Read an excerpt from

The Surgeon's Secret Baby Wish
Available at eHarlequin.com July 2008

Chapter One

He was the perfect man to father her baby.

Dr. Rick Weber was tall, had brilliant blue eyes, thick chestnut colored hair and a lean muscular build. Just looking at him made her mouth go dry. His gaze collided with hers and the air crackled with tension for countless seconds when their gazes locked. He was the first to look away and it took a moment for her lungs to resume breathing.

Shaken, she stared at him, her mouth agape. He would have been perfect. Except for one tiny problem.

Rick Weber happened to be the new Chief of Pediatric Trauma Surgery.

And her new boss.

Dr. Naomi Horton closed her mouth with a hard click, hoping her moment of insane unprofessionalism wasn’t evident on her features. She pulled herself together. What was wrong with her?

She straightened in her seat, all too aware that she was one of only two female pediatric trauma surgeons in the conference room, and Debra Maloney didn’t count since she was happily married. Naomi didn’t think it was likely that any of the other four trauma surgeons would be drooling over their new boss.

“Good morning. Thanks for coming in on such short notice.” Rick appeared calm and relaxed as he addressed the group. If he was intimidated by his new position, leading a group of Peds Trauma Surgeons, some of whom had been at the job much longer, he didn’t show it. She took a bracing sip of her coffee, anxious for the kick of caffeine. She hadn’t slept well the night before, irrationally nervous about their first early morning faculty meeting since she hadn’t met their new boss.

“I know we have our Level One Trauma Center review coming up next week,” Rick continued. He swept a glance over the group. “Are there any outstanding issues I need to be aware of?”

Naomi couldn’t think of anything major, but she was the most junior member of the trauma team, having only been on staff at Children’s Memorial Hospital for two years. She remained silent as a few of the tenured surgeons, Frank Turner and Chuck Lowrey mentioned a few problem areas and the steps they’d taken to mitigate them.

She listened to the discussion but her mind began to drift, her gaze unerringly coming back to rest on Rick.

Why was she so physically aware of him? She hadn’t so much as experienced a flicker of interest in any man since her divorce eighteen months ago. Why now? And why her new boss? A man completely off limits?

Was fate trying to tell her something?

No, she needed to maintain a positive attitude. Her divorce had been rough. She’d wanted a baby for so long, she knew Andrew, her ex-husband wasn’t far off when he’d accused her of being obsessed with having a child. But after suffering a devastating miscarriage, and then being told how her ability to conceive again would be very difficult, she couldn’t help feeling a little obsessed.

The stress of losing her miracle child had taken it’s toll on her marriage. One night she’d come home from work to find Andrew had packed up and moved out. She’d tried to talk to him, to salvage their marriage but Andrew wasn’t interested.

Her divorce hadn’t eliminated her desire to have a child, though. She’d gotten pregnant once before, she knew it could happen again. And she just couldn’t believe she was destined to live her life without ever having a baby. A child to love and cherish. Even if it meant raising a child on her own.

Rick described his plans to upgrade their trauma program, including monthly quality reviews on surgical complications and she took notes hoping the task would break the visceral reaction he seemed to have on her.

His gaze brushed hers and her pulse kicked into triple digits. She glanced away, hoping she could get her hormones under control soon.

This was ridiculous. Yes, she fantasized about having a baby, but having a real life, flesh and blood man wasn’t a part of her plan. Her marriage had crumbled to tiny pieces at the time she needed Andrew the most. She refused to open herself up to that sort of pain again.

Which put her in a bit of a dilemma. Ethically, she couldn’t imagine getting pregnant on purpose using some poor unsuspecting man as a sperm donor and then not telling him when she became pregnant. And if she did tell him, it would be just her luck that the unsuspecting guy would suddenly decide he wanted to play father, creating a huge complication she didn’t dare risk.

Which left only one option. Artificial insemination by someone who wouldn’t care if she got pregnant.

She’d debated long and hard, finally choosing a donor, paying her money and scheduling an appointment at the fertilization clinic. That was four months ago. Minor crises at work kept making her miss the appointments. Her cycle was irregular, which didn’t help either.

She was ovulating again, so she’d made another appointment. This time, she refused to let anything get in her way.

“Any questions?” Rick’s gaze locked with hers. A guilty flush stained her cheeks. Could he tell she hadn’t been paying attention? Could he tell how much his mere presence affected her?

She gathered her scattered, sleep deprived thoughts. What had he talked about? She glanced at her notes. Oh yes, plans for expanding their pediatric trauma prevention program into the community. She cleared her throat. “Do you need a volunteer to be on the Community Education Committee? Because if so, I’d like to be involved.”

