The Icelandic Doc's Baby Surprise

by Louisa Heaton

  But she knew she couldn’t. It would be an impulsive mistake and she’d learned before that impulsiveness only got her into trouble.

  ‘Why don’t you take a seat and I’ll serve this up?’

  ‘Okay.’

  She turned away from him as he sat down at the table, knowing she couldn’t look at him a second more—because if she continued to look at him she wasn’t sure she’d be able to control her impulses. Her desire for him went to her very core, and she knew she couldn’t rely on desire, or lust, or anything like that. It was a fantasy. It wasn’t real. Once the impulse went away you were left with nothing but a big mistake, and her child’s future was not something she was willing to gamble with.

  She’d already set the table—after rummaging through his cupboards to find crockery that didn’t have a Christmas pattern on it. But it seemed Kristjan had swapped everything for the festive season, because all his plates and bowls and dishes were white with silver snowflakes painted on them, and she’d resigned herself to accepting the fact that if she was to stay here she’d have to get used to Christmas again. Because she sure as hell wasn’t going to be able to avoid it!

  Using a ladle, she scooped up the soup and filled two bowls to the top. She placed one in front of Kristjan and one in front of herself, then brought a small basket of her freshly made rolls over to the table.

  ‘I hope you like soup?’

  ‘I do. But I haven’t had homemade soup for a long time.’ He took a sip and gave a pleasantly surprised smile. ‘This is delicious! How did you learn how to make it?’

  ‘The internet!’

  Kristjan had a healthy appetite. He polished off his first bowl and had a second. As well as two more bread rolls. She watched him eat it all with a warm, self-satisfied smile.

  ‘I hope you’ve got room for dessert?’

  He raised an eyebrow and looked at her.

  She blushed and hurriedly got up from the table. ‘Not that kind. The kind you eat.’

  ‘That’s what I was thinking of.’

  She tried not to let him see how flustered she was and busied herself in the kitchen, putting their bowls into the dishwasher.

  ‘It’s not homemade. I bought it on the way home.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Erm... I’m not sure how to pronounce it, but I saw it in a bakery. It’s an oaty pastry with a fruity jam in latticework.’ She pulled it from the fridge to show him.

  ‘Ah. Hjónabandsæla.’

  She frowned. ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘Wedded bliss.’

  ‘You’re kidding?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Oh.’

  She brought the pie to the table and sliced it, serving him a piece on a snowflake plate. Perhaps she should change the subject?

  ‘Tell me why you love Christmas so much. It’s a time for families and relationships, and you’ve told me you’re not the relationship type.’

  ‘You’re right. I’m not.’

  ‘So...why?’

  ‘My parents loved it. They passed that love on to me, and after they died it just seemed the right thing to do. Go mad with the décor. It makes me feel close to them. And it’s a time for miracles, isn’t it? People are happier at Christmas, and I like people to be happy.’

  ‘I’m sorry about your parents.’ She remembered what he’d told her that night in Hawaii. ‘It was a car crash, wasn’t it?’

  ‘On the very mountain pass that you came up on, during a storm. You can see why I wasn’t thrilled about you going out in it again.’

  She nodded. No wonder he was tied to this place. Memories abounded for him. Whereas she’d always moved about. Her adoptive mother had gone from place to place, looking for the best medical help, although it had never been enough to stop what was happening to her.

  ‘Tell me why you hate Christmas,’ he said. ‘Don’t think I don’t see you sneering at my decorations.’ He smiled.

  She gave a small laugh. ‘I made the biggest mistake of my life one Christmas, and every year when it comes around it reminds me of that.’

  ‘Will you tell me what happened, or do I have to guess?’

  Merry sighed. ‘I got married on Christmas Eve—really, really young, when I ought to have known better. I allowed myself to get swept up in the romance of an older man and the magic of the season and it all went wrong.’

  ‘You’re divorced?’ He sounded surprised.

