A Baby Of Her Own

“Then you’re mistaken. Very much mistaken.” A muscle clenched in his jaw. “You adore children.”

“That’s why I’m a pediatrician.” And why he was one, too; she’d bet her last penny.

“It’s more than that, Jodie. I’ve seen you on the ward, feeding babies and cuddling them—all way beyond your job description. You even do it when you’re supposed to be off duty.”

“Okay, so I love children.” She shrugged. “So what?”

“Jodie, you said you wanted children. One of each, you said. But I’m infertile. I can’t give you a child. Ever.”

Dear Reader,

I’ve always enjoyed medical drama, and A Baby of Her Own was inspired by my own personal drama! My daughter, Chloë, spent her first Christmas in hospital with bronchiolitis. I spent the week at her bedside, and the only way I got through it was to pretend it was happening to someone else. So I started writing a medical romance, set in a children’s ward. When Chloë came home, I carried on—and the book was accepted just before her first birthday!

Pediatric registrar Jodie, is full of fun and wants everyone to join in. She decides consultant Sam needs bringing out of his reserve—but then she falls in love with him. Yet Sam doesn’t think he can give her what she really wants—a baby of her own. Even though he’s just as much in love with her, he plans to be noble and walk away so she can build a future with a man who’s not infertile.

Jodie doesn’t give up so easily.

A Baby of Her Own tells the story of how Jodie convinces Sam that he’s the man for her—with the help of her friends at Melbury City General Hospital. I hope you have as much fun reading it as I did writing it.

With love,

Kate Hardy

A Baby of Her Own

Kate Hardy

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CONTENTS

COVER

Dear Reader

TITLE PAGE

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

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

EPILOGUE

EXTRACT

COPYRIGHT

CHAPTER ONE

‘INCEY wincey spider climbed up Amy’s arch; down he came, to make our Amy laugh!’

Sam Taylor stopped dead in his tracks. He knew that voice, and it shouldn’t have been singing nursery songs. He strode to the doorway of the small room—a room that was really a quarter of one of the bays in the paediatric ward, partitioned off to give more flexibility when it came to isolation nursing or a parent needing privacy—and leaned on the jamb, watching the young doctor who was playing her own version of Incey Wincey Spider with the toddler in traction in the cot, wiggling her fingers up the traction arch and then letting them drop down onto the little girl’s tummy.

Her blonde curls cascaded over her shoulders, hiding her face from Sam’s view, but he had no doubt she was smiling. Just like the red-headed toddler lying on the iron-framed cot in front of her, flat on her back with both legs in plaster. The ties that bound the child’s legs to the traction arch were gradually moved lower and lower down the arch so her hip joints were pushed back into their proper place as her legs were stretched out.

Why was his registrar playing with a sick child when there were notes to be written up and a ward round to finish? Particularly when they were so short-staffed, thanks to the virus that had decimated the ward. Play was fine in its place, but they just didn’t have time for it right now.

He cleared his throat. ‘Dr Price. A word, please?’

She looked up instantly and her green eyes widened as she saw the grim expression on his face. ‘Of course, Mr Taylor.’ Jodie gave the consultant a brief nod, then turned back to the little girl. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, Amy.’ She gently touched the tip of the child’s nose, the gesture telling in its affection. ‘Big smile?’

‘Yes, Doc-a Dodo,’ the little girl lisped, doing her best to give Jodie a smile, though clearly disappointed that she was going to lose her playmate.

Satisfied that the child was happy to be left, Jodie joined Sam at the door.

‘There’s still half a round to do,’ he pointed out tightly.

‘I know.’

His steel-grey eyes narrowed. She knew, and she was leaving all the work to others? ‘And you’re playing with Amy Simcox.’

She nodded, seemingly unconcerned. ‘Apart from the fact that plenty of studies show how play helps children to recover faster, it’s my day off.’

Sam flushed at the double rebuke. ‘I see. Well, I’m sorry, Dr Price. Though if you wore a white coat like the rest of us,’ he continued, his voice very soft and very dangerous, ‘maybe it would be easier to tell when you’re off duty.’

It was her turn to redden now; with her fair skin, she flushed spectacularly. Literally to the roots of her hair. ‘In my experience, small children are scared enough when they come into hospital. A white coat’s just another barrier for the kids and their parents to overcome.’

