Christmas Eve: Doorstep Delivery

Christmas Eve: Doorstep Delivery
Sarah Morgan

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Table of Contents

Cover Page

Title Page

About the Author

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Copyright

Sarah Morgan is a British writer who regularly tops the bestseller lists with her lively stories for both Mills & Boon® Medical™ Romance and Modern™ Romance. As a child Sarah dreamed of being a writer, and although she took a few interesting detours on the way she is now living that dream. She firmly believes that reading romance is one of the most satisfying and fat-free escapist pleasures available. Her stories are unashamedly optimistic, and she is always pleased when she receives letters from readers saying that her books have helped them through hard times. RT Book Reviews has described her writing as ‘action-packed and sexy’.

Sarah lives near London with her husband and two children, who innocently provide an endless supply of authentic dialogue. When she isn’t writing or nagging about homework Sarah enjoys music, movies, and any activity that takes her outdoors.

Prologue

PATRICK strode through the doors of the labour ward, his bleep and his phone buzzing simultaneously. Pushing open the doors of the delivery room, he walked straight into an atmosphere of palpable tension.

His eyes met those of a white-faced midwife. Despite the soothing words she was muttering to the panicking mother, there was no missing the strain in her expression and her relief at seeing him.

‘Cord prolapse, Patrick. The trace has shown persistent variable decelerations and prolonged bradychardia. I’ve put her in the knee-elbow position, they’re preparing Theatre and I’ve emergency-bleeped the anaesthetist. I’m so sorry to drag you out of your meeting. I know the chief exec gets furious when you go running off.’

‘It’s not a problem.’ Patrick shrugged off the jacket of his suit, slung it over the back of the nearest chair and unbuttoned his shirtsleeves. ‘Ed?’ He turned to his registrar and noticed that he looked unusually stressed.

‘She needs a crash section,’ his colleague muttered in an undertone. ‘After I called you, I put a line in and infused 50 mils of saline into her bladder, as you instructed. Did I miss anything?’

‘Did you do an ultrasound?’

‘Yes. There’s good blood flow through the cord.’

‘All right. Good job. So we’ve bought ourselves some time.’ Patrick rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. ‘You say she isn’t suitable for a general anaesthetic?’

‘That’s right.’ The registrar handed him the notes but Patrick gave a brief shake of his head and walked to the head of the bed.

‘Hello, Katherine. I’m Patrick Buchannan, one of the obstetric consultants.’

‘I know what you’re going to say and I don’t want a Caesarean section,’ the mother wailed. ‘I want to have this baby naturally. That’s why I only came into hospital half an hour ago. I knew this would happen. I knew if I came in earlier, you’d muck about with me.’ She was kneeling face down on the trolley, her bottom in the air in an attempt to prevent the cord being compressed between the pelvis and the baby’s head. ‘I feel ridiculous in this position. It’s so undignified.’

‘This position is saving your baby’s life.’ Patrick squatted down next to her so that he could have a proper conversation and build a connection with the labouring woman. ‘Do you understand what is happening, Katherine?’

‘Yes. You’re going to cut me open instead of letting me have the baby the way nature intended!’ The woman was sobbing now, her head on her arms. ‘I hate you. I hate you all. Oh God, why did this have to happen?’

‘You’re very tired, Katherine.’ Patrick spoke gently. ‘From what I’ve been told, you were in labour for a long time at home before you came to us.’

‘I didn’t want to come to you at all! I just want to have the baby naturally.’

Seeing how terrified she was, Patrick felt his heart twist in sympathy. ‘You can’t have this baby naturally, sweetheart. It’s too much of a risk. The cord is prolapsed—that means that it’s dropped down below the baby’s head. That’s why you’re lying in this undignified position. The cord is your baby’s blood supply—if that blood supply is obstructed, the baby could die.’

Katherine gave a low moan and turned her blotched, tearstreaked face to him. ‘Don’t say that! Don’t say that!’

‘It’s the truth. And I won’t lie to you.’

‘You’re putting pressure on me to have the one thing I don’t want!’

‘I’m putting pressure on you, that’s true—but because this is a medical emergency, not for any other reason.’

‘You’re a surgeon. You’d much rather intervene than let women do it by themselves.’

‘I’m the last person in the world to intervene surgically when there is another option.’ Patrick spoke quietly, holding up his hand to silence his registrar, who had drawn breath to speak. ‘Katherine, if I thought you could deliver this baby yourself, I’d let you do it.’

