One life-changing night...

One longed-for family!

He’s gorgeous, dedicated and completely uncompromising! But Dr. Frannie Wentworth knows pediatric surgeon Ian Spencer’s challenging demeanor hides a wealth of pain. And after one heartrending shift on the children’s ward encourages Ian to reveal the grief of losing his son, the friction between them fades...leaving Frannie pregnant! She’s always longed to be a mom, but can she help Ian believe he deserves to embrace fatherhood again?

DEANNE ANDERS was reading romance while her friends were still reading Nancy Drew, and she knew she’d hit the jackpot when she found a shelf of Harlequin Presents in her local library. Years later she discovered the fun of writing her own. Deanne lives in Florida, with her husband and their spoiled Pomeranian. During the day she works as a nursing supervisor. With her love of everything medical and romance, writing for Mills & Boon Medical Romance is a dream come true.

Also by Deanne Anders

From Midwife to Mummy

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

The Surgeon’s Baby Bombshell

Deanne Anders

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09020-9

THE SURGEON’S BABY BOMBSHELL

© 2019 Denise Chavers

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 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

Version: 2020-03-02

MILLS & BOON

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

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

This book is dedicated to all the mental health nurses,

like my daughter Jennifer, who have dedicated their

lives to caring for their patients. Thank you for

making a difference in the lives of both your patients

and your community.

Also, I would like to thank my husband, who

supported me when I came home one day and

told him I was quitting my job and going to nursing

school. Without so much as the blink of an eye you

told me to go for it and supported me all the way

through. I couldn’t have done it without you.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

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

EPILOGUE

Extract

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

FRANNIE WATCHED AS every head at the nurses’ station turned. That was everyone’s but hers. She didn’t have to look to know that Dr. Ian Spencer had just arrived on the pediatric ward. As always, the gorgeous doctor walked onto the unit and a group of highly intelligent women suddenly became brain-dead.

She had been witness to the phenomenon for the last five months and she still didn’t understand it. Yes, the man was good-looking, if you went for the tall, dark and brooding type, but that still didn’t explain the near hero-worship that followed him wherever he went. She certainly didn’t think of him as a hero. He’d been a pain in her backside ever since she had convinced the hospital board members to agree to fund her therapy program, working with critically ill and traumatized children on the pediatric trauma and surgical unit. Her program was five months old now, and still every time she tried to discuss their mutual patients he was too busy to talk with her.

So, while she would have to admit that the man could audition for the part of a sexy doctor in a TV drama, with his thick dark hair and baby blue eyes, she found him to be very much removed from anything to do with his patients’ care beyond their medical needs. The man might be a genius in the operating room, but in her opinion he really needed to learn better social skills to be able to work well with the rest of the medical staff.

Looking up from her notes, she noticed that even Miss Emily, an elderly volunteer, had stopped to ogle the doctor coming down the hall. When the gray-haired woman looked over at her and gave a wiggle of her thick gray eyebrows, then winked at her, Frannie couldn’t help but laugh.

“Excuse me,” said a deep voice from behind her.

Shivers ran up her back and she could have sworn her heart paused for a beat. For some reason the man set her nerves on edge and her mouth stuttering. Why he made her nervous, she didn’t know. Okay, maybe it was those baby blues of his that sent her traitorous heart skipping, or perhaps it was the way his wide shoulders filled out the blue OR scrubs he usually wore that took her breath away.

And now she sounded just like every other drooling woman on the unit.

No. She would not fall for this man’s looks. There were lots of more important things to consider than someone’s looks. She’d learned that lesson in residency, after being wooed by a handsome co-worker. She’d not do that again.

Running her hands down the sides of her lab coat, she pasted on what she hoped was a pleasant smile and turned to face him. “Ian, I was wondering if you had a minute to discuss...”

She was staring at the man’s back. Had he just walked away from her in the middle of a sentence? A hot flush of temper rolled over her. Her face was burning with it. The man had no manners!

Turning back to the nurses’ station, she noticed that several of the nurses were watching her—some with looks of pity.

It was no secret that the chief of pediatric surgery had not been happy when her therapy program had been implemented on his floor. For months she had tried to get the man to sit down and discuss the progress she was making with her young trauma and surgical patients. She had done everything but lock him up in a closet with her to make him give her a chance, but he had just continued to avoid her, no matter what she did.

