Dear Reader

I am thrilled to have been asked to provide Book Six in this eight-book continuity about Angel Mendez Children’s Hospital, set in New York City, just a few hours from my home. It was an honour to work with the wonderfully talented authors who contributed to this series.

My story is about Scarlet, the head nurse of the hospital’s NICU—Neonatal Intensive Care Unit—and Lewis, the head of the hospital’s paediatric emergency room.

Since I have no first-hand knowledge of NICUs, this book took quite a bit of research to pull off. But I love learning new things, and now have a healthy respect for the hard-working nurses and doctors who provide care to the tiniest of patients and their families.

In this story I touch on the issue of adoption—a topic near and dear to my heart as I was adopted. It takes a special person willing to make a lifetime commitment to adopting, taking care of and loving another person’s child from birth through adulthood, or anywhere in between. I hope I did the storyline justice.

I love to hear from readers! Please contact me at Wendy@WendySMarcus.com

Thank you for buying and reading my books.

Wishing you all good things

Wendy S. Marcus

NYC Angels:
Tempting
Nurse Scarlet
Wendy S. Marcus

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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This book is dedicated to men and women around the world who have found room in their hearts to love and nurture someone else’s child and in the process make them their own—like my parents did. With special thanks to my wonderfully supportive editor, Flo Nicoll. I don’t know how I’d make it from the beginning to The End without your guidance and encouragement. You are an absolute gem! And to my loving family for making me food, for making me laugh, and for making me proud. And, in case you’re wondering, yes, my husband does read my books!

NYC Angels Children’s doctors who work hard and love even harder…in the city that never sleeps! Step into the world of NYC Angels and enjoy two new stories a month

In March New York’s most notoriously sinful bachelor Jack Carter found a woman he wanted to spend more than just one night with in:

NYC ANGELS: REDEEMING THE PLAYBOY

by Carol Marinelli

And reluctant socialite Eleanor Aston made the gossip headlines when the paparazzi discovered her baby bombshell in:

NYC ANGELS: HEIRESS’S BABY SCANDAL

by Janice Lynn

This month cheery physiotherapist Molly Shriver melts the icy barricades around hotshot surgeon Dan Morris’s damaged heart in:

NYC ANGELS: UNMASKING DR SERIOUS

by Laura Iding

And Lucy Edwards is finally tempted to let neurosurgeon

Ryan O’Doherty in. But their fragile relationship will need to survive her most difficult revelation yet…

NYC ANGELS: THE WALLFLOWER’S SECRET

by Susan Carlisle

Then, in May, newly single (and strictly off-limits!)

Chloe Jenkins makes it very difficult for drop-dead-gorgeous Brad Davis to resist temptation…!

NYC ANGELS: FLIRTING WITH DANGER

by Tina Beckett

And after meeting single dad Lewis Jackson, tough-cookie Head Nurse Scarlet Miller wonders if she’s finally met her match…

NYC ANGELS: TEMPTING NURSE SCARLET

by Wendy S. Marcus

Finally join us in June, when bubbly new nurse Polly Seymour is the ray of sunshine brooding doc Johnny Griffin needs in:

NYC ANGELS: MAKING THE SURGEON SMILE

by Lynne Marshall

And Alex Rodriguez and Layla Woods come back into each other’s orbit, trying to fool the buzzing hospital grapevine that the spark between them has died. But can they convince each other?

NYC ANGELS: AN EXPLOSIVE REUNION

by Alison Roberts

Be captivated by NYC Angels in this new eight-book continuity from Mills & Boon® Medical Romance™

These books are also available in eBook format from www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

SCARLET MILLER, head nurse of the NICU—Neonatal Intensive Care Unit—at Angel Mendez Children’s Hospital, lovingly referred to as Angel’s by the staff, walked onto the brand new, now fully functioning unit she’d played a key role in designing and creating, feeling more at home than she did anywhere else. Feeling proud of all she and her wonderful colleagues had accomplished, during her four years as a manager—national recognition for providing the highest level of care available for sick and premature newborns with one of the lowest mortality rates in the U.S. A high tech yet caring, state of the art yet warm and welcoming sixty-two bed unit that the residents of New York City and its surrounding areas kept at or near full capacity on a regular basis.

“Looks like someone finally had herself a hot weekend,” Linda, one of her older nurses said, walking up beside her. At least she wasn’t complaining about the switch from the open floor plan of their old setup to the mostly private rooms of their new wing.

“If by someone you’re referring to me.” Scarlet stopped at the nurses’ station, took the pink message slips held up by one of the unit secretaries and gave the young woman a smile of thanks before turning back to Linda. “And if by hot you’re referring to my oppressive, sweat-drenched, Saturday night of misery, the hottest eleventh day of May ever recorded in Weehawken, New Jersey, during which I spent more than sixteen hours without power ergo without air conditioning, then yes. I did indeed have a hot weekend.”

“Uh oh.” Linda glanced toward a huge vase filled with at least two dozen long-stemmed red roses and accenting ferns perched on the counter to their left.

“Uh oh what?” Scarlet asked.

“I told you we shouldn’t do it,” Ashley, the young secretary said, shaking her head.

Scarlet looked at her. “Do what?”

Cindy, one of her newest nurses, who’d been observing patient monitors and video feeds as part of her orientation, looked up over the counter and pointed to a rectangular golden box of chocolates, the cover askew.