‘And how do the parents know you’re who you say you are?’ he countered silkily. ‘Anyone could walk around here with a stethoscope slung round their neck and a clipboard under one arm—’ just as she casually floated round the ward ‘—and say they’re a doctor.’

‘True.’ She gave him an impish grin that riled him even more. ‘But they don’t have one of these.’ She fished her hospital ID badge out of the pocket of her trousers.

He ought to remind her of her position as a junior doctor, Sam knew, but a glint in her eyes warned him she was expecting something of the sort. He couldn’t be more than six or seven years older than she was, but she made him feel as if there were a whole generation between them.

‘So what are you doing here on your day off?’ he asked. ‘Showing your dedication to the ward?’ Hoping for a quick promotion, perhaps? Though that was unfair. She didn’t seem the type to trample on others on her way to the top. Her dedication and enthusiasm were above question, yet Jodie Price always had time for people.

‘Actually, I’m just playing with little Amy.’ She bit her lip. ‘Poor kid. As if it isn’t bad enough being in traction at the age of eighteen months, just when she’s getting used to walking, it’s made worse by her father being “too busy” to visit her and her mother bursting into tears every time she sees the little one.’

‘And?’ he prompted, seeing the glint of tears rather than defiance in her eyes. Doctors were taught from the word go not to let themselves get so emotionally involved that it affected their judgement—but sometimes a case really tugged at your heartstrings and you forgot to be sensible.

‘Her mother’s convinced it’s all her fault that Amy’s hip joints haven’t formed properly. She had three glasses of champagne on her wedding anniversary, when she was pregnant.’ Jodie grimaced. ‘I’ve told her it’s not her fault, that clicky hip’s fairly common in babies who were breech presentation, particularly girls. It should have been picked up even before Amy’s six-week check, anyway, rather than Mrs Simcox asking her health visitor why Amy wasn’t walking at sixteen months when all her peers were, then us finding out at referral that the baby had clicky hip. But she still blames herself, so little Amy doesn’t get many visitors.

‘I’m not saying her parents should live here,’ she went on, lifting a hand to forestall any comment he might make. ‘Parents who stay during the day need to go home at night for a proper rest—which they wouldn’t get here, with monitors beeping all over the place. But I do think that a child who’s stuck in one place and is old enough to talk needs a bit of company. The nurses are brilliant with her but they’re overstretched.’ The generous mouth thinned. ‘So I’ve just been spending a few minutes talking to her and playing with her in my lunch-hour or before I go on duty.’

‘And you do that for all your patients?’

Jodie lifted her chin, and Sam realised for the first time that she was only a couple of inches shorter than he was. Around five feet ten in the flat shoes she was wearing.

‘For the ones in need, yes,’ she stated defiantly.

‘It can’t go down very well with your boyfriend.’ Why on earth had he said that?

She coloured. ‘No. It didn’t. Still, you have your round to finish, Mr Taylor. I won’t hold you up any longer.’

It didn’t. Meaning the boyfriend was history? He suddenly realised she was staring at him, expecting an answer. ‘Oh. Yes. Goodnight, Dr Price.’

Sam continued on his rounds, carefully writing up his notes on each case, but he couldn’t shake the image of the fair-haired junior doctor from his mind. Crazy. Even if he had been interested in another relationship—and his marriage to Angela had put him off that idea for good—it wouldn’t be with Jodie. Being the subject of the hospital grapevine wasn’t something he wanted to repeat. He’d been there, done that and worn the T-shirt when Angela had left him for another man.

Besides, Jodie really wasn’t his type. Casual, breezy, and way too confident for a young doctor in her position. She still had a lot to learn, about life as well as medicine.

But…

No buts, he told himself firmly. He didn’t even want to be her friend, let alone anything else.

So why ask her about her boyfriend, then? a little voice in his head queried wickedly.

Slip of the tongue.

Freudian slip, more like, the voice continued. She’s beautiful, clever, fun. And you want to—

Shut up. I’ve got a job to do.

He forced himself to concentrate on his rounds; then, just as he was about to leave the ward, he heard her laugh. A laugh that made him yearn, for a brief second, to have been the one who’d put a smile on her face.

