The Midwife's Miracle Baby

by Amy Andrews

  ‘Knocked back every available doctor in the hospital. A couple of not so available ones, too.’ Martin laughed. ‘She was involved with a guy years ago but I know for a fact that she lives with a woman now—Mary. I think that’s her name anyway. Shame really. Beautiful girl. Damn good midwife, too. Just doesn’t know her place.’

  ‘Well, now, that won’t do, will it?’ Campbell’s voice was caustic.

  ‘I say, old chap,’ blustered Martin, the mirth slipping from his face. ‘Just a bit of harmless fun.’

  ‘Excuse me, gentlemen,’ Campbell said politely. He pushed back his chair and grasped it firmly in case the growing urge to wipe the superior looks off their faces suddenly overwhelmed him. ‘I have other business.’

  * * *

  Claire steamed into the deserted staff dining room and made herself a cup of coffee. It was too early for afternoon tea so she had the large room to herself. Good. At least she’d be able to hear as she silently berated herself. In half an hour the noise level in the room wouldn’t allow for mental self-flagellation.

  She flicked impatiently through her notes as she sipped the hot drink. Neat, concise, calm, reasoned. Absolutely nothing like her performance in the boardroom. She shut the folder in disgust. Try insulting and inciting. She’d blown it! Her agenda had been to flatter a few egos and gently persuade. Instead, she’d gone in with a caustic tongue and a sledgehammer.

  Where they would go from here, she really had no idea. It would have to go back to the board and they would have to apply pressure. Claire had no doubt that eventually the obstetricians would have to back down. The board could be an immovable force when it wanted something badly enough. Fortunately, it believed in the birth centre.

  But it all meant more time. As if the process hadn’t been slow enough already. This latest development delayed things further. Damn them, Claire thought as she stared into the murky depths of her coffee. Her eyes were a matching colour as she worried her bottom lip.

  Unbidden, Campbell Deane’s face entered her mind—again. His red-blonde hair, his green eyes, the intensity of his stare. The way he said her name.

  ‘Claire.’

  His voice startled her, causing the remainder of her coffee to swish perilously close to spilling into her lap.

  ‘May I sit down?’ He gestured to the seat opposite.

  Still smarting from what had happened in the boardroom and irked by the way her hands were trembling, Claire wasn’t feeling very charitable.

  ‘Something wrong with all the other tables in this joint?’

  Despite her deliberate rudeness, he threw back his head and laughed, and Claire was reminded how he had laughed at her golf faux pas. She felt her scalp tingle.

  ‘You’re not sitting at them.’ His laughter sobered to serious contemplation.

  Claire felt her breath stop in her throat as their eyes locked and held. Cinnamon brown drowning in sea green. She pulled her gaze away with difficulty.

  ‘It’s a free country.’ Claire shrugged her slim shoulders. She had to be nonchalant, cool. She couldn’t let him see that somehow he’d created a chink in her defences. He mustn’t find out.

  ‘I’ll do it,’ he stated, pulling out the chair and sitting down.

  ‘What?’ She eyed him dubiously.

  ‘I’ll be the admitting obstetrician.’

  Claire’s first reaction was to reach over and kiss him. But her ever-present sensible side cautioned her against wild impulses.

  ‘Why?’ she asked, trying to keep her bewilderment at this sudden turn of events in check.

  ‘Because the birth centre philosophy is everything I believe in. I’d love to be part of it.’

  ‘Didn’t sound that way in the boardroom.’

  ‘I was playing Devil’s advocate.’ He shrugged. ‘I wanted to test your conviction. See how passionate you were about your cause. Very, as it turns out.’

  Claire blushed. She’d certainly left nobody in that boardroom in any doubt about how passionate she was about the centre. She regarded him seriously. Dared she hope? Could Campbell Deane be trusted?

  ‘You won’t be popular,’ she stated.

  ‘I’ve never really cared for what other people think.’

  He shot her such a dazzling smile Claire wanted to reach for her sunglasses. He was flirting, she realised with dismay. Claire had been flirted with enough to recognise the signs. Oh, dear. This wouldn’t do at all.