“Would someone please tell me what’s going on?” Scarlet didn’t have time to play around, she needed to get back to work after a morning of meetings and greet the family of their newest micro-preemie, baby girl Gupta, born at twenty-six weeks, one pound, thirteen ounces, thirteen inches long, who’d arrived during her absence.

“We thought they were yours,” Cindy said.

“What—?”

“The flowers. And the chocolates,” she clarified.

“Why…” would they think someone had sent her red roses, the floral symbol of love and passion, typically given by men to their wives, girlfriends, and lovers, when she practically lived at the hospital, and hadn’t had a man in her life since… Hmmm. Since…

She gave up rather than belabor the pitiful fact it’d been so long she’d require a quick browse of her calendar, from last year, or Lord help her, maybe the year before, to spark her memory. Not that she’d humiliate herself by actually looking. But in her defense, no woman could have achieved the level of success she’d managed—which benefited the hospital, its tiniest patients and their families as much as it did her—without putting in long hours on the job.

“Because the card that accompanied them is made out to you.” Linda pointed to the mini mint green envelope sticking out of the beautiful, fragrant, partially opened blooms which did in fact have her name on it. Spelled with one t unlike the famous Scarlett she’d been named after—only her mother hadn’t taken the time to get the spelling right.

Scarlet plucked the card from its plastic holder and opened it.

Dear Scarlet,

I realize you never told me your last name. I hope these get to you. Saturday night was better than I’d ever imagined a night with a woman could be.

Right there Scarlet knew the card wasn’t meant for her. But she read on…not to snoop, mind you, but to search out any identifying information on the intended recipient.

Let’s do it again soon. Good luck at your new job. Call me, Brandon

Beneath his name he’d listed his home telephone number, his work number, cell number, and e-mail address. Scarlet’s namesake must be pretty darn good in the sack. “Call down to Human Resources,” she told Ashley. “Ask if there’s a new hire named Scarlet and where she works.”

While Ashley did as instructed, Cindy grabbed the card from Scarlet’s hand and read it. “Yowza.” She used the card to fan herself then handed it to Linda.

“Mercy me,” Linda said. “You girls today.” She shook her head in disapproval.

Ashley put down the phone and looked up apologetically. “A Scarlett, with two ’t’s, Ryan began work as a unit secretary in the pediatric ER today.”

“And you all,” Scarlet pointed to each of the chocolate eating culprits while squinting her eyes in playful accusation, “ate the poor girl’s hard-earned chocolates.”

“We had help,” Linda said. “It’s an unwritten rule that chocolates at a nursing station are fair game. Dig in or don’t complain when you miss out. No invitation needed.”

“Nursing is a stressful occupation,” Cindy added. “Nurses need chocolate to help us cope and keep us happy so we can be at our caring and competent best.” She snapped her fingers. “If you give me a few minutes I bet I can find a research study to support that.”

Scarlet smiled. “What’s the damage?” She lifted the lid. One lone milk chocolate remained in the upper right corner surrounded by approximately thirty empty little square partitions. And it’d been squeezed to reveal its dark pink center.

“I told them to save you one,” Ashley said.

“We think it’s raspberry,” Cindy added.

“You like raspberry,” Linda chimed in.

Since it wasn’t in good enough shape to offer up as an ‘at least I managed to save you one’ peace offering, Scarlet popped the partially mutilated chocolate into her mouth. Yup. Raspberry. Surrounded by creamy, rich, delicious chocolate. She held off swallowing to draw out the experience. Then fought the urge to inhale and let her eyes drift closed to savor the pleasure. Pathetic. “Back to work. All of you,” she said with a few shoos of her hands.

“What are you going to do about the chocolates?” Ashley asked.

You. Not we. Because Scarlet always stood up for her staff. No matter what. She replaced the cover and flung the box into the garbage can. “What chocolates?” she asked with an innocent smile.

Her staff smiled back.

“What about the flowers?” Ashley asked.

Scarlet carefully placed the card back in the envelope, tucked in the flap, and inserted it back into its plastic pronged holder. “I’ll bring them down to the ER after I check in on little Miss Gupta.”

As far as bad days went—and Dr. Lewis Jackson, head of the Pediatric Emergency Room at Angel’s, had experienced some pretty hellacious ones over the past nine months, since finding out he was the father and new primary caregiver to his demon of a now thirteen-year-old daughter—today was shaping up to be one of the worst. Two nurses out sick. A new unit secretary, who, while nice to look at, had clearly overstated her abilities, and Jessie, taken into police custody for shoplifting at a drug store and truancy.

The one bright spot in his afternoon, whether because of his scrubs and hospital ID, or Angel’s excellent reputation, or Jessie’s difficult past year, the police officer in charge had convinced the store manager to let her off with a warning.

Lewis stood on the curb outside the police station and raised his arm up high to hail a cab. “This is by far the stupidest and most inconsiderate stunt you’ve pulled since you’ve gotten here.” And that was saying something. A yellow minivan taxi pulled to a stop. Lewis slid open the rear door, grabbed Jessie by her arms and pushed her in ahead of him.

“Angel Mendez Children’s Hospital,” he told the driver then closed the door. “Pediatric Emergency Room entrance. And if you can get us there in under fifteen minutes I’ll give you an extra twenty.”

At the added incentive, the driver swerved back into traffic, cutting off another taxi. And a bus. And almost taking out a bike-riding delivery man. Horns honked. Drivers yelled out their open windows. Middle fingers flew. A typical taxi ride in New York City.

