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

It was when he turned around.

“Hi, Dr. Walton …”

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

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

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

The man who still haunted her dreams.

Dear Reader,

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

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

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

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

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

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

With warmest wishes

Amy Ruttan

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

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

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

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

Pregnant with the Soldier’s Son
Amy Ruttan

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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

Table of Contents

Cover

Excerpt

Dear Reader

About the Author

Title Page

Dedication

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Copyright

PROLOGUE

“WOULD YOU GET a load of that guy!”

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

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

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

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

There was an aloof, brooding quality to him.

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

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

Either oblivious or unconcerned.

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

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

Heat bloomed in her cheeks and she turned away quickly.

What am I doing?

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

Career was what Ingrid focused on. Not men.

That’s why I’m still a virgin.

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

One goal accomplished.

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

Why not?

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

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

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

Could be the alcohol.

Ingrid glanced away again; she knew she was blushing.

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

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

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

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

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

Right. Live a little.

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

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

Who says you have to fall in love?

Which was true.

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

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

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

“Is this seat taken?”

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

Don’t stammer!

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

She hoped it was him.

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

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

Live a little.

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

Damn.

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

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

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

“Cosmo,” Ingrid blurted out.

The bartender nodded and started to prepare their drinks.

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

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

“I’m Clint. What’s your name?”

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

She didn’t want a relationship.

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

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

“I know, but I like it.”

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

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

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

“Comrades? This isn’t Russia.”

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

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

“Where to?”

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

“Really?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Action?” Ingrid asked, confused.

“How about a kiss?”

Heat bloomed in her cheeks. “Pardon?”

“You know, for good luck before deployment.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Trying what?”

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

Her breath caught in her throat. “Oh.”

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

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

Now it was definitely the liquor talking.

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

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

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

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

This was something dangerous.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He wanted her badly.

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

Feminine.

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

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

“There’s nothing to be sorry about.”

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

Ingrid wanted him. Desired him.

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

Live.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She wanted him.

Badly.

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

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

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

Hell, yeah, and it was so good.

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

Did I really just ask that?

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

“Then lead the way.”

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

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

So ready.

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

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

They were alone. This was going to happen.

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

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

“Always.”

“Good.”

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

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

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

Tonight, though, she was his.

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

CHAPTER ONE

Seven months later

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re blind.”

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

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

Maureen winked. “No promises.”

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

Though she’d try her damnedest to keep up with the best of them. Right now she had control, but in a couple of months, well, she didn’t like to think about it.

She stretched and then headed toward the E.R., which thankfully wasn’t a long walk. When she got there, there wasn’t too much activity and no one in the nearby beds looked like they needed an ortho consult.

“Who paged me?” Ingrid asked the charge nurse, Linda.

“Oh, Dr. Allen paged you. He’s in room 26B.”

“And it had to be me?” Ingrid gave her best pouty face. “What about Phil?”

Linda’s glasses slid to the end of her nose as she looked at her. “Dr. Reminsky is on vacation and she’s not an ortho attending.”

Right. Oncologist and the all-inclusive Caribbean vacation that she and Philomena had been talking about taking when Ingrid was promoted. The one she had had to cancel because of her new circumstances. Don’t live a little was Ingrid’s new philosophy. She swore she’d never be so reckless again in her life.

She sighed. “Right. I’d forgotten she left this afternoon for that. Thanks, Linda.”

Linda gave her a sympathetic smile and turned back to her paperwork.

She’d never met Dr. Allen before. He was new, and she hoped that he was a decent guy to work with, since she seemed to get all the trauma pages. Ingrid shuffled down the hall and knocked on the room 26B’s door before opening it. “Hi, there, did someone page ortho?”

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

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

It was his eyes that had attracted her to him in the first place. The only difference now was that his dark hair had grown out from the buzz cut of all those months ago.

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

The man who still haunted her dreams.

