West Wing to Maternity Wing!. Scarlet Wilson

time his voice was every bit as loud as James’s had been.

      The cold, hard stare he was getting used to met him again.

      ‘Get your hands off her.’ Lincoln walked around to the other side of the gurney. He had to be sure. He had to be sure his eyes were not deceiving him.

      No. They weren’t. This was Amy Carson. This was his Amy Carson. The one he’d spent six hot, sweaty months with on the Amazon aid boat. Spending the days looking after a range of newborn ailments and spending the nights lost in the sea of her red hair. And he could absolutely authenticate it was her natural colour. This was definitely Amy Carson. The same one that had asked for help only forty-eight hours ago.

      A very pregnant Amy Carson.

      ‘What happened?’ he asked James, as he spotted the crumpled envelope at the top of her bag. No one usually carried an envelope that size—not unless they were carrying their hospital notes.

      ‘I got radioed from the checkpoint. She was apparently making a scene, saying she had to see you. The cop on duty had her sussed the moment he saw her. The paparazzi have been trying every angle to get up here. Never thought they would resort to this, though. It’s really taking it a bit too far. She collapsed down at the checkpoint a few minutes ago.’

      Lincoln stuck his head from behind the curtain. ‘Nancy, I need some help in here. Can you get me a foetal monitor, please?’ he shouted to one of the E.R. nurses. He turned back angrily to James, ‘And you? Go and get David Fairgreaves and tell him I need him to see a patient.’ He yanked the cardiac monitor leads and BP cuff from the wall. ‘Not every person you meet is trying to get to the President, Mr Turner.’ He touched the pale face lying on the gurney. ‘She—’ his voice lowered automatically ‘—was trying to get to me.’

      He waited for James to depart and pulled the curtain tightly closed.

      Amy Carson.

      The girl he’d searched for. The only girl to ever get under his guard. He’d almost resigned himself to the fact he wasn’t going to see her again. But here she was, in the flesh, right before his eyes again. Except her flesh had expanded considerably, creating a nice neat bump under her breasts. Nothing like how she’d looked the last night he’d seen her as she’d danced about their cabin in her underwear, laughing and teasing him. This time she wasn’t laughing at all, she was out cold. And she’d been looking for him. What on earth was going on?

      Nancy came in, clutching the Doppler scanner, and grabbed a nearby patient gown. She pushed Lincoln aside as he struggled with Amy’s long white smock top. ‘Here, let me,’ she said, as she deftly manoeuvred the top out of place, replacing it with a Velcro-fastened green gown. Her hand slid underneath the gown as she attached the leads from the cardiac monitor and pressed the button to switch the machine on. Lincoln fixed the cuff on Amy’s arm and watched for a few seconds as it inflated. Without saying a word, he already knew what it would say.

      Nancy pulled a white plastic patient clothing bag from the locker and folded Amy’s white smock. Her eyes fell on the patient notes, still in their battered envelope, currently lying at the bottom of the bed. ‘Have you read those yet?’

      ‘No. I haven’t had a chance. Why?’

      ‘Do you know her?’

      He hesitated. But Nancy was as sharp as a tack. ‘Do you want me to get someone else to see her?’

      Linc shook his head. ‘I asked James Turner to go find David Fairgreaves for me.’ He waved his hand over Amy’s stomach. ‘I’m not an obstetrician.’

      Nancy picked up the notes beside the bed and started to write down her heart rate and BP. ‘I need a name, Linc.’

      Lincoln picked up the Doppler scanner and put a little gel on Amy’s stomach. He pulled her maternity trousers down slightly, adjusting them to reach the area that he needed to. He slid the transducer across her abdomen and after a few seconds he heard it. There. Thump, thump, thump. Like a little butterfly beating its wings. The baby’s heartbeat. Whatever had happened to Amy, her baby was safe. A smile broke out across his face.

      ‘Linc, I need a name—for the admission notes?’

      ‘It’s Amy. Amy Carson.’

      ‘Do you know her date of birth?’

      He blinked. ‘August 14.’

      Then he realised something. He picked up the buff-coloured folder from the bottom of the gurney. ‘You could have got all that from the notes she brought with her.’

      Nancy smiled. ‘Yes, I could have. But the fact you know it makes it all the more interesting why this young lady ran the gauntlet today to see you. Pelican Cove just got a whole lot more interesting. Something you want to tell me, Dr Adams?’ Her eyes were fixed expectantly on Amy’s stomach—as if Lincoln had a closely guarded secret to tell. She leaned over and stuck the tympanic thermometer in Amy’s ear.

      He shook his head firmly and let out an almost forced laugh. ‘You can’t possibly think …’

      Nancy rolled her eyes. ‘I never said a word.’ She picked up the notes. ‘I’ll go and get Ms Carson logged into the system …’ her eyes swept over the nearby locker ‘… and bring her some water. I think she’ll need it. This girl’s overheated. I wonder how long she was standing out in the sun.’

      Lincoln watched as she swept out of the cubicle. His eyes drifted back to the monitor.

      Amy’s heart rate was slow and steady but her BP …? It was way too high. He glanced at the chart. Her temperature was above normal too. He pulled up a nearby chair and sat down next to her. The noise of the E.R. seemed to fade away.

      It was the first time he’d seen her in six years. His Amazonian fling. One of the best things that had ever happened to him. Six months of hard work and great sex. She’d left to go back to the US for a holiday but had told him she would be coming back in a few weeks to rejoin the boat. Next thing he knew, two weeks had passed and she’d quit. With no reason. And no forwarding address.

      So what had happened to her? What had she been doing for the last six years? And why had she texted him two days ago, asking for help? Was it about this? About being pregnant?

      Because this was last thing he’d been expecting.

      Over the last few years he’d tried to push Amy completely from his mind. And if thoughts of her ever did creep in, they certainly didn’t look like this! He’d always imagined he might meet her again on another aid boat or working in a different hospital. He certainly hadn’t expected her to seek him out as a patient. And it made him almost resentful. A sensation he hadn’t expected.

      He reached out and touched her skin again. She was hot. She hadn’t had a chance to cool back down in the air-conditioned E.R. One of her red curls was stuck to her forehead and his fingers swept across her skin to pull it back.

      She murmured. Or groaned. He wasn’t sure which. His hand cupped her cheek for a second. Just like he used to. And her head flinched. Moved closer. As if his hand and her cheek were a good fit. As if they were where they were supposed to be.

      Something stirred inside him. And he shifted uncomfortably. They hadn’t made each other any promises. He’d been surprised that she hadn’t come back—had been surprised that she hadn’t got in touch. She’d had his mobile number, scribbled on a bit of paper, but he hadn’t had hers. She hadn’t brought her phone to the Amazon with her, thinking it would never work there. And she couldn’t remember her number. But it hadn’t mattered, because he’d thought he would be seeing her again in two weeks.

      Only he hadn’t. Not until now.

      That was the trouble of having a reputation as a playboy—sooner or later you started believing your own press. Everyone had expected him just to take up with the next pretty nurse that crossed his path—so had he. But something had been wrong. That pale-skinned redhead hadn’t been so easy to forget. Amy Carson had got under his skin.

      Even