Lewis turned his attention back to Jessie. “What were you thinking?” Leaving school. Wandering the streets of Manhattan. Unaccompanied. Unsupervised. Unprotected. At the thought of all the terrible things that could have happened to her fear knotted his gut.

Per usual Jessie didn’t look at him. She just sat there in her baggy black clothes, mad at the world, and ignored him. But this time when she reached into her pocket for the beloved ear buds she used to effectively drown him out with vile music, which would likely be responsible for permanent damage to her eardrums, he yanked the white cords from her hands. “I’m talking to you, young lady. And this time you are going to listen.”

She glared at him in response.

“Your behavior is unacceptable, and I have had enough. I’m sorry your mother passed away. I’m sorry she never told me about you.” And even sorrier she’d spent so much of her time bad-mouthing him to the point Jessie had hated him at first sight without ever giving him a chance. “I’m sorry your life was uprooted from Maryland to the heart of New York City. I’m sorry I work such long hours. But I’m all you have. And I’m trying.”

He’d given up his privacy, his freedom, and a very active and satisfying sex life to spend quality time with and be a good role model for his daughter. He’d hired nannies to watch her after school when he had to work, while she’d achieved new heights of belligerent teenage obnoxiousness to the point none stayed longer than a month. He’d hired a car service to take her to and from school on days he couldn’t, while she didn’t show up to meet them at the designated times and locations, leaving them to wait, and charge him for every minute. He brought home pizza, thinking all kids loved pizza. Jessie wanted Chinese food. He brought home Chinese food, she wanted Italian. He’d gotten her a fancy cellphone so they could keep in touch while he was working. To date, she hadn’t responded to one of his calls or text messages. And the only time she’d used it to contact him was today, to ask him to come down to the police station.

He was trying, dammit. Was it too much to expect her to try, too?

“You left me at that police station for two hours.” Her words oozed accusation and anger.

“Because I was at work when you pulled your little caper, and I don’t have the type of job where I can run out at a moment’s notice. I have a responsibility to my patients. I had to call in another doctor, on his day off, pay him overtime, and wait for him to come in and cover for me before I could leave.”

Jessie crossed her arms over her chest and said, “I hate you.”

No surprise there. “Well I’ve got news for you.” Lewis crossed his arms over his chest, just like his stubborn, moody daughter, and glared right back at her. “Right now I hate you, too.”

The second the words left his mouth he hated himself more. Lewis Jackson, the over-achiever who never failed at anything was failing at single parenthood. Even worse, he was failing his troubled young daughter.

The taxi screeched to a halt at their destination with one minute to spare. Jessie was out of the cab and heading to the electric doors before Lewis had even paid. After practically throwing the fare, plus tip and a crisp twenty dollar bill, at the driver, he slid out and ran to catch up. “Jessie. Wait.”

She didn’t.

He ran into the ER. “Don’t you dare—”

Jessie broke into a run, heading toward the back hallway.

Lewis took off after her. Not again. He rounded the corner in time to see the door to the unisex disabled bathroom slam shut. He reached it just in time to hear the lock click into place. Again. He banged on the door. “Dammit, Jessie, get out here.” So he could apologize. So he could try to make her understand. So he could drag her into his office and barricade her inside so, for the next few hours at least, he’d know she was safe.

He paced. Flexed and extended his fingers. Felt wound too tight. And realized maybe it was best she didn’t come out. Because she had him vacillating between wanting to hit her and wanting to hug her, between yelling at her and throwing himself to the ground at her feet and begging her for mercy, between letting her continue to stay with him and researching strict European boarding schools that allow only supervised visitation—once a year.

Never in his adult life had he felt this indecisive and ineffective and totally, overwhelmingly, embarrassingly inept.

“Jessie,” he said through the door, trying the knob just in case. Locked. “Please come out.” He used his calm voice. “I need to get back to work.” And he didn’t want to leave her when she was so upset.

When he was so upset.

She didn’t respond which didn’t come as a surprise since she hadn’t responded to any of the other dozen/thirty/hundred times he’d called to her through a locked door. He pictured her smiling on the other side deriving some perverse sense of satisfaction from him standing in the hallway, frustrated, enraged, and in danger of losing what little control he had left.

Well enough of that.

“Fine.” He stormed back to the nurses’ station. “Call Maintenance,” he snapped at the new unit secretary who seemed to be paying more attention to a huge glass vase filled with roses than doing her job.

He waited for her to return to her phone where she belonged.

“Tell them I need the door to the bathroom in the rear corridor opened again. And this time I want them to bring me a copy of the key.”

As soon as she confirmed someone would be up in a few minutes, he hurried back to the bathroom, hoping Jessie hadn’t taken the opportunity of his absence to escape and disappear until it was time to go home.

After the initial shock of finding out he was the father of a pre-teen girl, Lewis had actually gotten kind of excited at the prospect of sharing the city he loved with his daughter, taking her on bike rides in Central Park and to museums and shows, the ballet and opera, of immersing her in culture and introducing her to new experiences, teaching and nurturing her, and guiding her into adulthood.

At least until he’d met her.

Lewis rounded the corner and stopped short at the sight of Jessie standing in the hallway, facing away from him, talking to a brown-haired female hospital employee he didn’t recognize. But she wore light blue hospital scrubs covered by a short white lab coat typically worn by staff in management or supervisory positions.

“Now he won’t make me go to stupid Lake George,” Jessie said. “I’m too bad. His parents won’t be able to handle me.”