And for one brief flicker she could still recall the feel of his hands on her body, his lips on her skin. Those strong, large hands on her throat and in her hair as she moved on top of him, his deep voice in her ear, telling her what to do, encouraging her.

Suddenly it became very hot in the exam room and she knew her cheeks were flushing. She pulled at her collar and tried to dispel from her mind the memories of his naked body tangled with hers.

Though it was hard to do. So hard.

Dr. Allen cleared his throat. “Dr. Walton?” he finally managed to ask.

She couldn’t blame him for being shocked. She’d used a fake name the first and last time they’d met.

“Yes, sorry.” She dragged her gaze away from him and focused on the patient. Her cheeks were heating with a rush of blood and she knew he was still staring at her. “What seems to be the problem?” she asked, finally finding her voice.

“Dislocated shoulder. The patient, Mr. McGowan, is a bit of a golf fanatic and he insisted on having an ortho specialist reset his shoulder. I didn’t know …” He trailed off and coughed. “We can get another ortho attending down here if reduction—”

“I can reset the shoulder,” she snapped. It was her pregnancy messing with her job again. Once her belly had started to show, other surgeons didn’t think she had it in her to reset bones and dislocated joints. Well, she could still do all of that. She’d show them. In all the hot mess her life had become, one thing she could control was her knowledge, her job. She could manipulate a joint with the best of them.

She moved toward the patient, who was on very strong analgesics and was barely looking at her. She examined the arm. “It doesn’t look too bad. I think a simple reduction will be all it takes. Will you stand on the other side of him, Dr. Allen, and make sure he doesn’t fidget.”

“Of course, Dr. Walton.”

Carefully manipulating the man’s arm, she bent it, flexing it, and with the ease of having done this particular procedure many times popped the joint back into place. Even though the patient was on painkillers, he still cried out.

Ingrid grabbed a sling and secured Mr. McGowan’s arm in it. “He’ll need an X-ray of the arm and chest, just to make sure nothing has broken or punctured from popping it back into place.” Their gazes locked again for one tense moment before she turned her back to him and started writing a script for the patient. “Have the X-rays sent up to ortho for my attention.”

“Of course.”

She glanced at him and smiled, but just briefly. It was very awkward to see him and not talk about the elephant in the room. “I’ll write up my discharge instructions when I have the X-rays.”

Ingrid opened the door to the trauma room and got out of there as fast as she was humanly able to move.

Run. Just run.

Only she wasn’t much of a runner anymore.

She needed to get away. She didn’t want there to be a scene in the hallway of the E.R.

Hadn’t she dealt with enough humiliation?

The questions, the looks as her belly grew?

Everyone knew she was pregnant thanks to a one-night stand. She’d just never thought that the one-night stand would show up as the new trauma attending.

The hair on the back of her neck stood on end when she heard the door she’d just shut open quickly and the heavy footsteps of a male gait close in behind her. His hand gripped her elbow and he began to steer her toward a consult room.

“We need to talk,” he whispered in her ear. The mere act of his hot breath fanning against her neck made her shiver with anticipation.

“I’m actually quite busy at the moment, Dr. Allen.”

“I think you can make some time for me.” He escorted her into the consult room, rooms that were used to deliver bad or serious news, and shut the door, pulling the blind down.

Ingrid stood her ground. She wanted to cross her arms, but her belly was in the way. One of the downsides to being only five feet five and having a short torso, the belly took up a lot of room.

Dr. Allen blocked the doorway, and his face was just blank as he stared at her. Ingrid felt like she was in the middle of some Western movie and this was some kind of high noon showdown. She was tempted to shout out “Draw,” but resisted her silliness.

“You’ve let your hair grow,” she said, breaking the unbearable tension that had descended between them.

He cocked his head to one side. “You’ve changed a lot too …”

“Ingrid.”

They’d used protection, but the condom, on her first time ever with a man, had broken.

Stupid Murphy and his freaking laws had been out to get her that night.