Yes, the money for her program was coming from his budget, but couldn’t he see how much providing psychiatric support to his patients could help him? Of course he couldn’t. How could he when all his attention was on their medical files instead of looking at the way their problems were affecting their behavior and their mental health? If only she could figure out why he insisted on ignoring her she might be able to work to fix the problem.

This attitude was not working for her or the children she represented—and enough was enough. If she had to ride through the halls half-naked, sitting on the hospital’s Mardi Gras float, to get his attention, she would do it.

The thought of being even partially naked on the purple and gold papier-mâché float in front of the grumpy surgeon had her thoughts screeching to a halt and her face flaming a brighter red. Okay, maybe that was going a little too far—but she did have to do something. She needed to know what he had against her and her program.

Oh, she knew how temperamental surgeons were—she’d lived with one most of her life—but that didn’t excuse the man’s attitude toward her and the work she was doing with his pediatric patients.

She watched as Ian Spencer stopped outside the room of one of their mutual patients, Danny Owens. She handed the chart she’d been reviewing back to the unit coordinator and followed the surgeon down the hall. She’d worked hard to achieve the little bit of progress she had gotten out of this young trauma patient in the past two days, and she wasn’t going to take any chances of the surgeon setting that progress back. If Ian went in there and upset the young man there was no telling what would happen.

Stopping before she entered the hospital room, she straightened her white lab coat, pushed her glasses back on her nose and adjusted the black badge declaring her “Dr. Francis Wentworth, Staff Psychiatrist.” While her friends might make fun of her oversized glasses, she’d found that a no-nonsense professional look worked well. She had no desire to be judged by her looks either.

She took a deep breath. She’d be pleasant, but direct, and after he’d finished in Danny’s room she and the crabby surgeon were going to talk.

She gave the door a quick knock. Entering the room, she noted that her patient was looking just as brooding as his surgeon. Standing across the room, seventeen-year-old Danny Owens was staring out at the road that ran in front of the hospital.

Frannie had been working with the teenager for the last two days, but so far hadn’t been able to get him to talk to her or to eat. She had been called to the emergency room when Danny and his girlfriend, Ashley, had been brought in, after a car had swerved into their lane while they were driving home from school. The teenager had suffered some broken ribs and a laceration to his liver, along with a fractured femur. Ashley had suffered a traumatic head injury and had been unresponsive and intubated on a ventilating machine since she’d arrived at the hospital.

The neurologist on the case was hopeful, but the longer Ashley remained unconscious the more Danny was withdrawing. She had spoken with his parents, and encouraged them to be patient, but after two days they were getting anxious and she couldn’t blame them. He was keeping everything bottled up inside, and at some point he was going to explode.

Watching Danny’s hands as they clenched into fists, then relaxed, over and over again, she knew it wouldn’t be much longer before he reached boiling point. Soon he was either going to break down in grief or express his anger in violence. She had to find a way to stop him before he went spiraling out of control. Until then, she needed to keep him as calm as possible. Pushing the teenager at this time would be like setting off a bomb.

But from the look Ian was giving the young man the doctor was out of patience. She was standing in a room full of dynamite and Dr. Spencer seemed to be ready to light the fuse.

“Danny, I know you’re upset, but not talking to us isn’t going to help,” the surgeon said. “Your nurse tells me you’re not eating, and that you didn’t sleep last night. If you continue like this you’re just going to prolong your hospital stay. Is that what you want? To stay in the hospital?”

“Dr. Spencer,” Frannie said. “I’ve spoken with Danny and told him we won’t make him do anything he doesn’t want to—unless it puts him in danger medically, of course. I have also ordered something to help him sleep if he wants it.”

“If he doesn’t start eating soon I’m going to order a feeding tube,” Ian said. “He needs the nutrition to help his body heal.”

Damn the man—he’d gone and struck a match in a room that was already about to detonate. If he’d read any of her notes on Danny’s chart he would have known that pushing the kid was just going to blow up in his face. This was just one more reason he needed to stop this silly game of pretending she and her program didn’t exist. It wasn’t as if ignoring her was going to make her go away.

Danny turned and looked at them. The haunted look in his eyes tore at her heart. He was too young to have to face something this traumatic in his life.

But that was the problem with most of her patients: they were too young to have learned any type of coping methods that might help them. That was why they needed her help. They needed help to find the tools to get them through the things life was throwing at them and to help them come out as whole as possible. Sure, they’d be changed in some ways—nobody could go through the things these kids were going through without being affected—but they’d be stronger and more able to cope with the changes in their lives.

