Temporary Doctor, Surprise Father

“Beck,” she whispered. “Please try to understand.”

He took hold of her neck and drew her closer to him. “Understand what? That you ran away from me?”

“I didn’t run away. My mother sent me.” She covered his mouth with a cold hand. Tears glimmered in her eyes. “Beck, I was pregnant.”

He swept her hand away and rose up onto his elbows, a sucker punch pummeling his chest. “Pregnant?”

She nodded as tears glistened and flowed over her lids.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He shot up to sit. “We could have worked something out. I had plans for us.”

“You don’t understand.”

A torrent of mixed-up feelings swept over him—anger, grief, frustration—they swirled together, making him queasy. He jumped off the bed, fought for balance and set off pacing the floor. “You were pregnant with my child and you didn’t tell me?” He bit back the wave of nausea that pressed against his stomach and threatened to move up his throat. “How could you not tell me?”

Dear Reader

When I sat down to write this book, TEMPORARY DOCTOR, SURPRISE FATHER, I had the image of a formerly bubbly, beautiful young woman, who had changed drastically in the thirteen years since she’d met and fallen in love with her high-school sweetheart. He’d left for boot camp, been chosen for Special Forces, become a Green Beret medic, travelled the world, and carried on with his life. She’d made a painful decision, harboured a huge secret, and paid a devastatingly emotional price. And it had changed her life. The choices we make in our youth often come back to haunt us.

As this reunion story unfolds, I hope you’ll fall in love with my gorgeous hero, Beck, as much as I did. And I suspect, once you’ve scratched the gruff exterior of my heroine, January, you’ll want to be friends with her.

A bit about Special Forces medics here. They are first on scene in the battlefield, and what they do for the injured can save lives. Their training is intense, and in all my years in nursing I haven’t come close to doing many of the procedures our medics learn in their Special Forces training. Hats off to those who volunteer for this difficult job. There is only one word to describe them. Heroes!

I love to hear from readers. If I’ve struck a chord with you in this book, let me know. Or if you’d just like to say hello, you can visit me at my website: www.lynnemarshallweb.com. And if you enjoy blogs, a group of us Medical™ Romance authors have got together for Love is the Best Medicine, a blog which we update every week. You can link to it from my website.

Thanks for reading my book!

L

Temporary Doctor, Surprise Father

Lynne Marshall

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Lynne Marshall has been a registered nurse in a large California hospital for twenty-five years. She has now taken the leap to writing full time, but still volunteers at her local community hospital. After writing the book of her heart in 2000, she discovered the wonderful world of Medical™ Romance, where she feels the freedom to write the stories she loves. She is happily married, has two fantastic grown children, and a socially challenged rescued dog. Besides her passion for writing Medical™ Romance, she loves to travel and read. Thanks to the family dog, she takes long walks every day!

Praise for Lynne Marshall

‘A page-turning read with passion and romance.’

—Cataromance on

PREGNANT NURSE, NEW-FOUND FAMILY,

Medical™ Romance

This book is dedicated with love

to the only Special Forces medic I know—

my son the Green Beret, John-Philip.

CONTENTS

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Epilogue

PROLOGUE

“WILL you wait for me?” Beck Braxton wove his fingers through January Stewart’s long platinum hair to frame her face. Standing in the driveway of her house, she avoided his eyes. “Will you?”

She gave a reluctant nod.

“I love you. You know that,” he said, wishing they were somewhere much more private.

Tears brimmed and gathered on her thick lashes. “Then why are you leaving?” Her voice quivered.

He bit his lip to push back his brewing frustration. “We’ve gone over this a thousand times, January. I’ve got to get out of here. When I come back things will be different. I promise.”

She blinked and tears zigzagged down her cheeks. The light from the streetlamp made them glow.

“Tell me you love me.” He was leaving for army bootcamp early next morning, and though she’d said it a hundred times before, he needed to hear it again. Now.

“You know I love you,” she mumbled, fisting his shirt and pulling on it in a desperate gesture.

This wasn’t at all like the gorgeous and confident girl he knew.

