The Miracle Twins. Lisa Bingham

The expression on her face was so similar to the one she’d worn seconds before she’d darted out of the courthouse five years ago that he experienced a rush of déjà vu.

      “Don’t go yet. I need to know some specifics on the children so I can check into things at the hospital.”

      She frowned. Obviously, she dreaded the thought that he might delve into their past relationship. In an attempt to reassure her, he pointed toward his office. “We can talk in there.”

      She preceded him slowly into the room. As he followed her, Nick wondered why he’d been so insistent on making her stay.

      Because you’re a fool, that’s why.

      IT WAS CLOSE TO ten o’clock when Lucy shut the hotel room door behind her, then sagged against the panels.

      In her career as a foreign correspondent, she had interviewed kings, potentates and dictators. She’d grilled criminals and mercenaries. But never, ever, had she endured a more uncomfortable two hours.

      Summoning what little strength she had left after days of traveling by jeep, bus and airplane—all the while preparing for her upcoming confrontation with Nick—she peeled off her jacket, kicked off her shoes and fell onto the bed face-first.

      Sleep. She needed sleep. Perhaps then, she wouldn’t cringe when she thought of her embarrassing reaction to the man. It was a testament to her mental weariness that she hadn’t been able to control her body’s wayward response.

      Heaven only knew there was no reason for her to have behaved in such an adolescent fashion. At thirty-six she was too old to grow weak in the knees at the sight of a man with whom she’d once been intimately involved. She should have left as soon as he’d agreed to look at the girls. But something had caused her to linger.

      As if she’d been waiting…

      For what? For the conversation to become more personal? For a familiar glance? A touch?

      Groaning, she pressed the palms of her hands against her eyes. Perhaps the most surprising moment of the evening had come when Nick offered her the use of his guest room. Naturally, she’d refused. Staying at his home would have been too…unsettling. Too dangerous.

      Sleep. She needed sleep. A few hours of uninterrupted sleep should be enough to shake off her strange reaction to an old relationship.

      Lucy pushed herself up, dragged her suitcase to the foot of the bed and located an oversize T-shirt. Minutes later, she had taken the fastest shower on record and climbed between the sheets.

      But the moment her head touched the pillow, her mind began replaying the evening’s events. Even more disturbing, her body ached with an unmistakable sensual awareness—one she’d sworn she wouldn’t feel again.

      Squeezing her eyes shut, Lucy made herself remember all the reasons she’d ended her relationship with Nick years ago.

      At the time, Lucy had still been a struggling graduate student intent on becoming a reporter. She’d known that making it to the top of her field would require constant travel, unyielding stress and overt danger. Such a lifestyle would never mesh with Nick’s. His profession as a surgeon would entail remaining in one place and leading a life dominated by his own challenging schedule.

      But even as she’d insisted that this was why she couldn’t marry him, she’d been aware that there were deeper reasons. Reasons she hadn’t fully understood herself, let alone been able to explain to Nick. It had taken her years to understand that part of her motivation for remaining alone and working so hard had been to escape all vestiges of her childhood.

      When Lucy was asked how she could tolerate living in a war zone, she was often tempted to tell people that she’d grown up in one. For as long as she could remember, Lucy had felt as if she were a hostage in her own home. She was an only child caught in the battleground of her parents’ loveless marriage.

      George Devon had been a stern, critical man for whom nothing was ever good enough. He’d ruled his wife and his daughter with an iron hand, dictating what they would wear, what they would eat, how many pennies they would be allotted for their personal needs. He’d demanded immediate and complete obedience.

      But George wasn’t the only person at fault. Although he’d ordained himself taskmaster of her parents’ relationship, her mother had become the self-appointed martyr.

      Lucy grimaced. Not one day had gone by without Lucy being reminded of her mother’s unhappiness. Lillian had constantly spoken of her woes. She’d complained about the way she’d denied herself any possibility of following her own dreams in order to keep the marriage from falling apart. Yet in her zeal to retain their conventional family unit, she’d been blind to the fact that her own unhappiness had been as ravaging as George Devon’s anger. Year by year, Lucy had watched her mother wither away. Where once she’d been a joyful, loving woman, she’d soon become a sad, embittered ghost of herself. And as she’d descended into despair, she’d brought her daughter along for the ride.

      When Lucy had agreed to marry Nick, it hadn’t been without misgivings. Her greatest fear had been that she wasn’t capable of sustaining a loving relationship. After all, she’d had no role models as a child. She wasn’t even sure if she believed in true love. But Nick’s exuberance had allowed Lucy to push her own concerns aside.

      Lucy groaned, remembering those horrible few weeks leading up to the wedding. With each day that had passed, her worries had increased, not diminished. She’d become paralyzed with fear, certain that she’d fail to measure up to Nick’s expectations.

      Finally, when she’d been sure she was about to shatter into a million pieces from the stress of it all, Lucy had realized she couldn’t be the person Nick wanted her to be. Marriage had felt like an impending prison sentence, personally and professionally. In being totally honest with herself, she’d acknowledged that her drive to succeed was as necessary as breathing. She couldn’t live without the thrill of hunting down a story. And she wouldn’t subject her loved ones to the pressures her job demanded.

      And nothing had changed since then. Nothing at all.

      Rolling onto her side, she pounded her pillow into shape with more force than was necessary.

      Enough. She wouldn’t think about Nick or the past. She had more important concerns to occupy her thoughts—such as two little girls who’d been entrusted to her care.

      Tomorrow, the twins would arrive. The nuns from the orphanage had christened them Faith and Hope, and the names fit. Not quite three months old, they had overcome enormous obstacles just to survive. So much was riding on whether or not they could be separated. They deserved the very best medical attention Lucy could provide. She couldn’t allow herself to forget that.

      THE NEXT EVENING, Nick stood with his palms braced on the shower wall, the hot spray beating down on the cramped muscles of his shoulders.

      There had been a time when he could complete a full day of surgery, then play a game or two of basketball at a local gym afterward. But he was beginning to discover that—try as he might to ward off the effects of turning forty with diet and exercise—his stamina wasn’t what it used to be.

      Granted, the morning hadn’t started out well. He’d had his whole day booked before he even stepped through the doors of Primary Children’s Medical Center. A six-car pileup on I-15 had resulted in two youngsters being air-lifted to the hospital before dawn. At six, Nick had been in one of the operating theaters, and he hadn’t left until after seven that night.

      Which meant he was tired. Bone tired.

      Normally, after a punishing day Nick treated himself to a quiet evening. He’d turn on some jazz or watch a game on television. But tonight…

      Tonight, he felt edgy and anxious. His house was too quiet.

      Grimacing at the melancholy turn of his own thoughts, Nick squeezed shampoo into his palm and vigorously scrubbed his scalp. If he was willing to indulge in self-pity, he was getting old. Now wasn’t the time to—

      A