Now she was pregnant, alone and scared. Scared she couldn’t give this baby all he or she needed. Terrified of not knowing what the future held.

“I thought it was Philomena?” There was a sarcastic edge to his voice.

“I lied.”

“So I gathered,” he said. Clint’s gaze raked her body from head to toe, finally resting on her rounded belly.

Ingrid fought the urge to cover her belly but instead held her ground.

She was tired of being ashamed of her glaring mistake. She braced herself for a slew of questions.

“I’m not used to people lying to me.”

Ingrid was stunned. That’s what he was ticked about?

“I didn’t know people are always compelled to tell you the truth. Are you telling me all your trauma patients are totally up front with you?”

“What do my patients have to do with anything?”

“I don’t know, Dr. Allen. You brought it up.”

“I was talking about the name, Ingrid. Why did you lie to me about your name?”

“It was a one-night stand. What does it matter?”

“It matters to me,” Clint snapped.

“I wasn’t looking for a relationship that night. It didn’t matter what I called myself. Now, if my misnomer is all you want to discuss, I’ll be on my way. I have X-rays to examine.” She turned to leave, but he grabbed her arm.

“Will you kindly let go of me?”

“We’re not done here.” His eyes were dark, his lips pressed together in a thin line.

Ingrid shrugged out of his grasp. “Oh, I think we are. Unless you have something else to ask me?” She waited, but he didn’t say anything. “I thought not.”

When she turned to leave again, he didn’t grab her but stepped in front of the door.

“Is it mine?”

She wanted to slap him, but reined in her irrational hormonal-induced anger.

“What a foolish question,” she said in a deadpan voice.

Clint crossed his arms. “I don’t think so since you lied about your name.”

“Since I lost my virginity to you that night, yes. It’s yours. I can’t lie or fake that.”

Clint cursed under his breath and scrubbed a hand over his face. “How far along are you?”

“Seven months.”

“I thought you were on birth control?”

“No, but don’t you recall that night at all? I think you forget the condom you used was a bit ‘faulty.’” She made quote signs with her fingers, trying to ram it in how she felt about the whole debacle. “Don’t you remember what happened when you discovered that?”

Clint let out a string of curses under his breath. “Yeah, I think I mentally blocked that part out.”

“I tried to as well, until the stick turned blue.”

Clint dragged his hand through his hair, making it stand on end. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what?” she asked, her frustration rising. “Oh, no, I think I might get pregnant in a month.”

“About the pregnancy. You could’ve told me when you found out.” Clint began to pace. “I had the right to know.”

“Right, and how was I supposed to do that when I didn’t even know your last name or what base you were stationed at? Was I supposed to contact the nearest army base and say, ‘Yeah, I’d like to talk to the hot guy named Clint with the blue, blue eyes who had sex about a month ago with a short blonde woman and who is shipping out for an extensive tour of duty somewhere overseas.’ I bet there’s only one of you who fits that description. If I’d had a way to contact you, I would’ve.”

Clint obviously didn’t have much of a sense of humor, because he still looked a bit dazed. “Of course.”

She’d been the same when that pregnancy test had come up positive. Kids had never been part of the plan, but she couldn’t get rid of the child. That would have been taking the easy way out. Besides, like her father had taught her, she didn’t run away from her mistakes.

Of course, now she wanted her baby more than anything, but her life, which had been so organized and efficient before, had been turned topsy-turvy. When she was home alone in her cluttered room, staring at the piles of baby stuff overtaking her clean, orderly existence, she was terrified. Motherhood was an unknown and beyond her control.

Ingrid sighed. “Look, I could’ve gotten rid of the baby, but I wanted it. I still want it and I plan to raise the baby on my own. I don’t expect anything from you.”

“Like hell.” Clint’s stance relaxed and his expression softened, the prominent frown lines disappearing. “I’ll help the best I can. I owe you that much.”