‘See you tonight at Mario’s, Jodie,’ Fiona Ferguson, the ward sister, said. ‘Eight o’clock sharp.’

‘I’ll be on time,’ Jodie promised with a grin as she sat on the edge of the desk, swinging her long legs.

‘As if. You doctors are all the same, thinking that time and tide and pizza will wait for you,’ Fiona teased. ‘Well, if you’re late, we’ll just eat your share of the dough balls.’

‘You wouldn’t do that to a poor, starving junior doctor,’ Jodie retorted, wringing her hands theatrically and laughing. ‘Not where Mario’s dough balls are concerned…’

‘Want to bet?’ Fiona threatened, laughing back.

‘Still here, Dr Price?’ Sam asked, sauntering up to the nurses’ station.

‘Oh—Mr Taylor.’ Jodie’s smile dimmed at the implied rebuke. ‘I’m sorry. I was just…’ Her voice tailed off. What was it about Sam Taylor that unsettled her so much? She’d never had a problem with her seniors before. But he was reserved to the point of being unreachable. In the six months he’d worked with them he hadn’t once yet socialised with the staff on the ward. No wonder they’d nicknamed him Mr Frosty. She didn’t think it was just professional distance either.

The man, she decided, needed bringing out of himself. ‘Why don’t you come with us tonight?’ she suggested on impulse.

‘With you?’ He looked blank.

‘To Mario’s.’ The way he was looking at her, she thought crossly, anyone would think she’d suggested a date, a candlelit supper for two. ‘There’s a crowd of us going. It’s a regular thing. On Thursday nights, they have a jazz band playing—not heavy stuff, more your Nick Drake jazz-folk sort of thing—and they do the best pizza in the city. The risotto’s good, if you don’t like pizza.’ So he couldn’t use that as an excuse.

‘I—’

‘Eight o’clock. And we don’t talk shop all night.’

Excuse number two neatly sidestepped, he noticed with sudden amusement.

‘And partners are welcome.’

Circumventing excuse number three? Or was she fishing to see if he was involved with someone? No. Of course she wasn’t interested in him. She’d made it clear it was a group event which happened every week. ‘I—’

‘Good,’ she said, before he could think up a valid reason to refuse. ‘See you there, then.’ She gave him directions to the restaurant. ‘It’s the little Italian place with a green sign outside—just ask for the hospital table when you get there. They’ll know who you mean. Bye, Fi,’ she called to the sister. And then she was gone in a swirl of soft hair, brightly coloured tunic top and black trousers, leaving Sam staring after her and Fiona with raised eyebrows.

When Jodie had changed into an elderly pair of leggings and swapped her loafers for a pair of trainers, she fastened her hair back into a ponytail, shrugged on her waterproof jacket and headed for the bicycle sheds in the far corner of the hospital car park.

What had she done? Jodie asked herself as she unlocked her bike, slid her handbag and document case into the waterproof carrier on the rear wheel and started cycling home. Fancy inviting the ward’s newest consultant to their crowd’s usual Thursday night gathering! He’d think she was trying to curry favour. Or, worse, that she was trying to net herself a husband with a prestigious job and a good income.

And she didn’t fancy Sam Taylor. Not at all.

Though he was attractive enough, if you liked the strong, silent type. Tall, dark and intense. Grey eyes that reminded her of a rainy Wednesday morning, lonely and forgotten. She preferred the athletic type. Blond and suntanned, rather than that fine, pale skin. Curly, unruly hair, not straight and brushed back neatly from his face. Someone who wasn’t too serious, saw the sunny side of life. With a mouth that smiled a lot and crinkles round the eyes—and she liked cornflower blue eyes.

Oh, stop thinking about it! she told herself, skidding to a halt outside her house. He probably wouldn’t even turn up.

CHAPTER TWO

HOWEVER, when Jodie arrived at the small Italian restaurant at a quarter past eight—‘just in time for the last garlic dough ball,’ as Fiona commented with a grin—Sam Taylor was sitting at one end of the long table. Opposite the only spare chair, she realised with dismay. Wearing plain black trousers and a matching cotton round-neck sweater—trust him to do the Man in Black routine.

And it looked even better on him than she would have guessed.

Ignoring the rapid pounding of her heart, she sat down and gave him her most professional smile. ‘Hi. So you made it.’

