Pregnant with the Soldier's Son

Dr. Allen had his back to her, but there was something about his stance which tugged at the corner of her mind.

It was when he turned around.

“Hi, Dr. Walton …”

The words died in his throat, whereas Ingrid felt as if the world had dropped out from beneath her feet. She stood there stunned, like a deer trapped in a set of headlights, as she stared into those light cerulean eyes which had the darkest rims around them so that they seemed to make the blue of his irises pop.

It was the eyes which had attracted her to him in the first place. The only difference was that his dark hair had grown out. It had been buzz cut the last time, but he hadn’t spiked it as he’d threatened to do all those months ago. That had prompted a discussion on cheesy pickup lines, which had then deteriorated into her sleeping with him.

He’d also aged a bit—but then war could do that to a person. Still it was him. Clint. The soldier who had taken her virginity. The man she’d lived a little with.

The man who still haunted her dreams.

Thank you for picking up a copy of PREGNANT WITH THE SOLDIER’S SON.

One of the first things I learned as a writer was to ‘write what you know.’ Which I do find funny, because I’m not in the medical profession at all. But I know a lot of people who are, and I love research.

This book has a bit of what I know in it. The hero and heroine’s son is written based on my own experience with my middle child, who in 2006 almost didn’t make it. I didn’t have the same traumatic birth experience as Ingrid, but my son and Ingrid’s son both had the same rough start in life. I remember clearly sitting in a wheelchair and the paediatric surgeon telling me, ‘He’s very sick. Prepare yourself.’

Spending a month in the PCCU was one of the most stressful times of my life, but it gave me new respect for the doctors and nurses who face this every single day. I’ll never forget the smile on that surgeon’s face a year later, when he saw my son playing with trains at his check-up. His job is so full of heartache, but his smile told me there are great rewards for practising in this field of medicine.

Now my son is a healthy, active and imaginative eight-year-old, and I look at pictures of him as a newborn and send up thanks that he’s here today, scattering blocks and comic books all over my house. Except for when I step on them. Blocks hurt!

I hope you enjoy PREGNANT WITH THE SOLDIER’S SON. I love hearing from readers, so please drop by my website, www.amyruttan.com, or give me a shout on Twitter @ruttanamy.

With warmest wishes

Amy Ruttan

Born and raised on the outskirts of Toronto, Ontario, AMY RUTTAN fled the big city to settle down with the country boy of her dreams. When she’s not furiously typing away at her computer she’s mom to three wonderful children, who have given her another job as a taxi driver.

A voracious reader, she was given her first romance novel by her grandmother, who shared her penchant for a hot romance. From that moment Amy was hooked by the magical worlds, handsome heroes and sigh-worthy romances contained in the pages, and she knew what she wanted to be when she grew up.

Life got in the way, but after the birth of her second child she decided to pursue her dream of becoming a romance author.

Amy loves to hear from readers. It makes her day, in fact. You can find out more about Amy at her website: www.amyruttan.com

Pregnant with the Soldier’s Son

Amy Ruttan

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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This book is dedicated to one of my special guys, Aidan. Buddy, I thank God every day you’re here with me. I love you with all my heart.

Table of Contents

Cover

Excerpt

Dear Reader

About the Author

Title Page

Dedication

PROLOGUE

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

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Copyright

PROLOGUE

“WOULD YOU GET a load of that guy!”

“Who?” Ingrid asked as she scanned the darkened bar where she and her closest surgical best friends were celebrating her recent promotion.

“That guy. Down at the end,” Philomena said, following her words with a whistle, a cat sound and a clawlike swish of her manicured hand. “I bet he could get me to purr all night long.”

Ingrid turned in her seat to see who her friend was referring to, and when her gaze fell on the aforementioned male who made the respectable oncologist Dr. Philomena Reminsky turn feline, Ingrid almost choked on the cherry in her cosmopolitan.

Tall, muscular and clad in army fatigues, the soldier sitting at the far end of the bar seemed to have every hot-blooded female in a twenty-foot radius panting after him. His hair was buzzed short, but she could tell from the slash of his eyebrows that his hair was ebony. He would probably be even dreamier with longer locks. Still, the buzz cut suited him.

There was an aloof, brooding quality to him.

Something that told the outside world not to mess with him, yet called to the female species like a siren call.

There had to be at least ten other soldiers in the bar, but he kept to himself, his eyes fixed on the television in the corner, oblivious to what was going on around him.

Either oblivious or unconcerned.

Ingrid loved the tall, dark and silent types. Something to do with her love of heroes like Mr. Rochester, Mr. Thornton and Mr. Darcy.