“Well, thank you, Dr. Allen.”

“Clint.”

She sighed. “Clint, but you really don’t have to.”

“I have to,” he said earnestly. “It’s the right thing to do.”

“You’re under no obligation. I’m giving you an out.”

“No.”

Though he was an unnecessary complication in her already chaotic life, she was secretly relieved and a little deep-down voice said that maybe she wouldn’t have to do this alone.

It’s the hormones. I don’t need him. I don’t need anyone.

She wanted to push him away, it would be easier, but Ingrid knew he had every legal right to his child. There was no way she’d be able to deny him access and, honestly, she didn’t want that. She’d grown up in a broken home, her father refusing to answer any questions about her mother or even telling Ingrid how to find her.

“She left us for another man, Ingrid. She doesn’t deserve you.”

The tone, the hate in her father’s voice still sent shivers down her spine. She had grown up without a maternal figure in her life, but since her mother had never come back or tried to make contact, Ingrid was inclined to believe her father that she had been unwanted. Denying or not telling her baby who or where their father was wasn’t an option for Ingrid. This was not how she wanted to raise a family, ever.

Of course she’d never wanted a family. There was no way she’d risk her heart, only to be abandoned later on.

For most of her life, Ingrid had learned that life never ran smoothly and you had to swim to keep up.

Fate had decided to throw her a curveball in the form of defective birth-control and a hot one-night stand, and she would accept the consequences and do the best she could by her child. If the child’s father wanted to be involved in the child’s life, she wasn’t going to deny him.

“Thank you. I appreciate that. Most men wouldn’t.”

Clint nodded. “I know they wouldn’t, but that’s not me.”

“Well, I wouldn’t know that. We barely know each other.”

He grinned, finally relaxing. “I know, but I thought about you often when I was overseas.”

“I don’t know if that should flatter me or kind of freak me out.”

Clint laughed. “Be flattered. You made an impression on me. I wanted to get to know you a bit better, but you left before I woke up.”

Ingrid blushed. “I know. I’m sorry, but I was embarrassed. As I said, you were my first and I just couldn’t face you in the morning. When I found out I was pregnant, though, I was kicking myself for not trying to get any more information from you.”

“I bet.” His pager buzzed and he glanced down at it. “Mr. McGowan is back from Radiology and the X-rays are ready. I’d better go.”

“And I’d better check those films out so you can get him discharged.” She reached into the pocket of her lab coat and handed him her business card. “Here’s my info. Call me and we’ll figure some stuff out.”

He didn’t look at the card, just stuffed it into his pocket. “I will.”

“Sure.” Ingrid turned and walked away. By his reaction she really doubted he would get in touch with her. Why should he? It had been a one-night stand.

He may have said that he wanted to help, but she didn’t know him. She didn’t trust him and she was pretty sure he didn’t trust her either.

No promises had been made.

And that was fine by her.

Clint watched her walk down the hallway, her blond hair pulled back into a braided bun. From behind you couldn’t even tell she was pregnant. From the back she looked like that beautiful woman in the bar who’d seduced him on his last night before he’d been shipped overseas. One he’d thought about every night when he’d been imprisoned. That stolen moment in time had been what had helped him stay sane.

He’d never, ever expected to see her again.

She’s having my baby.

Only was she? She’d lied about her name. Yeah, he may have been her first, but had he been her last? What if there had been another man after him?

You saw her face when she saw you. The condom broke. It’s yours.

Though he didn’t want to believe he was a father, something in his gut told him that the baby was his. Though he’d get a paternity test when the baby was born to make sure.

You’re a jerk.

He cursed under his breath. He used to be honorable, trusting. What the hell had happened to him?

Clint leaned against the doorjamb as the thought began to sink in. He was going to be a father. It frightened him.

