West Wing to Maternity Wing!

by Scarlet Wilson

  He pulled the chair over again and sagged down into it. ‘Okay, Amy. Let’s get to it. What’s going on here? Where do you normally stay? And what did David mean about maternity leave? Where do you normally work?’

  She crossed her hands in her lap. ‘Wow, an interrogation. Or is it an interview? Is this how you talk to all your potential patients, Dr Adams? Do I have to pass muster before you’ll take my son on as your patient?’

  He shook his head. Sleep deprivation was making him ratty. It didn’t matter what he’d read in her notes. He wasn’t going to make this easy for her. She was going to have to tell him herself. ‘This is how I talk to the girl who walked away six years ago without a backward glance, and then turns up when she sees me on television.’

  Amy felt her bottom lip tremble. This wasn’t going well. She could see he was tired. She knew he would be under extra stress looking after the First Daughter, but perfect timing was the one thing she didn’t have here. And she needed the assurance of Lincoln’s help now.

  ‘That’s not fair and you know it.’

  He shook his head in frustration. His voice was quiet but even. ‘I know.’

  She switched into professional mode. ‘Okay, Dr Adams. I normally live in Santa Maria in Butte County—around four hours from here. I work in one of the free clinics there. And my maternity leave started…’ she glanced at her watch ‘…officially around twelve hours ago.’

  Her notes were still in his hands. But he wasn’t looking at them. It looked as though he hadn’t read them. It would be so much easier if he did, then at least he might understand why she’d left.

  ‘Why me, Amy, and why now?’

  A loud burr came from the monitor beside her and the electronic blood-pressure cuff started to inflate again. Amy winced as the cuff over-inflated on her arm. Linc watched with alarm as the reading on the monitor climbed higher and higher. One-eighty…one-ninety…two hundred. Please don’t let her blood pressure be that high.

  Amy’s voice cut through his thoughts. ‘There are a lot of kids currently alive in the Amazon because of you, Linc, and you know it. Kids who would have died if you hadn’t been on that boat.’

  She saw him bite his bottom lip. Linc was a team player, not a glory hunter. She knew how uncomfortable he’d been in that press interview. He must have said the words ‘I have a fantastic team’ at least five times. She knew he wouldn’t be interested in the chat-show interviews or celebrity magazine spreads that would materialise in the near future.

  A black-suited figure crossed the gap in the curtains. She waved her arm. ‘Look at all this, Linc. When the First Lady went into premature labour, who did they call? You. They must have been able to get almost any doctor in the world, but they chose you to look after the First Daughter. The first presidential baby in nearly fifty years. What does that tell you?’

  ‘It tells me I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, Amy, nothing else.’ He shook his head, ‘You make it sound grander that it actually was. Abby Tyler was the admitting physician here in Pelican Cove. She works with me at San Francisco Children’s Hospital. They asked her for a neonatologist and she recommended me.’

  Amy waved her arms, ‘And you’re telling me that the whole secret-service brigade out there didn’t check your credentials? To make sure that only the absolute best of the best was looking after the President’s baby? I seriously doubt that. Hell, the other doctor is an award-winner.’

  He smiled at her. ‘You’ll find it hard to believe, but that was sheer coincidence. David Fairgreaves has a boat moored in Pelican Cove, the man is an old sea dog. Whenever he’s here, Abby has an arrangement to call him for any obstetric emergencies. He apparently likes to keep his hand in.’

  Amy folded her hands across her chest. ‘Oh, come on. You’re telling me the secret service didn’t check on him too? Especially that old stony-faced one. Does he ever smile?’

  Linc laughed at her description of James Turner, the head of the presidential security detail, the original man-in-black. ‘I think I’ve only seen him smile once in the last three days—and that’s when he told Luke Storm, one of the other docs, that he couldn’t leave. Somehow I think his job must drain all sense of humour from his body. He spends his life looking over his shoulder for potential threats to the Presidential family.’