Rage like he’d never before experienced forced him forward. “That’s why you broke the law?” he bellowed as he stormed toward Jessie. “That’s why you risked getting arrested and going in front of a judge and having to do hours of community service or some other punishment? To get out of a fun Memorial Day weekend trip with your grandparents and cousins? Of all the stupid—”

Jessie crossed her arms, locked her left leg, and jutted out her left hip, taking on her defiant pose. “I told you I don’t want to go.”

“Well I’ve got news for you, young lady. My mind is made up and my decision is final. You are going to Lake George.” In eleven days. Because Lewis needed a break and sex and a few days to re-visit his old, relaxed, likable self, to clear his head and come up with a new approach to handling his daughter, calmly and rationally.

“He wants to get rid of me.” Jessie threw herself at the stranger who barely managed to get her arms up in time to catch her.

Not permanently. Just for a brief respite. “I—”

“He doesn’t want me,” she cried. “He never wanted me. My mom told me so. Now that she’s gone I have no one.”

Lewis’s chest tightened at the devastation in her voice. No, children were not part of his life plan. But since the paternity test had proved Jessie to be his biological daughter, even though she’d gotten her pretty face and unpleasant temperament from her mother, he was determined to do the best job he could raising her. A task that’d turned out to be much more difficult than he’d ever imagined.

“Jessie—” He reached for her, wanting to be the one to hold her and comfort her.

But Jessie held up her hand as she sucked in a few choppy breaths and cried out,

“He says I have to stay there. No matter what. And I can’t come home early.”

“Because I have to work,” Lewis lied. But it sounded better than, “Because I need some time away from you to regain my sanity.”

“You work all the time,” she accused, scowling at him over the stranger’s shoulder.

“And why should it matter if I do?” Lewis shot back. “It’s not like I can get you to go anywhere or do anything with me when I’m not working.”

“See how he talks to me?” Jessie said. “He hates me.”

“You’re laying it on a bit thick, don’t you think?” the woman asked, peeling Jessie’s arms off of her and stepping away, giving Lewis his first view of her name tag. Scarlet Miller, RN, BSN, MSN, CCRN. Head Nurse NICU.

“I’m totally serious,” Jessie said, wiping her eyes with the backs of her hands. “He told me so.” She glared at him. “In the taxi on the way here.”

Scarlet turned her assessing gaze on him. “Wow,” she said, shaking her head. “And all this time I’ve been telling Jessie you couldn’t possibly be as big a jerk as she was making you out to be. I stand corrected.”

Her keen blue eyes locked with his in challenge. Her face—an attractive mix of natural beauty and intelligence—in full view for the first time, Lewis lost track of the conversation for a few seconds, moving his focus to her chocolate brown hair and pleasingly trim figure. Her confident stance as she berated him. Her statement of “all this time” registered bringing him full circle to wonder why a professional adult female, who looked to be closer to his age than his daughter’s, would befriend a little girl.

“If he makes me go I’ll run away,” Jessie said to Scarlet as if Lewis wasn’t standing right there.

“No you won’t,” Scarlet said firmly.

Good. Another adult on his side.

“You did,” Jessie accused.

What kind of nut job shared that information with a confused little girl?

“Did you not listen when I told you what a dangerous and stupid move it was?” She took Jessie by the shoulders and turned her. “Look at me, Jess.”

Jess. So familiar. So caring.

The vulnerable expression on his daughter’s face as she obeyed, gave him his first opportunity to see beneath her tough-teen anger and defiance to the scared little girl she’d hidden away so effectively, from him, but not this stranger. Why?

“You have what I didn’t. You have me.” The woman dug into the pocket of her lab coat, pulled out a business card, and wrote something on the back. Then she held it out to Jessie. “On the front is my work number and on the back is my cell phone number. You can call me anytime for any reason. I didn’t offer earlier because I didn’t want to interfere between you and your dad.”

As it should be.

“You are not all alone, Jess. You have your father and you have me.” Scarlet glanced at him before continuing. “And if, while you’re on vacation, someone tries to make you do something you don’t want to do or in any way makes you feel uncomfortable and your dad won’t come up to bring you home, I promise I will.”

Oh no she would not. “My daughter will be driven to and from Lake George by her grandparents. And she doesn’t need your telephone numbers because if she needs to talk to someone anytime for any reason, she can talk to me.” Lewis grabbed for the card.

Jessie thrust it behind her back.

“This entire situation is getting out of hand, Jess,” Scarlet said. “You need to tell him.”

Lewis stopped and looked at her. “Tell me what?”

“What’s said between us stays between us,” Jessie yelled at Scarlet. “You promised.”

“That was before you got yourself picked up by the police and threatened to run away.”

“You mean you know—?” Lewis started only to be cut off when an urgent voice came through the overhead speakers. “Scarlet Miller to the emergency room. Stat. Scarlet Miller to the emergency room.”

“Saved by the hospital operator,” Scarlet said with a wink to Jessie. “Talk to your father,” she added before turning her back on him and walking away.

CHAPTER TWO

SCARLET JOGGED THE short distance to the large nurses’ station in the center of the busy emergency room. “I’m Scarlet Miller,” she said to the Scarlett she’d given the flowers to a few minutes earlier. Dr. Jackson and Jessie came to stand beside her.

“They need you in trauma room three,” a nurse replied. “Pregnant teen. Walked in alone already crowning. No identification. No prenatal care. Unsure of gestation but estimated to be around thirty-three weeks. Dr. Gibbons called for a NICU team.”