  ‘You’re not doing this to … be popular with me?’ she asked.

  ‘Would it work?’ His green eyes sparkled with humour.

  ‘Definitely not. I don’t date.’

  ‘Oh? And why is that?’

  ‘Didn’t they tell you about me? About my sexual preference?’ Claire watched as Campbell valiantly tried to swallow his mouthful of coffee instead of spluttering it all over her crisp white uniform. ‘I’m not stupid, Campbell. I know what people say about me.’

  ‘I guess I didn’t expect you to be so open about it,’ he mused, facial contortions now under control. ‘So, is it true?’

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I hope not.’

  Claire held her breath. A surge of energy had charged between them again. The surroundings faded away as her gaze locked with his. ‘And if I am?’ Claire couldn’t stop the question tumbling from her lips. She blushed as his gaze zeroed in on her mouth.

  ‘It would break my heart.’ His voice was little more than a whisper.

  She registered his preposterous statement but still didn’t seem to be able to drag her eyes away from his hungry gaze on her mouth.

  A burst of raucous laughter heralded the first people arriving for their afternoon tea. Claire quickly pulled herself back, the spell broken. How had she got so near? He seemed to exert some kind of magnetic pull she couldn’t resist.

  ‘This is an entirely unprofessional, inappropriate conversation,’ she stated briskly, gathering her crockery together and rising to leave.

  ‘Absolutely. I agree,’ he said, also rising and falling into step beside her. ‘Perhaps we could have a more appropriate conversation another time. Over dinner maybe?’

  ‘I don’t do dinner,’ she said primly.

  ‘Lunch?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I suppose breakfast is out then?’ he suggested cheekily, and her step faltered at his implication. She stopped before she tripped.

  ‘You’re wasting an awful lot of time on someone whose not supposed to be interested in men.’

  ‘I think you are.’

  ‘Really? And how do you know that?’

  ‘The way you looked at me before … we definitely shared a moment back there. No one interested in women would look at a man like you just looked at me.’

  ‘Oh, really? An expert on sexual behaviour, are you?’

  ‘Nah. My sister’s a lesbian. Trust me—she’s never looked at a man in that way. Ever. Not even as a baby.’

  ‘OK, so I’m heterosexual. Don’t tell anyone. I’d hate to ruin my reputation,’ she quipped, and walked away.

  ‘So, who’s Mary?’ he called after her, catching up easily.

  ‘Mary?’

  ‘The woman you’re allegedly living with.’

  It was Claire’s turn to laugh now. The absurdity of it all gave her a fit of the giggles.

  ‘You don’t live with a woman called Mary?’

  ‘No, that piece of information is one hundred per cent correct. Mary West. My mother.’

  ‘Ah.’ Campbell laughed, seeing the funny side. ‘In that case …’

  ‘Look,’ she said, stopping again. ‘Thank you for your support with the birth centre. I appreciate it more than you can ever know. But … if it’s going to come with strings, then you should know, I won’t play that game.’

  ‘No strings, Claire. I promise.’ He laid his hand on his heart.

  She rolled her eyes and continued on her way, walking quickly. To her dismay he continued to keep pace with his long-legged stride.

  ‘Can�
��t a guy just ask a girl out?’ he cajoled.

  ‘Like on a date?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I told you already—I don’t date.’

  ‘What, never?’

  ‘Now you’re catching on.’

  ‘I’m going to keep asking until you say yes.’

  ‘Why?’ She stopped abruptly. Exasperation strained her voice.

  ‘Because from the moment I saw you today, I knew you were the only woman for me.’

  For a moment she wondered if he’d pulled out a stun gun and shot her with it. She couldn’t remember ever being lost for words. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. You … you’ve only just met me,’ she spluttered.

  ‘Don’t you believe in instant attraction? Love at first sight?’ he asked. The smile that warmed his face seemed to detract from his crazy statement.

  ‘No,’ she croaked emphatically, her feet finally responding to the frantic messages from her brain. Get out of here now. Run like the wind. Campbell Deane was certifiable.

