‘So what’s the problem, Mrs Adams?’
Amy’s heart was fluttering in her chest and she didn’t know if it was to do with her medical condition or from the effect of seeing Lincoln in the flesh again. Thank goodness she was currently lying down, because she was sure her legs had just turned to mush. Old blue eyes was back. All six feet, broad shoulders and dark curly hair of him. Hair you could just run your fingers through…
Her grin spread wider, then she laid her hand on his arm. ‘I’m sorry about that, Linc. But it’s like Fort Knox out there and I really needed to see you.’ Her mind was spinning. Could he hear her heart beating frantically in her chest? Could he know the effect that he still had on her, six years on? She hadn’t expected this. She’d expected to get in here and persuade him to look after her baby if she delivered early. Instead, she found herself being pulled into his deep blue eyes. Deeper and deeper.
‘Amy, I’m happy to see you. Doubtless, I would have been happier if it was six years ago, but you didn’t need to lie to get in here.’
She sat back against the pillows. ‘Wow. You don’t beat about the bush.’
‘Neither do you apparently.’ His eyes were resting on her abdomen but his voice had reverted back to teasing.
She took a deep breath. It didn’t matter that something was currently doing flip-flops in her stomach. She needed to focus. To let him know how important he was to her right now. ‘I did need to tell lies to get in here, Linc. It was really important that I see you and the cop had already told me to go away.’
‘So you decided to faint?’ He raised his eyebrow at her.
She gave a little laugh. ‘Nah, the heat decided that for me.’ Her eyes fixed on his and she hesitated a little. ‘I did try to text you—but you weren’t answering—and then I saw you on the television this morning and realised where you’d been.’
He pulled the chair back over and sat next to her again. ‘Yeah, I’ve been kind of busy. And I should warn you—I haven’t slept in two days.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, no! You’re like a bear with sore head when you don’t sleep. I pity the poor nursing staff working with you.’
A lazy smile crept across his face. ‘You’re the second person to say that to me today.’
She felt something wrench at her. It was so easy to fall back into their way of teasing each other. It was so easy to forget the most obvious reason she was here. Six years felt like nothing. It was almost as if the last time they’d spoken had been yesterday. She knew him so well. But who else knew the same things about him that she did?
She bit her lip. There was every chance that Lincoln was happily married. But she wasn’t here looking for romance. She wasn’t here because he was the best lover she’d ever had. This was even more personal than that. He had no idea how much life had changed for her in the last six years. She was only half the woman he used to know… She gave herself a shake. She was here to find someone she trusted to look after her baby. The most precious thing in the world to her.
He shook his head. ‘Enough about me. Let’s get back to the matter at hand.’ His voice dipped. ‘Why are you here, Amy? What do you want from me?’
The professional head was gone again. This time, the hundred questions that were spinning around his head in frustration came bubbling to the surface. He hadn’t seen her in six years. She’d appeared out of the blue, pregnant and asking for him. What on earth was going on?
She touched her abdomen. ‘I have signs of pre-eclampsia and this baby means more to me than anything in this world. If my baby is born prematurely I want him to have the best chance in the world.’ She hesitated for a second, before looking into his eyes. ‘And I knew the best chance for my baby would be you.’
Lincoln shook his head and his brow furrowed. He waved his arm. ‘You must know a dozen doctors who could take care of your baby. Why me, Amy?’
Her answer was immediate and straight to the point and he could see tears glistening in her eyes. ‘I might know a dozen doctors, Linc, but none of them are like you. You’re the best. The best neonatologist I’ve ever known. You did things on that boat that TV movies are made out of—with virtually no equipment and only the most unskilled staff.’ She gestured towards herself.
He shook his head. ‘You’re not unskilled, Amy. You’re a damn fine nurse and you know it.’
‘I’m a damn fine theatre nurse, Linc. I had no experience at all with neonates. I went there as a specialist nurse in eye theatre, and that was fine for all the cataract, squint and glaucoma surgeries. I even managed to struggle through with cleft-palate surgeries and emergency appendectomies. But I’d never really worked as a general, medical or paediatric nurse before—I’d never looked after pregnant women before. I was seriously out of my depth and you helped me—you know you did.’
Lincoln leaned over and took her hand again. ‘But we were a team, Amy, we helped each other. Everyone was selected because of their individual skills and level of expertise. But at the end of the day we treated what came through the door.’
She shook her head. ‘No one was as dedicated to those babies as you were, Linc. You were the one who would stay up half the night, watching over them.’ His brow furrowed. ‘Why was that, Linc? I asked before, but you wouldn’t tell me.’
He shrugged his shoulders and she could see him searching for the words. His eyes looked darker than normal, heavier from fatigue. He sat down next to her. ‘My sister had a premature baby around twenty years ago. There weren’t any facilities near where we stayed and her daughter—my niece—died.’
Amy took a sharp breath and rested her hand on his shoulder.
