule all the patients, Ty had balked.

Amanda had pressed. Said it was in the interest of their patients. They all knew that was the easiest way to get him to agree to anything.

It turned out Ty had had absolutely nothing to worry about. Kirri was every bit as knowledgeable, patient, willing to learn and talented at teaching her own deft surgical techniques as her reputation had suggested. She was so relaxed as she conducted the extremely delicate neonatal surgeries that she was even able to chit-chat.

She’d already won over the surgical nurses with her compliments about the facilities, their work ethic, their exactingness and, of course, their scrubs. They had fun scrubs here at the Piedmont Women and Baby Pavilion. Every color of the rainbow and each splashy print singular to the state of Georgia.

“And what do the green scrubs represent? That’s the anterior retraction of the left lateral segment of the liver set. Could I get a Babcock clamp, please?” Kirri held out her hand for the device.

The nurse who handed it to her—Stella—answered for the team. “Oh, those are for the state amphibian.”

Kirri’s eyes flicked up to meet Ty’s, and he saw a twinkle of amusement evident, even through her surgical glasses.

“The state amphibian?” she said dryly.

“The green tree frog,” Stella explained, without a drop of humor. She took more pride in her home state than most. There wasn’t a ball game with the letter G involved that she wasn’t cheering for.

“Love it.”

Kirri prepared the second incision. A three-millimeter cut that would disappear just a few weeks after surgery, if all went well.

“So, what are the other state emblems?” Quick eye-flick to Ty. “Suction, please. I’m just about to prepare the second five-millimeter port.”

She did it swiftly and efficiently as Stella rattled through Georgia’s other state emblems.

“The state bird is the Brown Thrasher. The fish is the Southern Appalachian Brook Trout.” She listed a few more. The fruit—peach, obviously—the state flower, the state gem, the state insect... “And our state crop is the peanut, of course.”