As if knowing she was assessing him, he tore his gaze from the television screen and looked at her. Even from just six feet away she could see his eyes were crystal blue. So light and intense they seemed to pull her in.

Heat bloomed in her cheeks and she turned away quickly.

What am I doing?

This wasn’t her style. She didn’t flirt with strangers in a bar. She was too much of an introvert for that. The only people she could open up and talk to really were other surgeons, nurses or her patients.

Career was what Ingrid focused on. Not men.

That’s why I’m still a virgin.

Well, she may still be a virgin, but at least she was finally an attending at Rapid City Health Sciences Center.

One goal accomplished.

It was why she was at this country-and-western bar with her coworkers. To celebrate her promotion. Not to flirt with men.

Why not?

Because she had no interest in a relationship. Marriage and commitment were not things she’d ever get entangled in.

“Well, it seems a lucky lady has caught Beefcake’s attention,” Philomena whispered in her ear.

Ingrid stole a glance out of the corner of her eye and saw that the beefcake in question was staring at her. He smiled, a crooked smile that was so sexy it made her heart skip a beat and her insides turn a bit gushy.

Could be the alcohol.

Ingrid glanced away again; she knew she was blushing.

“What’s wrong?” Philomena asked. “He’s coming over. Talk to him.”

“I can’t,” Ingrid whispered. “What do I say?”

“Finish your drink and say hi. Maybe he’ll buy you another.” Philomena moved to leave, but Ingrid grabbed her arm.

“No, don’t leave me. I’m not good with men.”

Philomena just grinned as she detached Ingrid’s clawlike grip from her forearm. “You’ll be fine. Live a little.”

Right. Live a little.

Except that’s not how she had been raised. Her father, if he was dead, which he wasn’t, would be spinning in his grave to know what she was contemplating.

He’d taught her never to take risks. To play it safe and lead a respectable and worthwhile life. Not that he thought being an orthopedic surgeon was as worthwhile as being a cardiothoracic surgeon or a neurosurgeon, but that was neither here nor there. And one risk she never wanted to take was falling in love.

Who says you have to fall in love?

Which was true.

Love at first sight was a fairy tale. One she didn’t believe in. Love was for fools.

Oh, great. She was dithering. She usually dithered and stammered when she was around hot men, but that was usually out loud. Now it was happening subconsciously too.

Ingrid hurriedly gulped down her drink, the alcohol burning her throat. She tried not to choke when she sensed a large body behind her. The scent of cologne and something spicy she couldn’t quite put her finger on overcame her senses.

“Is this seat taken?”

Ingrid looked up and the gorgeous, broody soldier from across the bar was standing right beside her.

Don’t stammer!

“No, go ahead.” Ingrid hoped there was no hitch in her voice to let him know she was a bit nervous. In fact, the whole room began to spin. She wasn’t sure if it was the vodka or him.

She hoped it was him.

He sat down next to her. “Can I order you another one?”

“Sure, I’d like that.” She didn’t have to work in the morning, but this was also the most she’d ever drunk in one sitting.

Live a little.

Oh, God. She’d never lived a little, and somewhere, deep down inside, the part of her that her father had raised was screaming at her to run, but it was faint compared to the rest of her, which wanted to take a chance and live a little.

Damn.

Good thing her father wasn’t here because he’d be reminding her how her mother had been a free spirit and that reckless behavior was the reason she’d left them.

Don’t freak out and don’t think about that.

“Barkeep, I’ll have another beer and the lady here will have a …”

“Cosmo,” Ingrid blurted out.

The bartender nodded and started to prepare their drinks.

Ingrid began to fiddle with the damp paper napkin in front of her, totally at a loss for anything to say. The opposite sex wasn’t her forte. She always got so weird and awkward around them.

As was evident by the fact she could barely look him straight in the eye, and she could feel a blush over her entire body, not just her cheeks.

“I’m Clint. What’s your name?”

“Philomena.” Ingrid’s stomach twisted for lying to him. It was obvious he would be shipping out soon and where could their relationship go? She had no time for relationships.

She didn’t want a relationship.

Her stomach knotted again, and she really hoped it was guilt over lying which was getting to her and not the alcohol. With the way her usual dealings with men went, she might begin ralphing on him at any moment.

He cocked an eyebrow. “Philomena? That’s an interesting name.”

“I know, but I like it.”

He grinned. “I like it too. It suits you.”

Ingrid bit her lip. Oh, buddy, you don’t know the half of it.

“Are you here with your comrades?” she asked, nodding toward the pool tables.

“Comrades? This isn’t Russia.”

Ingrid relaxed a bit at his joke. “Friends, then.”