Katherine sniffed, but she kept her eyes on his, desperate for reassurance and guarantees. ‘How do I know you don’t just want to get home in time for Christmas?’

Patrick smiled. ‘Because it isn’t Christmas Eve until tomorrow. I’ve done all my shopping, the turkey is in the fridge and my kids don’t want me home until they’ve ‘secretly’ wrapped my presents. If I turn up now, I’ll be in trouble.’

Katherine’s breath was jerky from crying. ‘I can’t have a general anaesthetic.’

‘So I understand. Don’t worry. I know the whole thing sounds scary and you feel out of control.’ Patrick rubbed his hand over her shoulder to reassure her. ‘I’m going to ask you to trust me to do what’s best for you. Can you do that? I promise you that everything I do will be for you and the baby. Not for me.’

‘If I can’t have an anaesthetic—’

‘We’ll give you a spinal. You won’t feel any pain, I promise.’

‘Is that like an epidural?’

‘Similar.’ Keeping his hand on her shoulder Patrick stood up, his gaze flickering to the senior midwife in the room. ‘Is the anaesthetist on his way?’

‘He’s meeting us in Theatre,’ the registrar said, and then lowered his voice. ‘Can he put in a spinal when she’s in the Trendelenberg position?’

‘Who is the anaesthetist?’

‘Gary Clarke.’

Patrick gave a faint smile. ‘Gary could put in a spinal if she was hanging from the ceiling. I’m going to go and scrub. I’ll see you in there.’

Katherine gave a little moan. ‘It’s going to go wrong. I know it is.’

‘No, it isn’t.’ Maggie, the senior midwife, took over the role of offering moral support. ‘Patrick is the best there is. He’ll have your baby safely delivered in less time than it takes you to make a cup of tea. Come on, now, love. I know it isn’t what you planned, but you have to think of the baby.’

‘Kathy.’ Her husband added his pleas, ‘I know you’re scared but you have to do this.’

Katherine looked at Maggie, panic in her eyes. ‘Would you let him deliver your baby?’

‘Patrick did deliver my baby,’ Maggie said gruffly. ‘I had a condition called placenta praevia, which is when the placenta is lying across the cervix. Patrick did my Caesarean section. And that was seven years ago when he was still a registrar. He was brilliant even then, and he’s had tons of practice since.’

Katherine gave a choked laugh. ‘Perhaps you should start a fan club for him.’

‘I’m too late. If you go on the internet you’ll find loads of threads devoted to chatting about how brilliant he is. We get women coming up from London just to see him because he’s an expert in premature labour. You see? He can even teach those London doctors a thing or two.’

Katherine groaned. ‘It’s just that I hate needles, I hate operations.’ She hiccoughed. ‘I hate—’

Knowing that he couldn’t proceed until the anaesthetist arrived, Patrick turned his attention back to the labouring woman. ‘It’s difficult when things don’t go the way you planned. I understand that. When my daughter was born the whole thing was a nightmare from beginning to end, and I’m an obstetrician. Nothing went the way I wanted it to go.’

He didn’t add that his wife had blamed him.

Ex-wife, he reminded himself wearily. She was his ex-wife.

Katherine’s face was discoloured from crying, her eyes tired after a long labour. ‘I wanted to have this baby at home.’

‘And having a baby at home can be a wonderful experience, but there are certain times when that just isn’t safe,’ Patrick said softly, ‘and this is one of them.’

She gave a strangled laugh. ‘I thought you’d lecture me for staying at home for so long.’

It wasn’t the time to tell her she should have come into hospital hours ago. What was the point in adding to her guilt and worry? What he really needed to do was gain her confidence. ‘I’m a great supporter of home birth, providing the circumstances are right. This isn’t one of those circumstances.’

Katherine looked at him, exhausted, confused and wrung out by the whole physical and emotional experience of childbirth. ‘I don’t want anything to happen to the baby.’

‘I know you don’t.’ Patrick watched as the foetal heart monitor showed another dip. ‘The baby isn’t happy, Katherine. We need to do this, and we need to do it now. Maggie, can you bleep Gary again? Tell him I want him up here any time in the next two seconds. The rest of you—transfer her into Theatre while I go and scrub. Move.’

Patrick changed quickly and then started to scrub, allowing the hot soapy water to drain down his arms.