He nodded.

Not going to make it easy for me, are you? she thought crossly. ‘Has everyone ordered?’

‘Yes, and we ordered for you,’ Mick Salmond, one of the few male nurses from the paediatric ward, told her. ‘Your usual. Margherita with mushrooms, black olives, Dolcelatte and avocado.’

‘Cheers. You’re a mate.’ She wrinkled her nose at him.

‘Avocado? On pizza?’ Sam lifted one eyebrow.

For the first time, Jodie saw amusement in his eyes. And suddenly that rainy Wednesday morning was gone: in its place was a sultry silver. And although his mouth wasn’t smiling widely—just a tiny lift at one corner—it had lost that vulnerable look. Instead, it looked…kissable.

Her mouth went dry. No. Absolutely not. No way was she going to start thinking of Sam Taylor in those terms.

Drop-dead gorgeous or lame duck? That was what her brother would have asked if she’d told him she’d been stupid enough to invite the consultant on their Thursday night pizza run—reasoning that either Sam was drop-dead gorgeous and someone had dared Jodie to do it, or he was another of Jodie’s lame ducks. Earlier today, she’d have said lame duck. Now she wasn’t so sure.

To cover her confusion, she nodded to the jazz band, a trio of singer-pianist, double-bass player and drummer, who were setting up for the night’s session. ‘They’re very good.’

‘So I’ve been told.’

She grabbed a bottle of red wine from the table and poured herself a glass, then took a large sip. ‘Mmm, that’s better,’ she said in satisfaction.

‘It’s the one you discovered last month,’ Fiona told her. ‘The Sicilian job.’

‘Trust a woman to find a wine that tastes of chocolate,’ Mick said, rolling his eyes. ‘It was on the “Specials” board. “Red wine with a chocolate finish.” And she was in charge of ordering, that night, so we didn’t get any choice.’

‘Come on. You know you like it. Anyway, red wine and chocolate are good for you. You’ve read the studies in the Lancet.’ Jodie grinned broadly.

General hooting greeted her words.

‘And then there’s that study on pleasure. People who enjoy themselves have better immune systems. It’s all to do with SIgA.’

‘Enough of the lectures, Jo-jo.’ Mick ruffled her hair. ‘And, please, don’t anyone mention the P-word.’

‘The P-word?’ Sam asked, mystified.

‘P-l-a-y.’ Mick spelled it out in phonics, amusing Jodie even more. ‘She’s writing some article or other for the British Medical Journal about the importance of play in paediatrics, how it helps children get better.’

‘So that’s why you spend all your free time on the ward, playing with certain patients?’ Sam asked.

She flushed. ‘Yes. No. I just enjoy my work, that’s all.’

The pizzas arrived, diverting everyone’s attention. Jodie had eaten three mouthfuls before she realised that Sam was staring at her. ‘What?’ she asked.

‘I can’t believe you’re actually eating that.’ He made a face.

‘Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.’ Jodie cut another piece, making sure there was a slice of avocado on it, and speared it with her fork. ‘Here,’ she said, reaching over towards him.

Again, there was that silvery glint in his eyes and he bent his head to taste the pizza, his gaze locking with hers. Jodie’s mouth went dry again. She hadn’t eaten since a snatched half a sandwich for lunch, so the wine must have gone to her head. What was she doing, feeding him from her fork? And what must he think of her?

Embarrassed, she almost snatched her hand back.

‘Better than I expected,’ he said.

She could feel her face burning. Was he referring just to the pizza, or to her, or to the evening? And, come to think of it, why was he here? True, she’d pretty much steamrollered him into it on the ward—but he could have just not turned up and made an excuse the next morning.

Jodie decided to take refuge in her pizza. Maybe when she had some good, solid carbohydrates inside her, she might start thinking more clearly.

‘What made you decide on paediatrics?’ Sam asked, startling her into looking up at him.

‘I like children,’ she said simply.

‘But you’re not married, not planning any of your own?’

Jodie’s eyes narrowed. Why was he asking? So he could decide not to recommend her for promotion, since she didn’t have any real commitment to her job—she was going to give up work to have kids and waste all her years of training?