“Absolutely.” Rick’s gaze lit up. “Naomi Horton, right?”

She nodded, feeling her heart race at the sound of her name in his deep, husky voice. Good grief, she hadn’t worked so hard to get through five years of surgical residency followed by another year as a surgical/trauma fellow to react like an adolescent the first time a gorgeous man smiled at her. She’d worked darn hard to get where she was, she wasn’t about to do anything to jeopardize her position.

“I met the rest of the team over these past few days, but kept missing you. Glad to finally put a name with a face.” Rick’s tone turned serious. “Yes, the Community Education program is very important to our trauma recertification process. I appreciate your willingness to help out.”

“No problem.”

“Great.” His gaze lingered on hers for a moment and she had the impression there was a hint of sadness in them before he turned and glanced over the group. “Any other questions?” He paused, waiting. “If not, then we’ll call this meeting adjourned. Uh, Naomi, do you have a minute?”

Irked at how easily he made her feel like the errant student who didn’t have her homework finished, Naomi stood awkwardly to the side, allowing her colleagues to pass by on their way out of the physician conference room.

“What’s up?” she asked, striving for a distant tone. “I’m on service today in the PICU and need to get upstairs to make rounds.”

“I know, but I need a favor.” For the first time that morning, Rick appeared ill at ease.

A favor? She lifted a curious brow. “What?”

“I need someone to cover my call shift this evening.” His gaze was slightly apologetic as he met her gaze. “I have a pressing personal issue I need to take care of. I can take over about nine o’clock or ten at the latest, if that’s all right with you?”

Nine or ten? Her heart sank. Heck no, it wasn’t all right. She had an appointment at the clinic at six and they closed at eight. Was he asking her because she was the most junior member of the group? Or because she was divorced and couldn’t possibly have a life? She stiffened her spine, not willing to be viewed as the easy mark. No way was she going to start covering all Rick’s call shifts, just because he happened to be the boss. She swallowed hard and forced a tight smile. “I’m sorry, but I have plans this evening. You’ll have to ask someone else.”

“I see.” He simply looked at her for a moment, but then slowly nodded. “I understand. I did check with the others, Debra is already post call and she was up most of the night. Steve and Dirk are flying out to San Francisco to attend the National Pediatric Trauma Conference. Frank and his wife are celebrating their twenty-year wedding anniversary, and Chuck Lowery is filling in for one of the general surgeons while he’s on vacation.”

Damn. That pretty much covered their entire team. But her plans were just as important as anyone else’s. More so, because every time she canceled meant another month of waiting. Another month of postponing her dream of having a family of her own. Helplessly she lifted a shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

His smile was crooked. “It’s all right, my problem, not yours. Thanks anyway.”

She turned away, fully intending to walk out, but the way he accepted her decision, without pulling rank or asking specifically what her plans were, made her waver. What was his pressing personal issue? She’d heard through the grapevine that Rick wasn’t married, but that didn’t mean anything. No doubt he was in some sort of relationship. For all she knew, his plans might not be anything more than getting his girlfriend settled after their move.

Yet to be fair, he didn’t seem like the type to exaggerate his need for time off. Trauma surgeons knew being on call was a part of the job, and being in charge of the program meant you had to take call rotations like everyone else. She took one step toward the door, and then another. She stopped. Calling herself every kind of fool, she sighed and turned back to meet Rick’s faintly questioning gaze. “I’ll take your shift.”

For a moment his eyes lit up but then he shook his head. “No, I can’t ask you to cancel your plans.”

“It’s not a big deal.” Sure. No big deal, just her entire future. She stifled a sigh and forced a smile. “Really, take care of what you need to do. I’ll cover your call.”

There was a long pause, as if he were debating with himself on whether or not he should take her up on her offer. Finally he nodded. “Thanks Naomi. And if you get slammed with patients, just give me a call and I’ll back you up. With any luck, I’ll be finished by nine.”

Usually Wednesday nights weren’t exactly big trauma nights, unless the weather was bad. Peds trauma wasn’t nearly as busy as adult trauma. She was supposed to be second call anyway, but had figured there’d be little chance of being called in to help Rick, so she’d made the appointment when she realized she was ovulating.

If she didn’t go to the clinic today, she wouldn’t be able to go the rest of the week. She and the other surgeons had picked up extra shifts to cover for Steve and Dirk who were on their way to San Francisco.

Canceling her plans tonight meant she’d forgo her chance of getting pregnant this month. Just like she’d forgone her plans last month and the month before that.

Her heart squeezed in her chest. She needed to find a way to make regular appointments and keep them. Her OB doctor had warned her conceiving would be difficult. Canceling her appointments wasn’t helping in her quest to get pregnant.