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Is this husband the man you mentioned earlier?’

  She nodded. ‘Yes. Mark. My biggest mistake. My biggest regret.’

  ‘What happened?’

  He seemed genuinely interested, and she figured there was no harm in telling him. Why not tell him? He’d opened up his home to her—it was only fair she opened up in return. They were going to be in each other’s lives for a long time.

  ‘I met Mark at a club that I’d conned my way into, after saying I was much older than I was.’

  ‘How old were you?’

  ‘Eighteen. But you had to be twenty-one to get in. It was really claustrophobic in there. You couldn’t move for people. It was dark, there were strobing lights, but I caught the eye of a bartender, who was doing all this amazing stuff with cocktails. Did you ever see that film where they throw everything about and mix drinks?’

  Kristjan nodded.

  ‘That was Mark. Only much cooler because I was seeing it in person. The second our eyes met I thought he seemed to be putting on a display just for me. He was slick and charming, wise and funny. We got talking. Then talking became flirting, and before I knew what was happening we were totally in lust and couldn’t keep our hands off one another. He persuaded me to elope with him to Gretna Green and we got married on Christmas Eve.’

  She remembered what that had felt like—the excitement, the thrill that she’d found someone who saw the real her and wanted to be with her. She’d been so used to being abandoned that finding someone who wanted to commit to her and love her had been intoxicating.

  Kristjan sat listening, his face unreadable. ‘And then what?’

  She laughed cynically. ‘We were filled with the joy of the festive season! Life was joyous! Good will to all men! We came back from an amazing honeymoon—a weekend in New York that we’d got at a bargain price through someone Mark knew—and then reality hit hard. The bubble burst. He returned to work, I returned to medical school, and Mark became a different person.’

  ‘How so?’

  How much should she tell him? Did he need to know all her sordid secrets? Did he need to hear about how ashamed Mark had made her feel? How weak and pathetic? How he’d hated the time she’d spent away from him, surrounded by handsome younger guys?

  ‘He became insanely jealous. Possessive. I couldn’t go anywhere without him wanting to know where I was going, who I was going to speak to and whether the clothes I was wearing were appropriate. He tried to tell me what to wear, how to clean the flat, that my make-up wasn’t necessary. He became this angry person I didn’t recognise and I was afraid of him.’

  She didn’t mention the endless hours she’d spent stroking his ego to try and make him feel better. How she’d tell him over and over again how much she loved him to try and put the smile back on his face and get back the old Mark she’d first known. How puzzled she’d been, having not expected love to be this hard and this complicated.

  ‘Was he violent?’

  ‘Not to begin with. It started small. An accident at first, or so he claimed, and of course he was dreadfully sorry afterwards. I’d driven him so mad with jealousy, he couldn’t help it, he said. If only I’d done this or done that... Basically, his anger was all my fault.’

  That first time she’d been in so much shock she’d utterly convinced herself that his grovelling apology was real. That it truly had been a mistake and that maybe,
just maybe, she had been the one at fault, driving him to this state.

  Before knowing Mark she’d been absolutely certain of what she thought was acceptable in a relationship and what wasn’t, and she’d felt sure that if a man ever hit her she would leave immediately. But when it had actually happened... It had been more complicated. And she’d thought she still loved him.

  She’d been in turmoil, needing to speak to someone—anyone—and she’d finally confided in a friend. She had persuaded her it was dangerous to stay with Mark and, realising that her marriage, her dream, had failed, she’d felt devastated.

  ‘Didn’t you try to leave?’

  ‘I tried. A fellow medical student offered me her floor to sleep on. But he tracked me down.’

  She paused, thinking about that night when he’d found her. What he’d done to her. She’d been so scared, and when he’d threatened to kill himself if she didn’t go back with him she’d been afraid of having his death on her conscience. So she’d gone back with him, thinking that this time it would be okay...they’d work on everything. He loved her!

