“I don’t want a baby!”
“I imagine you don’t. But you have one.”
“This is ridiculous.” He rose, but he didn’t come around the desk. This whole scenario was a nightmare. And any minute he’d wake up. Please…
He took a deep breath, searching for control. Searching for sanity. Glancing down at his appointment list, he registered her name.
“You’re Gemma Campbell?”
“That’s right. Fiona’s sister.”
Her tone was almost uninterested, and for the first time he realized why. She was here to hand over a baby and leave, he thought with a jolt of sick dismay. “And…and Fiona told you this…this baby was mine.”
“She did.” For the first time he saw the glimmer of a smile behind the weariness. “Though I might have guessed. Have a look for yourself.” And she lifted the blanket away from the baby’s head.
It was all he could do not to gasp.
Dear Reader,
I do like handing my doctors’ interesting cases, and I do like dreaming up fantastic consultations. So I thought, what if… (“what if” are my favorite author words) my gorgeous heroine—a woman Nate’s never met in his life—arrived for a consultation, but instead of offering Nate something ordinary like an infected toe, she’s handing him a baby. “Here you are, Doctor—here’s your daughter!”
I had a heap of fun writing To the Doctor: A Daughter. I hope you have as much fun reading it.
I’d love your feedback—contact me through my Web site at www.marionlennox.com
Happy reading!
Marion Lennox
To the Doctor: A Daughter
Marion Lennox
MILLS & BOON
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CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER ONE
‘SHE’S your baby.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ Maybe he hadn’t heard right. It was the end of a long day and Dr Nate Ethan was thinking of the night to come. This woman was his last patient and then he was free.
Donna would be waiting. That was a good thought. Tonight was the Terama Jazzfest and he was never too tired for jazz.
Meanwhile, it looked as if he had to cope with a nutcase.
‘Excuse me?’ he said again, and forced himself to focus. Nutcase or not, she might be in trouble. He didn’t know who she was and with unknown patients nothing should be assumed.
So concentrate…
She could well be a single mum, he decided, noting the absence of a wedding ring. After six years of country medicine he noticed such things almost without trying. She was in her late twenties, he guessed, though the strain on her face made her look older. Faded jeans, a T-shirt that was old and misshapen and the knot of frayed ribbon catching back her mass of black curls suggested financial hardship.
What else? She looked as if she was in trouble, he thought. Her dark eyes—brown, almost black—were made even darker by shadows of fatigue, and her finely boned face was etched with worry.
‘How can I help you?’ he asked, his tone gentling. Hell, they had it hard, these single mums. A little boy, maybe four years old, was clinging to a fistful of her T-shirt, and she carried a baby that looked no more than a few weeks old.
‘I’m not here to ask for help.’ Her tone was as weary as her face. She seemed like someone at the end of her tether. ‘I’m here to hand over what’s yours.’ She lifted the baby toward him. ‘This is Mia. She’s four weeks old and she’s yours.’
Silence. The silence went on and on, stretching into the evening. Outside a kookaburra started laughing in the clump of eucalypts hanging over the river and the laughter seemed crazily out of place.
Would he help?
Gemma was feeling sick. Everything—her entire future—hung on what happened in the next few minutes.
Was he as irresponsible as her sister?
He looked…nice, she decided. But, then, Fiona had looked ‘nice’ and where had that got her?
Maybe, like Fiona, he was too good-looking for his own good. He was seriously handsome, in a way that could make him a candidate for the next James Bond movie. Tall, with great bone structure and a deeply tanned complexion, his size didn’t make him seem aloof. His burnt red hair was coiling forward over his brow in an endearing twist, and his deep green eyes sort of twinkled even when he wasn’t smiling.
He had great bones, she decided—the sort of bones that made a girl want to…
Whoa. She wasn’t going down that road. Never again. That was the sort of feeling that got her into this mess in the first place. The sort of feeling Fiona had had…
And on the other side of the desk…
She was a nutcase, Nate decided. Heck, as if he didn’t have enough on his plate.
Donna was waiting.
‘Um…