How could he be a good father when he wasn’t even sure where his own life was headed at the moment? When he’d come back early from his tour of duty in the Afghanistan, he’d been honorably discharged with post-traumatic stress disorder. Once he’d stabilized after a couple of months, he’d taken this job at Rapid City Health Sciences Center as a trauma surgeon.

At one time he’d loved medicine. Now not so much. Not after the horrors of war. But other than being a soldier there was nothing he was skilled at. Nothing he could do, and he needed the money if he wanted to make his dream come true, which was getting the old dilapidated cattle ranch he’d bought just before he’d left up and running again.

He’d only planned on staying until it was paid off and he had enough money to get his quota of cattle ready.

Now with this baby, that dream seemed impossible.

I can’t be a father.

If the paternity test proved he was indeed the father, he was going to do the right thing by Ingrid. He was going to help her out; at least financially he wasn’t going to leave her in the lurch.

He’d never do that. He had been raised properly. Clint wasn’t sure about the rest, about being involved in the child’s life and about being close to Ingrid again.

Emotionally he wasn’t there for that.

He was numb inside.

Dead.

Just a walking ghost of himself.

Or at least he thought so.

What he hadn’t expected had been the rush of intense emotions that had struck him the moment he’d seen her again. All those memories of their night together had flooded him, like he was being swept away in a strong current. Each touch, each caress was ingrained in his mind and burned in his flesh.

It was those memories of their night together that he’d clung to during endless hours of working in surgery in the middle of a war zone.

Clint closed his eyes and took some deep breaths to keep the horror of his time overseas at bay. The last thing he needed was for another flashback to overtake him.

He was new here and he didn’t want to be thought of as a liability.

When his pulse returned to normal he looked up and caught a last glimpse of Ingrid at the end of the hallway before she turned down another corridor.

Clint turned back to head into his patient’s room and write up a script for analgesics, but he couldn’t help but look back to where she’d disappeared.

He couldn’t believe that he’d ended up at the same hospital as her.

Ingrid had been his nameless salvation. He wondered how much worse his mental state would’ve been had he not had that respite in the storm.

“Dr. Clint Allen to the E.R., please. Dr. Clint Allen to the E.R.”

Clint shook his head, chasing away those dark thoughts. Although a child hadn’t been part of his plans, especially one with a woman he barely knew, he was going to do right by Ingrid and support her financially as much as he could.

As for being an involved father?

What kind of father figure could he be to a child, as messed up as he was?

CHAPTER TWO

INGRID STRETCHED HER back. A knot was forming between her shoulder blades. It’d been a long shift, but thankfully it was almost over. She hated the night shift, especially now, but it was her turn on rotation and she had to do her duty.

To prove to the chief of surgery, Dr. Ward, and the board that she was worthy still of her promotion. Even though the first thing she’d done after said promotion had been to get pregnant.

She’d hid it for as long as she could, but when she had suffered for so long from extreme morning sickness and had needed to go on medication, she’d had to tell Dr. Ward that his new ortho attending was pregnant.

Dr. Ward hadn’t been overly pleased, but he hadn’t been able to fire her. That would’ve been a human resources nightmare, but she wasn’t going to ride on that easy train. That wasn’t her. So instead she worked just as hard as she had before she’d got pregnant, to prove to everyone she was in control. That she was capable of being a good surgeon still, that he and the board of directors at the hospital wouldn’t regret their decision.

So even though she put on a brave face and seemed strong, she couldn’t wait to go home and take a nice long, hot shower and climb into bed. Though she highly doubted sleep would come easily to her. Even feeling extremely exhausted, she knew her mind would be focused on one individual.

Dr. Clint Allen.

She hadn’t seen him since near the beginning of her shift, after she’d discharged Mr. McGowan. After the discharge the E.R. had been flooded with trauma cases from a large accident on the interstate and Clint had disappeared into the thick of it.

As she had. A shattered femur had required her utmost attention and she’d spent the last several hours in surgery, trying to repair the damage from the twisted metal and carnage from the highway.

