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Dear Reader
This is my second story in the fictional setting of Pelican Cove based around the White House medical staff.
Picking a setting for a story is always difficult. When I started to write these stories I could see Pelican Cove very clearly in my head. A small town, sort of based on Murder She Wrote’s Cabot Cove, but set on the Californian coast. I also found a picture of a beautiful studio flat in San Francisco and used that as the setting for Lincoln’s apartment. I almost wish I could have stayed there myself!
Part of this story is about a young woman who has had breast cancer. I took this part of the book very seriously, and spoke to a number of women who have beaten this disease. I hope I’ve captured realistically everything that they told me. The most poignant part for me is the scene in front of the mirror with Amy and Lincoln. I just hope I’ve done it justice.
I love to hear from readers, so please come and visit me at: www.scarlet-wilson.com
Many thanks
Scarlet
This book is dedicated to my aunt—Margaret Wilson. Not everyone is as lucky as I am to have such a fabulous auntie. One who offers unfailing support to her three nieces and many great-nieces and nephews. And brings us wonderful holiday stories of ‘exploding’ strawberries and cream!
And to my editor, Sally Williamson, thank you for bringing me into the Mills and Boon family and looking after me so well. It’s been a pleasure working with you.
And to women the world over who’ve suffered from breast cancer. This one is for you.
PROLOGUE
LINCOLN ADAMS stuck his fingers into the collar around his neck and pulled—hard. The collar was at least an inch too small for him. It didn’t matter that the whole ensemble was Italian made from the finest materials. The suit trousers were an inch too short and the waist was an uncomfortably snug fit. He kept his arms firmly by his sides, his hands clenched in his lap, because if he leaned forward onto the table in front of him, the jacket would stretch across his back, restricting his movements. It was bad enough having to borrow someone else’s clothes, but when they were a size too small … The sooner he was out of here the better.
The White House press secretary swept across the room in a flurry of eye-catching blue silk with a tailored black jacket on top. Every pore of her skin emanated professionalism and efficiency, and she knew how to work a crowd. This was all her fault.
He gave a forced smile at David Fairgreaves, who sat down next to him. The old man didn’t look in the least fazed by the pandemonium surrounding him. In fact, he looked as if he might actually be enjoying it. Was he mad? Then again, for an international-award-winning doctor, this would be all in a day’s work.
Diane Green stood behind the podium next to him. Almost instantaneously the cameras started snapping around them and the noise level increased frenetically. She raised her hand and the press pack heeded. She had the information they’d all been waiting for.
‘Thank you for joining us here today at Pelican Cove for our happy announcement. You will all be aware that President Taylor and his wife, Jennifer, were expecting their first baby on seventeenth October. However, today, on the twenty-third of August, Charles and Jennifer Taylor are delighted to announce the arrival of …’ she paused for effect ‘… the First Daughter, Esther Rose Taylor, weighing four pounds ten ounces.’
The room around her erupted, questions being shouted from every angle. ‘Isn’t the baby too early?’
‘What was the First Lady doing in Pelican Cove?’
‘Where is her own obstetrician, Dr Blair?’
‘Was the President here?’
‘Where did the name come from?’
But Diane Green was the epitome of calm. Continuing with her carefully prepared statement, she lifted her hand again until the room was silent. ‘Esther Rose Taylor was born at thirty-two weeks gestation. The First Lady had been ordered to rest in the last few weeks of her pregnancy and had come to Pelican Cove to do exactly that. She was accompanied by her obstetrician, Dr Blair, who unfortunately had a myocardial infarction in the last few days. As a result of that the First Lady was looked after by …’ Diane Green gestured towards the seats to her right ‘… Dr David Fairgreaves, one of the foremost leading obstetricians in America, and Dr Lincoln Adams, one of our finest neonatologists.’ She gave a little nod towards the reporters. ‘I am pleased to report that the President was here for the arrival of his daughter and she is named after Jennifer Taylor’s beloved and much-missed grandmother. Any questions regarding the health of the First Lady and the First Daughter—’ a genuine smile swept across Diane Green’s lips, as if she was still to get used to saying that ‘—can be answered by our two highly qualified doctors here.’