‘She’s ready.’ Another the midwife hurried up to him. ‘We’ve taken blood for cross-matching and she’s breathing 100 per cent oxygen. Gary is doing a spinal. He says can you please start soon because he’s getting bored.’

Patrick gave a smile of appreciation and moments later he was gloved and gowned, scalpel in hand. ‘If you need any advice, Gary, just let me know,’ he said smoothly, exchanging a glance with his colleague. ‘Katherine, if you feel anything at any point, you just tell me. Are you all ready for Christmas?’ He chatted easily, the words requiring no concentration, all his focus on the technical operation he was performing. Even though the foetal heart was stable, he knew that time wasn’t on his side.

He also knew that he didn’t intend to lose this baby.

‘I’ve bought the presents.’ Katherine’s voice was wobbly with nerves. ‘I’m supposed to be picking up the turkey tomorrow.’

The staff draped sterile cloths in such a way that Katherine couldn’t see what was happening.

‘Someone else can do that for you—it will be good practice for your husband.’ Patrick held out his gloved hand and the midwife assisting him passed him the instrument he needed. ‘Any tips on cooking turkey are gratefully received. Last year it was a disaster, I ended up cooking cranberry omelette. My children have never forgiven me.’ His gloved fingers widened the incision he’d made and he glanced at the clock. Three minutes.

The door to Theatre opened and the paediatrician hurried into the room, ready to take the baby.

‘Good timing. Come on, little fellow.’ Patrick eased the baby out and there was a collective sigh of relief when the child started to bawl loudly. ‘You have a son, Katherine. Merry Christmas.’ He allowed the mother to see and touch the baby briefly before handing the boy to the hovering paediatrician. ‘Nothing to worry about. We just need to check him over, Katherine.’

Leaving the baby in the hands of his colleague, Patrick turned his attention back to his own job. Delivering the placenta and then closing. He worked quickly and quietly, aware of Katherine and her husband in the background talking in low, excited voices.

‘That was fast, even for you.’ Watching him close, Maggie opened another suture for him. ‘A new record. I think you could just be a genius.’

Patrick grinned. ‘I do love a bit of hero-worship. Does all this admiration mean you’re willing to perform that traditional midwifery task of making me a cup of tea when I’ve finished here?’

‘Don’t push your luck, handsome. I didn’t train for all those years to make you tea.’ Maggie handed him a swab. ‘And, anyway, you won’t have time to drink it.’

‘That’s probably true.’

‘I don’t know why you’re complaining. You have Christmas off.’

Patrick’s fingers worked swiftly and skilfully. ‘This will be my first Christmas at home with my kids in years.’

‘Want me to come and cook that turkey for you?’ Maggie winked saucily and Patrick smiled.

‘You’re happily married. Behave yourself.’

Watching what he was doing, she opened a sterile dressing. ‘Tom Hunter is on call over Christmas. If his wife delivers, you might have to come in anyway. He doesn’t trust anyone else. He’s going to have a nervous breakdown if you’re not here.’

‘I saw Sally in clinic today. She won’t deliver until Boxing Day at the earliest.’ Patrick secured the dressing. ‘This year, I’m going to eat my turkey in peace. That’s if I manage to work out how to cook the damn thing. Katherine. I’m done here.’ He smiled at the patient. ‘I’m going to get cleaned up, we’ll transfer you to the ward and then I’ll come and see you.’

The woman’s eyes were misted with tears of gratitude and euphoria. ‘Thank you. Thank you for saving my baby—and thank you for making the whole thing so unscary. I’m sorry I was so pathetic. You are a fantastic doctor and your wife is a lucky woman.’

There was sudden tension in the operating theatre and several of the staff exchanged embarrassed glances, but Patrick simply smiled.

‘Unfortunately my now ex-wife would have disagreed with you,’ he drawled, stepping back from the operating table and ripping off his gloves. ‘She would have been the first to tell you that fantastic doctors make lousy husbands. I’ll see you later, Katherine. I’ll be in my office if anyone needs me.’

He stayed longer in the shower than he should have done, feeling the hot water sluice over his bare flesh while he tried shut down his thinking.

Lousy husband.

That was what he’d been to Carly, wasn’t it?

Feeling the familiar stab of guilt, he turned off the water and cursed softly.

He’d already promised himself that he wasn’t going to spend another Christmas brooding over Carly. What was the point of going over it again? Of asking himself if he could have done more?