So much damage caused in a split second.

A twinge of pain knotted in her shoulder again and Ingrid winced, bracing her back. Oh, yes, she was looking forward to getting back home.

When she looked up she caught sight of a woman watching her, something familiar jogged at the corner of her mind. She took a step forward to get a better look but someone stepped between them, and when she looked again, the woman who had been watching her was gone.

Ingrid shrugged it off. It was probably just a worried loved one, wondering how a patient from the accident was doing, and she probably thought the pregnant surgeon would be easier to pin down and ask questions of than another surgeon.

She’d probably found someone closer and was talking to them.

Which was good, because Ingrid was too tired to form coherent words at the moment.

“You looked exhausted. I think you should maybe sit down or call it a night.” The words were whispered in her ear as a man leaned over.

Ingrid glanced at him and saw Clint standing next to her, his dark hair under a scrub cap as he wrote notes in a file attached to a clipboard.

“Dr. Allen,” Ingrid greeted him.

“Seriously, you look tired.” There was concern in those blue eyes.

“I am, but my shift isn’t over for another couple of hours.”

He frowned. “Do you want me to speak to the chief of surgery?”

“No, I don’t want you to speak to Dr. Ward,” Ingrid snapped. That was the last thing she wanted anyone to do. “I can work the last two hours of my shift. I’m not an invalid.”

“I never said you were an invalid, but you’re pregnant and tired.”

Ingrid was going to tell him to mind his own damn business, but the moment she looked up she could see the surgical nurses, residents and whoever else was in earshot were staring at the two of them with looks of confusion.

The last thing she wanted was the rumor mill to start.

It was bad enough everyone knew that she’d got knocked up because of a one-night stand, but the last thing she wanted them to know was that Dr. Allen had been the one to do it.

She glared at those who were still brave enough to stare, one of those cold, calculating looks she was apparently so well-known for.

Most pregnant women had fits of tears. Her emotional trigger was anger and when it happened she turned into a bit of a dragon.

Ingrid needed to regain control over this situation, and fast.

“Dr. Allen, may I have a word with you? Privately.” She turned on her heel and headed to an empty scrub room. When the scrub-room door closed behind him she crossed her arms over her belly and set the gaze of fury on Clint.

He took a step back, but mirth twitched at his lips. “There’s good reason why they call you Ingrid the Harridan.”

“Who calls me that?”

“The interns,” Clint said offhandedly. “Of course, you set bones for a living. I wouldn’t expect anything less from such a young ortho attending as you. You have to be tough.”

Ingrid rolled her eyes and eased her stance. “Yes, so you know why I asked you to come in here.”

“This sounds like an official summons.”

“It is.”

Clint furrowed his brow and shook his head. “Well, I can’t say that I do.”

“Getting pregnant right after one accepts an attending position is really bad form. Especially when one got pregnant during a one-night stand. I don’t want any special treatment, Dr. Allen. I also don’t want the other staff members to know my business.”

“Oh, I get it. The new trauma surgeon is showing a little bit too much interest in the ortho attending’s pregnancy.”

“Exactly.”

“Especially since we’ve just ‘met.’”

“You’ve got it.”

“I’m sorry for acting unprofessionally, Dr. Walton. It won’t happen again, but from one physician to another, you need your rest. The last thing you want to do is have your blood pressure climb.”

“I’m well aware of that, Dr. Allen, but I have to prove to the chief that I’m worthy of the attending position I earned roughly eight months ago.”

“You’re quite a stubborn and determined woman, aren’t you?” he asked, his eyes narrowing. “You can’t control everything.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” She made to push past him, but he stuck out his arm, bracing the door shut and blocking the way. “If you don’t mind, Dr. Allen …”

“I do, actually. As a surgeon, yes, take my statement as a compliment. I give you props for that. But as an expectant mother, your stubbornness and ignoring your body’s cues can be detrimental to your baby.”

