Midwives' Christmas Miracles: A Touch of Christmas Magic / Playboy Doc's Mistletoe Kiss / Her Doctor's Christmas Proposal
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About the Authors
SCARLET WILSON wrote her first story aged eight and has never stopped. Her family have fond memories of Shirley and the Magic Purse, with its army of mice all with names beginning with the letter ‘M’. An avid reader, Scarlet started with every Enid Blyton book, moved on to the Chalet School series and many years later found Mills & Boon. She trained and worked as a nurse and health visitor, and currently works in public health. For her, finding Mills & Boon Medical Romances was a match made in heaven. She is delighted to find herself among the authors she has read for many years. Scarlet lives on the West Coast of Scotland with her fiancé and their two sons.
A three-time Golden Heart® finalist, TINA BECKETT is the product of a Navy upbringing. Fortunately she found someone who enjoys travelling just as much as she does and married him! Having lived in Brazil for many years, Tina is fluent in Portuguese and loves to use that beautiful country as a backdrop for many of her stories. When not writing or visiting far-flung places Tina enjoys riding horses, hiking with her family and hanging out on Facebook and Twitter.
Having tried a variety of careers in retail, marketing and nursing LOUISA GEORGE is thrilled that her dream job of writing for Mills and Boon means she gets to go to work in her pyjamas. Louisa lives in Auckland, New Zealand, with her husband, two sons and two male cats. When not writing or reading Louisa loves to spend time with her family, enjoys travelling, and adores eating great food.
Midwives’ Christmas Miracles
A Touch of Christmas Magic
Scarlet Wilson
Playboy Doc’s Mistletoe Kiss
Tina Beckett
Her Doctor’s Christmas Proposal
Louisa George
www.millsandboon.co.uk
ISBN: 978-1-474-08535-9
MIDWIVES’ CHRISTMAS MIRACLES
A Touch of Christmas Magic © 2015 Harlequin Books S.A Playboy Doc’s Mistletoe Kiss © 2015 Harlequin Books S.A Her Doctor’s Christmas Proposal © 2015 Harlequin Books S.A.
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
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www.millsandboon.co.uk
Table of Contents
Cover
About the Authors
Title Page
Copyright
A Touch of Christmas Magic
Dedication
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
EPILOGUE
Playboy Doc’s Mistletoe Kiss
Back Cover Text
Dedication
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
EPILOGUE
Her Doctor’s Christmas Proposal
Back Cover Text
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
EPILOGUE
About the Publisher
A Touch of Christmas Magic
Scarlet Wilson
This book is dedicated to my fabulous fellow
authors Louisa George, Tina Beckett and Robin
Gianna. It’s been a pleasure working with you
ladies!
CHAPTER ONE
THE LITTLE FACE stared back out of the window as Freya gave her a nervous wave from the new school. Bonnie sucked in a breath and kept the smile plastered to her face, waving back as merrily as she could. Please be okay.
Her thick winter coat was stifling her already. Even at this time of year, Cambridge was unexpectedly warmer than Scotland. She could feel an uncomfortable trickle of sweat run down her spine. The teacher came to the window and, glancing at Bonnie, ushered Freya away. Freya’s red curls had already started to escape from the carefully styled pleat. By the time she came home later her hair would be back to its usual fluffy head style. She could almost hear the teacher’s thoughts in her head: over-anxious parent.
She wasn’t. Not really. But travelling down from Scotland yesterday with their worldly goods stuffed into four suitcases was hardly ideal. The motel they’d ended up staying in was even less pleasant. The smell of damp and mildew in the room had set off alarm bells that it might cause a flare-up of Freya’s asthma. With Christmas not too far away, she desperately needed to sort out somewhere more suitable to stay. And the combination of everything, plus dropping Freya at a brand-new school this morning, had left her feeling rattled.
The director of midwifery at Cambridge Royal Maternity Unit had been quite insistent on her start date. No compromise. The ward sister had just taken early maternity leave due to some unexpected problems. They needed an experienced member of staff as soon as possible. And she hadn’t felt in a position to argue—despite the fact they’d had nowhere to stay. The job in Cambridge was her way out of Scotland. And, boy, did she need out.
