She’s expecting a baby...

...but not to meet her Mr. Right!

After leaving her cheating ex, nurse Nychelle Cory decided to have the baby she’s always wanted through IVF. As she’s determined to raise her child alone, she must ignore her inconvenient attraction to gorgeous colleague Dr. David Warmington. Especially as David has his own reasons for not wanting a family. But could Nychelle’s long-awaited miracle help heal them both?

ANN MCINTOSH was born in the tropics, lived in the frozen north for a number of years, and now resides in sunny central Florida with her husband. She’s a proud mama to three grown children, loves tea, crafting, animals (except reptiles!), bacon and the ocean. She believes in the power of romance to heal, inspire and provide hope in our complex world.

The Nurse’s Pregnancy Miracle

is Ann McIntosh’s debut title

Look out for more books from Ann McIntosh

Coming soon

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

The Nurse’s Pregnancy Miracle

Ann McIntosh

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-07534-3

THE NURSE’S PREGNANCY MIRACLE

© 2018 Ann McIntosh

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This book is dedicated to my late mother, Helen Delvaillé,

a voracious Harlequin/Mills & Boon reader.

I think she’d be happy to see my book

printed by her favourite publisher,

although she’d probably just deadpan, ‘Oh, good.’

Not all romantics are effusive!

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

WALKING BRISKLY THROUGH the waiting area of the Lauderlakes Family Medical Center, Nychelle Cory scanned the room, once more noting the contrast between the opulent surroundings and the rather squalid interior of the inner-city clinic she’d worked at up until just a couple of years before.

The marble flooring and the crystal chandelier, hung precisely beneath the domed skylight, wouldn’t be out of place in a grand home. Instead of the standard faux leather seating typical of medical clinics, comfortable upholstered chairs and love seats were arranged in small clusters around antique side tables. Every inch of the place was designed to give the illusion of being a luxurious hotel lobby, perhaps in the hope of helping people forget they were waiting to see a doctor.

Few people would understand but, oh, how she missed the hustle and near chaos of working at the low-cost clinic. So rewarding, helping those that others often forgot. But she’d known from the moment she took the job there that, financially, it wouldn’t be enough to advance The Plan.

Funny to realize that was how she always thought of it—not as Plan A, or as a prospective life plan. Just The Plan, with caps and italics, the way she’d written it in her diary when she was just thirteen years old. Below that she’d listed what she wanted, and the list was pretty short.

Children. Three or four.

A job that lets me spend lots of time with them.

A nice husband who wants to spend time with the kids too.

Looking back on it, number three had been tacked on at the end, as if she’d already made up her mind that the husband wasn’t exactly a necessary part of the process.

That thought made her suppress a little snort of laughter. The Plan definitely hadn’t come about the way she’d initially thought it would, but she wasn’t complaining. In fact she’d go so far as to claim she had the best of all worlds.

Getting a plum job at Fort Lauderdale’s premier general care clinic was helping bring her dreams to fruition, yet money alone wouldn’t have lured her to Lauderlakes. Her need to help the less fortunate was strong, and luckily Dr. Hamatty, Lauderlakes’ founder, believed in giving back too, working with local charities to put on free clinics three times a year.

Not the same as being in the trenches all the time, but it helped give her altruistic nature much-needed satisfaction.

There were a handful of people scattered around the waiting area. Sitting close together on a love seat, phones in hand, were a young couple who looked as though they’d just stepped out from between the pages of a high-end travel magazine. In the play area, just visible behind a floor-to-ceiling, glass-paneled waterfall, a toddler laughed, the sound muted by the tinkle of water.

Nodding hello to her next patient—a stylish older lady seated in a club chair—Nychelle paused for a moment in front of the intake desk and transferred her attention to Gina, the receptionist, who gave one of her usual tight-lipped smiles.

“Glad to see you back.” Gina raised one perfectly groomed brow as she spoke quietly, the way they were all instructed to, so as to maintain the atmosphere. “Did you have a good vacation?”

