Heart Surgeon's Second Chance

by Allie Kincheloe

  It would be hitting sunset o’clock back home, where her brother was no doubt pounding out furious email after furious email. Or silently fuming even as his genius continued to dazzle their illustrious patient list. So she hadn’t strictly cleared the trip with him. Or hung around to see what his reaction to her absence would be.

  She’d covered all her bases. Put replacement neonatal surgeons in place—all of them desperate to work with Australia’s so-called Baby Whisperer. Being his kid sister was handy sometimes. But at other times—like most of the time—less so. Like right now, for instance.

  If she’d thought her chances of getting him to change his mind about pulling the plug on her research had been slim a week ago they’d be non-existent now. Her lab—her broom closet, more like—would remain dark and untouched for the duration of her absence. The type of research she was doing was not the Harborside Fertility and Neonatal Center’s jam. But it should be, because bringing healthy babies into the world was.

  She resisted the urge to check her phone, wrung out her hair and swept away another stream of raindrops to gaze at the place that had offered her and her research a lifeline.

  She squinted against the increasingly heavy rain as a helicopter with a bright red cross on its underbelly swept in from the mid-level cloud-base and began to descend to the rooftop. Her heart began to pump with that telltale adrenaline that came with any medical emergency.

  She’d never admit it to her brother, but the crystal-clear focus that came with performing life-or-death surgery was something she’d find hard to put to the side for the next six weeks. Surgery in the day, research at night. That was her life and she’d always liked it that way.

  Right up until Lucius had pulled the plug on her DIY lab.

  The invitation to come here and devote herself to research had been all the nudge she’d needed. A chance to make her dreams come true? Hell, yeah!

  The helicopter disappeared out of sight as it settled on the roof. Her eyes dipped a smidge to the floor, to her temporary home away from home. Clever, she thought. Putting the Piedmont Women and Baby Pavilion on the top floor of the pre-eminent medical facility. Easy access to the roof and the clinic’s most critical patients. Everyone must have wanted that prime real estate.

  Heart, lungs, ears, nose, throat... This building had specialists for everything and everyone. But not a single one of them apart from the Piedmont Women and Baby Pavilion offered fetal and neonatal surgery. Inside its doors she’d be able to tap the brains of some of the world’s leading neonatologists. And she couldn’t wait.

  Her brother would have said that the rainy day was a sign of misery yet to come, but she knew better. Beyond the clouds the Georgia sky would be every bit as blue as Sydney’s, and when night fell there would be an entirely new set of stars overhead. Hopefully they were aligned in her favor.

  Just as she was about to head into the main reception area a man raced past and bashed into her shoulder.

  “Easy there, mate. You won’t miss the parade!”

  She whirled to face him and in so doing lost her balance. The basher reached out to steady her, one hand holding her upright until he was sure she was all right, the other holding an umbrella aloft.

  Oh, my.

  He was rather good-looking. Especially if “rather” meant drop-dead gorgeous of the possibly Latin, possibly Clark Kent variety of gorgeous. This was sexy-nerdy on a whole new level.

  “I do beg your pardon, ma’am. Are you all right?” Superman asked.

  She mumbled something. She wasn’t sure what. His fault, really. For being so...mmm...

  “Ma’am? Is everything okay?”

  Kirri opened her mouth but nothing came out. Why couldn’t she talk? She was a thirty-seven-year-old highly qualified surgeon, for heaven’s sake. She had the power of speech.

  She tried again.

  Nope. Nothing.

  If she hadn’t looked into his chocolatey brown eyes and gone all gooey inside she would have been completely capable of giving him a piece of her mind for not watching where he was going. It wasn’t as if the plaza in front of the medical center was teeming with people.

  She would have done that. Told him off. She definitely would. But he was just her type.

  Thinking the words gave her a proper slap back into reality. She didn’t have a type. Not now, anyway. And she was far too busy to date, but...