She pulled him near and he kissed her, tears mixing with their kiss. Salt and sadness tainted their goodbye. God, he hated this. He didn’t want to leave her any more than she wanted him to leave, but it was time to set out on his own. He was only eighteen. If he wanted to be a man and marry the woman he loved, he’d have to suck it up and follow the only path he knew.

He’d dreamed of joining the army since the age of twelve, anything to get away from his father and a dead-end future in Atwater. As he’d grown older, he’d fantasized about adventure and seeing the world. He’d started hanging out at the army recruiter’s office when he’d first gotten his driver’s license at sixteen. They knew him by name and had fed his dreams with their own stories of military service. He’d signed up as soon as he could at seventeen, knowing he’d have to wait until he was eighteen and after he graduated from high school before he could officially join.

Then he’d met January last year, and had fallen in love for the first time in his life. Fallen. In. Love. Big time.

He’d walked across the auditorium stage last night and accepted his high-school diploma. She’d been in the audience, being a year behind. Leaving was the hardest thing he’d ever had to do, but he hoped she’d understand and everything would work out. He’d come back as soon as he could to marry her and take her with him, wherever he was stationed. But he couldn’t tell her that just yet, not until he’d worked everything out.

“Promise you’ll wait for me,” he whispered over her lips.

“I…”

“January!” her mother’s shrill voice called from the porch.

CHAPTER ONE

IF JANUARY Ashworth saw one more couple making out, she’d scream. Was it mating season or something? The young ortho tech and his nurse girlfriend were wrapped so close together it was hard to figure out where one left off and the other began. On the drive into work she’d seen two teenagers at a bus stop with their hands all over each other—she’d almost beeped her horn to break them up—and now this. And why, at one month shy of thirty, did she feel so old?

Running late, she pulled into a free spot and parked. After grabbing the pile of mail from the front seat, which she’d picked up on her way out of her house, she slammed the car door. Jan turned to see if the racket had fazed the lovebirds as they continued to lock lips. It hadn’t. Wasn’t there a rule about necking in the Los Angeles Mercy Hospital employee parking lot?

Jan shook her head, adjusted her glasses and, in the hope of getting the vision of lust out of her mind, glanced toward the afternoon sun. It only made her sneeze. Not even that got their attention. When had she last been kissed so passionately? Refusing to go there, she shook her head again and wiped her itching nose with a tissue.

Five minutes later, after zipping her name badge through the time-clock machine, she headed toward the emergency department while sorting through her mail. The newspaper said there’d be a full moon tonight, and it was Friday on top of that. Between the old ER tale of the full moon bringing out the medical crazies and the guaranteed usual Friday-night crowd, she knew it would be extra-busy tonight. And if her continued sneezing and watery eyes were any indication, a cold was brewing.

Things were not looking good…until she spied one special letter in the pile of mail. She recognized the address and got a warm, achy feeling in her heart, then promptly slipped it inside her scrub pocket to savor later.

Carmen Estrada, the no-nonsense ER charge nurse, waved her over the second her crepe-soled shoes hit the threshold. “Jan! I wanted to clue you in on a decision Dr. Riordan has made and already implemented.” The tall, middle-aged woman gave her a once-over. “Have you been crying? Your nose is red.”

“Sneezing.” Jan slipped an oversized nondescript-color OR gown over her loose scrubs as she studied the unnatural black hair of her supervisor. “So what’s up?” She nodded and listened distractedly.

“We’ll be accommodating a National Guard medic over the next month. He’s gearing up for another tour of duty and needs a quickie skills refresher course. He’ll be working under the umbrella of Dr. Riordan’s license and the agreement the hospital made with the National Guard. Any stitches, broken bones, chest tubes, intubations, gunshot wounds—you catch my drift—make sure the medic gets first dibs.”

Still distracted, rather than tying the straps of the OR gown, Jan stuffed them in her pocket with the letter. “What about the interns and residents? Aren’t they going to gripe?”

“Sure they are, but Gavin doesn’t give a patootie about that. He wants the medic to get first dibs.”

