The Nurse's Reunion Wish / Baby Bombshell For The Doctor Prince

CAROL MARINELLI recently filled in a form asking for her job title. Thrilled to be able to put down her answer, she put ‘writer’. Then it asked what Carol did for relaxation and she put down the truth—‘writing’. The third question asked for her hobbies. Well, not wanting to look obsessed, she crossed her fingers and answered ‘swimming’—but, given that the chlorine in the pool does terrible things to her highlights, I’m sure you can guess the real answer!

Born and raised just outside Toronto, Ontario, AMY RUTTAN fled the big city to settle down with the country boy of her dreams. After the birth of her second child Amy was lucky enough to realise her lifelong dream of becoming a romance author. When she’s not furiously typing away at her computer she’s mum to three wonderful children, who use her as a personal taxi and chef.

Also by Carol Marinelli

Playboy on Her Christmas List

Their Secret Royal Baby

Their One Night Baby

The Midwife’s One-Night Fling

The Sicilian’s Surprise Love-Child

Secret Prince’s Christmas Seduction

Ruthless Royal Sheikhs miniseries

Captive for the Sheikh’s Pleasure

Christmas Bride for the Sheikh

Also by Amy Ruttan

Convenient Marriage, Surprise Twins

Navy Doc on Her Christmas List

The Surgeon King’s Secret Baby

A Mummy for His Daughter

A Date with Dr Moustakas

NY Doc Under the Northern Lights

Carrying the Surgeon’s Baby

The Surgeon’s Convenient Husband

Royal Doc’s Secret Heir

Pregnant with the Paramedic’s Baby

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

The Nurse’s Reunion Wish

Carol Marinelli

Baby Bombshell for the Doctor Prince

Amy Ruttan

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-0-008-90245-2

THE NURSE’S REUNION WISH & BABY BOMBSHELL FOR THE DOCTOR PRINCE

The Nurse’s Reunion Wish © 2020 Carol Marinelli Baby Bombshell for the Doctor Prince © 2020 Amy Ruttan

Published in Great Britain 2020

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.

® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Note to Readers

This ebook contains the following accessibility features which, if supported by your device, can be accessed via your ereader/accessibility settings:

 Change of font size and line height

 Change of background and font colours

 Change of font

 Change justification

 Text to speech

Table of Contents

Cover

About the Authors

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

The Nurse’s Reunion Wish

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

EPILOGUE

Baby Bombshell for the Doctor Prince

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

EPILOGUE

About the Publisher

The Nurse’s Reunion Wish

Carol Marinelli

Her ex-husband’s back in her life...

Can she let him back in her heart?

Emergency nurse Rachel Walker’s astounded when Dr. Dominic Hadley walks into her hospital. She hasn’t seen him since the tragic breakdown of their shotgun marriage, and she’s not remotely prepared for the electrifying jolt to her heart! Brooding Dominic has an edge Rachel doesn’t recognize, but her body remembers his touch... Bonded inextricably by their past, could it be enough to build a future?

For Hannah and Ben

Love you guys

Carol xxxx

CHAPTER ONE

SOME WOULD SAY that Rachel Walker had a superpower.

She was an emergency nurse, slight of build, and looked younger than her thirty-two years, which wasn’t much of an advantage. With her fiery red hair and porcelain skin it might be expected that she would blush easily. But Rachel’s pale skin rarely flushed. As well as that, her huge green eyes revealed little of her thoughts even as she held someone’s gaze.

And while that might not sound like much of a superpower, when a patient was critically ill and terrified, or revealing his innermost troubles, it rather helped that the emergency nurse remained outwardly calm and seemingly unfazed.

Rachel had long ago learnt to hide her deepest feelings.

Growing up in Sheffield, in a loud, happy family, with gregarious parents and four older brothers, she had found it necessary, from an early age, to retain a neutral expression and not let anyone reap the effects of their persistent, albeit good-natured, teasing.

But then, aged six, Rachel had come home from school to a house full of aunts and uncles, neighbours and family friends and found out that her mother had suddenly died. The teasing had stopped and the laughter had faded from the Walker home, and the little girl had quickly discovered that her dad and her brothers could not deal with her grief and tears.

‘Take her to the park,’ Dad would say when she cried for her mum.