“Thanks again,” Rick said, his gaze warm with appreciation. “I owe you one.”

“Sure.” Her smile was weak. He might owe her a favor but there was no way she could ask him to provide the one thing she really wanted.

A baby.

Read an excerpt from

The Firefighter And The Single Mum
Available at eHarlequin.com March 2008

PROLOGUE

“Head for the river, dammit. Run!”

Austin Monroe could barely hear Sam’s voice of the roar of the wildfire bearing down on them. He didn’t need his buddy’s urging to keep him moving—the heat of the fire scorching his back was motivation enough. The wind had shifted, bringing the fire they’d been fighting straight toward them, breaking through the line. If not for Sam coming back to warn him, he would have been sunk.

They still might die.

Even as the thought formed, Austin caught sight of the river less than fifty yards ahead. Reaching the river before the fire caught up to them was their only chance of survival.

A slim chance, if the severe drought hadn’t made the river too low.

The heavy Kevlar suit he wore wasn’t enough to keep the force of the heat off him. He ignored the sweat rolling into his eyes beneath the helmet as he stayed focused on the river.

He slipped, nearly fell, but Sam was right behind him, dragging him upright and pushing him forward. With a Herculean effort, he made his way down the bank to the water, jumping in with a feeling of relief, dousing his whole body as best he could in water that was only knee-high.

It took him a minute to realize Sam hadn’t joined him in the river. He glanced back to see his partner using a drip torch to light a backfire on the grassy area surrounding the riverbank to protect them from a lethal burn-over.

He pushed himself back out of the water to join Sam. They didn’t have much time as the wildfire bore down on them, moving with astronomical speed as it gobbled up the dry brush with voracious hunger.

“Get into the river!” Sam shouted, lighting as many fires as he could with the drip torch. Austin had lost his equipment when the fire changed direction, so he couldn’t do much to help.

“No.” He wasn’t leaving his partner, the guy who’d come back for him to face this alone. When the drip torch was empty, Sam tossed it into the smoldering grass fire. Austin grabbed Sam’s arm. “Let’s go. We have to get in the water.”

This time Sam didn’t argue, but finally followed him back down the bank to the river. When Austin hit the water, he felt Sam fall heavily onto him from behind, pinning him down. Austin reached up and pulled Sam into the water beside him.

The backfire didn’t work as well as they’d hoped and orange flames flickered dangerously close. Following Sam’s lead, Austin ripped off his helmet and took a big gulp of air, before submerging his whole head in the water. He sensed Sam did the same, although the smoke was so thick it was hard to see.

Over and over again, he quickly lifted his head, gasped for what little oxygen was left in the air and then ducked his head beneath the water again.

Finally the roar of the fire subsided, indicating the fire had burned down, the raging beast having moved on to better prey—thick brush lining the ridge to the west of them.

“Sam?” Austin levered himself to his hands and knees, reaching for his friend. Sam’s smoke-blackened face peered up at him and his heart squeezed in his chest. Hadn’t Sam continued dunking his head beneath the water? “Are you all right?”

Sam gave a tiny nod, but his breathing was harsh, labored. Austin reached for his radio, wondering just how much smoke had gotten into his buddy’s lungs. “Mayday, Mayday. Firefighter with smoke inhalation is down in the Rock River, two miles east of the river’s bend. Need medic, stat.”

“Roger that. Medivac chopper on the way.”

“Sam?” Panic clawed up his back as Sam began to cough, his body convulsing so hard he could barely take a breath. “Hang on, they’re coming for us, buddy, just hang on.”

“Lindsey.” Sam reached up and grasped Austin’s jacket. “Take care of her for me. Take care of Lindsey and Josh.”

Sam’s plea for his wife and child stabbed his hear. His gut clenched with fear. “Don’t worry about Lindsey and Josh. You’re gonna make it out of here to take care of them yourself.”

“Too late,” Sam whispered between coughing fits. “Take care of them—promise me. They’ll need… Promise me…” His voice faded as another coughing fit seized him.

“I promise.” Austin held his partner close, scanning the smoke-darkened sky. Where in the hell was that chopper?

Sam stopped coughing, closed his eyes and slumped bonelessly into Austin’s arms. No. No! He stared down at his buddy, as the medivac chopper cleared the trees and headed for them, knowing with a sick certainty that Sam had been right.

It was too late.

Read an excerpt from

Bride For a Single Dad
Available at eHarlequin.com August 2007

Chapter One

Dr. Jillian Davis kept her head high, hopefully portraying a confidence she didn’t feel as she strode through the emergency department at Trinity Medical Center.