He dressed quickly and walked down the corridor of the bustling maternity unit to his office, frowning when he saw the stack of paperwork on his desk. Picking up the first file, he sat down just as the door opened and Maggie slunk into the room, an anxious look on her face and a box of chocolates in her hand.

‘These arrived from the woman we delivered yesterday. You’d better have one before they all go.’ Scrutinising him closely, she closed the door behind her and walked across the room. ‘Katherine has just gone to the ward. Paeds are happy with the baby which, by the way, is now named Patrick Gary.’

Reflecting on how his friend and colleague would greet that news, Patrick smiled. ‘As long as it isn’t Gary Patrick.’

Maggie rolled her eyes. ‘You two are ridiculously competitive. I don’t know how you managed to be in the mountain rescue team together and not push each other off a cliff.’ She stuck the box of chocolates on his desk and sighed. ‘All right. I’ll come straight to the point. Are you OK? You didn’t have to answer that woman’s question about your wife. She’s really worried she upset you. We’re all worried about you.’

‘She didn’t upset me.’ Patrick signed a document that had been left out for his attention. ‘I’m fine, Maggie.’ And the last thing he wanted to talk about was his ex-wife.

But Maggie showed no sign of shifting. ‘I know you hate this time of year—have you heard from her? Has she been in touch?’

‘No.’ Resigned to having the conversation he didn’t want to have, Patrick put his pen down. ‘She sent a card and a cheque for me to choose something for the kids.’ The anger rushed through him but he controlled it, as he always did. He’d trained himself to be civilised about the whole thing for the sake of the children. He didn’t want them to feel like tennis balls being thumped between two players. ‘She said I was more likely to know what they wanted than she was.’

Margaret’s mouth tightened with disapproval and Patrick knew what she was thinking. The same thing he’d been thinking—that Carly should have known exactly what to buy her own children for Christmas.

‘It’s been two years since she walked out, Patrick. It’s time you found someone else. Let’s face it, it isn’t going to be hard.’

Patrick gave a faint smile of mockery. ‘Not hard at all to find someone you want to spend your life with and trust with your children’s happiness.’

‘All right, all right—it’s hard.’ Maggie pushed the box of chocolates towards him. ‘The kids are lucky to have you. You’re such an amazing dad.’

Patrick’s jaw tensed. If he was so amazing, why were his children living without their mother?

‘Maggie, I appreciate your concern but you don’t need to worry about me. The children and I are fine. Goodness knows, my life is complicated enough without adding in a relationship.’ He helped himself to a chocolate. ‘Does this have nuts in it? I hate nuts. You midwives always know the chocolates by heart.’

‘That’s because we eat too many of them. That one’s caramel. And relationships don’t have to be complicated, Patrick.’

‘Mine always seem to be.’

‘That’s because you picked the wrong woman last time. Next time choose a nice, kind motherly girl who would love those gorgeous children of yours and be proud to be with a high-flying doctor.’

‘I don’t want a nice, kind, motherly girl.’ Patrick unwrapped the chocolate and ate it. ‘I want a raving nymphomaniac with the gymnastic skills of an Olympic athlete.’

Margaret choked with laughter. ‘And there was me thinking you need someone intelligent you can have a conversation with. I never knew you were so shallow. Or are you just trying to shock me?’

‘I’m trying to shock you.’ And move her off the subject of his ex-wife.

‘What about that girl you met when you were in Chicago?’

Patrick sighed. ‘Remind me why I told you about that?’

‘I caught you in a weak moment.’ Smiling, Maggie settled herself on the edge of his desk. ‘You really liked her, didn’t you?’

‘I spent twenty-four hours with her, Mags,’ Patrick said carefully, pushing aside the memory of a girl with long legs and an endless smile—and a night that would stay with him for ever. ‘Hardly a recipe for happy ever after.’

‘You should have taken her number.’

‘She didn’t give me her number.’ Patrick sat back in his chair, a wry smile on his face. ‘Clearly she didn’t want to repeat the experience.’

Maggie started to laugh. ‘Is that really what you think? It’s far more likely that she felt awkward at having spent the night with you and slunk out of your room before you woke up.’

Not having considered that possibility, Patrick frowned. ‘She seemed pretty confident.’

‘Was that before or after you’d removed her clothes?’

‘Does it make a difference?’