Once again the room erupted and Lincoln Adams took a deep breath as this time the barrage of questions was directed at him. Let me out of here!
Amy Carson sat on the cold, clinical hospital bed, usually occupied by a patient, her hands fixed firmly on her swollen stomach. The plaster was falling off the ceiling above her and the wall hadn’t seen a coat of paint in—How long? What did the patients who usually ended up in this room think? The role reversal of staff member to potential patient wasn’t lost on her. Everything about this place was bland. Did she really want to end up delivering her baby in a place like this?
She gulped. How had she ended up here? The door opened and the nurse appeared again, wheeling the trolley that held the foetal monitor and sphygmomanometer. Amy felt herself tense. She knew it was going to be the same again—borderline.
She loved her colleagues here, but none of them had the specialist skills and expertise that this baby would need. More than that—nowhere in the surrounding area had facilities to deal with a premature baby. Everything about this made her uncomfortable. If only Lincoln would answer his phone …
Movement on the television in the corner of the room caught her eye. She leaned forward. ‘Can you turn that up, please, Lynn?’
Her colleague nodded and automatically twisted the knob on the antiquated television set. ‘Delighted to announce the arrival of …’
Amy listened to the announcement. Another baby born too early. But probably the most famous baby in the world. A baby that would have the most prestigious, experienced medical care that money could buy.
No! Surely not? Amy’s chin dropped to her chest. Lincoln Adams. Her Lincoln Adams was shifting uncomfortably on the screen in front of her. He tugged at his shirt and answered question after question about the baby’s condition. His voice was rich, smooth. If she couldn’t see his image on the television in front of her, she’d imagine he was the calmest man in the world. But he wasn’t. And she could tell he hated every moment of this.
Delivering the President’s baby. Wow. So that’s where he’d been.
Her heart constricted in her chest. Six years and he still had the same effect on her—even in her current state. She watched as he took a question from a blonde journalist, dazzling her with his twinkling blue eyes and easy smile. He was still a flirt. It was so ingrained in him that he didn’t even realise he was doing it. One smile from Linc and the journalist, covering the biggest story of her life, was a babbling mess.
She pointed at the screen as the nurse, Lynn, resumed her checks. ‘I know him.’
Lynn’s eyes darted over to the screen, taking in the hunk currently filling the screen. Amy bristled. She could almost hear her thoughts.
Lynn gave a small smile. ‘Well, you’re a lucky lady, then. I imagine he’s one of the best neonatologists in the world if he’s looking after the President’s baby.’
‘He is. I tried to get hold of him yesterday but he didn’t answer the text I sent him. I guess he was busy.’ The message “I need your help” had been direct and to the point without revealing anything. Her voice was quiet, thoughtful. Her hands rubbing up and down her stomach. ‘How is it?’ she asked as Lynn unwound the blood-pressure cuff. She knew the answer before Lynn spoke but her head was currently in another place. There was only one person in the world she trusted right now to take care of her baby.
Lynn frowned. ‘Actually, it’s a little higher. I’m sorry, Amy, but as a fellow professional I’m not going to beat around the bush. With your other symptoms, it’s definitely looking like borderline pre-eclampsia. The good thing is we’ve caught it early. It’s time to see your obstetrician. And from one colleague to another, I definitely think it’s time to stop work.’
Amy nodded her head, tears prickling at the sides of her eyes as she swallowed the lump in her throat. ‘I can’t let anything happen to this baby,’ she whispered. ‘He’s my only chance.’
Lynn wrapped her hand around Amy’s. ‘I know that.’ She hesitated, glancing towards the television. ‘Maybe it’s time to ask a friend for help?’ Lynn’s eyes fixed on the television screen. ‘If I knew my baby was going to come early I’d want the finest neonatologist in the world to be at the delivery.’ Her voice was firm and strong. ‘Wouldn’t you?’
Her phone beeped and she reached into her pocket. Two words. Anything. Any time.
Their eyes met. Amy bit her lip and took a deep breath, the shine of unshed tears visible in her eyes. ‘Exactly how far away is Pelican Cove?’