  The blood-pressure cuff stopped abruptly. The hiss of air seeping out from it. Linc glanced at the screen again—150/96. A bit higher than before, but not yet dangerous. Still worth keeping an eye on. His eyes fell to his watch. There were a million things he wanted to say right now. A million things he wanted to know. Six years to catch up on. But David had been right. He had other duties—other priorities—that he couldn’t get distracted from.

  ‘I’m sorry, Amy, but I seriously need some shut-eye and I’ve a neonate to deal with who doesn’t want to feed.’

  Her eyes fell to the notes, still clutched in his hands. She couldn’t hide the slight tremor in her voice. ‘Will you read my notes and tell me if you’ll agree to be my baby’s doctor?’ Her hands were back at her stomach, protectively rubbing her extended abdomen.

  The notes. She knew exactly what he would read in there. But for some reason he didn’t want to give her an easy way out. Why couldn’t she just find the words to tell him? She had no idea he’d already read them. And he was beginning to feel too tired to care.

  ‘In the interests of professionalism I’ll read your notes, not now—later—but I want to hear everything—straight from the horse’s mouth, so to speak. There’s nothing in these notes that you won’t be able to tell me yourself. I’ll come back later. We’ll talk then—and I’ll decide if I can be your baby’s doctor or not. I can’t do it if there’s going to be a conflict of interest for me, and…’ his eyes rolled towards the outside corridor as he gave her a crooked little grin ‘…your timing could have been better.’

  Amy watched as he exited through the curtains, her throat tight.

  She needed him. She needed him to be there for her baby—and for her. He was the best in the world. No one else would do. She couldn’t lose this baby.

  It had all seemed so simple in her head. As soon as she’d known she was at risk of pre-eclampsia, she’d known she had to find Linc. She’d seen him bring neonates that should have died back to life. And that was normal for him.

  The long line of mothers who’d queued up on the banks of the Amazon to show them their healthy, growing children—children he had saved in previous years—was testament to that.

  There had been no doubt in her mind. This was all about her baby. All about the little boy currently growing in her stomach.

  So why was she feeling like a teenager with a schoolgirl crush? She hadn’t thought about Lincoln for the last five years.

  No. That wasn’t strictly true. He’d crept into her dreams on a few occasions—all of them X-rated. But dreams you couldn’t control. Truth be told, she hadn’t let herself think about playboy Linc for the last five years. Too much potential for heartache. She’d had to concentrate all her energy on beating the cancer.

  And now she was only here because she needed him for her son. Really.

  When she’d had her detailed scan she almost hadn’t asked what sex her baby was. But at the last moment she’d changed her mind. She’d wanted to prepare for her son or daughter. She’d wanted to pick his pram, his bedclothes and the paper for his nursery wall. She’d even picked his name. Zachary. Zachary John Carson.

  She whispered the name as her hands ran over her stomach. ‘Stay inside just a little longer, Zachary. I need you to be as healthy as can be when you come out. Momma needs to know that you’re going to do just fine.’ A tear slid down her cheek and the anger started to rise in her chest.

  Why should the First Lady’s baby be any more important than hers? And why did she, after everything she’d been t
hrough, have to develop a condition that could threaten her baby?

  But this was it. Cancer had crept through her body tissues and the chemotherapy had ravaged them. She’d lost her ability to have a baby naturally and this embryo was her last chance. Her only chance.

  So how come she couldn’t just focus on her baby?

  From the first second she’d opened her eyes and seen Lincoln again, her heart had gone into overdrive. There were so many things about him she’d forgotten. His intense gaze. His lazy smile. His flirting. The way he could comfort her with the touch of his hand and the stroke of his finger.

  And the camouflage he kept around himself.

  She’d seen how he jumped from being really comfortable around her one minute, like it had only been a few days since they’d seen each other, since they’d slept together and been wrapped in each other’s arms, to shifting into the professional role, the possibility of being her baby’s doctor and all the lines that blurred in between.

  But she wasn’t asking him to be her doctor, so surely that simplified things?

  So why did her heart keep beating rapidly in her chest every time he was next to her? Why did her hairs stand on end when he touched her and make her feel as if an electrical charge had run up her arm?