“Danny, I’m sure Dr. Spencer isn’t planning on force-feeding you unless it becomes evident that you’re making yourself more sick,” Frannie said as she shot a look at Ian, daring him to interrupt her. “But you have to know that your parents are very worried about you, and I know you don’t want that. Can you agree to at least try to eat something today? For them?”

Danny’s shoulders slumped and he looked down at the floor before nodding his head in agreement. He was a good kid, and she knew he loved his parents. Having his parents involved would help him get through this more than anything she could do. Unfortunately a lot of her patients didn’t have that kind of strong family support.

* * *

“I’ll agree to forget the tube if you promise me you’ll eat at least half of your meals today. I’ll tell the nurse to order whatever you want, or we can get your parents to bring in something for you. Agreed?” Ian said, and he stuck his hand out and waited for the kid to shake it.

When Danny looked up and locked his gaze on the outstretched hand he thought the kid was going to refuse this sign of a truce, but he followed through with the handshake.

Ian held on to the young man’s hand for a few seconds. He tightened his grip and eased his fingers up his patient’s arm till he felt a strong, steady pulse. Loosening his grip, he felt an unsteady tremor in Danny’s hand. The kid was in a bad way. Dr. Wentworth could baby him all she wanted, but Ian was responsible for his patient’s health, and this kid wasn’t going to sit there and starve himself on his watch.

Would he really force-feed the kid? Probably not—but neither Danny nor Dr. Wentworth needed to know that. If his threat resulted in his patient eating then it had done its job—which was a lot more than all that feel-good talking Dr. Wentworth was doing.

He let go of the teenager’s hand and promised to return to see him the next day. He had no doubt that this psychiatrist wouldn’t be happy with him, but that really wasn’t a concern of his. He was a surgeon. His job was to help these young patients to recover from their injuries and return to their lives. He didn’t have time to stop and ask them how they felt about it. He had to get to the next injured child and somehow make them better. That was his job.

He’d leave all the psych stuff to Dr. Wentworth. Wasn’t that what she was getting paid to do?

He heard his name being called behind him and tried to pretend not to hear. But it became evident that Dr. Wentworth wasn’t going to give up. The woman never gave up. She was determined to get him involved with her therapy program, but it wasn’t going to happen. He’d seen firsthand how therapists worked. Or didn’t.

He turned around and reached out to stop the young woman from plowing him down.

“Oh...sorry,” she said as she brushed her hair back out of her eyes. Dark brown eyes that flashed with irritation behind an overly large pair of black-framed glasses.

Of average height, and as far as he could see of an average build—there really was no way to know what she hid behind the oversized lab coats she always seemed to wear—the only thing that really stood out about the woman was the fountain of dark brown hair that flowed down her back. And those eyes... There was just something about the dark depths of them that made him feel as if she was seeing into his soul...into that part of him that he made sure he kept hidden from everyone.

He’d bared his soul once, when his heart had been broken, and the person he had trusted with it—the person he had trusted with what had been left of his heart after the death of their son—had torn it up until there hadn’t been enough left to save. He’d never let another woman do that to him, and he’d never allow another shrink inside his head.

“Ian, we need to talk,” he heard her say.

He shook away the memories that threatened to crush him and realized he still held the woman’s arms. Removing his hands, he made to turn once more and escape.

“I’m sorry, Dr. Wentworth, I’m in the middle of rounds right now,” he said.

“That’s not going to get rid of me this time, Ian,” she said, stressing his name as if to emphasize the fact that he refused to call her by her first name—which just made him want to pull her chain some more.

“Dr. Wentworth, I’m sure whatever you have to say is important,” he said, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice, “but I have surgery in the next hour and I need to finish my rounds.”

“We need to discuss what just happened in there,” she said.

“You mean me getting my patient to start eating?” he asked. “I think it went pretty well.”

He watched those deep brown eyes narrow and almost laughed. Did she think he could be intimidated with a look? If she really wanted to scare him she’d have to take lessons from his ex-wife, Lydia. Now, that woman had been scary—even before their marriage had collapsed.

“I’ve been working with Danny for two days now. As you know, his girlfriend is still in critical condition. Though he knows that the car accident wasn’t his fault, he still feels a lot of guilt over it—and he’s also feeling a lot of anger right now. He needs to work through those emotions and I’m working with him and his parents on a daily basis. Threatening him with the placement of a feeding tube only gave him another reason to be angry. He needs to feel like he’s in control of something right now, and taking away more of his control is not going to help.”