“And my staff must have been called into the high risk multiple birth scheduled for this afternoon.” Triplets, one in distress, being delivered by Cesarean section at twenty-nine weeks. Scarlet removed her lab coat and handed it to Jessie. “Looks like I’m it. Please call the NICU and speak with Ashley,” she directed the unit clerk. “Tell her I’m here and to alert Dr. Donaldson and Mac from Respiratory Therapy that I’ll have them paged if I need them. And ask her to send down an incubator.”

“What can I do to help?” Dr. Jackson asked.

“Would you please have someone turn on the warming table and get me a disposable gown, gloves, and heated towels?”

“Done.” He turned to Jessie. “Wait for me in my office. Do. Not. Go. Anywhere.”

Scarlet entered the room and introduced herself to the staff, “I’m Scarlet from the NICU.”

A young girl with short black hair maybe fifteen or sixteen years old lay on a stretcher. Two nurses held her bare pale legs bent and open. An older heavyset doctor stood between them.

The girl cried out, “It hurts.”

Scarlet quickly washed her hands, hurried to the head of the bed and took the girl’s hands in hers. “Breathe through the pain,” she said. “Like this.” She demonstrated.

The girl looked up, her eyes wet with tears, her face red, her expression a mix of pain and fear. “I can’t do this,” she said.

“You can, and you will,” Scarlet answered. “Squeeze my hands as hard as you can. You won’t hurt me.”

“Here comes another one,” she cried out.

And as she squeezed Scarlet’s hands, the memory of experiencing this very same situation when she was around this girl’s age squeezed Scarlet’s heart.

“Bear down and push,” the doctor instructed.

“Push, push, push,” Scarlet encouraged. “Just like that. You’re doing great.”

When the contraction ended Scarlet introduced herself, “My name is Scarlet and I’m the nurse who will be taking care of your baby when it’s born.” She used the corner of the sheet to blot the sweat from the girl’s forehead and upper lip. “What’s your name?”

The girl hesitated but answered, “Holly.”

“Why are you here all alone, Holly?” Scarlet asked, fearing the answer. “Tell me who to call. A family member? A friend?”

A panicked look overtook her face. “They don’t know,” she said. “No one can know.” Scarlet recalled her own seventeen-year-old desperation, hiding her growing pregnant belly from her high school classmates and family, dealing with the overwhelming, all-consuming fear of someone finding out, of giving birth, and of where she’d go afterwards and how she’d care and provide for her baby. Without a job. Without a high school diploma. Without the help and support of anyone.

How naïve she’d been, actually looking forward to running away, to finally having someone she could love who would love her back.

But that dream had been ripped away when she’d gone into labor months earlier than she’d expected, when her irate, powerful, and medically connected father had accompanied her to one of the many hospitals he worked with, when she’d awoken three days later with little recollection of what’d occurred after her baby had been whisked away other than her weak cry echoing in Scarlet’s ears, only to be told her infant had died. According to one of the nurses—who’d had trouble looking her in the eye—she’d been so distraught when she’d been told about her baby’s death she’d required sedation, and so as not to upset her further, her father had arranged for private burial. Without allowing Scarlet to see or hold the baby she’d carried inside her body for months, to say goodbye or gain closure.

And her father had never revealed the location of the grave, a secret he and her mother had taken with them to the hereafter eight years ago, leaving Scarlet to always wonder—

“Oh, God. Here comes another one,” Holly cried.

“Just like before,” Scarlet said, wishing it was possible to bolster this child’s strength with some of her own.

“You’re doing great,” the doctor said at the end of the contraction. Holly flopped back onto the stretcher. “I think one more push should do it.”

Holly turned her head to Scarlet, exhausted, her eyes pleading. “Promise me you’ll take good care of my baby. Promise me she’ll be okay.”

A wound so big and so catastrophic it’d taken years to heal broke open deep inside of Scarlet at the memory of her own desperate pleas to the nurses caring for her during delivery, pleas that had fallen on deaf ears. ‘I don’t want my father in here.’ ‘I want to see my baby.’ ‘Please, bring me my baby.’

“Promise me you’ll find her a good home.”

Why not Holly’s home? Her. Wait a minute. “You know it’s a girl?” She could only know that if she’d had a prenatal ultrasound. “Who told you it’s a girl?” A medical facility would have documentation and contact information.

“I want her named Joey.” She ignored Scarlet’s question. “I want her to grow up happy, with a family who loves her.” She stiffened. “Oh, God. Another one. I’m not ready.”

“Yes, you are, Holly. Come on. It’s time to have your little girl.”

“Let me take over here,” Dr. Jackson said, holding up the same type of light blue disposable gown he now wore.

“I’ve got to get ready to take care of your baby, Holly.”

She didn’t release Scarlet’s hands. “Promise me she’ll be okay.” Tears streamed down her cheeks. “Promise me.”

She couldn’t promise that. “I’ll do my best,” she said. And with a small smile she added, “I’m going to need my hands.” Holly loosened her grip.

Scarlet stepped away from the bed to slip into the gown and turn so Dr. Jackson could tie the back. While she donned a mask and gloves, Dr. Jackson did indeed take over for her, talking quietly and supportively while offering direction and praise. Why didn’t he show that care with his daughter?

“Don’t push,” the doctor delivering the baby said.