“I wouldn’t call it a vacation.” Nychelle gave a quick shrug, even as her heart did that trip-hammer thing it kept doing every time she thought about her days off and what they could mean. “Just took some time to get some things done.”

Like undergo intrauterine insemination and then keep quiet for a few days to give my body the best chance to make a baby.

Thankfully her complexion was too dark to show the blush as heat rushed up from the neck of her silk shirt and the stylish lab coat covering it into her face. Keeping her expression neutral was so hard, but imperative. Despite Gina’s chic, cool appearance, the receptionist was a Class A gossip, highly effective in ferreting out any and all information others tried to keep from her. With just the slightest hint of anything out of the ordinary going on Gina would be off and running.

“Boring.” Gina drew the softly spoken word out until it was half a mile long, flipping a long curl of black hair over her shoulder for emphasis. “I was at the very least hoping to hear you’d gone to Jamaica.” The smile was a little more relaxed, a little more interrogatory. “The stories I’ve heard about your homeland and the men there...”

Nychelle couldn’t hold back a little gurgle of laughter as she took another look at the information on the tablet in her hand.

Katalina Ivanenko.

Sixty-two years old.

Routine wellness check, including follow-up on previous bone density test.

History of arthritis...

“The rumors of my countrymen’s decadence are highly exaggerated.” Then she couldn’t resist winking and adding a whispered, “Most of the time.”

When Gina hid a giggle behind her hand, a little spurt of relief at pulling the wool over the other woman’s eyes made Nychelle’s smile widen.

No one, with the exception of her cousin and best friend, Aliya, would know about the IUI before her pregnancy was a fait accompli. Most people wouldn’t get why, at just twenty-eight, she was going this route. They’d expect her to be dating, looking for a long-term relationship, as though she should and would want that. Nope. Not in the cards. The relationship she’d gotten out of two years before had shattered both her faith in her own instincts and her ability to trust any man’s intentions.

Then there were her medical issues, which would only make conception harder the longer she waited to try. This was the optimal time for her to get pregnant, while leaving herself room to try a few more times if she needed to, and she was grabbing the opportunity with both hands. It was what she’d planned and worked toward since Nick had dumped her, and she knew she was extremely lucky to be able, both emotionally and financially, to make this huge step alone.

The reception phone rang, distracting Gina, and Nychelle took the opportunity to turn away toward her patient.

“Oh!”

The sound was so unexpectedly loud in the hushed environment, so rife with pain and surprise, Nychelle instinctively turned toward its source.

The young woman on the love seat was bent over, in obvious distress, her hands pressed to her lower abdomen.

“Call Dr. Leeson.” Nychelle was already moving across the waiting area toward the couple as she threw the demand back over her shoulder to Gina.

“It’s okay, Gina. I’ve got it.”

The deep voice came from near the door leading to the clinic, and by the time Nychelle had stooped down beside the young woman Dr. David Warmington was coming up behind her.

Great.

No time to dwell on how unsettled Dr. Warmington made her, or to wonder if he was the right physician for the situation. The other nurses said his bedside manner was exemplary, in between singing his praises and panting over the man’s incredible good looks.

“He’s not bringing the warm,” Nancy, the nursing coordinator, had said with a laugh before he’d started. “He’s packing heat.”

Among the nurses the name stuck, and to hear them talk you’d think “Dr. Heat” was more enticing than free chocolate and a bottle of Chablis.

Secretly Nychelle agreed, but nothing would get her to admit it. She knew all too well the danger of handsome men—especially those able to somehow charm even the most hardened of nurses. They weren’t to be trusted, and were apt to use their looks to their own advantage and the disadvantage of others.

No doubt if he wanted to he could make a lot of money modeling, showcasing expensive sunglasses on that chiseled face, with the wind blowing through his toffee-colored hair. Or making women run out to buy cologne in the hopes of suddenly transforming their hubbies into a six-foot, two-inch wall of muscle, with linebacker shoulders and a bootie made for nipping.

One glance from his intent blue eyes, reminiscent of the most gorgeous of Florida skies, could make the coldest heart quicken—even hers. But, while Nychelle admired his looks, she viewed him with suspicion—as she now did most, if not all, men.

