A Doctor's Vow. Christine Rimmer

      “Come on,” Ryan coaxed. “Stay, just a little while.”

      She looked right at him. He smiled. He had the kind of smile that seemed unwilling, as if he didn’t do it often—which made it special, made her feel special.

      Ronni had heard it said that Ryan Malone could get money out of a stone. He’d spearheaded the plan to raise millions so that Honeygrove Memorial could add on a much-needed wing. Everyone marveled at him, wondered how he’d done it. But looking into his eyes right now, Dr. Ronni Powers understood the mystery completely.

      The man possessed a commanding presence, a natural reserve—and a reluctant knock-’em-dead smile. An unbeatable combination, whether it came to convincing wealthy donors to put their money in his hands—or coaxing a woman to stay up all night talking to him….

      A Doctor’s Vow

      Christine Rimmer

      

www.millsandboon.co.uk

      For the ones who take care of the children…

      CHRISTINE RIMMER

      came to her profession the long way around. Before settling down to write about the magic of romance, she’d been an actress, a salesclerk, a janitor, a model, a phone sales representative, a teacher, a waitress, a playwright and an office manager. Now that she’s finally found work that suits her perfectly, she insists she never had a problem keeping a job—she was merely gaining “life experience” for her future as a novelist. Those who know her best withhold comment when she makes such claims; they are grateful that she’s at last found steady work. Christine is grateful, too—not only for the joy she finds in writing, but for what waits when the day’s work is through: a man she loves who loves her right back, and the privilege of watching their children grow and change day to day. She lives with her family in Oklahoma.

      Dear Reader,

      My first PRESCRIPTION: MARRIAGE book, Dr. Devastating, was so much fun to write. I loved working with Christine Flynn and Susan Mallery, creating the doctors and nurses of Honeygrove Memorial. Naturally I was thrilled when our editors at Silhouette asked us to do it again.

      And that wasn’t all. Our editors also informed us that the twenty-year anniversary of Silhouette was coming up.

      Chris, Susan and I started brainstorming. We thought, what if Honeygrove Memorial Hospital was planning its own twenty-year celebration? What if a big new wing was being added? And what if, this time around, instead of three doctor heroes, we chose three heroines with M.D. after their names?

      We also decided to make our heroes three powerful, determined men, each with his own part to play in the creation of Memorial’s new wing—and each destined to find love where he least expects it. And then we agreed that our heroes would have more in common than they realized, that this group of stories would be about a family—a family once torn apart by tragedy, reunited at last.

      We hope that in these three new PRESCRIPTION: MARRIAGE stories, we’ve given you a little bit of everything you look for when you choose Silhouette Special Edition: love, laughter, passion, fulfillment, heroes you can fall in love with—and heroines who face life and relationships with humor, heart and honesty.

      All the best,

      Contents

      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

      Epilogue

      Chapter One

      A bright flash of hard light cut through Ronni’s dreams. Then the sound of a drum, a huge drum. Someone pounding on it. Hard.

      With a small, disgruntled moan, Ronni turned over in bed, thinking disjointedly, Lightning. Thunder. A storm coming…

      Another harsh flash. More ominous drumming. Ronni opened her eyes—and saw the figure standing beside her bed.

      A burglar, she thought. There’s a burglar in my bedroom.

      A very short burglar.

      All at once, as if a huge hand had ripped a hole in the belly of the sky, the rain began. A downpour. It beat on the roof. A sudden angry gust of wind sent it spraying at the French doors to the small patio beyond the bedroom, making a sound like gravel thrown against the panes.

      More lightning. A blinding burst of it, flooding in through the gauze curtains, casting the bedroom—and the undersized intruder—into sharp relief.

      She thought, not only small, but young—too young to be involved in a life of crime. Eight, maybe. Or nine. In striped pajamas and a dark-colored robe, standing by her bed at—she shot a glance at the clock—one-thirty in the morning.

      Recognition dawned.

      Not a burglar at all.

      Ryan Malone’s son, the older one. She’d met him the afternoon before, when she’d stopped by the main house to pick up the keys. “This is Andrew,” the boy’s grandmother had said. “And this is Lisbeth. And here is Griffin….”

      In the harsh wash of light, the boy’s blue eyes widened; he had seen that her eyes were no longer shut.

      Thunder cracked, roared out and faded off beneath the heavy thrumming of the rain. The boy stepped back as the room plunged into shadow once more. He whirled for the French doors.

      “Wait!” Ronni called, the sound a sleep-rough croak.

      The boy froze.

      “Please.” She spoke more gently. “It’s okay. Stay.”

      The boy didn’t turn toward her, but he didn’t try to run again, either. He remained poised—waiting, no doubt, for what she might do next.

      Very slowly, so as not to send him fleeing, Ronni reached over and turned on the bedside lamp. The boy flinched when she did that, but he stayed where he was.

      “Andrew.” Ronni schooled her tone, made it soft, nonthreatening. She pulled herself to a sitting position. “That’s your name, isn’t it?”

      The boy squared his shoulders, sucked in a breath—and resolutely remained facing away. “My name is Drew,” he corrected her, speaking to the French doors. “My dad and my grandma still call me Andrew. I keep telling them I’m Drew now, but they keep forgetting.”

      “Drew, then,” Ronni said. “I like that. Drew.”

      With a deep sigh, the boy turned toward her at last. They studied each other as the rain drummed away and lightning flared again, a boom of thunder following seconds after.

      Ronni asked, “What are you doing here in the middle of the night, Drew?”

      The boy chewed on his upper lip for a moment, then replied gravely, “I couldn’t sleep. I had to check and be sure about you.”

      Ronni frowned. “Be sure?”