“You’re late.” Dr. Wayne Netter, one of her colleagues, glared at her from his arrogant stance behind the arena nurse’s station.

She ignored him, refusing to explain she was late as a result of her MRI scan being delayed. Her personal problems were none of his business. Impervious to his glare, she eyed the list of patients written on the white-board. “I see we have a full house.”

“There’s a couple of trauma victims on the way in,” Luanne the charge nurse piped up. “Multiple gun-shot wounds. ETA less than two minutes.”

“Maybe I should stick around, in case you need help.” Wayne Netter suffered from delusions of grandeur, acting as if he was the backbone of the emergency department, which is why he could barely tolerate knowing Jillian had been chosen for the role of interim medical director over him.

She raised a brow. “Sure, if you like. Although it's Friday night and I wouldn’t want to hold up your plans.”

Wayne’s gaze narrowed and she imagined he was already internally debating with himself. Was it more important she believe he had big plans on a Friday night or that she needed his dubious expertise for two simultaneous traumas?

Decisions, decisions. She fought a smile, especially when Luanne, the ED charge nurse comically rolled her eyes from behind Wayne’s back. Neither one of them particularly cared for the guy.

Clearing her throat, she turned her attention to Luanne. “Any other patient care issues I need to know about?”

“Nope.” Luanne shot a quick glance at Dr. Netter and belatedly, Jillian realized Wayne might take her innocent remark as something derogatory. She stifled a sigh as Luanne hastened to assure, “Everything’s fine. The hospital beds are still pretty full, we have a few patients waiting on discharges upstairs.”

“Great. I’ll head over to the trauma room, then.” Jillian walked away, feeling the Wayne’s piercing gaze boring into her back. Ever since she turned down his offer to go out for dinner, he’d been impossible to deal with. He just couldn’t believe she wasn’t interested. Of course, he didn’t realize she hadn’t dated a lot of guys in her lifetime. At first, because her mother was ill and later, because she just hadn’t found anyone interesting enough.

Wayne did not even come close to tempting her. When he didn’t follow, she figured he’d decided not to stick around after all.

Breathing a sigh of relief, she focused her attention on the ED nurses and techs scurrying around to prepare the rooms for the incoming traumas. Sirens wailed from the ambulance bay and in moments the double doors burst open, spewing chaos into the room.

“John Doe number one, approximately sixteen years old with a gunshot wound to the belly, normal saline running wide open through two anticubital peripheral lines.” A paramedic called out pertinent information as the patient was wheeled into the first trauma bay.

“John Doe number two, approximately the same age at sixteen, was shot in the chest. We intubated him in the field but his vitals are deteriorating rapidly. Fluids going wide open through two peripheral antecubital IV’s.”

Of the two, the chest wound was by far the more serious and required immediate attention. Jillian raised her voice. “Call for a Cardiovascular surgery consult, stat.”

“We already did, when the call about a gun-shot wound to the chest first came in,” Bonnie, one of the trauma nurses, quickly explained. “They were finishing up in surgery and planned to send a surgeon down.”

“I don’t see anyone, yet. Call them again,” Jillian ordered.

Another nurse picked up the phone to send a second page.

“Blood pressure barely seventy systolic and heart rate irregular and tachy at 120,” Bonnie called out. “Looks like he may be trying to go into a wide complex rhythm.”

Jillian wasn’t surprised to see one of the paramedics kneeling on the gurney beside the second victim, holding pressure on the chest wound. As the nurses fell into their respective roles on each side of the gurney, she donned sterile gloves and moved closer to examine the severity of the wound.

“Thanks, I have it now.” She waved a hand, indicating he could let up on the wound. A flash of silver on a badge caught her eye and belatedly she realized the man holding pressure wasn’t a paramedic at all, but a cop.

He released pressure and immediately blood pooled in the center of the young man’s chest. The cop slammed his hands back down covering the gaping wound and leaning his weight over the area. “Dammit, he’s going to bleed to death before the surgeon gets here.”

Jillian couldn’t argue, the brief glimpse she had of the injury told her it was bad. She snapped out orders. “I want four units of O negative blood running through both IV’s for a total of eight units using the rapid infuser. Get this kid’s blood pressure up before we lose him. I also want a portable suction unit here so I can examine this wound.”

Marianne, the nurse on the right, wheeled over a suction unit. Grabbing a pack of sterile gaze off the instrument table, Jillian then turned back to the patient. She glanced up at the cop, registering a flash of recognition as she met his intense dark green eyes. “Let up on the wound again and this time, stay off.”

His expression grim, he nodded.

When he lifted his hands she shoved the sterile end of the suction catheter into the area to clear the wound of blood. Using the gauze to soak up the remaining blood, she examined the wound.