Rachel had duly been taken to the park and pushed on a swing, or spun on a roundabout, or bumped up and down on a seesaw until her brothers had been satisfied that she’d return home smiling, at least for a little while.

The tears would soon start again, of course.

Especially at night, when she’d missed her mum tucking her up in bed and reading her bedtime stories, or when she would wake from a dream calling out for her.

‘Come on now, Rachel,’ her dad would tell her. ‘You’re upsetting our Phil with your carry-on.’

When she’d cried one day at school, and they’d had to call her dad to come from work to pick her up again, she’d known her tears were causing real problems. Her dad owned his own removal company and, as he’d explained that afternoon, people relied on him to get the job done.

‘It’s their moving day, Rachel,’ he said as she sat in the front of his lorry. ‘If I have to be called away, who’s going to move them into their new house? And what about the family that are waiting to move in to theirs? You’ve got them thinking they’ll have nowhere to sleep tonight. Now, stop with them tears and be a good girl.’

Then one day it had been ‘our Phil’ himself who had warned her. ‘Enough now, Rachel! Dad doesn’t need to hear it. He’s upset enough and missing Mum too. You’re just making things worse.’

Finally Rachel had stopped with the tears and the questions about her mum. Her emotions hadn’t stopped, of course—she’d just learnt to hide them.

This superpower she now possessed hadn’t done much for her relationships, but on this cold February morning, in the Emergency Department of London’s Primary Hospital, even though Rachel had only worked there for a week, her particular skill had been recognised.

She had been assigned to the minor injuries unit and was helping a young man with crutches when the intercom buzzed and she heard her name being called by May, the unit manager.

‘Excuse me a moment,’ Rachel said. But, reluctant to leave the man wobbling, she just went and stood by the curtains, so she could keep an eye on him as she answered the call.

‘Yes?’

‘Can I ask you to come down to Resus?’

‘Sure,’ Rachel said. ‘I’ll just—’

‘Immediately.’

As May summoned her, the chimes went off and the request for an anaesthetist to go to the ED went out.

Rachel called over her shoulder to a colleague to come and take over with the young man. Then she made her way through the department, via Reception and the central waiting room, which was particularly full, and through to the main section of the unit, where she could see May standing outside the resuscitation area looking in.

Rachel liked her new unit manager. She was caring in the way of a mother hen, but also wise and sharp.

May gestured for Rachel to stand with her and observe as she told her about the patient. ‘Thomas Jennings, eighteen-month-old with query epiglottitis, just arrived in the department. Mother drove him here...thought he had croup.’

Even from this distance Rachel could see that Thomas was a very sick little boy indeed. He sat on his mother’s knee, leaning forward and drooling, his breathing noisy and laboured. She could hear the stridor—a high-pitched wheezing—from outside the room.

‘Where is everyone?’ Rachel asked, because she could only see Tara, a fellow RN, in there.

‘Jordan the paediatrician is here,’ May explained. ‘He’s on the phone, out of earshot of Mum, trying to get hold of an anaesthetist. But the on-call team are up on ITU and the second team is in Theatre.’

Sure enough, as soon as May said that the chimes went off again, summoning an anaesthetist to the resuscitation area of the ED.

Epiglottitis could quickly turn life-threatening. It was an inflammation of the flap of cartilage and mucous membrane at the back of the throat that guarded the windpipe. Thanks to immunisation, it was now rarely seen. Still, at any moment little Thomas’s airway could become obstructed—hence the need for an anaesthetist to be present.

‘Mum’s getting upset that we’re not doing anything and Tara’s getting a bit flustered,’ May explained, and then glanced at Rachel, who stood there unruffled, taking it all in.

She must have looked so calm that May felt she had to double-check that she understood the precariousness of the situation.

‘You do know how quickly a patient with epiglottitis can deteriorate?’

‘Yes, May,’ Rachel answered calmly. ‘Has everything been set up for a tracheostomy?’

‘That’s why I called for you to come down,’ May admitted. ‘I’ll leave you to it. I’m staying back, so as not to distress the little man with too many people around him, but I’ll be hovering should you need me.’

‘Thanks,’ Rachel said, glad to know that May was near as she walked into the room.