Jan inhaled and held her breath. She and Carmen exchanged knowing looks. No need to protest, the king of the ER had spoken. Once Gavin Riordan made up his mind about anything, it became emergency department law.

“Whatever,” Jan finally said on an exhalation.

Carmen used her high forehead as if it was a beacon light and nodded toward Dr. Riordan’s open office. A tall, fit-looking man in a police uniform with sculpted arms and a nearly shaved head was shaking hands with Dr. Riordan. Surprising and unwanted humming vibrated over the nerve endings in her spine. What was it about a man in a uniform?

The hair rose on the back of Jan’s neck as she went on alert. There was something about that profile, the line of his shoulders, his stance that put her on edge. “I thought you said he’s with the National Guard. That guy’s a cop.”

“He’s on the LAPD SWAT team, is a Special Forces trained medic, and also is on the National Guard, so I’m told.”

“Impressive. How can he work here and on the force at the same time?”

“He’s coming in on his days off and after hours.”

Some sixth sense sent a rush of blood from her suddenly pounding heart, making her cheeks get hot. She forced herself to act nonchalant. “Sounds pretty dedicated.”

“From what Gavin says, the guy’s proved himself through several tours of duty and is gearing up for another.”

At three-quarter view, a sharp brow line, deep-set, appraising eyes and a straight profile began to fill in the blanks on the missing person’s report in her head. Though his hair was closely cropped, the stubble looked dark. Almost black. Just like…

“Hmm. So when does he start?”

“Right now.”

With her eyes darting around the ED for places to hide—not that she was positive she knew him or anything, mostly it was an eerie feeling the mysterious cop dragged out of her—Jan made an about-face, planning to slink away and skulk in the background for the rest of her shift.

“Jan?” Gavin called her name, and any hope of keeping a low profile trickled away.

She adjusted her glasses and attempted to swallow a wad of cotton wedged in her throat as she went on guard, hoping the man wouldn’t recognize her, and turned. “Yes?”

Gavin swaggered across the room, steering along the newest addition to the ED. “This is Officer Beck Braxton.”

After a mini-implosion in her chest—it was him!—Jan nodded a cautious greeting and worked to conceal the unnerving reaction fizzing through her body. She didn’t offer to shake his hand. She couldn’t. Beck gave her a stealthy once-over, his mouth thinning into a polite straight line.

“He’s a highly trained field medic and needs to update his trauma skills. You’ve got your PA license, haven’t you, Beck?”

Beck shook his head. “Actually, I never got round to it before I joined SWAT.” So Beck had been a military field medic who was now a police officer on the special weapons and tactics team. Who would ever have thought?

“That’s a shame because, from what I’ve heard, you’ve got the knack.” Gavin shifted back to Jan. “I’ve already told him what a great nurse you are.” In a subversively charming way, Gavin smiled. He wasn’t kidding anyone, least of all her. He was merely blowing smoke up her stethoscope to soften her up before he dropped the bomb. “You’ll be assisting him tonight.”

Gulp. She fought back a cough. No way could she work with him.

“Wherever he goes, whatever he needs, you see to it he gets it. I’ve seen Beck work. He doesn’t need me breathing down his neck unless something big comes in.”

Dark brown hair, pale skin, lips ripe for kissing, hazel eyes that could make a girl do something she’d never planned—a face she’d never thought she’d see again.

Her mind drifted back to the couple in the parking lot. The last time she’d been swept off her feet by a kiss had been with Beck. A quick memory popped into her head of how her knees had buckled the first time he’d kissed her, and how he’d had to hold her up by backing her against the lockers in the school hallway. Standing before her was something much more disturbing than the high-school version. Beck had grown into a mature and dangerously attractive man, though he didn’t act as though he knew it.

Her stomach backflipped and stuck the landing with a quick punch of pain.

“Got it?” Gavin challenged.

Jan prayed that thirteen years, a name change, and an extreme make-over might throw Beck off her trail. No longer January Stewart, the popular high-school prom queen, now she was a once-divorced, radically toned-down version of her former self. Everything about her was different, from her last name to bobbed dark blond hair instead of long brash platinum waves cupping her waist. She wore glasses now instead of contacts, and had gained a handful of strategically placed pounds. He really shouldn’t recognize her. Should he?