“The bullet must have gone through the pericardial sac and injured his heart.” The injury to the boy’s chest was bad, but he had youth on his side. The young could survive a lot more than your average older adult. “Where’s the surgeon?”

“He’s on the way,” Bonnie responded.

“Blood pressure continuing to drop despite the blood transfusions,” Marianne informed her in a terse tone. “We’ll need to start CPR.”

“Give me another minute.” Jillian continued sucking the blood from the wound, and then carefully packed the area with gaze, hoping to buy the kid a little more time.

“Dr. Raymond from CT surgery is here.”

Finally.

“We lost his pressure!” Marianne cried.

No! Jillian stared at the monitor then glanced down at the boy. “Start CPR.”

The cop still kneeling on the gurney placed his hands over the center of the kid’s chest and began giving chest compressions. Blood continued to seep from the wound. She didn’t waste time telling him to get down, for one thing the strength of his compressions were better than most, and for another, if they didn’t fix the hole in this kid’s heart soon, their efforts would be futile anyway.

“A bullet punctured the pericardial sac and grazed his myocardium.” Jillian quickly gave the surgeon the details. “He’ll need to go to the OR.”

The surgeon shook his head as he glanced at the vital signs displayed on the heart monitor. “It’s no use. He won’t make it to the OR, he’s lost too much blood.”

Jillian couldn’t believe his caviler attitude. Was he really going to give up that easily? She held onto her temper with an effort. “Are you telling me you’re not even going to try?”

He shrugged. “What do you want me to do, open his chest here?”

“Get the chest tray, stat!” Jillian knew their efforts may be useless but this was a teenager for heaven’s sake! Didn’t this child deserve every chance possible? “I’ll give him some sedation.”

When the tray was open and ready, the cop stopped giving compressions and jumped down from the gurney, knowing without being told that his assistance was no longer needed.

The monitor overhead alarmed as the kid’s heart rhythm went straight-line without the aid of CPR. Jillian wasn’t a surgeon but she didn’t flinch when Dr. Raymond drew his scalpel down the center of the boy’s chest, meeting up with the open area left by the bullet.

“Hand me a MacMillan Forceps,” Raymond demanded as he opened the ribs to inspect the damage to the kid’s heart.

She did as he asked, but at that moment the fingers of her right hand went numb and tingly causing her to drop them. For a split second, her horrified gaze met the cop’s. Good thing the forceps had dropped onto the sterile field, she quickly picked them up again and handed them over.

“His left ventricle is severely damaged,” Raymond muttered as he used the forceps to trace the path of the bullet. Jillian stuck more gauze into the blood-filled cavity. “The right lung is also a mess, the bullet tore through both the middle and upper lobes.”

“Try open heart massage,” Jillian demanded. “Maybe if we can get his blood circulating long enough to get him on the heart-lung bypass machine--”

Dr. Raymond did as she asked and massaged the heart, coaxing it back to some semblance of normal function but even as they all stared at the straight line where the heart rhythm should have been on the monitor, she knew it was too late.

“It’s over.” Dr. Raymond removed his hands from the kid’s chest and turned away. “I’m sorry. But with the injuries he’d sustained, his chance of survival was less than five percent.”

He wasn’t a percentage, he was a child! She wanted to scream, rant and rave at the tragic death but held herself in check. This boy wasn’t the first patient she’d lost and unfortunately she doubted he’d be the last. She opened and closed the fingers of her right hand, trying to shake off the strange sensation. “Thanks for coming down.”

“Sure.” Dr. Raymond stripped off his bloody gown and gloves, tossed them in the red-trash bag and left.

Jillian forced herself to turn her attention to the team of personnel working over the first victim. She’d left her senior resident in charge, using her expertise on the sicker of the two patients. “How are things going, Jack?”

“Fine. He’s stable. The trauma surgery team is taking him to the OR to repair the damage to his intestines.” Jack Dempsy, her senior resident seemed to have everything under control. As she watched, the surgeons packed up the gurney and wheeled John Doe number one away.

“Good.” At least they hadn’t lost them both. Losing one young man was bad enough.

When she turned back to the first victim, she saw the cop still standing there, staring down at the kid, impervious to the nurses who cleared equipment out of the way.

When Marianne moved to pick up the remains of the boy’s bloody shirt and pants, the cop held out his hand. “I’ll take those.”

Marianne glanced at Jillian for confirmation and she nodded, granting her permission. The nurse dropped the bloody clothes in a plastic bag and handed them over. He took the bag absently, staring at the boy, not appearing to be in a huge hurry to leave.