‘Morning.’ Rachel smiled at both Tara and the mother, but she didn’t fuss over the little boy.

His blond hair was dark with sweat and plastered to his head, and he buried his face in his mum’s chest at the sight of a new arrival.

The monitors were all turned up and bleeping loudly. Rachel turned the volume down—given all the staff who were close by—doing what she could to make the surroundings less scary.

‘He’s never been in hospital before,’ Mrs Jennings said.

‘It’s very overwhelming.’ Rachel nodded. ‘But you’re doing great. I know it looks as if we’re not doing much, but the most important thing right now is to keep Thomas from getting upset.’

‘Where’s the anaesthetist?’ Mrs Jennings asked, her voice rising in panic.

‘On the way,’ Rachel said, privately hoping that was the case.

Tara spoke then. ‘I was just explaining to Mum that if we can get a couple of local anaesthetic patches onto Thomas it would be a great help when we cannulate him.’

‘Good idea—but perhaps Mum could do it,’ Rachel suggested, and then looked over to Mrs Jennings. ‘I’ll show you how.’

There probably wouldn’t be time for the cream to take effect before he was cannulated, but hopefully it would save him a little pain and distress, which was the main goal here.

Thomas didn’t flinch as his mother copied Rachel’s instructions and the patches were applied, which concerned Rachel greatly.

She glanced over to Tara. ‘Has everything been set up for the transfer?’

‘I was just about to do that,’ Tara said.

Thomas had only been in the department for ten minutes, but things had to be moved along speedily, as the situation could change at any minute. And it was starting to. He was becoming increasingly exhausted, and Rachel knew she had to get everything they might possibly need on a trolley as quickly as possible.

‘I’m going to get things ready for Thomas’s transfer,’ Rachel said to the mum, ‘but I’ll be right here.’

All seemed calm.

All was not.

Outside the room there was a flurry of activity taking place. The paediatrician was alerting the operating theatre, and the anaesthetist, who had just arrived in the hospital and collected his pager, was sprinting down the long corridor towards the ED. Rachel was preparing the trolley, and outside May was calling Security to clear the corridor and hold the lifts while the transfer was made.

It was imperative that the little boy did not become distressed, so the staff were hands-off, leaving it to his mother to comfort him as they hovered discreetly and prepared for the worst.

Rachel started to collect the equipment they would need for the transfer while keeping an eye on Thomas. She glanced out and saw Jordan on the phone, running a worried hand through his hair, but he plastered on a smile when he returned from his call and gave Rachel a nod, then made small talk with Mrs Jennings about his own three children while keeping a very close eye on Thomas.

‘There’s Nicholas, who is Thomas’s age,’ Jordan said, ‘and the twins are three—’

His words halted as the doors slid open.

‘Ah, the anaesthetist is here, Mrs Jennings. This is Dr Hadley.’

Hadley?

Rachel glanced over towards the doors at the sound of the familiar name. And the world as she knew it changed as Dominic Hadley stepped in.

Rachel quickly turned back to the trolley she was preparing, drawing in a deep breath when she suddenly felt giddy.

Dominic Hadley worked at The Primary?

Dominic was a doctor?

An anaesthetist?

How?

When?

Though his voice was slightly breathless from running, it was a deeper and more assured voice than the one she had known. As he spoke with Jordan, Rachel screwed her eyes tightly shut, for she did not know how to face him. How to turn around and deal with this situation?

Because it really was a situation.

Dominic Hadley had hurt her badly.

So badly that it had taken her more than a decade to recover her heart enough to try to love again.

So badly that as she stood there anger, hurt and recrimination fought for first place in the order of her feelings.

But she could not think of that here, so she focused on the soft bleeps of Thomas’s monitors and forced the surge of animosity within her to settle. She wondered about Dominic’s reaction when he saw her.

Dominic had not a clue.

Yet.

‘I’m just going to let Richard know,’ Dominic told Jordan. ‘Though I’m not sure if he’s in ye—’

His voice halted as a flash of red hair caught his eye and he couldn’t help but check the profile of the nurse who was preparing to transfer Thomas up to Theatre.

It happened every now and then—a glimpse of red hair would make him turn his head, or the sound of laughter in a bar would have him scanning the crowd—but then he would remind himself that there hadn’t been much laughter at the end of their relationship.