  She would bet actual cold hard cash that Superman, here, had been one of the nerdy kids back in the day. The type who got perfect grades, never got in trouble, was rotten at sports and the opposite sex paid no attention to. A bit like her. The type of nerd who never got asked to dance. She would’ve danced with him. And gloried in his transformation as he became an adult.

  Athletically built with neat ebony-black hair, a speckling of salt and pepper at the temples. Bone structure a model would die for, a cheeky little divot in the center of his chin and those eyes. Espresso-brown with hints of gold.

  He’d lived. She could see that by the small fan of crinkles arrowing out from his eyes as he narrowed them. Either that or he was using his special X-ray vision to ensure she was all right. Or checking out her bra. Perriwinkle blue lace, if he was interested. Front clasp, if he needed more details.

  He blinked. Something quite different from lust was illuminating those flecks of gold.

  Recognition.

  She didn’t know how, or why, but it was as if he saw straight through to her heart. If she’d had properly functioning ovaries they’d be working double-time about now.

  And then, in another blink of an eye, he was a stranger again.

  He gave a swift apologetic wave, pointed upwards, as if the gesture would explain why he was so distracted, then turned to go.

  Fair enough, mate. We’ve all got things to do. But...nice to meet you.

  As if he’d heard her he doubled back, handed her his huge golf umbrella and then, in one of those caramel-rich accents she’d only ever heard on television, said, “My heartfelt apologies. May I offer this as consolation for my rudeness?”

  And then he disappeared into the building.

  Mercy.

  Half of her was tempted to race into the building and get trapped in the lift with him for the rest of the day. But the other half—the half she was far more comfortable with—wanted...no, needed to get up to her new lab and get to work. Twenty-four-seven if they’d let her.

  She looked at the handle of the umbrella that he’d just been holding, then at the front doors of the building. Tempting. Definitely tempting...

  Her phone buzzed in her leather backpack and against her better judgement she tugged it out and looked at the message.

  Oh, crud-buckets.

  Australia’s very own Baby Whisperer was giving her a right telling off, if the full caps message was any indication of its contents.

  CAN’T HEAR YOU!!!

  She typed her message back, like the kid sister she was, and then, reminding herself that she was a highly respected neonatal surgeon, deleted it and chose the far more mature option of ignoring it altogether.

  She gave her shoulders a wriggle to shift some of her confidence from her heart through to her spine. Her father had always told her that aiming high wasn’t high enough. Well, if pushing the elevator button to get up to one of the world’s most prestigious research and treatment centers was anything to go by, she’d finally done it.

  The Piedmont Women and Baby Pavilion was the pinnacle of neonatal care in the Northern Hemisphere. On a par with her own employer, Sydney’s Harborside Fertility and Neonatal Center.

  The biggest difference was that her big brother wouldn’t be her boss here. Not for the next six weeks. Thanks to the mysteriously enigmatic Dr. Ty Sawyer.

  Somehow this premier neonatal surgeon had heard about her research and through one of his colleagues had offered her a lifeline—a research
exchange. She’d have six weeks at his clinic and one of his colleagues would have six weeks at theirs at some point a bit further down the road.

  The offer had been like receiving a direct hit of oxygen. Forty-two days to launch herself at a lifetime of sibling rivalry and finally prove she’d been right all along. That or go home with her tail between her legs and never hear the end of it from Lucius.

  No pressure, then.

  At least Lucius was some fifteen thousand miles away. She knew her big brother meant well in steering her away from research and back to full-time surgical practice, but there was something deep within her that needed to be right. She could be a forerunner in neonatal intensive care. Artificial womb technology was the key. Even if it did sound like science fiction.

  So! New country. New clinic. And a once-in-a-lifetime chance to prove to her brother that she wasn’t peddling false dreams.

  She knew in her gut that she had the scientific clarity to give struggling mothers-to-be genuine hope that one day they could carry a baby to term. Hope and science could be bedfellows. Sometimes it just took a few thousand miles’ distance from the naysayers to prove it.

