To The Doctor: A Daughter. Marion Lennox

thought of the baby as he’d last seen her, curled in sleep like a furled rosebud. She was the most beautiful, most perfect creature.

      His daughter.

      He’d hardly had time to get used to the idea. But… If he could undo what had gone before, wish away her existence… Would he?

      There was uncertainty in his face and Gemma saw it. And she couldn’t understand.

      ‘But you left her,’ she said flatly.

      And Nate thought, How could I?

      The Jazzfest. Donna.

      Sanity.

      ‘Yes. I left her.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Gemma, I have a life.’

      ‘Well, bully for you.’ Her voice cracked with tears. ‘As opposed to me who gets to pick up the pieces of all these people who have a life.’

      ‘Not tonight you don’t,’ he said flatly. Jane came back into the ward then, and she smiled at both of them as Nate looked at her questioningly. ‘Are we organised?’

      ‘Tony’s in the kitchen, cooking, as we speak,’ Jane told them. ‘He was at the ball so he’s just popped over to cook for you and will go back afterwards.’

      ‘Tony?’ Gemma was confused.

      ‘Tony’s the hospital cook,’ Nate told her. ‘My cooking skills are limited and I figured something more than a cheese sandwich was called for. Something tells me you’ve been running on cheese sandwiches—or less—for a long time. Now, I’m about to take your blood sugar just in case, and then we’ll wrap you around a steak with the trimmings.’

      ‘I don’t want—’

      ‘You know, I’m very sure you do.’

      His tone was gentle and Gemma blinked. In the face of her fury he had the capacity to undermine her reason. She should turn on her heel and refuse to have anything to do with this man.

      But he had just taken care of Cady with compassion, skill and kindness. She was stuck here at least until tomorrow and probably longer. Cady was in his hands—and so was Mia, long term.

      ‘Let’s go,’ he told her. ‘Eat and then let fly at me all you like. There’s nothing like a good steak to fuel anger.’

      She choked, but it was on something that might have passed for laughter. ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake…’

      ‘That’s better.’ Nate smiled into her angry eyes and his smile was enough to counter anger all on its own. All of a sudden the thought flashed into her mind—I can see why Fiona chose him for the father of her baby.

      What was she thinking? That was dangerous territory. She was here to hand over a baby and move on. Leaving her emotions absolutely intact.

      ‘I’ll be alright,’ she said stiffly but he smiled again and took her shoulders, twisting her body away from his and propelling her out the door.

      ‘Yes, Dr Campbell. You’ll be fine. Just as soon as you’ve had something to eat. Jane will watch over Cady for us and let us know if he so much as blinks. If he needs you, we’ll come. But meanwhile you have needs as well. For now, Dr Campbell, just shut up and let yourself indulge in what you need. You.’

      ‘But—’

      ‘Not another word.’ And he grinned down at her, that dangerous, laughing smile that made her heart do strange things inside her chest. ‘Let’s go. Now.’

      He wouldn’t listen to another word.

      He sat on the other side of the big kitchen table and traded easy laughter with Tony, a beefy Irishman with a twinkle and a flair for making the most mouthwatering steak and stir-fried vegetables that Gemma had ever eaten.

      They were quite a pair, Gemma thought. The two men were both in dinner suits, Nate’s well cut and smoothly black without adornment—with looks like Nate’s who needed adornment? Tony’s was the same with the addition of a vast green cummerbund, which made his not inconsiderable midriff seem huge.

      And Nate was right. She was starving. The sight of food made her realise just how hungry she was. She was almost through her steak before she ventured to say a word and even then it was tentative.

      ‘You’ve been very good… Both of you. And to leave the ball…’

      ‘Think nothing of it.’ Tony waved away her thanks with indifference. ‘A man needs a break from all this capering, and the serious drinking’s hardly started.’

      ‘You’d still have had a good dinner if you’d arrived at three in the morning,’ Nate told her. ‘But the sauce would be a bit more alcoholic. Burgundy sauce is one of Tony’s specialities but the later in the evening it is, the more burgundy it contains.’

      ‘Hey, don’t scoff at my gravy. It’s a recipe handed down from generation to generation. My old granny—’

      ‘Who died of alcoholic poisoning aged a hundred…’

      ‘She did nothing of the sort,’ Tony said with dignity. ‘She didn’t die. Aged a hundred, we were able to bury her pickled and preserved for posterity.’

      And so they continued, bantering easily above Gemma’s head while the wonderful food slipped down, the warmth of the kitchen enveloped her and a feeling of caring prevailed.

      For some stupid reason there were tears welling behind her eyes. Why? Crying was something she’d sworn she was done with, yet today the tears were constantly threatening.

      ‘The lady’s asleep in her dinner,’ Tony said gently and Gemma forced her head up and her eyes wide.

      ‘No, I—’

      ‘I’ll take you to bed,’ Nate told her, and Tony laughed.

      ‘Now, there’s a dangerous line.’

      It certainly was. Gemma’s eyes were wide now and she was awake. Sort of.

      ‘I… I’ll go back to Cady.’

      Nate shook his head. ‘There’s no need. You know as well as I do that Cady will sleep until morning.’

      ‘But—’

      ‘And if he doesn’t…’ Nate said gently, rising and coming around the table to her side. She rose and staggered—the warmth and the weariness proving too much—and his arm came around her shoulders and held. As if he cared. ‘If he doesn’t and he needs you then Jane will come and find you. But for now, you’re coming with me.’

      ‘No.’

      ‘You needn’t think my plans are underhand,’ he told her, but his smile suggested just that and more. ‘I have a feeling sleeping with you would be just that. You’re asleep on your feet already. No. The doctors’ quarters adjoin the hospital and Cady will be a door away. We have a spare bedroom and a spare bed. What do you say, Dr Campbell? Wouldn’t you like to fall into bed?’

      No.

      Yes!

      And suddenly to do anything else was unthinkable. Both men were looking at her, smiling in compassion and caring, and those damned tears were threatening to well and to fall.

      She had no choice.

      ‘Yes, please,’ she told them with as much dignity as she could muster.

      ‘Yes!’

      And before she could protest the arm around her shoulders dropped and she was swept up into a pair of strong, warm arms. Laughing eyes danced down at her. Her feeble protests were ignored and Gemma Campbell, anaesthetist, independent career-woman—and total wuss—was carried straight to bed.