He gave a rueful smile. ‘My sister was ten years older than me at the time. I watched my little niece struggle for breath, turn blue and die. Our family didn’t really talk about it after that. It was too painful. I hadn’t really been interested in school before then. I was just coasting along. But everything changed after that. I knew if I wanted to be a doctor to help babies like my niece, I had to knuckle down and get the grades—so I did. Medicine for neonates has come a long way in the last twenty years. If my niece had been born now, she would have survived.’
‘You never said anything. Why didn’t you tell me this on the boat?’
Lincoln met her with a pointed stare. ‘Some things are easier not to talk about—don’t you think?’
The heavy air hung between them. Amy held her breath, waiting to see if he would say anything else.
‘Dr Adams?’
A nurse appeared at the curtains, with David standing behind her. ‘They need you in NICU.’
NICU. The neonatal intensive care unit. A place that normally didn’t exist in Pelican Cove—there had never been a need for it. A place that currently held the First Daughter. In the last two days more personnel and supplies had been transferred down from San Francisco Children’s Hospital than he’d thought possible. Didn’t there have to be more than one baby for it to be termed an NICU? He pushed the thoughts from his mind.
‘What can I do for you folks?’ David strode through the curtains with his normal joie de vivre. Lincoln’s eyes met his and he lifted the battered envelope from the bottom of the gurney and handed it to him. ‘I need you to see a friend of mine, please, David.’
David’s face changed, his eyes taking in the patient on the bed. The pregnant patient on the bed. He pulled the notes from the envelope, glancing to see which hospital they had come from, then gave Lincoln an inquisitive stare.
‘My patient now, Dr Adams.’ David’s manner was brisk and to the point. ‘I’ll let you know if I need you.’ His tone was almost dismissive. Whilst at times he gave the impression of being a bumbling fool, as a clinician he was second to none. And Lincoln knew it—it was why he’d asked for David’s help. Amy couldn’t be in safer hands. But there was no mistaking who w
ould be in charge here.
Linc took a deep breath and stepped away from the gurney. ‘I’ll be back,’ he muttered, his eyes not meeting hers, and he stepped through the curtains.
David’s hand caught his shoulder. ‘Dr Adams?’
The professional title. He must be annoyed. ‘Yes?’
‘Just remember your first and only priority is the First Daughter. Don’t let other things get in the way. Don’t get distracted.’
‘You think I am?’ The words came out automatically, snappier than he expected.
David’s voice was quiet. The voice of years of learning and experience, both academically and human. ‘I think you could be. Let me handle this.’ He turned and ducked behind the curtains, pulling them tightly shut behind him.
Linc walked the few hundred yards along the corridor. Pelican Cove was a small community hospital, not a sprawling metropolis with new technology sprouting from every corner. That was why, when the First Lady had gone into labour here, he’d had to transfer staff and equipment from San Francisco Children’s Hospital to ensure the safe delivery of the thirty-two-weeker.
As usual, the black-suited security detail was at the door—it was getting to the point they just blended into the background. He pushed open the door to the newly kitted-out NICU. The heat encompassed him immediately, the temperature warmer in here to compensate for the early arrival’s rapid heat loss.
He walked over to the incubator. Two of his best nurses were on duty.
‘What’s up?’
For a premature baby, the First Daughter had an air of determination about her, obviously a chip off the old block. She’d come out screaming, breathing on her own and continued to do so.
He glanced at the nearby monitor. Her O2 levels were good and there was no nasal flaring.
‘She’s not feeding well. In fact, we can’t get her to latch on at all.’
Lincoln frowned. A common complaint in premature babies who hadn’t yet learned how to suck. ‘What about kangaroo care?’
Ruth, the nurse, nodded and stared down at her charge, ‘The only reason Esther is back in here is because Jennifer Taylor is currently sleeping. She’s exhausted. Up until now it’s been skin-to-skin contact the whole time. Six hours since delivery and we’ve not managed to get her to feed yet.’ She leaned over the incubator. ‘And little missy is getting cranky.’
Lincoln scrubbed his hands at the nearby sink. He’d already examined Esther just after delivery, but there was no harm in rechecking. He pulled on some sterile gloves and slid his hands into the incubator. He ran his hand around and inside her mouth, ensuring her palate was correctly formed. Checked her skin tone, colour and fontanel for clinical signs of dehydration. Sounded her chest to check her heart and lungs and gently probing her small abdomen. Once he was finished he stripped off his gloves, washed and dried his hands again and checked her charts.
‘Okay, there are no immediate problems, except her blood glucose has dropped slightly since delivery. Once Jennifer Taylor wakes up, can you give me a shout and I’ll go and have a chat with her? I’m really reluctant to start any kind of supplementary or tube-feeding. At thirty-two weeks I think she’s more than capable of breastfeeding and I don’t want to do anything that will jeopardise that. We might have to suggest that Jennifer expresses some milk in the meantime to try and get some fluid into her.’
Ruth gave a nod. ‘I’m sure she’ll be awake shortly. I’ll give you a shout.’
Lincoln entered some notes in the electronic record and went back outside, glancing at his watch. Half an hour. Would David Fairgreaves be finished with Amy yet?