Working at such a prestigious hospital was appealing. Everyone knew about the two-hundred-year-old hospital and one night, midway between tears and frustration, she’d applied. When they’d emailed back the next day to arrange a telephone interview she’d been surprised. And when they’d told her the next day she had the job she’d been stunned. Things had moved at a rapid pace ever since. References, occupational health forms and a formal offer telling her they wanted her to start straight away.
Thankfully, she’d had a sympathetic community manager in Scotland who knew about her circumstances and had done a little jigging to allow her to take annual leave and special leave to let her only work two weeks’ notice. The last two weeks had passed in a complete blur.
This morning had been hard. There had been tears and sniffles from Freya, a normally placid child. Bonnie held her breath. The school window remained empty; it was clear the teacher had successfully distracted her.
With a sigh of relief she glanced at her watch. Yikes. First day and she was going to be late. She hurried back to the bus stop. Getting a car was next on the ‘to do’ list. She phoned and left a message on the director of midwifery’s answerphone—hardly a good start for her first day on the job. But it couldn’t be helped. The woman knew she wasn’t arriving until last night and that her daughter was starting a new school today. She still had to hand some paperwork into HR and pick up her uniforms before she could start on the labour ward.
For once, she was in luck. The bus appeared almost immediately. Now it was daylight and she could actually see a bit of the beautiful city she’d decided to live in on almost a whim.
Well, a whim that was a result of catching her husband in bed with her best friend. She should still feel angry and hurt. But all she really felt was relief. As soon as the ink was dry on the divorce papers she’d started job hunting. She needed a fresh start and there was something so exciting about coming to a historic city like Cambridge. She watched as the Victorian-style shops and Grade II listed buildings whizzed past and allowed herself to smile a little. Cambridge was truly an atmospheric city; seeing it in daylight made her all the more excited to get a chance to see round about.
The hospital came into a view. A large, imposing building based in the heart of the bustling city. A little tremor of anticipation went down her spine. This was it. This was where she worked. As the bus drew to a halt, climbing down, she took a final glance around the city of Cambridge. Her city. Full of possibilities.
This was now home.
* * *
Jacob Layton was more than mildly irritated. He was mad—but, these days, that was nothing unusual for him.
He hated disorganisation. Hated chaos. He prided himself on the fact that his unit ran like clockwork. Any midwife or medic not up to the job at this hospital was quickly rooted out and dealt with.
It might sound harsh. But in Cambridge Royal Maternity Unit the lives of women and babies were on the line every day. He was a firm believer that all expectant mothers deserved the best possible care and it was his job to ensure they got it.
This morning, he stood at the nurses’ station with his hands on his hips as his temper bubbled just beneath the surface. There was no sign of any member of staff. None of the whiteboards were up to date—he didn’t even know which patient was in which room. Case notes were spread all over the desk with a whole variety of scribbled multicoloured sticky notes littering the normally immaculate desk.
‘Where is everyone?’ he yelled.
The frightened faces of a midwife and junior doctor appeared simultaneously from separate rooms. The midwife hurried towards him, her eyes fixed on her shoes. The junior doctor walked slowly, obviously hoping the midwife would get the brunt of Jacob’s rage this morning. He should be so lucky.
The midwife handed over a set of notes with slightly shaking hands. ‘I think this is the set of notes you wanted. I was just doing Mrs Clark’s observations. Everything seems fine.’
He snatched them from her hands and reviewed them quickly. Relief. Things were looking better for Mrs Clark. He raised his head, keeping his voice in check. ‘Good. Tell Mrs Clark I’ll be in to see her shortly.’
The midwife disappeared in a flash. The junior doctor’s legs practically did a U-turn in the corridor. He didn’t want to be left with Jacob.
‘Dr Jenkins.’
The young guy’s legs froze midstride. Jacob flung case notes onto the desk one after another. ‘Ms Bates needs her bloods done, Mrs Kelly needs her bloods repeated, where is the cardiac consult for Lucy Evans—she’s been here more than six hours—and how long ago did I ask you to arrange another ultrasound for Ms Shaw? Get it done, now!’ His voice rose as the anger he was trying to contain started to erupt. He hated incompetence. These patients were in the best maternity unit for miles. They should be receiving top-quality care.