A blush crept up Ingrid’s neck and blossomed into her cheeks. He was chastising her, though he had no right to since for the first seven months of this pregnancy she’d been doing this on her own, but, then, she’d said he could be involved and apparently he was taking that seriously.

Of course she noticed he hadn’t said “our baby” but “your baby,” and that ticked her off.

“You still don’t think this baby is yours, do you?”

Clint cocked his head. “Give me one reason why I should believe you haven’t had another lover since me.”

Other. Lover?

Her cheeks heated with anger and embarrassment.

“Do you want a paternity test?” she finally managed to ask.

“I do.”

Ingrid nodded. “You’ll have one, but you were my first and only.”

His eyes darkened as his gaze riveted her to the spot. There was an intensity to it that made her blood heat with longing.

She looked away and cleared her throat.

“I know how to take care of myself. I’m a physician as well. I know trauma guys and meatballers like you don’t think much of orthopedic surgeons, but I know how to take care of myself.”

“Look, Ingrid, I don’t mean to lecture you—”

“Of course you do.” Ingrid sighed and rubbed the back of her neck, which had started to ache, and her head was beginning to throb. “It was bad enough that even in this modern day and age I’ve had to live with the stigma of this unexpected pregnancy. Being a doctor to boot doesn’t help with all the ‘Didn’t you use protection?’ comments. I just don’t want the gossipmongers at the hospital suspecting something. I don’t want them to know.”

“They’re bound to find out soon enough. You shouldn’t take all the blame for that faulty birth-control. I didn’t expect the condom to break.”

“Neither did I.” Ingrid sighed. “It was my fault just as much as yours.”

“I know.” Clint smiled.

“You should’ve resisted me.”

Clint snorted. “Right, I’m going to resist a very persistent, hot blonde from taking advantage of me before I went on deployment.” The teasing stopped and he tensed. She wondered what was wrong and when she looked at him, for the first time since they’d bumped into each other again she could see the changes in him.

He’d lost weight and in the dark hair was a bit of gray. The dark circles under his eyes could be from the long shifts, but the stress lines and the way his jaw was clenched spoke of something deeper. A thin scar crossed his cheek under the stubble.

The soldier she’d had that one night-stand with was gone. This Clint was altered and she couldn’t help but wonder what had been responsible for it. Then she recalled he’d been leaving for a long tour of duty, and wouldn’t normally be back this quick and discharged this fast.

Something had happened.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

Clint shook his head. “No, there’s nothing wrong. Why would you ask me that?”

Ingrid shrugged. “You seemed to tense up.”

“There’s nothing wrong with me, Dr. Walton. I’m fine.” Only it was the way he’d said “I’m fine,” as if he was forcing himself to say it, that made Ingrid think he was lying.

Well, even if he was, she didn’t have time to bandy words with him any longer. She had a job to do.

“I should get back to work.” Ingrid tried to sidestep him but he moved his arm from blocking her path and took a step toward her. Just that simple movement in her direction made Ingrid’s heart beat just a bit faster. He tipped her chin so she was forced to look up at him.

Even though he’d changed, he was as sexy as ever. She’d forgotten just how sexy he was.

Before, when she’d thought back to that one night, she’d almost wondered if she’d over-romanticized him. Boy, had she been wrong. Even stone-cold sober, he made her feel weak at the knees.

It’s the pregnancy hormones. Yes, that had to be it. Now they were making her swoon.

“Please, Clint,” she whispered. “Don’t.”

Only he didn’t move away when she asked him and she was worried he was going to kiss her, And how could she resist him?

Right now she couldn’t, because right now there were so many emotions plaguing her mind she was on the verge of losing control and that was not acceptable. That was not how she had been raised.

“Stop crying. You can’t control what happened. Crying is a sign of weakness. Your mother was emotional and it was because she couldn’t control her emotions that she left us. Do you want to be like that?”