Now that the heat of the emergency was over, she cast through her memory for the cop’s name. Alex? No, Alec. That’s right. Alec Monroe. He’d come in about two months ago with a serious knife wound slashed diagonally across his flank requiring a good twenty-five stitches.

Embarrassed at how she’d remembered his name over the dozens of other patients she’d treated over the past few weeks, she wished she could slink away, especially knowing he’d seen the way she’d dropped the forceps. Did he wonder what was wrong with her? Or had he attributed the action to pure clumsiness?

“Thanks for going above and beyond with him,” Alec said in a low tone, still staring at the dead victim.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t do more.”

He raised his gaze to hers, and her heart fluttered stupidly in her chest when she noticed he’d recognized her as well. His mouth quirked in a half-hearted smile. “Not your fault, Dr. Davis. He had the best doctor in the state as far as I’m concerned.”

She felt her cheeks warm and inwardly cursed her fair skin. The cop had made her blush two months ago too, teasing her as she’d stitched his wound. He was tall, well over six-feet and wore his chocolate brown hair long and shaggy. She remembered his body was pure solid muscle. She’d been more aware of him than what was proper when taking care of a patient.

Opening and closing her hand again, she reminded herself to maintain her professionalism. “I hope your wound is all healed?”

“Sure.” His smile disappeared. “I only wish these two kids had tried to settle their dispute with a knife instead of a gun. Then this kid might have had a chance.”

“I know.” She understood what he was saying. Once she would have argued that violence was violence regardless of the weapon of choice, but the crime rate in Milwaukee Wisconsin had been climbing over the past few years and so had the use of guns. As a result, they’d treated more and more victims of gunshot wounds, many times fatal.

Like this poor boy.

“Thanks again, Dr. Davis.” Alec flashed a crooked smile.

Call me Jillian, she wanted to say, then realized the urge was inappropriate so she gave a brief nod instead. “You’re welcome.”

Alec turned away, heading for the door. Jillian watched him walk away, hoping she wouldn’t have a reason to see him as a patient in the emergency department any time soon.

Cops like Alec put their lives on the line every day just to protect the innocent. To protect the public. People like her.

She couldn’t imagine a more thankless job.

Or a more dangerous one.

Yet from the little she’d seen of him, between this visit and the previous one where he’d been cut with a knife, he seemed to thrive on his role, throwing his whole heart and soul into his career. Not many cops would have held pressure on a bleeding chest wound like he did.

Jillian shrugged off her troubled thoughts. Tucking her hands into the pockets of her lab coat she spun on her heel to head back into the arena. No reason to worry about Alec, she had enough problems of her own.

Like how long would she have to wait to hear the results of her MRI?

And did she even want to hear the results?

Her gut instincts shouted no, even though she knew it was better to find out the truth now so she can figure out the potential impact to her career. Her stomach clenched in fear. She knew first hand, after caring for her mother, just how badly this could affect her future. Although likely not for years, yet.

Small comfort.

“Dr. Davis?”

Surprised, she glanced over her shoulder. A deep frown furrowed Alec’s forehead as he strode back toward her.

“Yes?” She pivoted and waited for him to reach her.

“Do you have a minute?” His eyes, the color of jade, mesmerized.

Her heart thudded in her chest. She should say no, because heaven knew the arena was full of patients who might need her attention. But she found herself nodding her consent. “Of course. Is something wrong?”

“You could say that. I pulled these out of the kid’s pants pocket.” Alec’s mouth thinned in a grim line as he held the items up for her to see.

“Percocets?” She frowned when she saw the individually wrapped packages of narcotics. “Was he recently hospitalized?”

Alec cocked his head and frowned. “Do medications come individually wrapped like this when you fill a prescription?”

“No.” The implication of what he was telling her hit with the force of a brick. “You’re saying those were stolen? From a hospital or clinic?”

“Yes.” His gaze didn’t waver from hers. “Would you know if anyone around here or anywhere else recently reported missing narcotics?”

Jillian opened her mouth and then closed it again without saying anything. Because the answer was yes.

Less than a week ago, twelve percocet tablets, just like the kind Alec held in his hand, were discovered missing from the locked narcotic drawer right here in Trinity Medical Center’s ED.

Read an excerpt from

A Perfect Father
Available at eHarlequin.com January 2006

CHAPTER ONE

Heavy, humid air intermingled with the fragrant scent of tropical flowers surrounded Dr. Moriah Howe as she stepped outside the hotel. The soothing sound of ocean waves crashing on the beach made her smile.

Peru. It was great to be back in a country well known for it’s eternal sunshine and friendly people. A whole year had passed since their last mission and she was more than ready to get started.