“What’s wrong?” Holly asked, frantic. “I have to push. Get her out.”

“The cord is wrapped around the baby’s neck,” the doctor answered. “Don’t. Push.”

Dr. Jackson held Holly’s hands and instructed her to breathe. “Perfect. You are doing perfect.”

After a few tense minutes the doctor delivering the baby said, “Okay, we are good to go, on the next contraction push out your baby.”

In no time baby Joey entered the world with a tiny cry of displeasure, her cord was cut, and she’d been handed into Scarlet’s waiting towel draped arms. She did a quick assessment and determined it’d be okay to show her to her mom before taking her into the next room. “Do you want to see your baby?” she asked walking up to the head of the bed, knowing sometimes a woman planning to give her baby up for adoption did not.

“Chest…hurts,” Holly said, struggling for breath. “Can’t…breathe.”

“What’s happening?” Scarlet asked, holding Joey close.

“Don’t know,” Dr. Jackson said. “But whatever it is, Dr. Gibbons will handle it. We need to stabilize the baby.” He set a large strong hand at her back to guide her toward a side door leading into another room. “The warming table is this way.”

“No pulse,” the nurse standing by the head of Holly’s bed said. “Initiating CPR.” She clasped her hands together and began chest compressions.

Scarlet stopped and stared. Please, God. Don’t let her die.

“Come.” Dr. Jackson urged her forward, pushing open the door. “We need to focus on the baby,” he reminded her.

“I know.” But that didn’t mean she could completely turn off concern for the mother, a young woman she’d connected with for a brief few minutes. Luckily when they reached the warming table Scarlet clicked into auto-nurse, wiping down the too quiet newborn to stimulate her as much as to clean her. “I’m going to need her weight.”

“The baby scale was in use,” Dr. Jackson said. “Let me go grab it.”

When he left the room, Scarlet listened to Joey’s chest to count her heart and respiratory rates. Then she found the equipment she needed and fastened a pulse oximeter to her tiny hand to evaluate her blood oxygen level.

The baby lay on the warmer with her arms and legs flexed, her color pale. Not good.

When Dr. Jackson returned with the scale he placed a disposable cloth over it and Scarlet carefully lifted the naked baby and set her down. “Four point one pounds.” Scarlet jotted the number down on a notepad by the warmer and reported the other findings she’d noted there. “Pulse ox ninety. Heart rate one hundred and eighty. Increased respiratory effort. Color pale. Initial Apgar score a five.” All of which were abnormal for an infant.

“Let’s get a line in to give a bolus of normal saline and get her hooked up to some supplemental oxygen.”

While Dr. Jackson inserted a tiny nasal cannula in Joey’s nostrils, taped the tubing to her cheeks, and set the flow meter to provide the appropriate level of oxygen, Scarlet started an intravenous in Joey’s left arm—noting she didn’t flinch or cry.

While she taped it down and immobilized the appendage in an extended position, Dr. Jackson did a quick heel stick to evaluate Joey’s blood sugar level.

They worked quickly, quietly and efficiently like they’d been working together for years.

“Blood glucose twenty-five,” he reported and began rummaging around a drawer in the warmer until he found the reference card for the recommended dosages for premature infants by weight. “Add a bolus of dextrose.” He called out his orders and Scarlet filled the syringes and administered their contents via the newly inserted IV line.

“Come on, Joey,” she said, rubbing her thighs in an attempt to perk her up.

The door slammed open and in rolled an incubator being pushed by Cindy. “You okay down here?” she asked.

“Better than expected,” Scarlet replied, considering who she’d had to work with. Luckily, Dr. Jackson’s reputation as an excellent physician came well-deserved.

“Good.” Cindy turned to leave. “The NICU is nuts. I talked to Admissions. Baby Doe,” a placeholder name since Holly hadn’t shared her last name, “will be going into room forty-two.”

“Call Admissions and tell them it’s Joey Doe. Holly told me she wanted her baby to be named Joey.” And following through on that was the least she could do.

“Roger that.” She saluted then walked over to take a look at their soon-to-be new patient. “Too bad about her mom.”

“She’s…?” Scarlet couldn’t continue.

Cindy looked between her and Dr. Jackson and slowly nodded. “I’m sorry. I thought you knew.”

Scarlet turned away, held herself tightly, fearing for the first time in years she might cry. For Holly who’d died too young. For Joey now alone in the world. For her own infant and not knowing if she’d suffered, if anyone had cuddled her close before she’d died, or if she’d been ruthlessly given away to strangers while Scarlet lay in a drug-induced slumber.

“You okay?” Dr. Jackson asked quietly.

Of course she was. Scarlet wasn’t new to nursing. Holly wasn’t the first of her patients to die. But there was something about her…“What do you think happened?”

He shrugged and shook his head. “Some congenital heart defect that couldn’t withstand labor and delivery. A pulmonary embolism. Any number of pre-existing conditions that could have worsened or arisen during her pregnancy that we didn’t know about. Dr. Gibbons is an excellent doctor. I have total confidence he did all he could do.”

“It wasn’t enough.”

As if to share her agreement, little Joey Doe let out a little cry and they both looked down at their tiny patient. “Her color is improving,” Scarlet noted. “And she’s more alert.”

With skilled, gentle hands, Dr. Jackson examined the increasingly active baby. “Heart rate down to one hundred and twenty. I’d give her a second Apgar score of seven.”

Not a perfect ten, but improved. Scarlet documented it in her notes.