Ian looked down at the psychiatrist. It was as if the woman could just magically see which buttons to push on him. Working through emotions. Yeah, he’d heard the same psychobabble from his marriage counselor. He’d paid a hefty price for the hours he’d spent “working through” his emotions with his wife after the death of their son—and that wasn’t even counting the ridiculously large check he’d written every month. And what had that gotten him? A painful divorce and a scarred reputation.

“Good morning,” said a voice behind him.

Turning, Ian saw the hospital’s Chief Medical Officer approaching them. From what he’d learned since relocating to New Orleans, Dr. Richard Guidry had been on the staff here since he had started in practice. Now white-haired, and a little round about the middle, the man led his staff with a firm but gentle hand, and with his top concern always for the care of the patient.

Ian admired the man, and had always found him easy to work with. He actually found it easy to work with all the staff here—the only exception being this psychiatrist who was hounding him right now. He couldn’t say what it was about her that sent him running whenever she came around, but his fight-or-flight instinct always kicked in, sending him hurrying away from her.

“Good morning.”

He and Dr. Wentworth replied at the same time, then looked at each other. He wondered if she knew just how forced the smile on her face looked.

“Am I interrupting anything?” the older man asked, and then gave the two of them a disapproving look, letting them both know that he had witnessed at least part of their conversation.

Ian knew that one of the man’s strictest rules for his staff was that there must be no confrontations between them. His expectations were high, but they all tried to meet them.

Now, after the trouble Lydia had caused for him in Atlanta, Ian tried especially hard to avoid any trouble, and for the two and a half years he’d been here he’d had no problems with Richard Guidry. It would be the department’s resident shrink that got him in trouble.

“We were just trying to set a time when we can get together to discuss a mutual patient,” Ian said, then looked over at Dr. Wentworth, aiming for a smile that would at least look less painful than the one she wore. “Isn’t that right, Dr. Wentworth?”

The woman gave him a look that started out as disapproving and then turned sly as she tilted her head and smiled up at him.

“That’s right, Dr. Guidry. Ian was just agreeing with me that we need to get together today to discuss this patient. Your office this afternoon around five, right?” she asked. “I’ll see you then.”

She walked off before giving him an opportunity to reply, leaving him with no doubt that he had just been outmaneuvered.

“I’m glad to see that y’all are working so well together,” Dr. Guidry said as he turned back to Ian. “Frannie’s an excellent psychiatrist, and she’s very passionate about the work she’s doing here on the pediatric floor. I wouldn’t want there to be any issues between the two of you”

The man gave Ian a pat on the back, then continued on his way down the hall. Ian had no doubt that their performance hadn’t fooled the older doctor—the man was too sharp for that—so he would have no choice but to meet the psychiatrist as he had agreed. Which was the last thing he wanted to do.

CHAPTER TWO

IAN FINISHED HIS NOTES for the monthly department heads’ meeting scheduled for the next day. He’d hoped to be setting up the education on new robotic equipment in the OR by next month, but the cost of the newest model had increased above his approved budgeted amount, and now he was stuck with going back to ask the finance board for more money.

He ran his hands through his hair and stood. It was ridiculous that he was continually having his hands tied by upper management, who wouldn’t know a scalpel from a pair of forceps. The new equipment would help cut down on the invasiveness of so many surgeries—which in turn would decrease recovery time and complications. It shouldn’t have to be so hard to get the tools his team needed to take better care of their patients. How was he supposed to operate his department like this?

Ian opened the drawer in his desk and pulled out a pamphlet on the new equipment. The advances they had made in robotic surgery had quickly made their current equipment outdated. He knew the city had struggled for years after Hurricane Katrina to replace the older equipment, and this would be a big start in that direction if he could only get the budget increase he needed.

Under the pamphlet he spotted the unopened letter he had received from his ex-wife weeks before. The plain white envelope glared up at him. It sat there accusing him, as Lydia had, of being cold, heartless and uncaring. He feared the envelope contained more of the hurtful words she’d spat at him in front of their counselor. Words that had cut him to the bone and severed any feelings he’d had for her. Had Lydia always been that cruel? That heartless? They’d had problems, sure—what couple didn’t?—but he would never have guessed that the woman he’d loved since high school could turn on him that way.

But then, hadn’t he deserved it? At least some of it? Like she said, if he’d been at home maybe he would have been able to save his son. He glared at the envelope and slammed the drawer shut. No, he would not be dragged back to that pit of hell where he’d lived after the loss of his son.

