Her Knight Under the Mistletoe

by Annie O'Neil

  He knew he was pulling rank, but to be honest that was the only thing he had right now. The power to say yes and no. And there was no way he was publicly recusing himself from someone’s medical treatment before he had a chance to process the fact that the child was his own flesh and blood.

  He heard the crackle of a paramedic team radio coming through. They had just picked up a cyclist who had been hit by a lorry blindly swinging round a corner. He would never wish anyone harm, but by God he was relieved to have an anonymous patient to pour his energies into.

  Someone he could actually help.

  * * *

  An hour later, after the cyclist had been sent into surgery, Matthew devoted himself to every serious case he could get his hands on. One successfully resuscitated cardiac arrest later Matthew couldn’t take it anymore. There weren’t enough compound fractures or subdural hematomas to keep his mind off the overwhelming fact that his life had just changed forever.

  He was a father.

  Finally accepting that a twelve-hour shift, a twenty-four-hour shift or even working until he dropped from exhaustion wouldn’t change things, Matthew did the only thing he could to try and process what Amanda had told him about her little boy. Their little boy.

  Five minutes later he was standing in Maternity with a day-old baby boy in his arms, doing his best to ignore the sidelong glances the green and red scrub-clad nurses were shooting his way.

  Tough.

  He’d missed this part. Missed those vital moments of connection a father had with a child when it first entered into the world. He was surprised to feel the sting of loss. He hadn’t been there.

  It was so easy to imagine being there for Amanda. Encouraging her throughout her labor, feeling her fingers digging into his hand, doing her best to cut off his circulation when the pain overwhelmed her. Him calling her a wimp but gently pressing a soft, cool cloth to her forehead, wiping away the beads of sweat that labor inevitably produced, all the while looking into her warm hazel eyes in sheer wonder at what the two of them had created together.

  Not that he’d been invited.

  It was a blunt reminder that, all things considered, Amanda hadn’t exactly rolled out the welcome carpet. They’d been working together for almost three weeks now and she hadn’t said a word. He could hardly blame her.

  While the baby in his arms was perfectly adorable—tiny fingers doing their best to wrap round his index finger, little mouth shaping into Os and smiles when he tickled the little tyke’s tummy—Matthew was vividly aware that his heart wasn’t beating any faster, his pupils weren’t dilating, and the surge of intense pride and disbelief he’d felt when he’d looked into Tristan’s clear blue eyes...dead ringers for his own...it wasn’t there.

  But he owed Amanda support. Financial. Emotional.

  He shook his head.

  The financial support wasn’t a problem. But the emotional part...? He wasn’t the guy for that sort of thing. He could provide a shoulder to cry on, at least...on the rare occasions she let herself cry. And time, he supposed. Every single mother he’d ever met wished for a thirty-eight-hour day.

  He gently placed the infant back in its little tray bed and that was when it struck him—a feeling so sharp it was as if he’d been slashed in two. He stared at his empty hands feeling an intense, gut-wrenching loss at no longer holding a child close to him. Feeling its weight, its utter dependency upon him.

  And it scared him to the bone.

  * * *

  “He’s been a very brave little boy. Haven’t you, Tristan?” The X-ray technician rubbed a hand along Tristan’s shoulder and, in the true style of a toddler dealing with a myriad of “new,” Tristan curled into his mother’s shoulder for a cuddle, arms wrapped tightly around her neck.

  Amanda gave the technician an apologetic smile. “He’s obviously not at his most gregarious today.”

  He’d been fine with Matthew.

  But Matthew’s not here.

  Amanda crammed that thought into her mind’s No Go cupboard and forced herself to focus. This was precisely what she’d thought would happen if she’d told him when she had found out she was pregnant: not interested.

  “Not to worry.” The technician smiled. “I don’t blame him. That is one impressive bump!” He grinned, then fixed Amanda with a solid gaze. “I suspect you know this already, seeing as...” He waved his hand the length of her scrubs and white coat. “But I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t remind you of the concussion checklist once you’ve got the little guy home.”