CHAPTER ONE
LINCOLN burst through the doors to the adjoining office and wrenched the scarlet tie from his throat. The force popped the button on his shirt and sent it flying across the floor.
David Fairgreaves strolled in behind him and lifted one grey eyebrow. He took off his suit jacket, hanging it on the chair behind him. ‘Problem, Lincoln?’ He looked vaguely amused, another irritation to add to Lincoln’s list.
Lincoln stalked over to a nearby shelf and pulled down a pair of green scrubs—he wasn’t wearing this damn too-tight suit a second longer.
Washington’s finest shirt lay in a crumpled heap at his feet as he pulled the scrub top over his head and turned to face David. ‘How can they ask questions like that?’
David gave a little shrug of his shoulders, picked up an apple from the nearby table and crunched into it, putting his feet up on the desk. ‘They’re animals.’
Lincoln shook his head. ‘How can you stand it? How can you sit there and smile at those idiots?’
‘You’ve got to give it some perspective. I’ve just looked after the First Lady. It’s news that they’ll report all around the world. And they’ll all be looking for their own spin—their own edge to make them stand out from the pack. Truth be known—I really don’t care what any of them think. The only thing I care about is my patient.’
Lincoln stared at him. David was the only reason he’d come here in the first place. The chance to work with the man who’d been the first to retrieve stem cells was too good an opportunity to miss. The irony of it was—he looked like a bumbling old fool but was probably the most forward-thinking clinician Lincoln had ever met.
David caught him with his sharp gaze. ‘What’s with you anyway? You’ve been like a bear with a sore head all afternoon.’
Linc sighed. The man missed nothing. ‘I got a strange text message last night from someone I haven’t seen in years—at least, I think that’s who it was from. I’ve texted back but I can’t seem to get a signal right now, so I don’t know if she’s replied.’ He held his cellphone up near the window and turned in various directions. Still no signal.
David gave him a knowing look. ‘I take it this was a female someone?’
Linc nodded and smiled. ‘Let’s just say it was an unexpected blast from the past.’
‘A good one?’
‘She certainly wasn’t that easy to forget so I hope so. But with everything that’s happened in the last two days I’ve just not had a minute.’ He ran his fingers through his dark brown hair. ‘I can’t remember the last time I actually slept.’
David nodded. ‘Having the head of White House Security turn up at your door at three in the morning and tell you to pack up to deliver the President’s baby would flatten most men.’ He frowned. ‘Your text. Was it from a real friend? Or a fair-weather friend? I’ve experienced lots of those—people who the minute you appear in the media have apparently been your “best friend” or “closest colleague” for years—even though they don’t know when your birthday is or what car you drive. Fame does funny things to folks—you need to be careful, Lincoln. This is a whole new ball game for you.’
Lincoln looked thoughtful. He gestured towards the door. ‘Well, that was my first official television appearance, so she can’t have known anything about it. She sounded—I don’t know—in trouble.’
‘Just what every man loves—a damsel in distress.’ David flashed him a smile. ‘Come on, Lincoln, let’s go and look after our girls.’ He tossed his apple core into a trash can on the other side of the room.
‘I told you to stop calling me that. It’s Linc. My friends call me Linc.’
David looked aghast. ‘Linc? Certainly not. You, my friend, are named after the finest President we’ve ever had and you should wear that name with pride.’ He put his hand on the doorhandle as a frown puckered his forehead. ‘Just don’t tell Charlie Taylor I said that.’
Lincoln laughed. ‘I may well use that as blackmail material.’
Amy glanced at her watch as the cab seemed to meander up the coastal road. The traffic was almost at a standstill and she watched as only a few vehicles got through the cordon in front of them. The rest were directed to turn and head back down the hill. Her stomach churned. This had to be the worst idea she’d ever had.
A uniformed officer approached the cab and rapped sharply on the window. He glanced in the back seat towards Amy. ‘Where are you headed?’
The taxi driver gestured behind him. ‘Got a pregnant lady to drop at the hospital.’