But it couldn’t be Rachel, Dominic thought, and dismissed her from his mind as Jordan continued to bring him up to speed.

‘Mrs Jennings understands that we won’t examine Thomas until we’re safely in Theatre, and she’s consented to a tracheostomy, should it be necessary.’

Dominic looked over to the anxious woman, who was doing all she could to hold it together for the sake of her son.

‘Hello, I’m Dominic Hadley—the anaesthetic registrar.’ He gave her a smile, but noted that the little boy whimpered at the rather imposing sight of him so halted his approach. He stood a couple of inches over six foot and, sharply dressed in a navy suit, he was aware he might look rather imposing, so he sat down on the resuscitation bed a little further away from Thomas. ‘What would you like me to call you?’ he asked.

‘Please,’ Mrs Jennings said, ‘call me Haylee.’

‘And do you understand what’s happening, Haylee?’

She gave a helpless shrug. ‘Not really. The children’s doctor said he might need to be put on a breathing machine, and an airway made in his neck...’

‘It’s called a tracheostomy.’ Dominic nodded.

Time was of the essence, but so was explanation. He drew a rudimentary picture of a throat on the pad he carried in his pocket.

‘The epiglottis is a flap of tissue at the back of the throat. If that swells so much that we can’t get a tube past it, then an incision would need to be made here.’ He pointed to the picture he’d drawn and then to the same spot on his own throat. ‘That way we can bypass the swelling.’

‘But he might not have to have one?’

‘We won’t know till we look at Thomas’s throat. I’d prefer to do that in Theatre, where we can examine him properly and get treatment underway. I’ll attempt to secure his airway, though a tracheostomy might well be the only course available to us.’

Haylee looked down at the picture and then to her son, who was working very hard to breathe.

Dominic was deeply concerned and he would feel a lot better if they were in Theatre. ‘Thomas really needs antibiotics and IV fluids,’ he said. ‘But putting in a cannula is only going to upset him, so the very best thing we can do is get him up to Theatre and take care of everything there.’

‘I understand that,’ said Haylee Jennings as she cuddled her son.

‘Have you got anyone here with you?’

‘My husband’s on his way.’

‘Good,’ Dominic said. ‘I’m just going to let my senior know what’s happening and...’

He glanced up to let the nurse know they’d be heading up to Theatre imminently, and it was then that Dominic realised he hadn’t been wrong at all.

The nurse was Rachel.

It helped, as an anaesthetist, to have nerves of steel. For Dominic, it was an acquired trait. Some called him arrogant, but those nerves of steel were invaluable now that he was faced with this unlikely situation.

Dominic looked through Rachel, rather than at her.

In fact, Dominic barely blinked.

‘We’ll head up shortly,’ he informed her. ‘I’m going to make a quick call first.’

‘Ready when you are,’ Rachel replied, in a voice that was both measured and calm.

Yes, a superpower indeed!

As Dominic Hadley selected some drugs and syringes from the cart and stalked off, there was a moment when Rachel wondered if he’d even recognised her.

After all, she’d barely recognised him!

There was little about this polished, suave man who commanded the room that compared with the awkward physics geek she had fallen in love with.

Although his thick black hair was the same, still damp from his morning shower, and the soapy male scent of him was familiar. His dark eyes were the same gorgeous velvet brown as they had always been too. He had always towered above her, but he seemed taller now, if that were possible. And he had definitely broadened out, and looked immaculate in his sharp navy suit, pale blue shirt and lilac tie.

Her dad, if he were here, would probably say it was pink...

What sort of man wears a pink tie? Rachel could almost hear her father’s thick Yorkshire accent.

With the phone pressed between his ear and his shoulder, Dominic pulled up the drugs he might need, should there be an emergency en route, as he let his boss know the situation.

‘Any history?’ asked Richard Lewis, the consultant anaesthetist.

‘Unvaccinated.’ Dominic clipped back his response. But his voice faltered as he glanced over to Resus, where Rachel still stood. There was a whole lot of history right there...

‘Healthy little boy until this morning, nil allergies...’ He went through the case, and it was agreed that Richard, who was currently on ITU, would meet him up in Theatre.