They would meet with prospective patients in the clinic first. Moriah walked along the unique circular street, heading from the hotel housing the Litmann and Granger plastic surgery team to Trujillo hospital. A large stone sculpture stood in the center of the city and she paused for a moment to flip a coin into the well around it.

Her only wish was to keep memories of Dr. Blake Powers buried deep in the past, where they belonged. She planned to use this impromptu trip to purge any lingering caring-too-much-for-him thoughts from her heart, once and for all.

She’d almost reached the hospital when an older Peruvian woman with gray hair and wearing a bright red dress rushed toward her, grabbed her arm and began speaking in very rapid Spanish.

Moriah frowned and searched her rusty memory for the proper words. "What? I’m sorry, tell me again what is wrong?"

"My daughter. She needs a doctor. Come with me." The gray-haired woman tugged on her arm and Moriah willingly followed. Thankfully, they weren’t far from the hospital, a good source of additional medical help.

The older woman showed her to a car with a passenger in the front seat. Moriah blanched, it was obvious the poor woman was in the throes of intense labor.

"Breathe through the pain, that’s it." Trying to remain calm, Moriah placed her hand on the woman’s taut belly, feeling the strength of the contraction. As an anesthesiologist, she’d completed her required stint in obstetrics, but primarily to gain expertise in placing epidural catheters and preparing for crash c-sections, not actually delivering babies.

"All right, we need to get you into the emergency department." A deep sense of urgency caused Moriah to glance around, seeking more help, but the hour was still early, there weren’t any other people on the street yet. She wasn’t sure why the woman had stopped the car, but maybe they could get a wheelchair from the hospital. She lightly touched the older woman on the arm. "You need to go to the emergency department, ask for a wheelchair and bring it back here."

The woman nodded in understanding and hurried off, moving surprisingly fast. Moriah knelt beside the open passenger door and spoke to the pregnant woman in a calm voice. "Hello, my name is Moriah and I’m one of the American doctors visiting here for a few weeks. Your baby is anxious to be born, as soon as your mother gets back, we’ll wheel you into the hospital."

"My name is Rasha." The pregnant woman spoke between panting breaths. "There is much pain and pressure. I need to push."

"No, don’t push yet." Moriah banked a flare of panic. She didn’t want this baby born here in the car, a few yards from the hospital. Rasha moaned in pain and she rubbed a soothing hand over the woman’s belly. She had always longed to have a big family like her own one day, but watching the grimace play across Rasha’s pretty features reminded her the process of birth wasn’t easy. "You’re doing fine, just hang in there a little longer. I’ll breathe with you during the next contraction, all right?"

Rasha nodded and together they made it through the next contraction. By Moriah’s estimate, the contractions were close, only two minutes apart. Using the stethoscope around her neck, she listened to the baby’s heartbeat, glad to hear it beating strong and fast. She was just going to start laying on the horn to get attention, when Rasha’s mother came returned with a wheelchair and a Peruvian ED nurse.

"I haven’t been able to examine her progress, but I did hear good fetal heart tones and her contractions are two minutes apart." Moriah helped Rasha out of the car, into the wheelchair.

"Thanks, let’s get her inside." The Peruvian nurse pushed Rasha across the street and to the ED doors. Moriah followed intent on staying long enough to make sure Rasha was settled in before heading over to the clinic where her patients waited.

The ED doctor shouted orders and rapid bursts of Spanish flew amongst the healthcare team. Moriah’s eyes widened in awe as they took charge of the situation, getting Rasha into a room and examining her. Rasha held firmly onto her hand so Moriah followed the entourage into the room.

"I need to examine her." The ED doctor raised a brow at her questioningly.

She understood what he silently asked. "Rasha, do you want me to leave?" Moriah said in a low voice.

"No." Rasha shook her head, hanging on even tighter to Moriah’s hand. "Please, stay. I wish Manuel was here, too."

Moriah didn’t get a chance to question her about Manuel, who she assumed was the baby’s father, because the ED doctor spoke up.

"The baby is crowning, she’s ready to deliver. Call the OB doctor, now." He began to prepare for the delivery as the Peruvian nurse rushed from the room to make the call.

Thank heavens they’d gotten her inside when they did. Moriah wondered where Rasha’s mother was, but there wasn’t a spare hand to be had and she couldn’t bring herself to leave Rasha alone to find the older woman.

The OB doctor arrived and he agreed with the ED doctor’s assessment. "There isn’t time to move her upstairs, we’ll deliver the baby here."

"All right, Rasha, soon you will be able to push." Moriah stroked the young woman’s hair, reassuringly. "Just a little more patience and you’ll hold your baby in your arms."

The OB doctor prepped the area, then glanced up at Rasha. "With the next contraction, push."