The cop gave a little start. He looked like a man who had heard every line in the book today but he leaned forward a little to get a better look. He obviously hadn’t heard this one yet. ‘Can you step out the car please, ma’am?’
Amy fumbled for the doorhandle and stepped out into the warm sea air. She pulled some money from her purse and handed it to the driver. ‘Thanks very much.’
The cop ran his eyes up and down the length of her body. It was almost as if he was checking she actually was pregnant. Her white tunic and expanding trousers flapped in the wind, exposing every part of her body, including the currently out-turned umbilicus. She pressed her hands self-consciously over her stomach.
‘Your name, ma’am?’
‘Excuse me?’
‘You have to give me your name—and the name of the doctor you have an appointment to see.’
Amy hesitated. ‘I don’t exactly have an appointment, but I’m here to see Dr Lincoln Adams.’
The cop looked down at the list in his hand and stared at her. ‘This isn’t exactly the time for social calls.’ His eyes narrowed suspiciously, ‘Dr Adams, he’s a neonatologist, isn’t he?’ He nodded towards her stomach. ‘What do you want to see him for? You haven’t had your baby yet—shouldn’t you be seeing an obstetrician?’
Amy sighed. The sun in Mendocino Valley was strong. She could feel it beating down on the pale skin at the parting in her red hair. A parting she usually always kept covered—too bad she’d forgotten her sunhat. She swallowed nervously. Trust her to get the cop who was smarter than the average bear.
She fumbled around her bag, looking for the bottle of water she had been drinking in the cab. Two hours in a cab with no air-conditioning with the heat so strong you could practically see it rising from the ground. Four hours in a train beforehand that had been packed with tourists. This trip had been a nightmare. There was no way she wasn’t getting to see Lincoln.
She pulled her tunic from her sweating back. At least the sea winds around her were giving some relief.
‘Ma’am?’
The cop was getting annoyed. She could sense that good cop had retreated and bad cop was hovering near the door.
‘Here.’ She pulled out a battered envelope from her bag containing her medical notes. ‘Give these to Lincoln Adams, he’ll see me.’
The cop rolled his eyes. ‘Dr Adams is currently looking after the First Daughter. He won’t see you or anyone else.’ He pointed in the direction of a cluster of reporters as he handed the notes back to her. ‘Nice try, though.’
Amy felt a wave of panic wash over her as her baby gave a few anxious kicks. This heat was really starting to get to her. What if Lincoln wouldn’t see her? What if he refused to look after her baby when it was born? What if didn’t even remember her?
The blood rushed to her cheeks. Surely he hadn’t forgotten her? How could he possibly forget those six months spent on the Amazon aid boat? She couldn’t forget a single minute. The hours they hadn’t spent working, they’d spent in his bed—and neither of them had been sleeping.
Trouble was, even though she remembered every minute of their time together, did he? She’d heard sneaky rumours that Lincoln had had a long line of female friends on his Amazon trips. Was it possible she had been just another pretty face to him? Had she just been a summer-long fling?
Six months with the most gorgeous man on earth. A man who hadn’t cared about appearances. He hadn’t been looking for a designer-clothed, styled woman, piled with make-up. Which was just as well since her luggage had gone astray at Iquitos airport in Peru and hadn’t arrived until two weeks later. She’d spent the first two weeks with her hair pulled back in her solitary hair bobble, wearing pale blue or green surgical scrubs and paper knickers. Just as well her breasts hadn’t been big enough to really need the support of a bra.
She looked downwards. Things had certainly changed in the last six years. In more ways than one. Her extended stomach was definitely evidence of that.
Her hands went back to guarding her stomach. Her precious bundle. Her one and only chance of motherhood. Was it so wrong to want the best man in the land to look after her baby? More than that, someone she trusted. Someone she’d seen battle the odds to help a baby survive. Someone who refused to take no for an answer.
She wanted that. She wanted that for her baby—her son. Lincoln was the best neonatologist she’d ever worked with. If anyone could help her with an early delivery, it was him.
Her eyes drifted upwards. The cop was dealing with someone else now and looking more and more agitated by the minute. The sun was obviously getting to him too.