  She took a step toward the entryway, doing her best to ignore the nerves as they kicked in. There was no time like the present—and the present was now.

  * * *

  “Everything okay, Dr. Sawyer?”

  Ty glanced up from the running water at the scrub station and frowned. “Sure. Fine.”

  He bit off the usual ending, Why do you ask?

  Amanda, one of his top specialist delivery nurses, didn’t miss much, and today was no exception. He was still shaken. Even with a handful of minutes having passed between running into that extraordinary-looking woman outside the clinic and now.

  Bright blue eyes that looked as though they were being backlit by Hollywood... Rich auburn rain-soaked hair reaching halfway down her back... Lips the color of a burnished rose... Hip leather jacket... A fluffy, tutu-like skirt in camouflage fabric... And, if he hadn’t been mistaken, because he’d been desperately trying to keep his eyes on...well, her eyes, a T-shirt with kangaroos dressed as cheerleaders on it.

  The pompoms had been in an awkward position. Awkward for someone trying to maintain eye contact, anyway.

  None of which was either here or there—because the one thing he’d definitively noticed was that he’d been attracted to her. And not just in an oh, she’s pretty sort of way. It had been the sort of attraction that had gripped his vitals and given them a proper shake. A meeting-a-soulmate sort of shake. In other words something he thought he’d never feel again. Not since...

  Well, he hadn’t thought he’d ever experience that particular sensation again.

  Despite his diligent scrubbing, and trying to assume what he hoped was his everyday demeanor, he could feel Amanda’s eyes staying on him for a moment longer. And then, when he didn’t respond, she went for a change of tack.

  “Want me to run you through the details again?”

  “If you wouldn’t mind.”

  Details. Surgery. Exactly what he needed to take his mind off those bright blue eyes that had synced with his as if meeting the gaze of a long-lost lover. Madness, considering he’d only had one lover, but...

  He scrubbed the thought away. His wife had been his one and only true love. Whatever it was that had happened this morning was clearly a freak occurrence.

  He glanced out at the empty OR. The critical care transport team would be rolling in with the patient any second now. He’d seen the helicopter coming in to land and was surprised they weren’t in the operating room already. Perhaps something had happened on the helicopter that demanded they take things slowly.

  Though he’d virtually memorized all the details of the case Amanda ran him through it again.

  Mary Lingford was an expectant mother. She lived just under a hundred miles outside of Atlanta, hence the helicopter ride in. With rush hour traffic starting as early as four a.m., they weren’t taking the risk of her being stuck in an ambulance. At forty-three years old she was a high-risk pregnancy. She was twenty-seven weeks pregnant with a baby boy. And the baby, her local hospital had discovered last night, during a routine scan, had a congenital heart defect.

  Hypo-plastic left heart syndrome. The most common lethal condition in congenital heart disease. About one in five thousand babies had it. None survived without surgery.

  There were still a good thirteen weeks of pregnancy remaining, so Mary’s baby needed to stay inside her. But that heart needed fixing. The Piedmont Women and Baby Pavilion was the best place for both of those requirements to be fulfilled.

  Ty turned around so the scrub nurse could help him gown up. “Have they done any pre-anesthesia? I want to make sure they’ve steered clear of teratogenic drugs. Accidentally inducing labor at this point would be a nightmare.”

  “I called in last night, and an hour ago before they prepared her for the flight. No pre-anesthesia. They’re leaving everything up to our team.”

  Ty smiled. There was never an i left un-dotted or a t left uncrossed on Amanda’s watch. Extra-generous in this case, seeing as he’d scheduled the operation for early morning and she most likely would only be observing. She was a specialty delivery nurse. A skill they were hoping they wouldn’t need this morning. But it was protocol.

  The safety of Ty’s patients was paramount. He went where most surgeons refused to go. Directly to the womb.

  Amanda nodded toward the operating room, where their patient was being wheeled in. “Looks like they’re ready for you.”