  But all he’d wanted was to get her on her own. To get his revenge for the humiliation she had laid upon him by leaving.

  ‘He punished me for leaving, made me scared to make a second attempt. But the next day when he went to work I took my chance and went to the police. They got me a place at a women’s refuge until I could get back on my feet again. So there you have it. I’m not a fan of Christmas and not a big fan of making rash decisions.’

  ‘I’m sorry you got hurt.’

  She shrugged. ‘It wasn’t your fault, was it?’

  ‘Nor was it yours.’

  Merry stared back at him, a little disconcerted. She’d always thought it was her fault. For Kristjan to say it wasn’t, was... Well, she didn’t know what to think.

  He was surprising. This man she’d met in Hawaii, the man with whom she’d thought it would be fun to pass a hot night with, most definitely had more depth to him that she had first assumed. He wasn’t just a plaything, a feast for her eyes and her senses. He was clever and kind and—dared she say it?—open-hearted.

  Dr Kristjan Gunnarsson was most definitely turning out to be a surprise.

  CHAPTER SIX

  HE COULDN’T GET it out of his head. All that Merry had shared with him that night over dinner. Once again he lay in his bed, stewing over his emotions and feelings, trying to sort them and understand them.

  That she had been treated so badly by a man... It was the kind of thing that made his blood boil and made him feel ashamed to be part of the same species.

  He was glad she was out of it. He was glad that she had gone to the police. She must have felt so scared. So alone. He would never let anything like that happen to her again. Not if he was around—which he hoped to be. If she stayed...

  But it was these protective feelings now being created in him that disturbed him. Those and the fact that she lay in bed in the room next to his with his baby in her belly.

  He’d not expected to feel this way. Not expected to feel so strongly.

  Unable to sleep, he threw off the thick blankets, pulled on a white tee shirt and went to get a drink of water from the kitchen. He didn’t want to disturb her, so he tried his best to be quiet, but he knew he was wide awake and wouldn’t sleep yet, so he started doing a bit of a workout, hoping exercise and exhaustion would help him get a few hours’ rest before tomorrow.

  He worked his way through a few repetitions of sit-ups, plank side-dips and press-ups before starting a set of burpees. Then he got his weights out from behind the couch and began doing some arm curls.

  It felt good to work off his frustration and his anger and finally, when he felt spent, he downed the rest of his water and turned to head back to his bedroom.

  Merry stood watching him.

  He hadn’t heard her come out of her room.

  ‘Sorry. Did I wake you?’

  She shook her head. ‘No, I was thirsty and I...er...didn’t want to throw you off your rhythm.’

  He shrugged. ‘I couldn’t sleep. What would you like? Water? Hot milk? I could do you some cocoa? Or a hot chocolate?’

  ‘I don’t feel thirsty any more.’

  Really? Then why was she looking at him like that? With desire in her eyes and a gentle flush in her cheeks, her dark honeyed eyes all wide and alluring?

  It was a temptation, her looking at him that way. He could feel the tension in the room. Was aware how few clothes either of them were wearing. They could be naked in seconds. He could show her all the delights he had dreamt of showing her since she’d started staying in his house.

  He’d yearned for this woman after Hawaii, and been so thankful there was a huge body of water between them.

  Now there wasn’t.

  But doing something about it would constitute—what?

  They were already working together and almost living together. She was pregnant with his child. If he started to have sex with her too...

  He didn’t want her to misread the signals. Yes, he wanted her. He could feel his arousal now, just standing looking at her, and, boy, did he want to submit to his needs and desires. But it wouldn’t just be sex, would it? Their relationship was complicated enough without them getting involved. He couldn’t get into a physical relationship with this woman and then develop feelings for her, because then she would mean something special and what if he lost her?

  Was he mistaking convenience for desire? And how could he forget what she’d told him? She’d admitted she’d fallen in lust with a man before and it had all gone wrong for her. And if this wasn’t lust they were both feeling then he was the Pope.