She looked around her. Security was everywhere. And no wonder. If reports were to be believed, the President, the First Lady and the First Daughter were currently in the hospital at the top of the hill. So how was she going to get in there?
Amy took a deep breath. ‘Officer, officer!’
The cop scowled at her and walked back along the cordon. ‘You again. What do you want?’
‘You never let me finish,’ she panted as she pushed her stomach out as far as she could. ‘Lincoln Adams—he’s my husband. So you have to let me in to see him.’
Where had that come from?
Amy was starting to feel light-headed. She really needed a seat. Oh, boy. She was definitely going to be caught out now. The cop squinted at her, ‘You do know I’ll radio up and check, don’t you?’ It was almost as if he could read her panicking mind and was giving her a last-minute opportunity to give up the madness, admit that she’d lied and retreat—never to be seen again.
But Amy was determined. She would see Lincoln, no matter what. She would get him to look after her son, no matter what. She drew herself up to her whole five feet five inches and stared him straight in the eye. ‘Can you tell Dr Adams that his wife, Amy Carson, is here?’
‘Different names, huh?’ The cop eyed her suspiciously as he lifted his shoulder to speak into the radio attached to the front of his protective vest.
Amy’s hands rested on the steel grating in front of her. Her eyes drifted across the nearby ocean. It was beautiful here. But the Californian heat seemed to be suffocating her. She could feel the sun beating down, making her itchy and scratchy. In fact, her whole body felt itchy. She pulled her smock top away from her body in an attempt to get some air circulating.
She blinked. A wave of nausea swept over her. Her head was beginning to spin. Suddenly watching the boats bobbing up and down in the cove didn’t seem like such a good idea. The momentum of the waves was making her feel worse, her legs turning to jelly, and little patches of black had appeared at the edge of her vision …
‘Ma’am! Ma’am, are you okay? Quick! Someone get me an ambulance!
‘Dr Adams!’
The voice cut across the emergency department like a siren. Lincoln spluttered his coffee all down the front of his scrubs and onto his open white coat. He glanced at the cup of lukewarm coffee. His first since yesterday and he wasn’t going to get to drink it. He tossed the cup in the trash and turned towards the voice.
James Turner. Head of the President’s security detail. Not again. This man was beginning to haunt his dreams—both at night and during the day.
But something was wrong. He had someone—a woman—in his arms. Linc strode towards him as James Turner unceremoniously dumped the woman on top of a gurney behind one of the sets of curtains. Beads of sweat dripped down his forehead and nose. Linc wondered if he’d managed to change out of his obligatory black suit at all since he’d arrived in Pelican Cove.
‘I think I found something belonging to you, Dr Adams.’
‘To me? I don’t think so.’ Lincoln shook his head and moved over to the gurney.
‘Really?’ James Turner raised an eyebrow. ‘You mean you don’t recognise your own wife?’
‘My what?’
‘I knew it. Another scam artist. It’s ridiculous the lengths some of these reporters will go to. Don’t worry, I’ll get rid of her.’
Linc moved nearer the woman on the gurney. Her head and body were turned away from him but from the back the curly red hair looked like someone else’s. Someone he’d known five years ago. Only then she’d spent most of the time with it tied up in a ponytail, not spread across her shoulders and back, like it was now.
He leaned closer, then started. Yip. That definitely was a very pregnant abdomen. At least six months. His eyes flickered to her face. Pale skin, flawless, almost translucent, with a faint sprinkling of freckles across her nose. And she was out cold. And James Turner was trying to pull her upwards, obviously thinking she was faking.
‘Stop!’
This time his voice was every bit as loud as James’s had been.
The cold, hard stare he was getting used to met him again.
‘Get your hands off her.’ Lincoln walked around to the other side of the gurney. He had to be sure. He had to be sure his eyes were not deceiving him.
No. They weren’t. This was Amy Carson. This was his Amy Carson. The one he’d spent six hot, sweaty months with on the Amazon aid boat. Spending the days looking after a range of newborn ailments and spending the nights lost in the sea of her red hair. And he could absolutely authenticate it was her natural colour. This was definitely Amy Carson. The same one that had asked for help only forty-eight hours ago.