  Good. Ty needed to put his blinkers back on. The blinkers that had seen him through the last few years of his life. Through work and caring for his daughter and his extended family. Those were the three components of his life. None of which included having adrenaline spikes when he laid eyes on a complete stranger.

  The telephone rang as he entered the OR. Amanda took the call.

  “All right if Dr. West scrubs in?”

  Ty looked up in surprise. “She’s here already?”

  Amanda nodded. “Jet-lagged, apparently. Said she thought it would help her understand the clinic’s ethos if she scrubbed into a surgery and saw things from the ground up. Would you like an extra pair of hands?”

  He nodded. “Why not?”

  How interesting. He knew Dr. West was a surgeon, but from the sounds of her research papers he’d thought she’d be more lab rat. Someone whose world revolved around cell slides, microchips and Petri dishes. But it appeared he’d been wrong.

  Good. He’d made a good call. A surgeon who wanted to hit the ground running? He liked her already.

  Amanda wrapped up the phone call. After saying hello to his patient, and assuring her that she was in the safest of hands, Ty turned his attention to the anesthetist. Giving the patient the wrong type of drug could induce labor, thereby doubling the risk of administering anesthesia.

  “Back home in Oz we try to go as minimal on the anesthesia as possible. Too risky for baby and mom.”

  Everyone turned as a feminine Australian accent filled the operating theater.

  Ty’s chest constricted as his eyes clashed with the familiar pair of bright blue eyes. Umbrella girl. Right there in the scrub room. Reminding him once again—or his body, at least—that he was still a red-blooded male.

  Yessir.

  Still vital and responsive, even after five years of certainty that his chances of connecting with a woman on that sort of level had died with his wife.

  The woman tore her eyes from his, then gave the rest of the team in the operating theater a quick wave. “G’day, all. Sorry... I know I shouldn’t be sticking my nose in before I’ve been briefed properly, but I presume the goal here is to keep the baby precisely where it is?”

  This was Dr. Kirrily West?

  Ty couldn’t believe it. She wasn’t the woman he’d b
een expecting. Not that he’d seen a photo or anything, but...seriously? Umbrella woman? And what was she doing talking about anesthetic before the very stressed patient was even anesthetized?

  He gave his patient’s shoulder a gentle squeeze and said in a low voice, “We’ve got a new surgeon scrubbing in but only as an observer. Nothing to worry about.”

  Mary gave him a silent nod, concern evident in her crinkled brow.

  Ty looked back to the scrub room, ready to give this new doctor a piece of his mind.

  Kirrily West wasn’t wearing her chic biker chick ensemble anymore. She was in a pair of Piedmont scrubs, and making the standard-cut cotton top and trousers look far more interesting to take off than they should.

  Why the hell hadn’t he looked at her photo before he’d okayed that plane ticket?

  No need to be a surgeon to figure that one out. He was a busy man, and looks didn’t factor when he was considering groundbreaking researchers who might make an invaluable contribution to pre-term fetal welfare.

  He caught himself staring instead of chiding as she swept her hair up in one hand, twisted it with the other, then bundled the auburn coil under a blue surgical cap. It was a simple gesture that made it far too easy to imagine many things he shouldn’t.

  Silky hair... Soft bare skin... A whispered moan...

  What an idiot. He should have done that video conference call with her rather than tasking his colleague Mark with the job.

  So that what? He could have changed his mind? Decided that a woman with a heart-shaped face and brilliant sapphire eyes that made his heart do strange things wasn’t worth his time, despite her obvious genius and passion for neonatal surgical advances?

  Science didn’t work like that.

  He didn’t work like that.

  Even so... The woman now twirling around for the scrub nurse to do up her surgical gown wasn’t at all who he’d been expecting. He’d presumed she’d be... Well, older for one thing. Her insight into fetal reconstructive surgery was on a par with much more senior surgeons. Her take on what might be achieved one day in the world of neonatal intensive care was potentially Nobel-prize-winning stuff. Literally life-changing for countless premature babies.