  He was trying to convince her to stay here permanently so he could see his child—so he could be a father every day and not just on holidays and birthdays. Did he really want to screw this up? Because if he got into a relationship with Merry and it failed then he would only have himself to blame when she went running back to England.

  He walked over to her...hesitated, fighting his inner turmoil.

  Don’t kiss her. Don’t kiss her. Don’t kiss her.

  ‘Goodnight, Merry. Sleep well.’

  And with a great amount of determination and anguish he side-stepped her and went into his own bedroom, closing the door softly behind him.

  Inside his room, he let out a huge breath of frustration and headed to his en-suite bathroom.

  He most definitely needed a cold shower.

  * * *

  ‘Hello, I’m Dr Bell. Can you tell me what’s brought you in today?’

  Merry smiled at the family before her. A mum, a dad and a little girl. Kristjan had assigned a nurse to work with her and quietly translate as she talked with her patients.

  ‘We saw our doctor this morning because Hekla had been suffering with bad tummy pains and occasional sickness.’

  ‘Is that nausea or actual vomiting?’

  ‘Being sick, yes. Not always. Sometimes. But it has been getting more frequent. He felt her tummy and said he could feel a lump, and then he referred us to come straight here.’

  ‘Okay...’

  Merry appraised Hekla. She was a very slim girl. Pale. Twelve years old. With lovely long, golden hair that she currently wore in plaits—one of which she was chewing the end of.

  Her mother pulled it from her mouth.

  ‘No other health worries that I should be aware of? No allergies?’

  Mum shook her head. No.

  ‘So, Hekla, can I take a look at you? Do you want to hop up onto this bed for me?’

  Hekla used the footstool to get up onto the bed and sat on the edge.

  ‘I’m going to listen to your chest first, okay?’

  Merry used her stethoscope to listen to the girl’s heart and lungs. They both sounded completely normal.

  ‘And this little th
ing is a SATS monitor. It goes on your finger—see?’ She slipped it on and pressed the button. ‘This will tell me how much oxygen you’re breathing in and your pulse rate, and on your other arm we’ll do your blood pressure. The cuff will squeeze your arm tight, but it shouldn’t hurt.’

  She carried out her basic observations and happily they all came back normal.

  Merry smiled at Hekla. She seemed quite anxious, but who wouldn’t be if they felt ill and had been sent to hospital?

  ‘Can you lie down for me? I’m going to feel your tummy—is that okay?’ It was always important to her, when carrying out a physical examination on a child, that she told them what she was doing and they gave her permission.

  ‘Yes.’ Hekla lay down flat.

  Merry began her assessment. First she visibly looked at the shape of the abdomen, to see whether there were any skin abnormalities or distention, but it looked fine. Then she began to palpate with her fingers, pressing and feeling the child’s tummy, checking for masses or crepitus, and she instantly found what the doctor had. A mass about the size of a golf ball that shouldn’t be there.

  It was hard to feel, as it seemed to keep disappearing, and this made Merry suspect that it was probably in the digestive tract rather than attached to the abdominal wall. She unhooked her stethoscope from around her neck and listened to Hekla’s bowel. It sounded normal, but something wasn’t right.

  ‘Okay, so I think we need to do a scan, Hekla. What we’ll do is send you to another room where a big machine will take a picture of your tummy for us. Just to give us a clearer idea of what’s going on. I think something might be blocking your tummy. You’ve not swallowed anything you shouldn’t have?’

  The young girl shook her head.

  ‘Okay.’ She pulled down Hekla’s top and addressed the parents. ‘We’re going to send her to CT. You can both go with her. Once we get the result we might have a better idea of what’s going on.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘No problem.’

  She left the family group in the cubicle and went to the doctors’ station to call the scanning department and book Hekla in. Once that was done she called Olaf Ward, the children’s ward, to make sure they had a bed, as she suspected Hekla would need surgery.