A frown creased his face and he walked up towards his porch. He sat on the decking outside as he sorted through the mail, glancing at his watch. In another fifteen minutes’ time he’d have had a quick shower and be at work, ready to spend most of the day in the operating theatre. There wasn’t even any point going into the kitchen. The fridge was virtually empty and so were his cupboards. He’d discovered as much when he’d got home late last night, starving after spending hours in the office. He didn’t even have any coffee left. No matter how much he tried to avoid it, he was really going to have to do a grocery shop some time soon.
He flicked past the usual array of catalogues containing clothes, make-up, candles, jewellery—or the latest ‘diet’ miracle—all addressed to his ex-wife, Tabitha Carter.
Without blinking an eye, he tossed them all into his nearby rubbish bin. It wasn’t as if she’d come looking for them. Wherever Tabitha had ended up, doubtless she’d re-sent for them all. Two years on, many tears and tantrums later, his divorce attorney still hadn’t tracked the woman down—though thankfully he had managed to acquire her signature.
The only thing she wanted from him these days were the alimony cheques.
His fingers stopped their automatic trawl through the mail. The usual bills and free offers were ignored. One envelope was different from the rest. Bulkier. Heavier-quality paper, premium bonded. And although there was no emblem, he’d recognise their mail anywhere.
This was it. The final nail in the coffin of his disastrous marriage.
He sighed and looked out over the family-friendly cul-de-sac where they’d lived. Tabitha had never fitted in here. She’d hated the fact that everyone’s kids played out in the front yards. She’d hated little people trooping in and out of their home in a search for cookies or someone to fix their bikes.
This was the perfect family home.
Just not for them.
The initial fertility tests had created more toddler-sized tantrums than he’d ever seen. The discovery that Tabitha didn’t have any viable eggs had taken her months to recover from. The selection of an egg donor had almost resulted in their first major fallout. The first round of IVF had been fraught with difficulties—mainly because Tabitha hadn’t followed any of the instructions she’d been given.
The second round of IVF had resulted in an ectopic pregnancy. At this point Tabitha had refused to tolerate any more treatment.
And by this stage John had been inclined to agree. The cracks in their marriage had migrated into a fully fledged San Andreas fault.
Tabitha’s leaving hadn’t really had an impact on him. Emptying the joint bank account and driving off in his new car hadn’t created more than a few minor inconveniences. It had also gave him free rein to buy the Ducati motorbike he’d really wanted.
He’d just been happy she’d left the house intact.
But the thought of never having kids, never having the family that he’d always wanted, cut him deeper than he could ever have imagined.
There was still time. He still had some chance of meeting someone new, someone who might want to settle down and have kids. But at his age, thirty-nine, the chances seemed to be reducing every day. It had been three years since they’d tried IVF—two years since Tabitha had left. And in two years? He hadn’t had one date that had remotely interested him. Too young, too old. Too career orientated, and the best one—the women who were only interested in him because he was a doctor.
Just like Tabitha. Once bitten, twice shy.
He turned the letter over in his hands.
This was it. His final dealings with the clinic. The letter telling him that the remaining viable embryos had been destroyed.
And for now his hopes of fatherhood would have to be put to one side.
He tore open the envelope, pulled out the letter and scanned the page.
He gave a jolt. As if a bolt of electricity had just ran through his body. He stood up, his body on autopilot, his eyes never leaving the page as he tried to take in the words. ‘…our sincerest apologies…never in our clinic’s history…wrongly implanted…numerous messages.’
He marched into his house. Sure enough. The answering-machine was blinking. He hadn’t looked at it in the last three days—work had been crazy. Sixteen messages. He didn’t even need to listen to them. He started stripping off his running gear as he strode into the shower. Work was the last place he would be today.
Somewhere out there—someone was carrying his baby.
CHAPTER ONE
LILY GRAYSON carried out her safety checks one last time. It didn’t matter that she was jumping with a fully qualified instructor. It didn’t matter that this airfield and accompanying flying school had an impeccable record. It didn’t matter that a fully qualified rigger would have already packed her chute. It didn’t matter that she was almost fully qualified herself.
Lily always checked her own parachutes—main and reserve—herself. Period. For an adrenaline junkie like Lily it was all part of the build up to the event. Part of the rush.
She gave a little smile as she glanced down at her new bright purple flight suit, complete with pink writing on the back, ‘Here Comes Lily’. No one could miss her.
She was fed up with wearing the ugly khaki regulation suits. This was her third jump for charity—her twentieth for herself—so she’d decided the investment was worth it. She pulled on her matching helmet and wandered over to where the newbies stood. They were hanging onto instructor Ryan’s every word as if their lives depended on it—which, in fact, it probably did. Their knees were trembling so much the sound was almost audible.
She couldn’t remember ever feeling like that. Why be scared? This was one of the most exhilarating things in the world. The feeling when you jumped out into nothing, the smack of the air hitting your cheeks, streaming through the tiny hairs sticking out the back of your helmet. The whoosh when you pulled the cord and you were suspended in mid-air and the ground was rushing up to meet you.
The palms of her hands itched. She couldn’t wait to get up there.
‘Hi, stranger. You again. What charity did you hoodwink this time to get a free jump?’
Dan, one of the other jump instructors, flung an easy arm around her shoulders. His six-foot-five frame dwarfed her five feet five.
She shot him a grin. ‘I’ll have you know I’m about to raise over seven thousand dollars for a leading children’s cancer charity. They were very keen when I offered to jump for them.’ A glint appeared in her eye. This was definitely a two-way street. She got to do the thing she loved and the cancer charity got to make money. She wished she’d thought of this years ago.
‘I just need another five minutes with these guys.’ Dan waved his arm towards the nervous participants.
Lily gave a nod. The hangar was hot today and she unbuttoned the top of the flight suit and wriggled her arms out, tying it at her waist. The bright pink T-shirt she wore matched the writing on her suit and the jump shoes on her feet. She wandered over to the open hangar doors and stood looking out over the airfield.
There