“Got it,” she mumbled, wiping her nose with a tissue to disguise her face, her voice sounding gravelly from her tickling throat.

“Thanks,” Beck said. “And it’s nice to meet you.” Something flickered in his eyes when he reached for and shook her other hand. Recalling how his eye color could change from day to day depending on what he wore, she quickly looked away before her warming cheeks became too obvious, but not before she’d already noticed they were gray-blue today. His hand felt calloused, as if he was no stranger to hard work. That made sense for the street tough kid who’d always longed for adventure. Legions of awakening nerve endings marched up from her hand to her arm and fanned out across her shoulders.

A fond memory of how secure she’d once felt holding his hand flashed into her mind. She loosened her grip and let her hand slip free, anything to stop the reaction, but her mind refused to shut down.

Never in a million years would she ever have guessed he’d become a police officer. He’d done everything in his power to act like an outlaw in his teens, always getting into fights and not caring what anyone, including teachers, had to say.

Her lips tickled at the edges with the absurdity. But he’d never have dreamed she’d become a nurse, either. “Most likely to be a movie star.” Wasn’t that what her high-school annual had predicted for her? Heck, they’d even inserted a pair of sunglasses over one of her rare candid pictures with the caption, “Bright future. Must wear shades.”

Carmen strode around the ER desk and plopped a clipboard in Gavin’s hand. “Full moon’s apparently already rising. We’ve got a level-one trauma in transit. A gunshot wound. ETA five minutes,” she said with her usual aplomb.

Grateful for the distraction, Jan went on alert.

“Is this gang related?” Dr. Riordan asked.

“Not sure, but he fits the age range and the neighborhood.”

“Notify Security and lock down the ED waiting room just in case.”

“Already have,” Carmen retorted.

Gavin lifted his brows, tilted his head and trained his dark eyes on Beck. “Are you off duty yet?”

“Just about.”

“Then you’d better get changed.”

* * *

Adrenaline pumped through every vein in Beck’s body in the men’s locker room. Wasn’t that what he lived for? The mention of a gunshot wound sent his mind spiraling back to his last tour of duty. Though gunshot wounds had been common, they had been the least of his worries then. What still haunted him were IEDs—improvised explosive devices—and lost body parts and burns, plus the fact you could never easily identify the difference between the enemy and the local allies. To this day he tensed whenever he passed an abandoned car at the side of the road.

Beck forced himself to focus on the job at hand. He’d learned that was all he could ever do. Think of it as another adventure. One more for the file.

Something else butted into his thinking. Why did that nurse seem so familiar? She wasn’t exactly his type, but an odd current had traveled up his arm when they’d shaken hands. She hadn’t looked him in the eyes, and with lightly tinted glasses like those, it had been hard to read her expression. She’d seemed to squirm, and it surprised him. Usually, women reacted much more welcomingly to his touch. He shook his head. He should be focusing on the incoming GSW, yet…there was something very familiar about her.

After stripping and throwing on a pair of thread-worn scrubs, he realized he only had his work boots for shoes. Looking around the room, he spotted some extra-large OR shoe covers and slipped them on over his boots. Tucking in and tying the waistband on his scrubs, he rushed toward Gavin Riordan, the man offering his ER and saving him three weeks’ intensive training in North Carolina. Along with everyone else, he waited at the ambulance entrance for hell to break loose as they all applied personal protective gear.

And there she was again, the nurse, waiting beside Gavin. Her height and oval-shaped face definitely reminded him of his high-school sweetheart. Some sweetheart she’d turned out to be. No sooner had he left for bootcamp then she’d torn his heart out of his chest and stomped on it. Focus, Braxton, focus.

One thing struck him about the ER: it was so much quieter here than in the field. Then, boom, the ambulance entrance doors flew open, and Gavin and the trauma team jumped into action around the gurney.

“Got the call a half hour ago,” the first EMT said.

“It’s a penetrating injury. Gunshot wound to right chest wall with possible pneumothorax,” the second EMT said, while assisting the semi-conscious young patient’s breathing with an ambubag as the team rolled the stretcher down the hall.