He walked over to the nurses’ station, glancing around him before picking up Amy’s notes. They were thicker than he would have expected for a healthy woman her age and he started to flick through them to read over her obstetric care. If he was going to look after her baby he needed to know what he was dealing with. IVF pregnancy. The words caught his attention instantly.
Why had Amy needed IVF? His fingers went backwards through the notes—away from the area of his expertise—and froze at the long clinical letter near the end. His eyes scanned it quickly, his breath catching in his throat. The diagnosis was in bold type at the head of the letter. Breast cancer. Amy had breast cancer.
No. She was too young. She didn’t smoke, rarely drank alcohol, and lived a relatively healthy lifestyle. How on earth could she be a candidate for breast cancer? It seemed unreal. Even though the words and clinical evidence were there in front of him. He couldn’t believe it. It was almost as if he were reading about someone else.
His eyes raked the letter for a date. And his brain did rapid calculations. He felt himself sag into a nearby chair.
Six years ago. Her diagnosis had been made six years ago when she’d left the Amazon boat. Had she known she was sick? Why on earth hadn’t she told him?
His hands skipped over her treatment plans, test results—some good, some bad. He turned to the inside cover of the notes, searching for her next of kin.
Nothing. No one listed. He’d known that her mother and father had died a few years before she’d joined the boat. She’d gone through all this herself?
Something twisted in his gut. Surprise. Anger. Hurt.
She hadn’t told him—and he was hurt. Six months he’d spent with her. They might not have confessed undying love to each other, but surely she’d known he would have supported her? Wasn’t that what friends did?
After all, that was why she was here now. She needed help—or her baby did. She obviously felt she could ask him for help now, so why not then?
He could feel the tension in his neck and jaw. Irrational anger built inside him. His fingers brushed the notes again. He had to push this stuff aside. He had to deal with her in a professional capacity.
He edged back along the corridor, approaching the curtains quietly. Two seconds later he heard a peal of laughter.
Not girly. Not tinkling. Deep, hearty, genuine laughter. David had obviously turned on his natural charm again. The man could have people eating out of his hand within two minutes of meeting them. Something about the ease and instant familiarity between the two of them bothered him. Made him want to march into the cubicle and stand between them. How crazy was that?
Linc cleared his throat loudly and edged his way between the curtains. ‘How’s things?’
David turned to face him, his head flicking back towards her. ‘Amy? Are you happy for Dr Adams to know about your condition?’
Amy blinked. They obviously hadn’t had that part of the conversation yet. ‘Actually, Dr Fairgreaves, Lincoln’s the reason I’m here. If this baby is coming early, I’m hoping that Lincoln will look after him for me.’
Lincoln cast his eyes over the monitor again, noting her rising blood pressure. ‘And is it, David? Is this baby coming early?’ Did he really want to have two premature babies in a community hospital not designed for the task?
David’s face remained static, expressionless to the underlying current of tension between the two of them. He nodded briefly and handed the notes to Lincoln.
‘Ms Adams in twenty-eight weeks pregnant. For the last few days Amy has shown some mild signs of pre-eclampsia. A slight rise in blood pressure, a trace of protein in her urine and some oedema. However, on today’s examination things appear to have progressed.’
He pressed a finger lightly into the swollen skin around Amy’s ankle, leaving a little dimple in the pale flesh that remained there once he removed the pressure.
‘Pitting oedema is now evident, her BP, both systolic and diastolic, has gone up by another 10mmg and the amount of protein in her urine has increased.’ He gave Amy a wry smile. ‘I’m giving Ms Adams the benefit of the doubt that she didn’t have the easiest job getting here today and that could account for the rise in blood pressur
e. She also assures me that, as of yesterday, she is now officially on maternity leave from her full-time job.’ His eyes went carefully from one to the other.
‘For the next twenty-four hours I’ve agreed with Ms Adams that she requires some careful monitoring. We’re going to monitor her blood pressure, her fluid intake and output and do a twenty-four-hour urine collection. So…’ he looked directly at Lincoln ‘…your services aren’t required in the immediate future but…’ he gave a little nod to Amy ‘…I’m not ruling it out.’
David took a measured breath, his cool grey eyes resting on Lincoln. ‘I’m sure you realise the importance of ensuring Ms Adams has a calm environment. I trust there will be no problems?’
Linc shifted uncomfortably. So David definitely had heard the earlier exchange. And even though his words were phrased as a question, this was a direct instruction.
Linc fixed a smile on his face. ‘Absolutely, Dr Fairgreaves. Thanks very much for agreeing to monitor Amy.’
His point made, David’s face relaxed and he gave a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. ‘Hey, what else am I doing?’ Then he slid out between the curtains.
The silence screamed in Lincoln’s ears. She was watching him again, waiting to see what he would say. His hand automatically ran through his dishevelled hair—what he wouldn’t give for a shower and a comfortable bed right now. What he really needed was twelve hours’ solid sleep, with some serious blackout blinds. But the way his brain was currently spinning, there was no chance of that.
West Wing to Maternity Wing! Page 3