Ingrid shuddered and shook her father’s words from her mind. “Please, Clint. Don’t.”

Clint backed away. “I’m just worried about you, Ingrid. I can’t help it. I’m a doctor.”

Ingrid smiled and sighed. “Don’t worry. Just let me get along as I have been.”

Clint nodded. “Fair enough, but only if you promise me that you’ll take care of yourself and go home a bit early.”

“Fine,” Ingrid said grudgingly.

He grinned, pleased with himself. “Could Ingrid the Harridan actually be stepping down and taking another person’s advice?”

“You’re skating on thin ice, my friend.” She chuckled and moved past him. “Watch your back, Dr. Allen.”

His eyes were glittering in the dim light of the scrub room as she walked back into the hallway. Her back gave another twinge, and even though her feet were hidden in her shoes, she could feel them swelling.

The last thing she wanted to appear was weak, but going home a couple of hours early wasn’t going to ruin her reputation. She pulled off her scrub cap and tossed it in a nearby laundry bag. As much as it pained her to think it, she was going to have to take it easier.

Whether she liked it or not.

Clint had made sure that Ingrid had left that evening. If she’d stayed, he would’ve picked her up and carried her out of the hospital, but he knew that would’ve just angered her even more.

Not that he cared in the slightest.

Being in the army and serving overseas in a war zone, Clint was used to doing as he pleased. Of course, then everyone would know he was the father and he wasn’t sure if he was ready to take on that responsibility. He also knew she didn’t want people to know. He respected and understood her reasons for keeping it quiet.

He’d spent the night in an on-call room, because he didn’t fancy driving all the way back out to his ranch. Tonight, for some reason, he didn’t want to be alone.

With a heavy sigh he sank down on a cot in the dark on-call room. He scrubbed his hand over his face and then lay down. Light from the streetlamps outside filtered through the half-open slats of the blind, casting long shadows across the ceiling. His eyes grew heavy and it was hard to stay awake.

Though he tried.

He tried desperately.

Sleep was when the nightmares returned. Though his body slept physically, he never felt rested when he woke up.

The room was silent for the most part. All he could hear was the hum of traffic from the I-90. It was summer and he tried to picture the cars, RVs and campers rolling across the black tarmac toward the west into Wyoming, or north toward Montana.

Then his pulse thundered in his ears as the steady ebb and flow of traffic and city noises turned to the roar of choppers and explosions.

Sweat broke across his brow. The panic was beginning to set in. There was no way he could stop it or control it. He was drowning and couldn’t surface to breathe.

Then the screaming started and he could feel the muzzle of an automatic weapon at his temple.

A flash of light made him jump from the bed, ready to fight.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize there was anyone in here.”

Out of the foggy recesses of his brain, he remembered where he was. He wasn’t back on the front, trying to put together pieces of soldiers like he was doing some kind of horrific and demented jigsaw puzzle. He was still a surgeon, but he was at Rapid City Health Sciences Center.

“Clint, is that you? Are you okay?”

Clint snapped his head up and saw Ingrid standing in the doorway. She was still in her scrubs. There was concern etched across her face.

“What’re you doing here? You’re supposed to be at home, resting. I walked you out.” He’d seen her leave. He’d made sure she’d left.

“Just because you walked me out, it doesn’t mean anything. You’re not my boss.”

Clint tsked under his breath and closed the gap between then and scooped her up in his arms.

Ingrid screeched. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Clint didn’t answer her. He knew exactly what he was doing as he left the on-call room and began to march down the hall toward the exit.

“Clint, are you crazy? You’re half-naked,” she whispered.

Damn.

Clint stopped for a moment and glanced around. A few nurses and orderlies had stopped what they were doing to stare openmouthed. Ingrid moaned and buried her face in his neck. He could see the bloom of color in her cheeks.

Well, the cat was out of the bag and word would spread through the hospital like wildfire about who the father of Dr. Walton’s baby was.

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