Finally. Moriah was almost as relieved as Rasha the time had come to push. A few contractions later, the baby was born. Sheer awe intertwined with bittersweet longing as Moriah gazed at the tiny miracle in Rasha’s arms.

"A girl. Rasha, you have a beautiful baby girl." Moriah laughed, when the baby cried. Rasha laughed and cried, too.

"She is a good weight, 3.2 kilograms. Congratulations." The OB doctor finished caring for the baby then wrapped her in a blanket and gave her to Rasha.

"Gracias. Thanks so much."

"You’re welcome," the OB Doctor responded.

Moriah grinned. "Let me find your mother, I’m sure she’d like to see her granddaughter."

"Yes." Rasha nodded, gazing adoringly at her baby girl.

Moriah found Rasha’s mother in the waiting room and quickly ushered the woman inside where she immediately crooned over the baby. Satisfied the family was together and doing fine, Moriah made her excuse to go.

"I’m expected at the clinic, but congratulations again on your beautiful baby. I’ll come back later," she promised.

"Thanks for all your help." Rasha’s mother said again.

Moriah nodded, then slipped out of the room. Once she’d foolishly harbored hopes of having a family of her own, with Blake, but her dream wasn’t meant to be. She wasn’t going to dwell on the past, ruining her good mood. She stepped outside, the hot, humid air seemed even more intense. February in Peru was the exact opposite weather from what her family was experiencing at home, in the mid-western part of the states. She made a mental note to let her siblings know she arrived safely.

The clinic, adjacent to the hospital, was where the patients would be seen and screened prior to having surgery.

Moriah made her way through the crowd, in an effort to find the specific clinic assigned for her to use.

Patients were just starting to line up, so her brief foray into obstetrics hadn’t put her too far behind. There was a table with refreshments for the staff and patients, so she helped herself to a glass of tangy papaya juice.

Someone jostled her arm from behind. She lifted her arm, to avoid spilling juice on her lab coat.

"Sorry about that."

The deep, achingly familiar masculine voice had Moriah turning in surprise. Shocked, she stared. Recognizing the tall, blond-haired surgeon she nearly choked on a mouthful of papaya juice in her haste to swallow. Her voice squeaked, "Blake."

His blue eyes flared in recognition. "Moriah."

For a long moment, she stared at him in shock. Blake? Here in Peru? How could that be? Six feet tall, he towered over her, wearing a lab coat over his casual slacks and shirt, looking far more handsome than he had a right to be.

"What are you doing here?" She asked, her sharp tone belied her leaping pulse.

"Didn’t you hear? I was asked to come on this trip to replace Ed Granger. His wife, Diane, was diagnosed with breast cancer." He paused, then added in a slightly defensive tone, "I couldn’t say no. He lives for this mission. I couldn’t let him down."

"Of course I heard the news about Diane." Fate certainly had a sick sense of humor, Moriah mused morosely. "I’m here as her replacement." She stared at him. So much for her plan of ridding Blake from her system. Why hadn’t she thought to ask which surgeon had agreed to cover Ed? The group hadn’t traveled to Peru with the same flight arrangements, half of them arrived a day earlier. Her hand tightened on her juice. "I couldn’t say no, either. For one thing, all of my immunizations were up to date from last year. For another, Diane lived for this mission as much as Ed did."

"I know." Blake nodded his gaze enigmatic. "So. Here we are, together again, in beautiful Peru."

She stifled the urge to toss her juice in his face. Forcing herself to remain calm, she lifted her chin. "Don’t flatter yourself, Blake. We’re not here, together. I’m sure we can manage to stay out of each other’s way."

"Of course we can." Blake cleared his throat then met her gaze with a concerned look. "I’m sorry about Diane. I know how close the two of you were."

"Thanks. Diane is strong, she’ll pull through this." Moriah stoutly refused to believe otherwise.

"I’m sure she will, especially with your help and support." Blake’s tone was soft, comforting.

Just like he’d been last year, sweetly holding her after they’d heard the news of Ryan’s death. Dammit, she didn’t want to remember how wonderful Blake had been. She didn’t want to like him. And she especially didn’t want to remember how it felt to make love with him.

To have sex with him, she bluntly amended. A one-night-stand wasn’t anything more than casual sex. A cold hard fact she needed to remember.

"Let’s get started." Moriah set her empty juice glass down, and glanced around. "I’ll take this clinic, here."

"Fine. I’ll be down the hall."

He probably figured taking the clinic farthest away from her was being helpful. It wasn’t. Not when his presence here, thousands of miles from home, was a living, breathing reminder of a painful past.

Blake was totally the wrong man for her, just like Ryan had been. Why on earth couldn’t she convince her heart she was better off without him?

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