“She’s stable enough for transport up to the NICU,” Dr. Jackson said. Then he helped her get Joey situated in the incubator.

“After I get her settled in I’ll access her ER file and enter my documentation.”

“If you run into any trouble, let me know.” He held out his hand and she shook it. “Thanks for the help.”

“Anytime.” She went to remove her hand from his grip but he held it there.

“We need to talk about Jessie,” Dr. Jackson said. So serious. Did the man ever smile? According to Jessie, no he did not.

Scarlet took a moment to admire his tall, athletic build and short brown hair mixed with a hint of grey at his temples. He had a look of confidence and prestige she would have found very attractive on someone else. “No,” Scarlet said, looking to where he held her hand. “You need to talk to your daughter.” She looked up at him. “And here’s a helpful hint to improving communication between the two of you.” She yanked her hand back. “Stop comparing her to the perfect little boy you used to be. Just because you loved swimming and boating and all things water when you were a child, doesn’t mean she does.”

Later that night Lewis stood in his designer kitchen, eyeing the modern stainless steel handle on the high-end black cabinet that contained the bottles of wine he’d kept at the ready in case any of his dates wanted a glass, and considered uncorking one. Although he wasn’t in the habit of drinking alone, it’d been the kind of day followed by the kind of night that warranted a little alcohol consumption to facilitate a return to his pre-Jessie level of calm.

But Lewis Jackson had never turned to alcohol to drown his problems before, and he refused to start now. He was a problem solver, a thinker and a fixer. And to do those things he required a clear head.

Since his daughter had taken up permanent residence in the loft guestroom, he tended to avoid the living area below after she went to sleep. So he walked down the hall to his bedroom, the smooth hardwood floors cool beneath his bare feet, the central air maintaining the perfect air temperature, his two bedroom luxury condo decorated to his exact specifications for style, comfort and function. And yet his home no longer brought him the welcoming serenity it once had.

Jessie hadn’t said more than a handful of words—all of them monosyllabic—to him since they’d left the hospital, even after he’d insisted they eat their takeout grilled chicken Caesar salads together in the kitchen for a change. What an uncomfortable meal that’d been. Jessie, staring down at her plate, moving the chicken around with her fork. Lewis, trying to engage her in conversation, to offer reassurance about her trip to Lake George, to find out more about her relationship with Scarlet Miller, and, for the hundredth time, to gain some insight into the functioning of the pre-pubescent female mind. A booby-trapped labyrinth of erratic and illogical thought processes he could not seem to navigate through, despite successful completion of several child psychology classes and licensure as a pediatrician.

After nine arduous months of trying, and failing his daughter at every crisis, Lewis gave in to the cold, hard fact: He could not do it alone.

And yet again, an image of Scarlet Miller popped into his head. A pretty yet unfriendly woman and a skilled professional, who, he’d found out on further inquiry, received high praise and much respect from her peers and upper management. But at the moment, all that mattered to him was her relationship with his daughter.

He reached into his pocket, pulled out the slip of paper he’d stashed there earlier, and glanced at his watch. A few minutes after eleven o’clock.

It was too late to call, but his need to talk to her, to get answers and beg for her assistance overrode common phone etiquette. After hours and hours spent considering his options, Lewis had come to the conclusion Scarlet Miller was his key to deciphering Jessie’s passive-aggressive behavior and learning her secrets, to understanding her and starting a productive dialogue between them, so he could help her, so he could, please God, find something about her to love.

Lewis picked up his phone and dialed.

After a few rings a groggy female voice answered, “Hello?”

Great, he’d woke her up. And the last thing he wanted to do was anger his best hope for achieving a healthy, positive relationship with his daughter. He cleared his throat. “Hi. It’s Lewis.”

“I’m sorry. You have the wrong number.”

“Wait. Is this Scarlet Miller?” he rushed to ask before she disconnected the call, and before it registered that if she hung up, she’d never know he was the inconsiderate louse who’d woken her. Well…unless she had caller ID. Then he’d no doubt come off looking even worse.

“Yes,” she answered.

“It’s me. Lewis Jackson. Jessie’s dad.”

“Is she okay?” Scarlet sounded instantly awake. “Did something happen?”

Lewis liked and appreciated her concern for his daughter. “No, she’s fine. Upstairs asleep.” At least as far as he knew. And since he’d learned the hard way never to assume Jessie was where she was supposed to be, Lewis walked to the doorway, poked his head into the hallway to confirm it was indeed eavesdropper-free, then closed and locked his bedroom door, just in case it didn’t stay that way.

“How did you get this number?” Scarlet asked. “I’m sure I didn’t give it to you. And I doubt Jessie would have shared it.”

Okay, time for some fast talking. “I just happened to come across the card you’d given to Jessie,” after searching for it in her backpack and pocketbook while she was in the shower—bad, reprehensible father—“while checking her plethora of pockets before putting her pants in the wash,” he lied. “I took it as a sign I should call you.”

Silence.

“Hello?” he asked.

She let out a decidedly feminine, sultry sounding moan which made him question, “Am I interrupting something?”

“No.” She did it again. “I don’t typically talk on the phone when I’m in bed. I’m trying to find a comfortable position.”

And just like that, with the mere mention she was in bed, without-sex-for-nine-long-months-brain overtook concerned-father-brain with an enticing visual of her luscious body. A comfortable position came to mind. Scarlet spread out on top of satin sheets. Naked. Waiting.

