His Pregnant Sleeping Beauty. Lynne Marshall

room to freshen up, then reported for duty in the patient transitioning room.

      Rick, the RN from last night, was at the end of his shift and gave Joe his report. “The fifty-four-year-old patient is status post breast reduction, liposuction and lower face lift. Surgery and overnight recovery were uneventful. She’s being transferred to Santa Barbara Cottage Hotel for the remainder of her recovery. IV in right forearm. Last medicated for pain an hour ago with seventy-five milligrams of Demerol. Dressings and drainage tubes in place, no excess bleeding noted. She’s been released by Dr. R. for transfer.” The male RN, fit and overly tanned, making his blue eyes blaze, gave Joe a deadpan stare. “All systems go. She’s all yours.” Then, when out of earshot of the patient, Rick whispered, “I didn’t vote for her husband.”

      Joe accompanied the patient and gurney to the waiting helicopter on the roof and loaded the sleeping patient onto the air ambulance. He did a quick head-to-toe assessment before strapping her down and locking the special hydraulic gurney into place. He then made sure any and all emergency equipment was stocked and ready for use. After he hooked up the patient to the heart and BP monitor, he put headphones on his patient first and then himself and took his seat, buckling in, preparing for the noisy helicopter blades to whir to life then takeoff.

      After delivering the patient to the Santa Barbara airport and transferring the politician’s wife, who would not be named, to the awaiting recovery hotel team, he hoped to grab some coffee and maybe a quick breakfast while they waited for the okay to take off for the return trip.

      Two hours later, back at the clinic, Joe’s only goal was to check in on Jane Doe. He hoped she’d come to and by now maybe everyone knew her name, and he wondered what it might be. Alexis? Belle? Collette? Excitedly he dashed into her room and found her as he’d left her...unconscious. Disappointment buttoned around him like a too-tight jacket.

      The day shift nurse was at her side, preparing to give her a bed bath. A basin of water sat on the bedside table with steam rising from the surface. Several towels and cloths and a new patient gown were neatly stacked beside it. A thick, luxurious patient bath blanket was draped across her chest, Sleeping Beauty obviously naked underneath it. He felt the need to look away until the nurse pulled the privacy curtain around the bed.

      “No change?” he asked, already knowing and hating the answer.

      “No. But her lab results were a bit of a surprise.”

      “Everything okay with her skull?”

      “Oh, yeah, the CT cranial scan and MRI were both normal except for the fact she’s got one hell of a concussion with brain swelling. Well, along with still being unconscious and a slow-wave EEG to prove it.”

      Joe knew the hospital privacy policy, and this nurse wasn’t about to tell him Jane Doe’s lab results. Theoretically it wasn’t any of his business. Except he’d made a vow last night, and had made it his business to look after her. As he hadn’t signed off on his paramedic admission notes for Jane last night, he suddenly needed to access her computer chart to do so.

      He headed to the intake department to find a vacant computer, but not before running into James, who looked rested and ready to take on the day. Joe, on the other hand, had gotten a glimpse of himself in the mirror when he’d made a quick pit stop on arriving back at the clinic a few minutes earlier. Dark circles beneath his eyes, a day’s growth of beard... Yeah, he was a mess.

      “What are you still doing here?” James asked.

      “Just got back from a helicopter run to Santa Barbara for one of your patients.”

      “Cecelia told me you stayed here last night.”

      Damn that night nurse. “Yeah, well, I wanted to be around if Jane Doe woke up.”

      He didn’t look amused. “This is an order, Joe. Go home and get some sleep. Don’t come back until your usual evening shift. Got it?”

      “Got it. Just have to sign off my charting first.”

      Several staff members approached James with questions, giving Joe the chance to sneak off to the computer. He logged on and quickly accessed Jane Doe’s folder. First he read her CT scan results and the MRI, which were positive for concussion and brain swelling, but without fractures or bleeding, then he took a look at her labs. So far so good. Her drug panel was negative. Good. Her electrolytes, blood glucose, liver and kidney function tests were all within normal limits. Good. Then his gaze settled on a crazy little test result that nearly knocked him out of the chair.

      A positive pregnancy test.

      His suddenly dry-as-paper tongue made it difficult to swallow. His pulse thumped harder and his mind took a quick spin, gathering questions as it did. Did the mystery lady know she was pregnant? He wondered if the father had been worried out of his mind about her since she’d gone missing. Or was the guy who beat her up the father...because she was pregnant?

      Had she been running away? Most likely.

      Shifting thoughts made bittersweet memories roll through his mind over another most important pregnancy test. One that had changed his life. He wanted more than anything to make those thoughts stop, knowing they never led to a good place, but right now he was too tired to fight them off.

      He’d once been on that pregnancy roller-coaster ride, one day ecstatic about the prospect of becoming a father. Another day further down the line getting a different lab test irrefutably stating there was no way in hell he could have gotten his wife pregnant. Any hope of becoming a father had been ripped away. The questions. The confrontations. The ugly answers that had finally torn his marriage apart.

      Hell.

      He needed to leave the clinic. James had been right. He should go home and get some sleep because if he didn’t he might do something he still wanted to do desperately. Give his best—strike that—ex-best friend the beating he deserved.

      * * *

      On the third day Joe sat in his now favorite chair at the mystery lady’s bedside, thumbing through a fitness magazine. Di Williams, the middle-aged, hard-working head of DOU, had shaken him up earlier when she’d explained Sleeping Beauty’s condition as brain trauma—or, in her case, swelling of the brain—that had disconnected the cerebral cortex circuits, kind of like a car idling but not firing up the engine. She’d also said that if she didn’t come around soon, they’d have to consider her in a coma and would need to move her to a hospital that could best meet her longer-term needs.

      The thought of losing track of the woman he’d vowed to look after made his stomach knot. The doctor had also said she’d be getting transferred to a specialist coma unit later that afternoon for an enhanced CT scan that would test for blood flow and metabolic activity and they’d have to go from there, which kept Joe’s stomach feeling tangled and queasy.

      Time was running out, and it seemed so unfair for the girl from the bus. What about her baby?

      Jane moved and Joe went on alert. It was the first time he’d witnessed what the nurses had said she often did. He’d admitted, when no one had been around, to flicking her cheek with his finger from time to time to get some kind of reaction out of her, but nothing had ever happened. The lady definitely wasn’t faking it. She moved again, this time quicker, as though restless. A dry sound emitted from her throat. He held his breath and felt his heart pump faster as he pushed the call light for the attending nurse.

      Jane Doe was waking up.

      Tiny sputtering electrical fuses seemed to turn on and off inside him as his anticipation grew. He stood, leaned over the hospital bed and watched the sleeping beauty’s lids flutter. Instinctively, he turned off the overhead lamp to help decrease the shock of harsh light to her vision as her eyes slowly opened.

      They were dark green. And beautiful, like her.

      But they’d barely opened before they snapped shut again as her features contorted with fear.

      * * *

      Carey fought for her life, flailing her arms, kicking her feet. Someone wanted to