The doctor’s face paled and he gathered up the notes in his arms. ‘Right away, Dr Layton,’ he said, practically scampering down the corridor to the nearest office.
He sighed. This place—normally his pride and joy—was becoming a disaster zone.
Ever since he’d diagnosed the ward manager with pre-eclampsia and sent her home with the instructions not to come back until she had her baby, this place had gone to pot. There were four other senior midwives. All of them excellent at clinical care—and none with an organisational bone in their body.
The director of midwifery had promised him that their new employee would be able to help with all this. But he’d just read her CV, and was struggling to see why a Scottish community midwife would be able to do anything to help a busy city labour ward.
But the thing that was really making him mad was the fact that she wasn’t here. He glanced at his watch again. First day on a new job—after nine-thirty—and the new start wasn’t here.
The doors at the bottom of the corridor swung open right on cue. Bonnie Reid. It had to be. Jacob knew everyone who worked here and he didn’t recognise her at all. Dressed in the blue scrubs that the labour ward midwives wore and bright pink trainers, she had her red hair coiled up on top of her head in a strange kind of knot. How on earth did she do that? That, coupled with the curves not hidden by the shapeless scrubs, reminded him of a poster he’d had on his wall as a teenager. He felt a smile form on his lips.
Was she nervous? Her hands fidgeted with her security pass and she seemed to make a conscious effort to slow her steps. What irritated him most of all was the fact she didn’t seem to notice him standing, waiting for her. Instead, she stopped at every room on the way along the corridor, nodding and introducing herself to the members of staff. She even disappeared for a second to obviously help with a patient.
Then, she appeared with a load of laundry, which she put into the laundry bags, reorganised two of the hand scrubs outside the doors and tidied the top of the cardiac-arrest trolley on her way past.
He waited until she’d almost reached him. ‘Bonnie Reid?’ His voice dripped with sarcasm. ‘Nice of you to finally join us.’
Something flickered across her face. Her skin was pale under the bright hospital lights and he could see a few tiny freckles under her make-up. She’d looked good from a distance. Up close, she was much more interesting.
She had real knockout eyes. Dark, dark blue. Not the pale blue normally associated with a redhead. But then her hair wasn’t the average red either. It was a dark deep auburn. The kind of colour normally associated with Hollywood actresses who probably had a whole team of people to get it that colour. Almost instantly he knew that Bonnie Reid’s was entirely natural. She gave him the slightest glance from those eyes. And for the first time, in a long time, he took a deep breath.
It had been a long time since a woman had ignited something in his system. Maybe it was her dark blue eyes against her pale skin? Or the look of disdain she gave him as she walked past into the treatment room and started washing her hands.
Had he just imagined it? No. Something in her eyes told him this was a woman who had lived—had experienced life. She must be in her early thirties. As she finished washing her hands he glanced at her finger—no ring. It had been a long time since he’d done that too.
She turned to face him. ‘Bonnie Reid, new midwife at Cambridge Royal Maternity Unit.’ Her eyebrows rose. ‘And you are?’
It was her tone. It rankled him right away. He’d never been a person to pull rank. ‘Jacob Layton, Head Obstetrician, CRMU.’
It was almost as if a box of chocolates or tray of cakes had appeared out of thin air at the nurses’ station. Just about every door in the corridor opened and a whole host of previously hidden staff appeared. Did they avoid him every morning?
Bonnie didn’t appear to notice. She blinked and pointed towards his scrubs. ‘You should wear an ID badge, Dr Layton. You could be absolutely anyone. I expect all staff members I work with to be clearly identified.’
She was just here. His skin prickled. Patience was not his friend. In any other set of circumstances he might have said their new staff member had an attitude problem. But he got the distinct impression that Bonnie Reid was only reacting to his initial barb.
He didn’t know whether to give her a dressing-down or to smile. ‘It’s Jacob,’ he said quietly. ‘Everyone calls me Jacob.’ Not true. Only the few people not terrified by him called him Jacob. For a second their gazes meshed. It startled him, sending a little jolt around his system.
More than a year. That was how long it had been since he’d felt a spark with someone.
She gave the slightest nod of her head and extended her hand towards his. ‘Bonnie. Everyone calls me Bonnie.’