He looked down to his watch. There were only minutes before his meeting with Dr. Wentworth and he was determined not to show any of his weaknesses. The last thing he needed was the woman with those soul-searching eyes of hers trying to pry into his personal life.

Picking up the phone, he made a call to the robotic medical equipment company, to check once more on the new prices, while he forced the pain back down deep inside his chest where he kept it hidden.

* * *

Frannie stood against the wall outside Ian’s office. She knew he was in there. She could hear him moving around his desk and papers being shuffled. She knocked on the door and waited for an answer while she fought her instinct to run. This was going to be a disaster—especially after the way she’d tricked him into meeting with her.

Hearing a bark ordering her to enter, she opened the door.

“Ian, thanks for meeting with me,” she said as she entered the room.

She’d never gotten the nerve before to seek Ian out in his office. At least now she’d have him cornered. He had no choice but to talk to her.

Sitting behind his desk, the man looked even more powerful, and the hospital-issue furniture seemed dwarfed by his size. Watching as he looked up at her with eyes that flared with impatience, she caught herself taking a step back.

No, he wasn’t going to scare her off this time. Squaring her shoulders, she forced her chin up and held her ground. This man was not going to ignore her again.

“I know we’ve both been busy, but I would really like to talk to you about some of the progress I’ve been seeing with your patients this week.”

Ian leaned back in his chair and gave her his usual uninterested stare. It was as if the man looked straight through her—as if he couldn’t stand to look her in the eye. Or was scared to.

“Is Danny Owens eating?” he asked.

She’d checked on the teenager during her afternoon rounds and knew Ian wasn’t going to like her answer. While Danny’s nurse had reported that he had eaten a few bites of his lunch, his appetite was still far from what it should be for a growing teenage boy. Frannie had an idea that until his girlfriend started making some progress toward recovery they wouldn’t see a lot of change in his appetite—but he had started to talk to her and his parents now, so at least she had begun to see some improvement.

“Some, but not enough. He’s not eating like he needs to.”

The pointed look he gave her told her the conversation was over as far as he was concerned. But if he thought she was going to be that easy to get rid of he’d underestimated her. They needed to get everything out in the open. No more tiptoeing around Dr. Spencer and his issues. If she was going to work with the man they needed to do it now.

“Exactly what is it, Dr. Spencer, that you don’t like about me? Is it that the board chose to fund my program without your approval? Or is it something more personal?”

She wanted the truth. If she could take it.

“There is nothing ‘personal’ between us, Dr. Wentworth. And the fact that the board approved your program is not surprising, considering your family’s involvement in the hospital.”

She burst out laughing, aware that it sounded more bitter than humorous. “You think my father helped me?” she asked. “You should take some time to talk with my father. He wants nothing more than for me to fall flat on my face, so that I’ll come to my senses and go back to school so that I can become a ‘real’ doctor.”

He had to have heard how disappointed the senior Dr. Wentworth was that his only child hadn’t followed in his footsteps. Her father had been very public about it.

“Nevertheless, as I said, this isn’t personal. I have nothing against you or your program. I’m sure your services are useful in some cases. But with the tight budget we have to operate on at this time I just don’t think that your services make enough difference for these children to justify their cost. These kids need a lot of healing time and physical rehab which is expensive.”

“So what you’re saying is that as long as we take care of a patient’s medical problems their psychological issues will go away? Because I can tell you a lot of people look healthy from the outside while hiding deep psychological scars inside. If you’d read any of the literature on adverse childhood experiences I handed out when I started my program, you would know that these children often suffer from both mental and physical problems later in life. Many of these children will never be the same, no matter how well you fix the trauma to their bodies. For some there will be scars deep down inside them that will never heal if they don’t get help. Is that what you want? Is that what you’d want for your child?”

His jaw tightened and his eyes jerked away from hers. She saw his hands whiten as he gripped the chair-arms. All telltale signs that she was getting to him. Maybe the man wasn’t as indifferent to her cause as she’d thought. Maybe he did have a heart.

She watched as his fingers relaxed their hold and his body sank back into his chair. When he opened his mouth, once more the distant man she had seen earlier, she knew she had lost him.