  Claire shook her head to clear it as she walked away. Her coal-black bob swayed like a piece of satin around her head as it swished from side to side. If she hadn’t heard it with her own two ears, she wouldn’t have believed it. Campbell Deane had to be insane. She should have enquired if he’d been taking his medication lately. It was patently obvious that he’d missed a few days.

  Worst of all, she was going to have to decline his offer to join the birth centre team. It would do nothing for their fledgling reputation if their admitting obstetrician was as nutty as a fruitcake.

  She pushed the button for the lift as Campbell caught up with her.

  ‘I’m scaring you away.’

  ‘You’re crazy,’ she hissed.

  ‘Only for you.’

  ‘Campbell.’ She turned to him, exasperation changing her eyes to a turbid brown. ‘This is the most ridiculous conversation I’ve ever had, but let me set you straight anyway. Whatever fanciful notions you’re entertaining, I suggest you forget them immediately. My interest in you is purely professional. I’m grateful to you for coming to the rescue of the birth centre. But even if I were the dating kind, I certainly wouldn’t go out with a man who talks like he’s just escaped from the loony bin. I also wouldn’t date someone who seems to have a bigger reputation than Casanova.’

  ‘Ah.’ He smiled, unperturbed. ‘You don’t strike me as someone who listens to gossip.’

  ‘The whispers about you were pretty loud.’

  ‘Look, sure, I’ve had my share of relationships.’ He shrugged nonchalantly. ‘All mutually satisfying and all mutually ended. But I always knew that when I found the one, my Casanova days would be over.’

  The one? Yeah right. That sounded familiar. She’d been here before. ‘Well, that’s great. I hope you find her. But I’ll tell you something for nothing—I am not the one. I am not interested. Don’t waste your time on me.’

  ‘So you don’t feel anything for me, then?’ he asked with a completely fake crestfallen look.

  ‘Gratitude.’

  ‘Gratitude?’

  ‘Respect. I respect that you took a chance instead of following the crowd.’

  ‘That won’t keep me warm at night, Claire,’ he teased.

  ‘Buy an electric blanket,’ she quipped, and leapt into the lift, grateful for its timely arrival.

  Claire almost screamed when he followed her in. Her heart pounded painfully in her breast. Despite her protestations, she was desperately trying to quash an excited flutter taking hold of her body. His persistence was flattering on a level Claire didn’t want to acknowledge. It had been a long time since a man had persevered. The wall she had built around herself was thick with thorny brambles. It took a brave man to even attempt to hack his way through.

  ‘Claire—’

  ‘Shh,’ she hissed, desperation taking over. ‘Don’t talk.’

  ‘It’s not going to go away, Claire.’

  ‘How old are you, Campbell?’

  ‘Thirty-five.’

  ‘Too old to be carrying on like a lovesick adolescent.’

  ‘Are you ever too old for that?’ he asked quietly.

  Claire shut her eyes and sighed deeply. She’d read something in Campbell’s eyes. An emotion that was blindingly honest. The lift reached her floor and Claire’s relief was palpable. Once again Campbell followed her out.

  ‘Why are you following me?’ she muttered, annoyed by his dogged persistence.

  ‘I was hoping for a tour of the birth centre. Surely that’s not too much to grant your knight in shining armour?’

  Claire suddenly felt churlish. Of course he would want to see it. Now who was being unprofessional? Claire kicked herself for not having offered sooner. It might also have given them something else to talk about. ‘It’s an excellent idea,’ she agreed, shooting him a grateful smile.

  Grateful to be back on familiar ground … even if she was walking it with Campbell Deane beside her.

  CHAPTER TWO

  TRYING to ignore the man walking next to her on the way to the centre was impossible. Damn it all! Why couldn’t he be old and fat and balding with bad breath and an even worse toupee? Instead, the man who turned out to be her saviour was as sexy as hell, with hair and green eyes you could fall into. The fact that he also resembled someone who had hurt her badly ten years ago was a whole other distraction.

  Claire was very confused. How had this man got under her skin on such short acquaintance? Was it the Shane factor? No. This reaction was completely new. Not even with Shane had she felt so instantly and acutely aware of a man. Whatever the reason, Claire knew it all added up to one thing—danger.