  “Auntie Florence?”

  Amanda called along the corridor to her aunt, who had spent the last three hours intently examining the hospital’s art display.

  “Would you like to come and hear what we need to look out for, just in case Tristan presents with any other symptoms?”

  “Oh, no, dear. You go on ahead.” Her aunt shook her head and fastidiously returned to inspecting the enormous mural in front of her.

  Curious. Usually Florence was really hands-on. Amanda tried to shrug it off, but the repeated niggling that had driven her to apply for this job returned. It wasn’t fair to rely on her aunt for so much childcare. Whether or not she got the job, Amanda knew in her heart it was time to look into hiring a nanny sooner rather than later. Even if it did stretch her income to the outer limits.

  She suggested that her aunt head home and said they would meet her there in a few minutes. She’d make some pasta once Tristan had gone to sleep.

  As she watched her walk toward the lift Amanda’s heart ached for her. It wasn’t her fault. Toddlers were every bit as off balance as she felt now. And Tristan had been lucky.

  A nanny. A nanny would help.

  She hoped her thoughts would ease the strain on Florence’s hunched shoulders as she disappeared into the lift—no doubt to go and check if the heating in their old home was working today.

  Amanda huffed out a quick laugh as she turned back to the X-ray technician. If only nannies hung from Christmas trees as abundantly as decorations. Not that she’d gotten round to decorating yet.

  It was just another one of life’s trials to overcome. She’d start hunting for someone to help tonight. Even if it meant no new clothes for the next year. That was a sacrifice she’d be more than happy to make. There wasn’t a chance in the universe she’d go crawling to her parents, let alone Matthew for a hand-out. Not a chance in hell, either.

  Amanda fixed on a smile and nodded at the X-ray technician to go ahead.

  “As you know, we didn’t see anything, but sometimes these injuries are tricky and complications can rear up later.”

  He rattled through the list Amanda had already been running in her head on a loop as she’d watched her little boy lying so still in the CT machine and then on the X-ray table.

  Vomiting clear fluid, blood, blurry or double vision, slurred speech, pupils of unequal size, seizures...

  The list went on and on and finally she had to stop the technician. She knew the signs. She knew the symptoms. She just prayed she wasn’t going to see any of them in her son.

  “I think we’re good. Probably the best thing to do will be to get this little guy home for—” She flicked her eyes up to the wall clock. “Goodness! It’s well past seven o’clock. You should be in bed, my little poppet!”

  She nuzzled against his golden curls, which were turning ever darker as he grew older. More reminders of Matthew were still to come. Of that she had no doubt. But Tristan wasn’t Matthew. He was her little boy.

  She popped a soft kiss on his cheek and protectively pulled her doctor’s coat around him. The gesture shot her back to the days when he had still been an infant in swaddling. When she’d never felt more love in her heart and less prepared for the journey she’d been about to embark on. Today she felt the same off balance sensation about her future. Kno
wing Matthew wanted nothing to do with his little boy was...

  She’d known it somewhere deep in her heart already, but marrying that with reality... She was sucking a lot of lemons today. And it wasn’t even close to lemon season.

  “C’mon, Tris,” she whispered into his ear. “Let’s get you home and into bed.”

  A few moments later Amanda had grabbed her things from her locker and told her son they were almost home. Bed for him. Pasta and then bed for her. Not having to think about anything for a few hours would be a blessing.

  With Tristan half asleep on her shoulder, she exited the changing room—only to come face to face with Matthew. He didn’t speak for a moment. He looked at the pair of them with such intensity it was as if he was trying to memorize what they looked like...as if this would be the last time he laid eyes on them.

  “We’re just off home.” Amanda finally broke the silence, taking a small step forward so that Matthew would take the hint and step aside. No such luck.

  “Here,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “He looks like quite a load. Let me.”