“My job is to fix the injured kids who come into this hospital,” he said. “I do that by using all my surgical skills and the best technical equipment I can get my hands on. My goal is to make them well so that they can get back to their lives as soon as possible. I understand that you want to help these kids, but—”

He put up his hand to stop her when she would have interrupted. She held her comments. She’d let him finish his high-and-mighty speech, but then she’d have her say.

“I’m a surgeon. I use test results, vital signs and physical examinations to tell me how a patient is recovering. All of those give me tangible information that helps me make decisions for the patient’s care. I’m sure you want to help these kids, and I’m sure you do in your own way, but my focus needs to be on their medical health. I’m a surgeon—it’s what I do, what I’m good at. I’ll be glad to leave their psychological wellbeing in your hands as long as it doesn’t interfere with the plan of care I have for them.”

“And if it does interfere? I understand your need for control of your patients’ care. I get that. But what you did with Danny today could have set him back. Using ultimatums with teenagers can often backfire. I only want what’s best for your patients too. All I’m asking is that we work together. If you have a problem with something I’m doing, tell me. My ego can take it, believe me. But this has to go both ways. If I disagree with how you’re handling a situation, I get to tell you, too.”

She sat still and waited as Ian stared at her. She’d let things go too long between the two of them. They needed to settle their differences. She suspected he was trying to find a way to avoid agreeing with her, but she’d put it to him in a way that left him no loophole. He either agreed to work with her or he came off as the biggest jerk in the hospital.

“I’ll agree to that, but for anything related to my patients’ physical health I get the last word. Now, if we’re finished here, I need to check on a couple of my surgery patients,” he said as he rose from his chair.

She’d been close to getting through to him—she just knew she had—but then he’d retreated, shutting down those emotions she was certain she’d seen and turning back into the same detached surgeon she had been dealing with for the past five months.

She wanted to fight him. To tell him that she had seen that crack in his armor before he’d closed it. But she knew it wouldn’t help. She’d spent years trying to get through the barriers her father had built around himself after her mother’s death until she’d finally realized that it was useless to continue.

Not that she was giving up on Ian. She’d seen enough of a response from him to know his heart hadn’t hardened completely—at least not yet. There might not be any hope for her father, but maybe someday Ian would see that the children he treated didn’t just need him for his surgical skills. They also needed the emotional support that the two of them working together could give them.

She stopped as she got to the door and then turned back toward him, curious now that she’d made the comparison between him and her father.

“Ian, do you ever do anything besides work?” she asked.

“My work is important to me,” he said as he reached up to take his white coat from the hook by the door.

“But do you ever relax? Let yourself enjoy life? Take time to play?”

“What? Are you worried about me, Dr. Wentworth?”

He reached for the door handle and she stepped back, the movement almost sending her into his arms for a moment. Her breath caught, freezing in her lungs. The warmth of his body teased at hers and her legs refused to move away from him. A second turned into two and neither of them moved away.

How had she missed this? She spent too much time studying people’s emotions and reactions not to have seen it. The speeding of her heartbeat when he was around...the magnetic push and pull between the two of them whenever they were together—they were all signs that she had ignored. Did he feel them too? Was that why he was always finding ways to avoid her?

“Some of us don’t have the time to play,” he said, breaking the silence between them, “and I never play with my co-workers.”

She continued to stand there, between him and the door, waiting to see any sign that would hint that he felt it too—this attraction that sent all of her vital signs rising.

He wanted test results? She’d give him test results.

She moved in closer, so their bodies were mere inches apart. She watched as his eyes drifted down to her lips, the look in them so hot that she wet them with her tongue. Oh, yeah, he felt it—and he wasn’t happy about it at all.

He jerked back from her. The moment was gone, but she had what she needed. Was this the reason they had such a hard time working together? This attraction that he seemed to want to ignore?

She turned back to him once more as she stepped out into the hall. She tried to keep a straight face, but managed to put just a touch of huskiness into her voice.

“Really, Ian? Than exactly who do you play with?”

The look on his face before she turned and left him was priceless.

* * *

It had been a week since he had met with Dr. Frannie Wentworth—or Dr. Frannie, as his patients called her. A week during which he’d struggled with the conversation they’d had and his own response to her.

He’d come out of it sounding like a royal jerk, who didn’t really care about his patients. But he did care. He gave his patients everything to help them recover. All his skills as a surgeon and all his diagnostic knowledge. That was all he had now—all he could afford to give.

Once he had been like the young psychiatrist, letting himself get drawn into his patients’ emotions and needs, but that wasn’t him now.

