One Night That Changed Everything. Tina Beckett

      One Night

      that Changed

      Everything

      Tina Beckett

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      MILLS & BOON

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       For those who embrace life.

       Dear Reader

      There are times in life when every person comes face to face with his or her own mortality. As I brainstormed Greg and Hannah’s story I thought about people who overcome incredible challenges, and how they seem to relish life with an intensity others can only dream of. I wanted Hannah’s character to have this same passion as someone who’s faced down a life-threatening illness and made a conscious decision to live every moment to its fullest. Even if some of those moments have unexpected consequences …

      Thank you for joining Greg and Hannah as they experience the joy and heartbreak of working in a difficult field. Their dedication to their patients and to each other helps them rise to meet each new challenge. Best of all, this special couple finds love along the way.

      I hope you enjoy reading about their journey as much as I enjoyed writing about it!

      Sincerely

       Tina Beckett

       Recent titles by Tina Beckett:

      THE MAN WHO WOULDN’T MARRY

      DOCTOR’S MILE-HIGH FLING

      DOCTOR’S GUIDE TO DATING IN THE JUNGLE

       These books are also available in eBook format from www.millsandboon.co.uk

      CHAPTER ONE

      “MRS. BROOKSTONE went under hospice care last night.”

      The words met Hannah Lassiter the second she pushed through the glass doors of the Alaska Valley Oncology Center. She glanced at her watch, her shoulders slumping. Only seven-thirty, but she had no doubt her boss was already here. Had already heard the news. “Oh, no. Where is he?”

      She didn’t really need to ask. Dr. Gregory Mason would be holed up in his office until his first appointment. Dedicated to providing the best care possible, news like this—even when it was expected—had the power to bring Dr. Mason’s world crashing to a halt for an hour or two. At least until he rose from his chair, closed the door on this particular compartment in his head and got back to work. It was eerie, really, how he could seemingly wall off certain portions of his brain at will.

      The receptionist answered her question with a jerk of her thumb.

      Hannah sighed. “When’s his first patient due in?”

      “Martha Brookstone was his first patient. We’ve cancelled the appointment.”

      “Don’t put anyone else in her slot, okay? I’ll check on him.”

      Easier said than done. Her employer, a brilliant doctor, insisted on doing much of the scheduling himself, which was a nightmare for his staff, who had to scramble to keep up with him.

      Yet every single person in that office had benefitted from his indefatigable nature, including Hannah herself.

      A year in remission and counting. She’d never even seen it coming. A routine checkup two years ago had uncovered enlarged lymph nodes.

      Cancer.

      She’d moved from her position at a tiny clinic in the Aleutian Islands to Anchorage for treatment. Dr. Mason had convinced her to stay on as one of his staff afterward.

      Today, of all days, though, she was going to have a tough time keeping her mind on her job. She’d had her own doctor’s appointment yesterday. Her chance at a new beginning.

      Rounding the U-shaped receptionist desk to check the printed schedule, she frowned. The list stretched well into the evening. Seven o’clock. And the word hospital was penciled in after the last appointment.

      How did he do it?

      While some doctors crammed in as many patients as possible, Dr. Mason worked long, hard hours but his patients were spread out, most covering an entire half-hour block, some up to an hour—especially the newly diagnosed. She ran a finger down the list. Three new cases. Blowing out a breath that fluffed her bangs off her forehead, she again wondered why she’d agreed to work for a doctor who represented every fear she’d ever held.

      Except for today. Even with the sad news about Martha still floating in the air, this was one day she’d force herself to flatten the past and let the hope of a shining future take hold and grow into something wonderful. Just as she hoped that little blast of sperm she’d received yesterday would grow and multiply.

      Too bad that blast had been from the end of a syringe. But it was the only kind of action she was likely to get. Especially with the schedule she’d been keeping lately. It was almost as bad as her boss’s.

      And if the little swimmers hit their mark, she’d have to talk to Dr. Mason about cutting back and possibly finding a replacement as her time got near.

      A lot depended on the damage the chemo had done to her eggs. Dr. Mason had put her on a lighter regimen in an effort to preserve her fertility, but even so, she’d banked some of her eggs beforehand, just in case. But she’d decided to start with the easiest option—artificial insemination—and work her way toward the hardest and most expensive procedures. If those all failed, adoption was always an option.

      Going to the coffee carafe they kept in the far corner of the office, she poured two cups, one for herself and one for Dr. Mason, who’d probably already let his first cup go stone cold.

      “Wish me luck,” she said to Stella, who was already busy fielding calls for the nurse who’d arrive soon. The receptionist gave her a thumbs-up sign and went back to writing on the neon green notepad in front of her. The only way she could keep track of things, she’d said.

      Stella buzzed her in, and Hannah used her shoulder to push through the metal door that led to a short corridor of exam rooms, at the end of which lay Dr. Mason’s cramped office. She didn’t know why she bothered going back to see him. He would emerge when he was ready and not a second before.

      His door was closed, but since when had she let something like that stop her? Um … never.

      Using her elbow to push down the stainless-steel lever, she waited for the click that would allow her to ease it open. Lucky for her, the thing wasn’t locked. Kicking it repeatedly wouldn’t be the most dignified way of letting him know she was there.

      He sat behind an ornately carved mahogany desk, forehead resting on steepled fingers, eyes closed. He didn’t bother looking up. “Don’t you ever knock?”

      His low voice was gruff, and she had to strain to hear it. The sound