  She watched as he awkwardly extended his hands toward her, astonished to discover that every cell in her body wasn’t screaming, No, no, no! She caught her breath in disbelief. And then a wash of He’s mine! hit her every bit as hard as if she’d been hit by an actual car.

  “Oh. Gosh.” Amanda’s eyes were moving everywhere but towards the vicinity of Matthew as she hugged Tristan closer to her. “That’s awfully generous of you, Dr. Chase, but you’ve had a long day and—”

  Matthew put up a hand to stop her spluttering.

  “Easy now, tiger. First of all, it’s still Matthew. I think we’ve gone well past the formal stage in this...” He’d been about to say this affair, but bit off the word and started again. “This is an offer to carry your son home...let’s take things at face value, shall we?”

  Matt was trying to sound good-natured, but even after the short time she’d known him she could tell the gesture was taking a Herculean effort.

  Your son.

  Not our son.

  She hid the sting of his word-choice by tipping her head toward her son’s curls and inhaling the distinct little boy scent. Soap, Marmite sandwiches and growth.

  This wasn’t what she wanted. And it was why she’d hoped never to run into Matthew again. Having Matthew in their lives would only complicate things. Which was exactly why the moment she’d seen that telltale plus sign on the pregnancy test she’d vowed never to let him know.

  Her parents had made it more than clear what a burden she’d been to them. The last thing she was going to do was bring a child into the world and expose him to someone who would think the same.

  “C’mon.” Matthew gave her a soft smile as she shifted the dead weight of her now sleeping son from one shoulder to the other. “Hand him over. Trust me...” he put on a barmy grin “... I’m a doctor.”

  If her arm hadn’t been cramping for the past twenty minutes she would have said no. But that was just an excuse. Matthew had every right to hold his son. Every right to offer help and not be turned away. She owed him explanations. She owed him a debt of gratitude for unwittingly giving her a son.

  She blinked up at him, a note of wariness in her voice as she made her decision. “You’re sure?”

  There wasn’t a thing about Matthew that looked certain, but he was still holding out his hands, waiting to accept the weight of their sleeping son in his arms.

  As their arms crossed and brushed against each other’s Amanda was struck by such a strong sensation of déjà vu it was as though Father Time himself had taken this moment and set it aside just for the pair of them.

  Their gazes clashed against each other as Amanda pulled her hands back and let Matthew take the full weight of their child. She’d expected to feel a core-deep sensation of loss when her arms, now empty, fell to her sides. Instead, seeing Matthew gently cupping their son’s head in his large, capable hands, she experienced a warm buzz of security she hadn’t felt in a long time. Maybe not ever.

  “Right, then.” Matthew’s expression turned all business. “Let’s get this little man home and I’ll be one my way!”

  CHAPTER NINE

  MATTHEW WASN’T BLIND.

  The tiniest of winces betrayed Amanda’s response to his clumsy attempt to make this incredibly awkward scenario a bit lighter.

  No.

  “Awkward” wasn’t really the best word to describe finding out mid-shift—mid-patient—from the woman he was trying to stop himself from falling head over heels in love with that said patient was in fact his own flesh and blood.

  Blindsided. Overwhelmed. Speechless.

  Those would do for starters.

  Matthew had thought he’d experienced a full gamut of emotions the day his brother died. Excitement for the holidays. Joy that his brother was home from yet another harrowing tour. Bone-aching grief when his brother’s “quick trip to the attic” had been his last.

  What a fool. All Matthew had done that day was begin a lifetime of embodying the darker spectrum of his emotional world—completely turning himself off to the glowing rainbow, the lightness a man could experience when he found out he was a father.

  He had a child.

  A son.

  One he was now holding in his arms.

  No matter how vehemently he had vowed never to have a child of his own, never to bear the responsibility for someone else’s life, the elation was impossible to fight. As if it was programmed into him the same way every living soul needed water and food to survive.