As soon as he connected with her skin he knew he’d made a mistake. The warm feeling of her palm against his. Touch. That was what he’d missed most of all in the last year. The warmness of someone’s touch. He pulled his hand back sharply as her eyes widened at his reaction.
‘You’re late.’ It came out much snappier than he intended. Her hand was still in mid-air, suspended from their shake. She drew it back slowly and her gaze narrowed as she took a deep breath and her shoulders went back.
She met his gaze full on. ‘Yes, I’m late.’ It was clear she had no intention of giving anything else away. He couldn’t believe how much one meeting with one woman could irk him.
She was new. She was working in his unit. And, after talks with the director of midwifery, this was the person he was supposed to offer a promoted post to. If he deemed her suitable. Tardiness was not an option.
He felt his normal persona resume. The one that had held most of the staff at arm’s length for the last year. ‘Staff and patients rely on us. Lateness is not acceptable at CRMU. I expected you here at nine a.m.’
It was the first time she looked a little worried. ‘I had to take my daughter to school. We arrived late last night from Scotland. She was upset. I had to make sure she was okay.’ She glanced over her shoulder as if she expected someone else to be there. ‘I left a message for the director of midwifery—she knew my circumstances.’
Those words annoyed him. He’d seen her CV, but the director hadn’t told him anything about their new employee’s ‘circumstances’. He hated it when staff used excuses for not being able to do a shift, or being late for work.
‘We all have circumstances. We all still have to be at work for nine. Work is our priority. Patients are our priority.’
Her face flamed and her eyes sparked. ‘Patients are always my priority and I’ve already dealt with two on my way along the ward. Exactly how many have you dealt with while you’ve been standing there waiting for me to arrive? Hardly a good use of consultant time.’
She was questioning him. She was challenging him and she’d only been here five minutes. He’d love to sack her on the spot. But they desperately needed the staff right now, and if she was as competent as she was mouthy he’d be in serious trouble with the director of midwives. She was almost questioning his competence. Let them see how she was when someone questioned hers.
‘I saw from your CV that you were a community midwife in Scotland. It’s a bit of a leap coming to work in an inner city labour ward. Don’t you think that might stretch your current capabilities? Are you going to have to refresh your skills?’
It was a reasonable question. At least he felt it was. He still wasn’t entirely sure why the director thought a community midwife was a suitable replacement for their ward sister.
It took about a millisecond to realise he’d said exactly the wrong thing.
Bonnie glared at him and put her hands on her hips. ‘Please do not question my capabilities or qualifications. In the last year, I’ve dealt with a shoulder dystocia, umbilical cord prolapse, two women who failed to progress, a footling breech, a cervical lip and an intrapartum haemorrhage. Is that enough for you?’ She turned to walk away, then obviously decided she wasn’t finished. ‘And just so we’re clear—’ she held out her hands ‘—I didn’t have a fancy unit, staffed with lots of other people to help me. These were home deliveries. I was on my own, with no assistance. Still think I need to refresh my skills?’
Her pretty brow was marred by a frown and he could practically feel the heat sparking from her eyes. It was an impressive list—even for a midwife based in a busy labour ward. For a community midwife, some of those situations must have been terrifying. He had a whole new respect for his new midwife.
But Bonnie wasn’t finished. It was obvious he’d lit a fire within her and probably touched a nerve. Maybe she was nervous about starting work in a new hospital? Worse, he’d just called her qualifications into question in front of the rest of the staff. He hadn’t even considered that might not be entirely appropriate—especially when these could be the people she would be in charge of. Mentally, he was kicking himself.
‘My experience with women isn’t just in the labour suite, Dr Layton.’ Oh, boy, she was mad. It was clear, if he was patronising her, they weren’t on first-name terms. ‘I’ve spent the last ten years looking after women from the moment they’re pregnant until long after the baby is delivered. I’ve picked up on lots of factors that affect their pregnancy, both clinical and social. And as a community midwife I’ve dealt with lots of post-delivery problems for both mother and child. Looking after patients at home is a whole lot different from looking after them in a clinical setting. Isolation, post-op complications, neonatal problems, postpartum psychosis, depression, domestic abuse...’ She fixed him with her gaze. ‘The list goes on and on.’