His sex-starved body went hard.

“Soooo, you called me,” she said. “What can I do for you?”

A loaded question if ever there was one. Because right this instant he wanted her to talk dirty, to touch herself and tell him all about it, to describe her aroused nipples and slick… Lord help him. Prolonged abstinence had effectively eradicated his ability to engage in casual nighttime conversation with a woman. From bedroom to bedroom. And if he took a few small steps, from bed to bed. And from out of nowhere, the idea of phone sex popped into his head.

“Hello. Everything okay over there?”

Totally disgusted with himself, Lewis rubbed his hand over his face and let out a breath. “A bad day followed by a bad night combined with a non-existent sex life since my daughter came to live with me and I am conjuring up totally inappropriate visuals of you, a woman I have known for less than twenty-four hours, at the simple mention of you getting comfortable in bed. In my defense, you were making some very sexy noises a moment ago, so I hold you partly responsible. But I assure you, when I picked up the phone to make this call my intentions were purely G-rated.”

“And now what are they?” she teased.

“Let’s just say, the next time you see me you owe me a slap across the face, because I totally deserve it.”

Turned out she had a sexy laugh, too.

He shifted in the recliner to relieve some of the pressure in his pants. Not good. Scarlet Miller was not the woman to slake his lust. He needed her to fix things between him and Jessie and would not risk anything interfering with his top priority. “Please accept my sincerest apologies.”

“Accepted, but not necessary,” she said. “For the record, you could pass for sexy on the phone, too.”

“You are not helping.”

“Do you want to know what I’m wearing?” she taunted him.

“Absolutely not,” he lied.

“I could—”

“Stop it.”

“Fine,” she said. “But you started it.”

“And I’m going to finish it.” Only because someone had to. “I called to talk about Jessie. To try to sweet talk you into sharing some more helpful hints on improving communication between us, because the direct approach is not working.”

“Too bad. That’s the closest I’ve ever come to having phone sex.”

Did he detect a hint of disappointment? “Oddly enough, me, too,” he admitted. And why did he feel so comfortable sharing that tidbit with a woman he hardly knew?

“You know you’re putting me in a tough spot,” Scarlet said, her voice serious. “I can’t betray things Jessie has told me in confidence. She really needs a friend to talk to, and right now I’m it. It took me a long time to get her to open up.”

He wanted to ask how she’d managed that, but decided to start with, “Would you at least tell me how you met?”

She took so long to answer Lewis had started to worry she wouldn’t.

“That I can do.” It sounded like she repositioned herself in bed. Again. “I work late on Tuesdays and Thursdays to spend some time with my night staff. So I take a break at three.”

“Right around when I send Jessie down to get a snack after school.”

“The cafeteria isn’t usually busy at that time so I noticed her, always sitting there by herself with that ‘don’t talk to me’ look.”

Lewis hated that look.

“I saw a lot of my thirteen-year-old self in Jessie. Mad at the world. Too much time alone and unsupervised. Do you honestly think she’s safe wandering around alone in a city hospital for hours waiting for you to get off work?”

Lewis did not appreciate the censure in her tone. She had no idea how hard he’d tried. “That was her doing not mine. I told her what would happen if she made one more babysitter quit. And she’s not supposed to be wandering around alone,” he pointed out maybe a little too forcefully. Calm it down. “She’s supposed to be in my office doing her homework.” Except his little Houdini always managed to sneak out without anyone seeing then show up hours later when it was time to go home. “What do you suggest I do? Let her stay at my condo all alone until I get home, like she’d prefer? Maybe some thirteen-year-olds are ready for that. But in my opinion Jessie isn’t.” And his opinion was the one that mattered.

“I agree,” Scarlet said, surprising him. “But it’s a moot point since I’ve got her spending her afternoons up in the NICU wing now.”

“Where?” Why?

“We have a family lounge. It’s geared towards the siblings of our babies who are often overlooked while their parents focus their attention on their sick infant. So we made them a special place with video games, toys, computers to do their homework, a television and a kid-friendly library that holds everything from picture books to young adult novels. Jessie comes up to read every afternoon.”

Jessie liked to read? They actually had something in common? Yet in the nine months she’d been living with him he’d never seen her with a book.

“I’m sorry. I assumed she told you.”

“Aside from mostly no’s and the occasional yes, she hardly speaks to me. I do get a lot of shrugs, exasperated breaths and eye rolls, though. And when she does surprise me with a full sentence, it’s usually to tell me how much she hates me, that she knows I don’t want her, or that she wishes I’d died instead of her mother.” Then he’d rather she’d just stayed quiet.

“She has a lot of anger.”

Rightly so. But, “It’s been nine months. Shouldn’t it be dissipating a bit by now?”

“If only time was all she needed.”

“Tell me what she needs. I’ll do anything.”

Silence.

“Please,” Lewis said. “If you want me to beg, I will.” He slid to the edge of the recliner, fully prepared to drop to his knees. “I am that desperate.”

Silence.

Lewis started to lose hope that Scarlet would be the panacea he needed.

Then she spoke. “If you can slip up to the NICU family lounge around four o’clock tomorrow you’ll see a different side of Jessie. One that I’m sure will make you proud.”

An opportunity he would not miss. “I’ll be there.”

“She can’t know I told you. Say you came up to check on baby Joey, and my staff told you where to find me.”

“Will do.”

“I’m giving you an opportunity for a positive interaction with your daughter, Lewis. Don’t screw it up.”

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