And then there was that other response. The one when for a second he’d almost held her in his arms and his body had taken over, leaving him in no doubt about what it wanted to do.

It was the giggle of a little girl, the sound so sweet, that had him stopping, and an answering laugh that made him turn around. He knew the room he’d just passed. He’d been consulted on the child’s case by her oncologist, and knew she was at the end of her third round of chemo and that the results were draining the child. Her parents were considering having a feeding tube surgically inserted, but he had not heard anything concerning their decision.

Looking through the cracked-open door to the room, he watched as the child, wearing a pretty pink-flowered bandana on her head, pulled a brush through the hair of the brunette psychiatrist he had been thinking about. Sitting on the bed with her legs crossed in front of her, dark hair flowing down her back, Dr. Frannie looked perfectly at home playing with the little girl.

Was this how she worked?

“You know your parents only want what’s best for you, Sarah. Is it that you’re scared of the surgery?”

Ian watched as the child’s mouth tightened and the look of enjoyment left her face.

“Amy had one of those tubes. She showed me. She said it was yucky and it hurt,” Sarah said.

“Did it look yucky to you?” Frannie asked.

“It’s a tube sticking out of her tummy. It’s gross. She said they used it to give her nutrition—whatever that is.”

“It’s what you need to make you strong again. What if I bring one of my dolls in to show you how it works? Would that make you feel better?”

The child scrunched her eyes, as if concentrating really hard, and then pulled the brush back through the thick brown hair.

“Maybe, but it’ll still look yucky. And Amy said it hurt when they put it inside her. She didn’t like it and I won’t like it either.”

“Is that why you told your mommy and daddy that you didn’t want to let Dr. Spencer put the tube inside you?” Frannie asked.

“Maybe...” the little girl said.

* * *

Frannie slid off the bed and turned around, looking back at the beautiful little girl who still held the brush in her hand. She fought back the tears that threatened to spill. This child had been through so much in the last two years. She’d only been in remission for a year before cancer had struck her small body again, and it appeared that this time it might win.

“Dr. Spencer is a real good surgeon. I can’t tell you it won’t hurt, but I know he will give you some medicine to help.”

Frannie watched as the little girl chewed on her bottom lip.

“Will it be that bubble gum medicine? I like the bubble gum one.”

“I’ll talk to Dr. Spencer and see what I can do, okay?”

Frannie turned around and gave the little girl a hug, being careful not to get tangled in the IV line running to the child’s chest.

“Dr. Frannie, I know I’m real sick. I heard Mommy and Daddy talk about it and they were crying.”

“Yes, Sarah, you are real sick. That’s why the doctors are giving you this medicine that makes you feel so bad. They’re trying to make you better.”

Frannie released her and stepped back and took the child’s little hands in hers.

“All the doctors are going to do everything they can to help you get better, but your parents love you so much that it hurts them to see you sick.”

“I don’t like to see them so sad. I don’t want to make them sad. I’ll try harder not to cry when it hurts. Will that make them feel better?”

Frannie swallowed as she straightened the bright bandana around the little girl’s head, still working to hold back the tears.

“I think your parents would be more upset if you tried to hide what you’re feeling, but I bet a bunch of hugs and kisses would make them feel a lot better.”

Sarah smiled, then picked up the doll whose hair she had been brushing before Frannie had walked into the room. “I can do that,” she said, then returned to the doll.

Frannie held it together as she said goodbye and promised Sarah that she would be back the next day to see her with her own doll.

Sarah’s parents had requested that she speak to the little girl after she had become upset at the mention of having a tube placed inside her to help with her nutrition. Now that Frannie knew about her conversation with Amy, she understood why. She’d speak with the little girl’s parents to let them know her concerns.

She walked out to the hallway and almost ran straight into Ian.

“Oh, sorry,” she said, then looked up into troubled eyes that matched her own. “You heard?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said, then took a step back from her.

“Sarah’s been through so much already, and I just don’t know how the parents keep doing it,” she said.

“Keep doing what? Watching the doctors trying to save her life?” he asked.

“I know, but—” she started. She could hear the anger in his voice. What had she said this time? She’d just been going to say that it had to be hard on the parents of the little girl, as every day they had to face making decisions that would impact their child.

“No, Dr. Wentworth, you don’t know. You know nothing about the pain a parent experiences when losing a child. Nothing. And no matter what your program does it won’t bring back a child to grieving parents. It won’t put them back together. It won’t fix their marriage. They’ll spend the rest of their lives waking up and questioning themselves, wondering if they did everything they could, if they missed some sign and whether that would have made a difference in their child’s life, if things would have been different if they had been there more for their child. You know nothing about how it feels to lose a child,” he said.