‘Of course it does! Confident women are often full of insecurities when they’re naked. That’s why we prefer to keep the lights off.’

They’d kept the lights on. All night.

‘Enough!’ Patrick aimed the chocolate wrapper towards the bin in the corner of the room. ‘You and I may have been colleagues for years but there are limits.’

‘I’m just saying that maybe she didn’t want you to see her in daylight.’

‘She showed me around the hospital in daylight.’

‘But presumably she was wearing clothes at that point.’ Maggie dipped her hand into the box and pulled out a chocolate. ‘Trust me, it’s different. If I ever went to bed with you, I’d want the lights off.’

‘If I ever went to bed with you, your husband would kill me.’ Patrick emptied the contents of his in-tray into his briefcase. ‘Can we drop this conversation? Relationships aren’t a priority for me at the moment. And if you ever mention this to anyone else on the unit, I’ll drown you in the birthing pool.’

Maggie looked smug. ‘You really did like her.’

‘Yes.’ Exasperated, Patrick reached for his coat. ‘Yes, I liked her. Satisfied?’

‘You liked her a lot.’

‘Yes, I liked her a lot.’

‘Was she pretty?’

‘Very.’

‘Did she make you laugh?’

Patrick thought about the day they’d spent together. ‘Yes. She was fun. She smiled all the time.’ Which had been a refreshing change after Carly’s endless moaning.

‘And you didn’t take her number?’ Maggie rolled her eyes. ‘I thought you were supposed to be clever.’

‘Clever enough to spot when a relationship isn’t going to work.’ Patrick put his coat on. ‘If she’d wanted me to have her details, she would have left her number. And even if she’d left her number, it would have been somewhere in Chicago because that’s where she lives.’ He snapped his briefcase shut. ‘I, on the other hand, live in a small corner of England. Even if she hadn’t made her feelings clear by slinking out of my bedroom, I wouldn’t get in touch with her. It would never have worked and I don’t need another romantic disaster.’

‘So that’s it, then?’

‘That’s it. It was just one night and the only reason you even know about it is because you have an uncanny ability to prise information from the innocent.’

‘I care about you. You deserve to be with someone special.’

‘My kids are special. I’m with them.’ Patrick walked towards the door. ‘Any luck finding an extra midwife willing to work over Christmas?’

‘No. So far that particular miracle hasn’t happened. I’m just hoping that no one has contractions on Christmas Day because there’s definitely no room at this inn.’

‘You can call me if you’re desperate. I can always bring the children in with me. They can sit in the staffroom with the chocolates.’

‘We’d love to see them. I haven’t seen Posy for a few months. But I don’t want to call you in over Christmas. You deserve the break.’ Maggie walked to the door. ‘I’m glad you didn’t take the job in Chicago. I would have resigned and gone with you. Tell me honestly—were you tempted?’

Yes. Because if he’d taken the job, he would have seen the girl again.

He’d even picked up the phone once, but had put it down again before it could ring. What would he have said? Hi, you know that night of hot sex we shared? Any chance you could give up your job and your life in the States and come and live over here so that we can do it again?

Patrick sighed. He didn’t even have to say it aloud to know it sounded ridiculous.

He’d already wrecked one woman’s life. He wasn’t going to do the same thing a second time.

‘I wasn’t tempted.’ Reminding himself that he had two young children depending on him, he glanced at the clock. ‘I’m off home. It’s Christmas Eve tomorrow. I’ve promised to spend it with my children. This raving nymphomaniac you’re finding me…’ He gave Maggie a slow smile. ‘Just make sure she has a passion for sexy underwear.’ He regretted the words immediately.

She had worn the sexiest, classiest underwear he’d ever seen. Just thinking about the provocative silky knickers he’d found on the floor of his room the next morning made him glad he was wearing his coat.

‘Go home and do battle with that turkey,’ Maggie said cheerfully. ‘I’ll see you in three days.’

Discovering that there was nothing like the thought of cooking a turkey to cure a man of an attack of lust, Patrick groaned. ‘I’d forgotten about the turkey. I’d rather deliver triplets than cook a turkey.’

Maggie gave a choked laugh. ‘Welcome to the festive season. Merry Christmas, Patrick.’

‘Merry Christmas.’ Patrick felt exhausted as he thought of the challenge ahead of him. ‘Yet another family Christmas that I’ll mess up. Alfie still hasn’t let me forget last year’s turkey disaster. I need a miracle.’