  Amy squeezed her eyes shut tightly. She couldn’t allow herself to feel like this. Lincoln wasn’t interested in her. She was a six years past girlfriend who’d had a mastectomy and was carrying a child that wasn’t his. Why would he even give her a second glance?

  He was only being kind. He was only being a friend. He couldn’t possibly want anything else from her, could he?

  This was Lincoln Adams. And yesterday this gorgeous blue-eyed, brown-haired doc had been announced on television as looking after the First Daughter. He was world news. Women would be throwing themselves at his feet.

  She had to concentrate on the most important thing right now—a safe delivery and outcome for her baby. She’d come here to find Lincoln Adams because he was the best doctor to care for her baby. Nothing else. No matter how he currently made her feel.

  CHAPTER THREE

  ‘LINC? Linc?’

  The voice was quiet, softly spoken, but the hand pressing down on his shoulder was firm, stirring him from the first hour’s sleep he’d had in two days.

  ‘What…what is it?’ His hands automatically went to his sleep-filled eyes and he rubbed hard. He looked around him. He’d sat down for just a minute in the NICU, waiting for the First Lady to awaken and try to feed her baby again, but the heat from the unit had enveloped him and before he’d known it…

  Val, one of his nurses, was standing next to him smiling. ‘Wake up, sleeping beauty, you’re needed.’

  ‘Is Jennifer Taylor awake?’

  Val nodded. ‘She’s been awake for the last half-hour. Both Ruth and I have tried to assist her with breastfeeding, but the truth is we just can’t get this baby to latch on.’ She glanced down at her watch. ‘And if we’re going to follow the protocols we normally use at San Fran then we’re at our time limit for getting some fluids into this baby. You’re going to have to come and talk to her.’

  Linc gave a nod, stood up and tried to flatten his rumpled scrubs. He walked over to the nearby sink and splashed some cold water on his face and hands.

  Neonates could be hard work. Esther, who had been born at thirty-two weeks, hadn’t yet developed her natural mechanism to suck and feed. It was a common complaint in premature babies and one he was used to dealing with. The last thing in the world he wanted to do was to put a tube into the baby’s stomach and feed it artificially. The First Lady wanted to breastfeed and he would make sure that he and his staff did everything they could to make that happen.

  He pulled some paper towels from the nearby dispenser and dried his face.

  ‘Have you had any success expressing some breast milk?’

  Val nodded. ‘Ruth’s in there with her now—we knew that would be the next step.’

  Lincoln took a deep breath and pushed open the door into the adjoining room. Charles Taylor, the President of the United States, was perched on the edge of the bed one arm wrapped around his wife’s shoulders, the other cradling daughter Esther. By neonatal standards Esther was a healthy weight at just under five pounds. Would Amy’s baby be so lucky? Where had that come from? Lincoln felt a little shudder drift down his spine. He had a job to do. He couldn’t allow himself to be distracted.

  Jennifer’s brow was furrowed, her eyes fixed on the pump that the nurse Ruth was using to help her express some milk from her breasts. She looked exasperated as the smallest trickle of creamy breast milk started to collect in the receptacle.

  ‘What‘s wrong with me?’ she gasped. ‘Is that it? No wonder my baby can’t feed.’

  Lincoln crossed the room in a few steps and sat down at the bottom of the bed. This was no time for pomp and ceremony. The last thing he wanted was for Jennifer to think she was failing at feeding her child.

  ‘Give it a few minutes, Jennifer. Ruth is an expert at this and it takes a bit of time for your milk to come in. Remember, Esther is a tiny baby and she won’t need a huge amount to start with.’ He pointed at the small amount already collected. ‘That is called colostrum. And it’s like gold dust for babies. It contains antibodies and is rich in protein and carbohydrates— exactly what your baby needs.’

  The tears were already starting to form in Jennifer’s eyes. ‘But she won’t feed. I can’t get her to take anything.’

  Lincoln nodded. ‘And that’s entirely normal for a thirty-two-weeker. Her natural instincts to suck and feed haven’t kicked in yet. Sometimes it can take a few weeks. In the meantime, we have to look at how to get some fluids into her. The last thing we want is for your baby to dehydrate.’