He turned and started to leave.

“Well, hello there,” said Dr. Guidry. “I have to say it’s a bit of a surprise to see the two of you having another discussion out here in the hallway.”

Frannie felt as if she was fourteen again, getting caught smoking in the girls’ bathroom by Sister Agnes.

“We were just...” She looked at Ian, waiting to see if he was going to help her out.

He lifted an eyebrow and continued to glare.

“It was just a misunderstanding,” she said. She gave Dr. Guidry a guilty smile, then continued. “We should have been more discreet,” she said, and forced herself to smile at Ian. “It won’t happen again. Will it, Ian?”

“I apologize, Dr. Guidry.” Ian finally spoke up. “Dr. Wentworth is right. We should have moved out of the hallway.”

Dr. Guidry studied the two of them with a stern look that had Frannie fighting the need to run. They were in big trouble.

“What we seem to have here is a communication problem, and I think that’s something the two of y’all could use some help with. So I’ll tell you what we’re going to do about it,” he said as he turned toward her. “My wife has been worried to death about not having enough volunteers to help with the hospital’s Mardi Gras float this year. I think it would be a great idea if the two of you help her out a bit—do some of that team-building the higher-ups are always preaching at me about. Doesn’t that just sound like fun?” he said as he turned toward Ian.

The look on Ian’s face—a face that was usually so unreadable—showed signs of shock and maybe a little bit of horror. Did the thought of working with her scare him that much?

Or maybe he was one of those men who didn’t like to get his hands dirty with actual physical work? Though judging by the hard build of his body the man worked at something besides what he did in the operating room. He was probably one of those gym rats, and the only sweating he did was on a machine surrounded by other people.

Or maybe it was fear of injuring his hands. Her father had always refused to do anything in which he could injure his hands.

“I don’t think that’s necessary, Dr....um... Richard,” Ian said. “I’m sure you’re aware how busy the hospital is right now.”

“The hospital’s always busy. Look at it this way: you’ll be helping an old man out here. Happy wife, happy life and all that. And don’t worry—I’ll be right there with y’all. Like I said, it’ll be fun.”

The two of them watched the older doctor as he headed back down the hall, calling out hellos to other staff members as he went.

“Maybe if you talk to him you can get him to change his mind,” Ian said as he turned back to her.

“Me? It’s your fault. You talk to him,” she said. “But I can tell you you’ll be wasting your time.”

“None of this is my fault,” he said. He looked down at his watch, then back up to her. “And now I’m running late for a case. Talk to him. Make him see reason. Tell him we’ll play nice together.”

She couldn’t help but smile at his comment.

“Hmm... Didn’t you tell me just the other day that you didn’t play with your colleagues?”

He gave her a look so sharp that it would have drawn blood—except for the fact that she dealt with traumatized teenagers on a daily basis. It would take a lot more than a look to intimidate her.

“Again, this is not my fault,” she said. “If you want to risk it, talk to him yourself. Dr. Guidry is a teddy bear most times, but break one of his rules and the teddy bear turns into a great big grizzly—and a hard-headed one at that. If I was you I’d just accept your sentence and deal with it. Which is exactly what I intend to do.”

She watched as the man walked off, muttering something about busybody doctors and nosy psychiatrists. She hadn’t been nosy—though she’d wanted to be after the way he had gone off after her comment concerning Sarah’s parents.

Did he really think she was judging them? She would never presume to understand what the little girl’s parents were going through, but there had been enough anguish in Ian to know that he did relate to Sarah’s parents. It was the first time in the five months they’d been working together that she had seen any true emotion in the man. But why?

Had he lost a patient in surgery who haunted him? Or was it someone closer? Had he lost a sister or a brother? She had heard that he was divorced, but she’d never heard anything about him having children.

Whatever it was that had caused the pain she had heard in Ian’s voice, it had been traumatic and he was still suffering from it. And even after the way he had acted she couldn’t help but be concerned for him. He was hurting and he needed help. She knew he’d never ask for it, but maybe if she could get him to trust her, he would open up to her.

The idea of working with him on the hospital’s Mardi Gras float was actually sounding good now. It was exactly what the two of them needed so they could begin to work together—and if in doing so she found a way to help Ian, then that would be even better.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.