“Something like that,” he said. “They dragged me out. Told me to relax a little before we ship out tomorrow night.”

“Where to?”

Clint grinned and thanked the bartender as he slid their drinks in front of them. “That’s classified.”

“Really?”

“Well, the exact location and purpose, yes. I’m headed overseas for a year.”

“A year. Well, I wish you all the best.”

He chuckled. “That’s it? Just ‘I wish you all the best.’”

Ingrid blushed again; she could feel it right from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes. “What else am I supposed to say to you?”

“It’s not so much the saying as the action.”

“Action?” Ingrid asked, confused.

“How about a kiss?”

Heat bloomed in her cheeks. “Pardon?”

“You know, for good luck before deployment.”

“That is the cheesiest pick-up line I’ve ever heard.” Ingrid laughed. “Seriously, that’s … bad.”

“Oh, so men try to pick you up all the time.”

“Well, I have been a victim of worse attempts.”

“Go on. Tell me the worst pick-up line you’ve ever heard.”

Ingrid’s gaze narrowed. “I’m not sure if I should tell you, you could use it as ammunition on some unsuspecting female.”

“I cross my heart I won’t.” And as if to prove a point, he did just that. “Now, tell me.”

“Just call me milk, I’ll do your body good!”

He burst out laughing. “Okay, that’s terrible.”

Ingrid shrugged. “See, I told you. I hear some of the worst pick-up lines.”

Clint grinned. “Well, you can’t blame a guy for trying.”

“Trying what?”

He leaned in closer, his blue irises rimmed with the darkest shade of blue, making the color even more mesmerizing. “For trying to steal a kiss from a beautiful, sexy woman like you.”

Her breath caught in her throat. “Oh.”

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t resist.” There was a sparkle in his eye, one of devilment.

“Hey, at least you were honest and you didn’t try to pick me up with that milk line.” Ingrid finished the rest of her drink. “To be honest, I thought about granting you that boon.” She could almost hear her rational side screaming, while the rest of her was shouting for joy.

Now it was definitely the liquor talking.

Maybe it wasn’t booze. Maybe it was all her inhibitions just letting go.

“Really?” Clint asked. “I am intrigued.”

Steeling up as much courage as she could muster, she reached forward, grabbed him by the scruff of his shirt and pulled him into a kiss. What she wasn’t expecting was the electricity. The heat and desire she was experiencing now. It set her reeling and her body began to melt into a warm pile of goo as the kiss deepened and turned into something raw and powerful. His tongue pushed past her lips and tangled with hers, and she heard him moan as his arms came around her body. He was so strong.

The few previous times she’d kissed men had been nice, but this was something different.

This was something dangerous.

The moment her lips touched his, it sent him off-kilter a bit.

He wasn’t prepared for the shock. He wasn’t ready to have his blood ignite like his veins had been drenched in gasoline.

Forward women weren’t his thing. If a woman moved too fast, he pulled away.

He liked to be in control. He liked to take his time and seduce.

Sex to him was something more than just a quick roll in the hay.

So when she grabbed him and pulled him into that scorching kiss, he should’ve pushed her away. He should’ve resisted, but he couldn’t make himself do it.

He was shipping out tomorrow, and he had no plans to seek out company tonight. He hadn’t even planned to leave the base, until his buddies had made him.

All he wanted to do was enjoy a beer and not think about how his mother had cried last week when she’d heard about his deployment. Or how he was going to miss his niece’s first birthday. Or beer, how he’d miss good old American beer, which was why he’d finally agreed to come to the bar.

He had come for beer. At least he could indulge in that one last time.

Then he’d felt someone’s gaze on him and foolishly he’d looked. The sight of her had taken his breath away. Even in the dim lighting of the bar he could see her hair shone like gold.

There was an air of confidence about her but also something else, a barrier that held the world at bay. If he had more time, he very much wanted to break that wall down.

In her, Clint had seen a challenge, and before he’d been able to stop himself, he’d moved over to her. Drawn to her like a moth to a flame, and when he’d been ensnared, when he’d seen those blue-gray eyes, he’d hit on her. Something had compelled him to. Idiot that he was.

Never in a million years had he expected her to kiss him, and though he should pull away, he couldn’t. He was drowning in her sweetness, her softness compelling him to claim her, to hold her in his arms and protect her forever.

He wanted her badly.

She broke the connection first, dropping her head so her forehead brushed his chin and he drank in the intoxicating scent of her hair. The scent of something clean and floral.

Feminine.

It made him want her all the more and he let his hands travel down her back, her body trembling under his touch.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice breathless.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about.”