Beck remembered the term “the golden hour”, the most important sixty minutes in any trauma patient’s life if he was to survive. Though things might look chaotic, there was, in fact, a planned system by the attending doctor and his team for checking the ABCs—airway, breathing, circulation—and making primary and secondary surveys of the patient.

“No other obvious injuries noted.” The EMT gave them the run-down of vital signs and initial assessment while they made their way down the corridor. “A 16-gauge IV placed in left forearm, infusing normal saline at 150 cc per hr. Pressure dressing applied to point of entry wound.”

Bright motion-activated lighting snapped on the moment they crossed the threshold of the trauma room, illuminating all the gory details. Wine-colored blood covered most of the victim’s clothes. A C-collar had been applied at the scene as he’d fallen out of a truck. They’d attempted to relieve the apparent tension pneumothorax with a needle at the second rib below the collarbone. It may have saved the guy’s life.

On the count of three the team transferred the patient to the larger procedure room bed.

The familiar-looking nurse with the boxy glasses and shy attitude went right to work cutting off the patient’s clothes, using surprising force to rip the shirtsleeves open to speed up the process. Even her mannerisms reminded him of January. But she’d had so much more style than this woman. She had been bubbly and full of life. This woman seemed subdued and almost beaten down. But they called her Jan. Hmm. Could thirteen years change someone that much?

A chaotic dance ensued among two doctors and three nurses. Their hands and bodies worked together, stepping aside, sliding under, reaching over, around, and through to get an airway placed, the patient hooked up to monitors, and a second IV started.

Beck wasn’t sure whether to hold off or jump right in with the team, but followed his gut and helped Jan remove every last stitch of clothing and toss it to the floor. He kicked the wad of clothes at his feet toward the wall to prevent anyone from tripping on it.

Gavin gave instruction that the OR be notified then called out a list of orders, including labs, blood gases, X-rays and two units of blood, while he did what Beck remembered as the primary survey. It was a methodical approach to checking the airway, breathing and circulation. Gavin auscultated the patient’s lungs and mumbled, “Crepitus” then studied the wound more closely. “Luckily for him this bullet nicked a vein and not an artery,” he said, palpating the femoral artery on the same side before he uncovered another gunshot wound lower down the leg.

The patient’s cold, clammy skin made Beck suspect shock.

“Get me a chest tube drain with autotransfusion,” Gavin told the nurse beside him.

Beck knew that meant Gavin suspected hemothorax—blood surrounding the lung instead of air. Beneath the first-aid bandages applied at the scene, a quarter-sized crater erupting with thick dark blood was located in the right upper quadrant and became the center of attention. Until the lungs were stabilized, the second, less threatening gunshot wound could wait.

The overhead monitor alarm beeped rapidly as the initial vital signs registered. The oxygen sats had tanked, BP was 80/40 and the pulse 130. The youth’s heart was working like crazy in an attempt to maintain his body’s circulation, and with a pneumothorax his lungs weren’t getting nearly enough oxygen. If not stopped, it would be a deadly cycle.

“Let’s get that chest tube in now,” Gavin said, searching for and finding Beck. Their eyes met in wordless communication, and Gavin stepped back, allowing Beck to approach the man. Baptism by fire.

Jan magically reappeared and rolled over a tray with all the equipment he’d need. He flashed back to his training, then several tours of duty, and recalled each step of the process of inserting a chest tube. He’d done his share of them in the field. Feeling under a microscope here, with the world watching, he donned sterile gloves and, driven by adrenaline, hoped his hands didn’t shake too noticeably.

After prepping the skin with antiseptic, he draped it with a sterile towel. He palpated the space between the fifth and sixth ribs and reached for the large syringe Jan handed him. He inserted the needle into the bottle of lidocaine she held for him, and administered the local anesthetic, waited briefly then accepted the proffered scalpel and made an incision in the mid-axillary line. She dutifully handed him a sterile package she’d begun to open from the outside, which gave easy access to the inside tubing without contaminating it.