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“Supposing I think you’re the one I want to spend my life with?” she asked.
“Then you’re mistaken. Very much mistaken.” A muscle clenched in his jaw. “You adore children.”
“That’s why I’m a pediatrician.” And why he was one, too; she’d bet her last penny.
“It’s more than that, Jodie. I’ve seen you on the ward, feeding babies and cuddling them—all way beyond your job description. You even do it when you’re supposed to be off duty.”
“Okay, so I love children.” She shrugged. “So what?”
“Jodie, you said you wanted children. One of each, you said. But I’m infertile. I can’t give you a child. Ever.”
I’ve always enjoyed medical drama, and A Baby of Her Own was inspired by my own personal drama! My daughter, Chloë, spent her first Christmas in hospital with bronchiolitis. I spent the week at her bedside, and the only way I got through it was to pretend it was happening to someone else. So I started writing a medical romance, set in a children’s ward. When Chloë came home, I carried on—and the book was accepted just before her first birthday!
Pediatric registrar Jodie, is full of fun and wants everyone to join in. She decides consultant Sam needs bringing out of his reserve—but then she falls in love with him. Yet Sam doesn’t think he can give her what she really wants—a baby of her own. Even though he’s just as much in love with her, he plans to be noble and walk away so she can build a future with a man who’s not infertile.
Jodie doesn’t give up so easily.
A Baby of Her Own tells the story of how Jodie convinces Sam that he’s the man for her—with the help of her friends at Melbury City General Hospital. I hope you have as much fun reading it as I did writing it.
With love,
Kate Hardy
A Baby of Her Own
Kate Hardy
MILLS & BOON
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CONTENTS
‘INCEY wincey spider climbed up Amy’s arch; down he came, to make our Amy laugh!’
Sam Taylor stopped dead in his tracks. He knew that voice, and it shouldn’t have been singing nursery songs. He strode to the doorway of the small room—a room that was really a quarter of one of the bays in the paediatric ward, partitioned off to give more flexibility when it came to isolation nursing or a parent needing privacy—and leaned on the jamb, watching the young doctor who was playing her own version of Incey Wincey Spider with the toddler in traction in the cot, wiggling her fingers up the traction arch and then letting them drop down onto the little girl’s tummy.
Her blonde curls cascaded over her shoulders, hiding her face from Sam’s view, but he