  Jennifer sagged back against the pillows behind her. The effect of the relaxation had an immediate impact on the flow from her breasts. ‘Look, there’s some more. Once we have a few more mils we’ll start to look at an alternative method for getting some breast milk into Esther. Any extra milk we can refrigerate or freeze.’

  ‘But I want to breastfeed. I told everyone I want to breastfeed.’

  Lincoln could see the stress on Jennifer’s face. He reached out and automatically touched her hand. ‘And you will. In the meantime, in order to keep your daughter from screaming the house down, we’ll give her your breast milk another way.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘There’s two possibilities and it all depends on the baby. We can try cup feeding or finger feeding. What we definitely won’t do is put your breast milk into a bottle.’

  ‘I’ve never heard of these. How on earth can a baby drink from a cup?’ She turned to face her husband. ‘Have you ever heard of these?’

  Charles lifted his eyes from his daughter, still caught in the rosy glow of new parenthood, smitten with his daughter’s face. ‘Nope, you’ve got me. Never heard of them.’

  Lincoln smiled. ‘The word cup might not be strictly true. We don’t use a regular cup—we use a medicine cup and, to be honest, this type of feeding isn’t anything new, it’s been around for a long time. We place the edge of the cup at the baby’s mouth and bring the liquid up to baby’s lower lip, so she can lap it up—a bit like a pussycat. It can get a little messy.’ He smiled at Charlie, who still had his suit on. ‘We can you give something to change into.’ He nodded at Val, who had just detached the breast pump. ‘One of us will take some time and teach you how to do it. It can take a little bit of practice to get it right. It does mean, though, that you can both help with Esther’s feeding.’

  Charlie gave a broad smile. There was no mistaking the joy in his eyes as he looked at his daughter. ‘Whatever she needs,’ he murmured.

  Lincoln watched Jennifer’s face. She looked a little easier. ‘This is only a temporary measur
e to help get some fluids into Esther. We’ll still try putting Esther to the breast and encouraging her to latch on.’

  ‘Wouldn’t it just be easier to put a tube down?’

  ‘In theory it might be. But if we feed Esther by tube and she has the sensation of feeling full, she won’t have any motivation to suck. That’s what we really need to work on. Feeding by tube would be the last resort and I don’t think we’ll need to do that.’

  Jennifer nodded slowly. ‘So how do you know if she’s getting enough?’

  ‘We’ll monitor her diapers and check the tone and elasticity of her skin.’ His eyes caught sight of Val, transferring some of the breast milk into one of the medicine cups. He stretched his hands out towards Charlie. ‘Do you mind if I take her for a minute? We want to be sure and have her wrapped up securely before we start—little hands can make a terrible mess when we’re cup feeding.’ He smiled at the President’s suit. ‘Wanna play doctor for the day and change into a set of scrubs?’

  Charlie nodded. ‘Come with me,’ Ruth, the other nurse, said as she headed towards the door. ‘I’m sure we can find something for you.’

  Lincoln tried hard to focus on the task at hand. Getting the First Daughter to feed should be his first and only priority. So why were his thoughts filled with pale skin and red, curly hair?

  * * *

  The buzz from the monitor and the tightening cuff on her arm woke Amy from her daze. Damn cuff. How was anyone supposed to sleep with this stupid thing going off every thirty minutes? No wonder her blood pressure was rising—she couldn’t get any peace and quiet.

  A smile crossed her face. Things were different from a patient perspective. She’d never really given much thought before to the electronic monitoring devices that she used as a nurse. Cardiac monitors that beeped incessantly, IV fluid pumps that alarmed when they needed changing and syringe drivers that required hourly monitoring. It was no wonder patients complained.

  She turned her head and glanced at the screen beside her. Damn! Her blood pressure hadn’t gone down at all. The curtains surrounding her had been pulled tightly and lights around her had been dimmed. What time was it? Was it night-time? It must be—she’d just been about to slip into another X-rated, Lincoln-filled dream. Definitely not suitable for a hospital stay.