Pregnant By The Playboy Surgeon. Lucy Ryder

that ripped at him. And he’d feel it all the more deeply if his team wasn’t successful in reattaching the severed limb.

      The sight of the blood-soaked compression dressing instantly sucked him back to West Africa where he’d spent the past two years replanting limbs torn off in explosions and artillery fire or lopped off by panga-wielding soldiers. The young victims had been the hardest to deal with because often there had been no limbs to reattach, or necrosis and infection had already set in by the time they got to him.

      It meant a lifetime of unnecessary pain, suffering and disability—if they survived—and it made him wonder what the hell it was all for.

      Lost in horrific memories, he scarcely heard the attending ask, “Who’s the ortho on duty? Has someone called?”

      It was only when he heard his name that he was jolted back to reality.

      “Rona said Dr. St. James is on his way.”

      Momentarily rattled by the abrupt shift from memories that were still far too fresh and vivid in his mind to the bright lights of the trauma bay, Dylan watched her frown and pull the stethoscope from around her neck.

      “Isn’t that the new guy everyone’s swooning over?” she asked absently, fitting the scope in her ears and sliding the metal disc over the boy’s chest. Without waiting for an answer, she addressed the second nurse. “Paula, we’re going to need more blood before we can get him into surgery. Set up another bag and make sure we have enough on standby. Let’s hope Hot New Guy’s not just a pretty face. The last thing this little guy needs is to grow up without an arm.”

      Taking a deep breath, Dylan shoved the memories aside and stepped into the room as she turned to the monitor.

      Removing the stethoscope, she impatiently slung it around her neck. “Dammit, where is he? Amy, call him again. We—”

      “No need,” he interrupted, his eyes already assessing the boy’s condition as he reached out and pressed his fingers against the brachial artery above the boy’s severed arm. It was slow and ragged, barely there.

      Hyper-aware of her just two feet away, he knew the instant she recognized him by her audible inhalation. His peripheral vision caught the way her body stilled and he looked up into eyes wide with shocked recognition.

      Holding her gaze, he kept his voice low and soothing. “What kind of injury do we have, Dr...? Uh... Stevens, is it?”

      “I... I...” she stuttered.

      Dylan didn’t know whether to feel pleased or insulted that she appeared so rattled. The blond nurse must have also noticed her reaction because her gaze narrowed, bouncing between them as though she sensed the abrupt tension in the room.

      “Dani?” the nurse said, not pausing in bagging the intubated child. “You okay?”

      The words clearly jolted her and she abruptly blinked, going from in control to flustered in the blink of an eye. “He’s...uh...he...um—” She frowned and firmed her soft mouth as she visibly pulled herself together. “He lost his arm an inch above the left epicondyle.”

      The nurses looked at her in surprise before sharing a significant look.

      “I can see that,” he said quietly, ignoring the silent exchange. “Did the EMTs say how it happened?”

      A flush stained her cheeks and she grimaced before sucking in a steadying breath. In the blink of an eye she was once again the cool, collected physician. “Apparently a plate glass window fell on him,” she reported briskly, with only the barest hint of a tremor.

      “Is it a crush injury?”

      “No,” she clipped out. “Fairly clean. I...uh... I had to clamp the brachial artery to raise his pressure but I’m not sure how much longer he can wait for surgery.”

      She’d made the right call. He nodded to the cooler on a nearby trolley. “What’s the condition of the arm?”

      “I haven’t had a chance to look but the EMT said it’s intact.”

      He lifted the blood-soaked compression bandage and noticed that a clamp had been applied to the end of the artery. After a quick assessment of the splintered edges of the bone, he gave a short nod as he turned to head for the door.

      “Take X-rays of both sections and bring him up as soon as he’s ready. We’ll be waiting.”

      On his way up to surgery, he punched in a number on his phone.

      “Kate,” he said, when the doctor answered on the third ring. “It’s Dylan—how soon can you get to OR?”

      “About twenty minutes to a half-hour, why?”

      “I need your needlepoint skills for a replantation.”

      The older doctor gave a low laugh. “I’m not on call, Dylan.”

      “I know,” he admitted. “But when a kid loses his arm you’re my go-to vascular. I need you on my team.”

      He heard her suck in a sharp breath. “A kid? Please don’t tell me it’s a crush injury.”

      He pressed the button to call for the elevator. “It’s not a crush injury. A sheet of plate glass lopped off his arm an inch above the elbow. There’s some damage, obviously but it should be straightforward.”

      He heard her sigh. “All right—start without me. I’m on my way.”

      While he waited for the elevator, he paged the on-call vascular surgeon, as well as a plastic surgeon. Once the elevator arrived he stepped inside, his mind already on the procedure ahead rather than the woman he’d left in the ER.

      There would be time enough later to think about his reaction to seeing her again—that one-two punch he’d taken to the chest when those startled gray eyes had locked with his. She’d looked stunned and flustered, as though she hadn’t expected to see him again. And a bit dismayed—which she hadn’t been quick enough to conceal.

      He’d felt kind of stunned himself and it wasn’t because one glance into those smoky eyes had dropped the bottom out of his gut. What the hell had that been about?

      No, he assured himself, he’d just been surprised. Surprised at finding her directing proceedings without any trace of the charming clumsiness she’d displayed at their first meeting. Yep—just surprise at finding her without even trying, he told himself.

      It couldn’t possibly be that when he’d seen her something deep inside him had stilled and said, There you are.

      Because that would be crazy when there wasn’t a hint of insanity in his family tree.

      * * *

      When the elevator doors opened, Dani and the RN pushed the gurney out and rushed it down the hallway to Surgery. She’d left Amy behind in the ER, taking care of their little patient’s distraught mother, who’d arrived just as they were getting into the elevator.

      Seeing her baby lying almost lifeless on the large, adult-sized bed had been almost too much for pregnant Christine Nolan. Dani had told Amy to give her something to calm her down before they had two patients on their hands.

      The instant they pushed the gurney through the swing doors an OR nurse grabbed the cooler. “Room Four,” she rapped out briskly. “They’re waiting.”

      They quickly maneuvered down the passage to where a scrub nurse was holding the doors open, and even as she released the gurney Dani found her gaze drawn, despite herself, to the team gathered around the wall screen, studying the X-rays she’d taken ten minutes earlier.

      Or rather her gaze was drawn inexorably toward one team member in particular.

      As though sensing her presence, he turned, his gaze locking unerringly on to her. She ignored the way her pulse leapt at the sight of him, standing head and shoulders above everyone else in the room. Already dressed in his surgical scrubs, gowned and bandanna-ed,