  Pushing aside her confusion and the prickle of unease she could feel all the way up her spine, she concentrated on the joy at showing off her ‘baby’. Confidence and pride added a spring to her step.

  ‘Here we are,’ she announced, as she retrieved a set of keys from her pocket and opened the double swing doors. The sign above said, WELCOME TO ST JUDE’S BIRTH CENTRE. He preceded her and Claire couldn’t contain the thrill of excitement that always hit her when she walked through the doors. It was her dream, the culmination of a year’s work.

  ‘This place used to be one of the postnatal wards until it was shut down a few years ago. We’ve taken over the first two bays on either side of the corridor. It’s my hope that one day the centre will need the entire ward area.’

  ‘You’re ambitious.’ He smiled. ‘I like that.’

  ‘No, not really,’ she continued, ‘I just want to see the beds made available. We already have a waiting list. I don’t want to see our numbers restricted by space constraints.’

  Claire opened the door to the first birthing suite. It was spacious, taking up an entire bay which once would have held six beds. A large, low, queen-sized bed was neatly made up with a bedspread that matched the bright, attractive curtains. Beside it a mobile crib, complete with a warming blanket, was ready to receive a newborn.

  There was also a sofa which converted into a double bed and next to it a bar fridge, as well as tea- and coffee-making facilities. Behind it was a bathroom with a shower cubicle and a toilet. Against the far wall was a bathtub. Two trolleys stood against available wall space. They had covers that matched the curtains to disguise their medical purpose. One was for linen and the other carried equipment, which was used at the moment the baby entered the outside world.

  Every effort had been made to create a homey atmosphere. It was as far removed from standard hospital accommodation as you could get.

  ‘As you can see, there’s plenty of room for whatever support team the couple wishes. The double bed allows for partners to stay with the new mum if they want.’

  ‘What’s the policy on siblings?’

  ‘If that’s what the parents want, that’s fine, as long as there is a support person solely to look after the older child or children.’

  He nodded his approval and Claire beamed.

  ‘You planning some water births?’ h
e asked.

  Claire laughed. ‘Can you see the board agreeing to that? I thought I did a good enough job getting them to agree to the centre.’

  ‘I’ve delivered a few. In the right circumstances, it’s a wonderful experience.’

  Claire was becoming more impressed with Campbell’s grasp of modern birth practices. Perhaps he wasn’t insane after all. Professionally he seemed completely compos mentis.

  ‘Water births would be fantastic, but maybe down the track a bit. One step at a time. I really pushed for the baths. Water is too often overlooked for pain relief. So many women find the warmth and buoyancy an incredible help. The plumbing was the most expensive part of the conversion.’

  ‘It’s been really well thought-out. The room looks … peaceful.’ He followed up his compliment with a broad grin.

  It had been exactly what they had hoped to achieve. So often babies were born into bright, noisy environments. Part of the centre philosophy was to create a peaceful, harmonious atmosphere. Claire soaked up his positive comments like any mother proud of her baby. She felt weak from the full force of his smile.

  ‘The other room is a mirror image of this one,’ she said, indicating the closed door. ‘Across this side,’ she said, walking into the room opposite, ‘is our office area.’ The room held three desks. ‘Two desks for the four midwives and one for our receptionist. And in here …’ she opened a large built-in cupboard near the door ‘… is the resuscitation trolley and other medical equipment in case of emergency. The laughing gas is kept in here also.’

  Campbell pulled the trolley out of its alcove. He removed the green cloth that covered the top and checked everything. She watched his large hands run over the array of first-line emergency drugs, the selection of breathing tubes and masks. His long fingers opened the drawers and checked the oxygen and suction hanging off the side of the trolley.

  ‘Everything’s here I would ever need in an emergency,’ he said approvingly, and Claire felt like she had passed some kind of test.

  ‘The other room is a staffroom-cum-commonroom. We’ll use it to eat our lunch or whatever, and clients can use it to make themselves a cuppa while they’re waiting to be seen. We’re also planning on running our own antenatal classes. This room will be perfect for that.’