To The Doctor: A Daughter. Marion Lennox

And the baby was sound asleep, nestled in a swathe of pink blankets and oblivious to the world around her.

      Fiona Campbell.

      Hell.

      She’d been the flightiest locum. Graham, his uncle and his partner in this tiny country medical practice, had been ill and Nate had been desperate. Fiona had been the only doctor who’d answered his advertisement.

      So she’d bubbled into his life, sparkling with life and totally fascinating. She had been gorgeously, stunningly beautiful.

      She had also been a little bit…mad?

      It had taken him time to see it. She’d lived her life to the full, hardly sleeping, partying, accepting dates with anyone who’d asked her and running on sheer adrenalin.

      And from the time she’d met him she’d wanted to sleep with him.

      ‘We’re made for each other,’ she’d told him, seductive in her sheer audacity. ‘You’re the most gorgeous doctor I know. And what about me? Aren’t I the most gorgeous doctor you know?’

      She was at that, he’d conceded. He’d been between girlfriends, she’d been bewitching in her desire to take him to her bed…and, well, a man was only human.

      As soon as he’d slept with her, though, he’d known it had been a mistake. A major mistake. There had been layers beneath her surface he could scarcely imagine. She had been driven—and he didn’t know why.

      So he’d slept with her. Just the once. And that had been it. He’d had the sense to back away fast. And when Graham had recovered and Fiona had left, he’d felt nothing but relief.

      But when he’d slept with her…

      ‘We were careful,’ he said, thinking it through and thinking fast. He was hardly speaking to the woman in front of him. He was speaking only to himself. He knew enough to avoid unsafe sex. ‘She said she was protected—and I used a condom as well. Of course I did.’

      ‘Of course you did, and bully for you.’ The woman shrugged. ‘But are you sure she didn’t get to it first?’

      His eyebrows hit his hairline. ‘What on earth do you mean?’

      ‘I mean what Fiona wanted Fiona generally got. And it seemed she wanted your baby.’

      ‘That’s ridiculous.’

      ‘Is it?’ She shrugged again and her shrug was a gesture of bone-weariness. ‘Fiona told me this is your baby. She said she chose you as the father, and if she decided she wanted your baby then I wouldn’t have put it past her to lie about protection—and even damage your condom before you used it. But if you’d like to do a DNA test…’

      He was staring at the baby like he’d have stared at a coiled snake. She had red hair. Red hair! ‘It’s impossible.’

      ‘She named you as the father, using a statutory declaration before the baby was born.’ She gestured to her handbag. ‘She even signed it in front of a Justice of the Peace. Do you want to see?’

      ‘No!’

      ‘Suit yourself.’ She rose and proffered the bundle in her arms. ‘But like it or not, this is your daughter, Dr Ethan. Her mother’s dead so that makes her all yours.’

      To say Nate was dumbfounded was an understatement. He sat in his chair as if rooted to the spot and his head couldn’t take it in. He opened his mouth and what came out was feeble. ‘I don’t want a baby!’

      ‘I imagine you don’t. But you have one.’

      ‘This is ridiculous.’ He rose but he didn’t come around the desk. It was as if he was afraid to come close. This whole scenario was a nightmare. A ridiculous nightmare. And any minute he’d wake up. Please…

      ‘I told you…we were careful.’

      ‘Fiona was never careful.’

      He took a deep breath, searching for control. Searching for sanity. Glancing down at his appointment list, he registered her name.

      ‘You’re Gemma Campbell.’

      ‘That’s right. Fiona’s sister.’ Her tone was almost uninterested and for the first time he realised why. She was here to hand over a baby and leave, he thought with a jolt of sick dismay. She was here to hand over a baby that had nothing to do with her—and everything to do with him.

      ‘And…and Fiona told you this…this baby was mine.’

      ‘She did.’ For the first time he saw the glimmer of a smile behind the weariness. ‘Though I might have guessed. Have a look for yourself.’ And she lifted the blanket away from the baby’s head.

      It was all he could do not to gasp.

      He’d seen baby photos of himself. He’d been born with the burnt red hair he had now. It was unusual hair—dark, tinged with black and curling into a thick mane. He had dark skin and green eyes and eyebrows that were definitely black.

      He’d been a gorgeous baby, his mother had told him, and this baby was certainly that. Gorgeous.

      She lay in her cocoon of blankets, one fist curled into a tiny ball at the edge of her rosebud mouth. She had tight, tight curls, a deep burnt red in colour, and her tiny, finely etched eyebrows were as black as…

      As black as his.

      Dark skin and red hair and black eyebrows. Her colouring was really rare.

      As was his.

      She’d have his green eyes, Nate guessed, and as he stared down at her he felt something twist deep inside. It was a gut-wrenching twist that had him clutching the edge of his desk for support.

      ‘You still want to tell me she’s not yours?’ Gemma’s eyes rested on his, not without sympathy. But her voice was implacable.

      ‘Yes… No.’ The world seemed to spin. A daughter. He had a daughter. ‘But—

      ‘I told you, what Fiona wants…wanted, Fiona got. And it seems that she took one look at you and decided that she wanted your child.’

      He stared at her blindly and then sat heavily back down behind his desk.

      ‘Hell!’

      ‘Yes,’ Gemma said softly. She sat as well, waiting for him to come to terms with what she’d just said.

      ‘Gemma, I’m thirsty.’ It was the little boy, speaking for the first time. He was still clutching her T-shirt but he was staring at Nate as if he was afraid of him.

      At least this was something concrete. Thirst. He could cope with thirst.

      He couldn’t cope with a baby.

      He rose, filled a paper cup from the water cooler and handed it to the child. The little boy stared at it as if it might just contain poison, but then his thirst got the better of him and he drank.

      It was a respite—albeit a minor one—but it gave Nate breathing space. Space to know one thing for certain.

      ‘Whether I’m her father or not is immaterial,’ he said flatly. ‘I can’t have her.’

      ‘Whether you’re her father or not isn’t the least bit immaterial. She’s yours.’

      ‘I don’t want her.’

      ‘You’d rather she was adopted by strangers?’

      That was another kick to the guts. His eyes flew to hers. ‘What do you mean?’

      ‘Just that. It’s you or adoption. Take your pick.’

      ‘But you… You’re obviously caring for her.’

      ‘Yes. But I can’t keep her.’

      ‘Why not?’ His voice came out almost as a croak. He sounded sick. Well, why wouldn’t he sound sick?