When Ingrid looked again and met his gaze there was something in his eyes, a twinkle that gave Ingrid the distinct impression that she was prey in his predatory gaze, but not in a threatening way. It was in a way that made her body burn like a white-hot flame.

Ingrid wanted him. Desired him.

Maybe he wasn’t the only one giving off the vibe of predator. She knew, without a doubt, she had a bit of the hungry eyes going on.

Live.

There had been so many times she’d come close to having sex. She had wanted to, but she’d always chickened out, the one difference now being that she’d never been so turned on before. Never, because she’d never let them through her walls. Walls that were there for a reason. This time was different. Once she crossed that threshold there was no turning back.

She wouldn’t. There were no plans to marry in her future. No plans for children. Her own miserable childhood and her own parents’ unhappiness had steered her off that path. She wasn’t saving herself for anyone, but she didn’t want to die a virgin.

When she was old and gray, she didn’t want to look back and have regrets in her life. She wanted to look back and see that she’d taken a chance, that she’d lived.

Whatever the consequences were, she could own this moment. She could control this moment and never regret it. One night of passion and she wouldn’t get hurt.

No promises had to be made. No fear of shattered hearts and abandonment.

Steeling her courage, she grabbed his hand. “Come on.”

He cocked an eyebrow but came with her as she led him toward the exit. “Where are we going?”

“To the hotel attached to this bar.” And that’s where she led him. Through the double doors and into the hotel lobby.

Clint pulled her back, holding her close. “Whoa, are you sure?”

“Positive.” And to drive her point home she pressed him against the wall and kissed him again, releasing every last hang-up and doubt out of her system.

She wanted him.

Badly.

His hands moved over her back until they cupped her butt, gripping her as he brought their bodies even closer together with the hard ridge of his erection against her stomach as a moan rumbled in his chest.

When they came up for air, she felt a bit dazed and out of breath.

Did she really just make out with a stranger outside a country-and-western bar?

Hell, yeah, and it was so good.

“Should I get us a room?” Her voice shook a bit.

Did I really just ask that?

“No need. I’m staying here before I head back to the base for deployment. It’s my last hurrah.”

“Then lead the way.”

Clint led her down the hall they’d been making out in. His room was at the very end.

Her pulse thundered in her ears. Usually at this point her common sense would take over and she’d bolt, but her common sense must have scarpered because she was ready for this.

So ready.

The door opened and Clint flicked on the lights as she stepped over the threshold. When the door shut and he locked it, she pulled him back against the wall, her lips finding his.

This time there was no need to stop and talk about where they were going to go and what they were going to do.

They were alone. This was going to happen.

He hoisted her up and her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. He walked toward the bed, carrying her, his head buried in her neck.

“You have protection?” Ingrid asked, as his lips traveled down her neck.

“Always.”

“Good.”

And as he pressed her down on the bed Ingrid reveled in the moment. Her moment of rebellion, of living dangerously.

It was only one stolen moment that she’d always remember.

Tomorrow he’d be gone, on his way to deployment, and she’d be an ortho attending at Rapid City Health Sciences Center.

Tonight, though, she was his.

Tonight she’d live. If but just for a moment.

CHAPTER ONE

Seven months later

“PAGING DR. WALTON. Dr. Walton, please head to the emergency room, stat.”

Ingrid let out a sigh, not because she’d been paged but because she was hungry. The baby was kicking furiously, and there was a great chicken-salad sandwich with a big old dill pickle just two inches away from her mouth.

She was also dead tired, but that was to be expected. She was turning into a house apparently. A giant mountain of a woman who was forced to perform surgeries like a puppet on a string—dance, puppet, dance.

She glanced over at Dr. Maureen Hotchkiss, who’d just wandered into the ortho lounge and who sat down like she had no bones left in her body.

“Hey, Maureen, fancy going to the E.R. for a big, fat old pregnant lady?” She tried batting her eyelashes, but that never really got her anywhere.

“Sorry,” Maureen said. “I have to go check on my cast for a kid with a greenstick fracture of the upper ulna in a moment, and there’s no way in heck you’re big. Neither are you fat. It makes me sick.”

“You’re blind.”

Maureen snorted. “No way. You’re hormonal and delusional. Go on, I’m sure it won’t be that bad. I’ll watch your sandwich.”

“Don’t touch my sandwich or you’re dead meat.”

Maureen winked. “No promises.”

Ingrid chuckled and with a sigh of regret set her sandwich down. She stood up with relative ease. Her pregnant belly wasn’t a big issue now, but she imagined in a couple more months she wouldn’t be moving through the hospital’s hallways very fast.