No, of course not. He wasn’t one of the old school, the sort who couldn’t help discriminating against young female doctors. He treated everyone on the ward alike—polite and distant. He was just trying to make conversation. It wasn’t his fault he’d touched on her sore point. Three months ago, her ex-boyfriend Graham had told her she spent too much time on her career and he wanted to start a family almost as soon as they were married. Not that he’d actually asked her; he’d just assumed she’d fall in with his plans. When he’d realised she wasn’t prepared to give up her job, he’d walked out on her.

‘No, I’m not married, and I’m not planning a houseful of kids,’ she said tightly, still seething inwardly at the memory of Graham’s parting shot that she’d be a lousy wife anyway—she couldn’t even cook! ‘Not all women want children, you know.’

‘Don’t they?’ asked Sam, his face completely unreadable.

‘No. I’m an honorary auntie—well, godmother to my best friend Ellen’s little boy, Billy—and that suits me fine.’ Actually, that was a bit of a fib. She did want children, just not yet. Not until she’d figured out how to raise a family without throwing away all those years of studying and working silly hours. And then there was the small matter of finding a suitable father…

That rainy Wednesday morning look was back in his eyes again. Children were obviously a sore point with him, too, Jodie thought. Not that it was any of her business.

Time to change the subject. ‘Why did you decide on paediatrics?’ she asked.

‘I…’ He wasn’t going to tell her the whole truth. ‘I did a stint in Paediatrics after I qualified. I went to Cardiology after that, then Oncology—but I found that I liked working with children best.’ Even though it was like rubbing salt in the wound.

‘Cardiology.’ She looked thoughtful. ‘I nearly did that, too. Because of Sadie.’

‘Sadie?’

‘My younger sister.’ Her green eyes were suddenly sombre. ‘She had a hole in the heart. There wasn’t anything they could do at the time. She died when she was two weeks old.’

‘Was she much younger than you?’ he asked gently.

Jodie shook her head. ‘I was nearly three at the time. My brother, Matt, was seven, so he remembers more about it than I do. Anyway, when I decided to become a doctor, he was the one who said I should give myself time to find out what I was really interested in, not rush straight into heart surgery or neonatal so I could save future Sadies. We had a huge row over it, but I have to admit he was right.’ She smiled wryly. ‘He rang me tonight, actually. He’s getting engaged—at last. He and Annie have known each other since junior school but they only realised their feelings for each other a month or so back. Now they’ve decided they’ve wasted too much time already, so the engagement party’s this weekend.’

‘And you’re on duty?’ Sam guessed.

She nodded.

He tipped his head on one side. ‘Can’t you swap shifts with one of the others?’

‘Not when we’re almost skeleton staff.’ She shrugged. ‘Ah, well. Matt and Annie’ll come up for the weekend some time soon and we’ll have a party of our own. Just the three of us.’

So the boyfriend was definitely off the scene, Sam thought. Though he wasn’t sure if she was upset about it or not. Jodie had seemed touchy when he’d mentioned children—maybe the boyfriend hadn’t wanted them and she had.

But he couldn’t get involved with her. One, she was a colleague; two, she was probably on the rebound; and, three, maybe she’d sort out her differences with her ex and they’d get back together.

But he couldn’t take his eyes off her. Even when they were both talking to other people, and she’d shifted places to drink her coffee at the other end of the table and chat to Fiona Ferguson, he was aware of her. Aware of every move she made—the way her blonde curls cascaded over her shoulders, the way her bright purple silk shirt highlighted the intense green of her eyes. Aware of the curve of her mouth. His body tightened and he suddenly wondered what it would be like to kiss her. To tangle his fingers in that silky soft hair, to feel her mouth soften and open under his own, her hands against his bare skin…

He took a deep breath. Hell. What was it about Jodie Price that got under his skin? He’d always been so scrupulous about keeping work and his private life separate.

Not that he had a private life. Just himself and the cat who’d adopted him when he’d moved to Norfolk. Not the children he’d once expected to have by this age. Not a little boy climbing everything in sight and wanting to help Daddy make a tree-house and listen to his heart with Daddy’s stethoscope and go to the park together to sail a model yacht on the boating lake. Not a baby girl just starting to walk, tottering on unsteady legs towards her father with a beaming face and chubby outstretched hands when he walked in the door, greeting him with a loud ‘Da-da,’ and a stream of delighted babbling.