  Light shadows were darkening under Amanda’s eyes and she was unable to mask her wary expression as she watched him holding their child. Worry did that to a person. And a heavy workload. He could barely manage his own time, let alone imagine juggling a full-time job and parenting.

  But Amanda had done this on her own for two years, so he could handle a ten-minute walk in the snow.

  As Tristan wriggled amidst the folds of his mother’s medical coat, to snuggle closer into his chest, he was shaken at just how precious a bond it was to have this small, innocent child...naive and full of trust...instinctually believing he was one of the good ones. Someone to trust.

  Tristan’s hand reached out, then curled gently round his neck as Matthew wrapped an arm around him, vividly aware of his son’s simple faith that this stranger who was holding him, caring for him, would do his very best never to let any harm come to him. He knew in his heart this was true. For every day he had on earth he would care for and protect Tristan and Amanda with every ounce of fight and drive he had in him.

  “Right!” Amanda pressed her fingers to her lips for a moment, clearly processing the sight of father and son together. “It’s still snowing out there—shall we get a move on?”

  A few staffers called out to them as they left, with wishes of good health for Tristan, rest for Amanda. There were a handful of curious looks thrown in Matthew’s direction. Had they been strangers at Bankside they would have looked like any other couple worried about their son, intent on bringing him to the family home.

  “Look at all the lights Tris...” Amanda was a step behind Matthew, eagle-eyeing her son as they worked their way to the crossing at the far end of the hospital.

  Matthew’s eyes followed her finger as she pointed out the brilliantly lit baubles and snowflakes, all blurring a little behind the gently falling snow. For anyone else it would have been magical. For Matthew it was like walking through the sands of time to that day so long ago, when he’d told his parents he would be fine keeping an eye on his brother while they went out Christmas shopping.

  If only he hadn’t been sidetracked by those ridiculous video games Charlie had brought him. It was why he’d never played one since. The same reason he gave the bulk of the profits from his family’s comp
any to charity. What good was sitting in a mansion with all of the trappings knowing you didn’t have the ability to look after someone you loved?

  “We just want to take a left round this corner, although it is possible to cut through the alley.” Amanda pointed her gloved hand across the web of streets as if she were an air stewardess, pointing out emergency exits.

  “Let’s play it safe and skip the alley, shall we?”

  No answer.

  He suspected her detailed directions to a place he’d already been were from a nervous mind trying to fill the silence. Or a test. This sort of thing was precisely why he’d volunteered to help bring Tristan home. To make things clear. Establish boundaries. Make...rules. He didn’t do guessing or games or anything that involved grey areas.

  A one-night stand. That was all it had been meant to be. Never mind the fact he’d thought of Amanda near enough every day since then. A woman that exemplary... He glanced across at her, saw her delicate features concentrating on the road they were crossing. You didn’t forget a woman of this caliber.

  It made saying no to other women a breeze. He asked himself one simple question each time a conversation turned into a flirtation.

  Does she meet The Amanda Standard?

  For every single one of them the answer was no.

  That didn’t mean he was ready to settle down and get married with a pre-made family, though.

  Matthew cleared his throat, the choke of building emotion overtaking his fundamental desire to keep things as businesslike as he could. “I suppose we’d better have a talk.”

  Amanda kept her gaze straight ahead, her footsteps crisply clicking heel-toe, heel-toe across the pavement. “I told my aunt I’d make some pasta once I got Tristan to bed. Perhaps you’d like to join us?”

  He’d been hoping to speak to her alone, but having a referee was probably a good idea. Even if Auntie Florence would be entirely biased toward her niece and great-nephew. As she should be.

  Family.

  It had been so long since he’d been in anything resembling a family. He had an uncle somewhere out there. And cousins. But in the wake of Charlie’s death his parents had been intent on drowning their sorrows in booze and affairs, and everyone who’d tried their best to help—family, friends—had eventually drifted off to live their own lives.