Pushing all those thoughts aside, she said to the young woman, “Hi, I’m Nychelle. Tell me what’s going on.”

She took the other woman’s wrist firmly between her fingers, finding a strong but rapid pulse, and noting the patient’s pallor and the perspiration dotting her hairline despite the clamminess of her skin.

“I... I’m pregnant. I just realized a day ago. I was going to see my doctor after I got home.”

A visitor to the area, then, with perfect but accented English. Wide brown eyes, gleaming with tears, looked beseechingly into Nychelle’s, as though hoping for an instant end to fear and pain. Then she doubled over with a little shriek, arms crossed protectively over her abdomen.

Hugging her, the man beside her interjected, “She did a home test, but we knew she was not far along. When my wife saw a little blood and was worried, my tio told us to come here—”

The young woman turned toward her husband and unleashed a spate of angry, rapid-fire words. Working in Florida, Nychelle had made sure to keep up with her Spanish, but now she caught only the occasional familiar-sounding word. Something about a boat trip, his uncle, and losing her baby, in what Nychelle assumed was Portuguese.

“No, no. Don’t worry about any of that now.” Sympathetic but firm, the doctor’s voice cut through the young woman’s tirade and drew the couple’s attention. “I’m Dr. Warmington. Come with me and let’s find out what’s happening, okay?”

Nychelle was watching the patient and saw the moment when, even through her pain, the woman registered how handsome the doctor was. The young woman’s eyes widened and her lips parted on a silent Oh.

Under different circumstances it would have made Nychelle want to giggle, but they were already moving, the patient supported by her husband on one side, the doctor on the other, through Reception toward the examination rooms.

Nychelle simultaneously held doors open and pulled up the young woman’s information on her tablet, in preparation for handing it to Dr. Warmington on arrival at their destination.

Not a miscarriage. Please, not a miscarriage.

The thought caught her by surprise, made her stomach clench and roll, and as she began helping Mrs. Cardozo undress, she realized her hands were shaky.

Steady. Steady.

She was projecting. She knew she was. Imagining herself in Mrs. Cardozo’s position, feeling the other woman’s emotions as if they were her own, instead of putting her mind where it needed to be—on the equipment Dr. Warmington would need, the tests he’d want her to run.

It was the first time in her career she’d ever felt this way while in the midst of an emergency. Usually if she fell apart it was afterward, when she was alone and could release her emotions in private.

Taking a deep breath, and then another, she forced back all the fears building in her mind, and by the time she’d helped Mrs. Cardozo onto the examination table she’d gotten herself together.

“We’re ready for you, Dr. Warmington.”

Habitual efficiency took over then, and the well-remembered routine of working with a doctor kicked in—although since qualifying as an Advanced Practice Registered Nurse she usually worked alone, or with her own nurse assistant.

Yet her emotions seemed perilously close to the surface, and it was only Dr. Warmington’s soothing presence that kept her on an even keel. On the few occasions she’d witnessed him with patients before she’d been impressed by his professional demeanor, but this was different. Even though his understanding and reassurance were aimed at the patient, Nychelle found herself reacting to it too, letting it wash over her in calming waves.

“I can confirm you’re pregnant.”

Nychelle noted that he spoke to Mrs. Cardozo, rather than to her husband the way some other male physicians would be inclined to—another point in the doctor’s favor.

“But,” he continued, “I can see no apparent reason for the symptoms you’re experiencing.”

He glanced at Mr. Cardozo for a moment, and Nychelle thought his gaze briefly dropped to where the young couple’s fingers were tightly intertwined.

“It could be something as simple as dehydration, or a complication that will only become apparent with further testing, so I recommend you go to Broward Medical and have an obstetrician take a look at you there. While we have our own specialists here, at the hospital they’d be able to deal with any eventuality.”

As he gave them the information for the hospital, Nychelle slipped into the adjoining office to call ahead and make arrangements. The entire situation had taken maybe thirty minutes, but she felt as though it had been an emotionally grueling marathon. She didn’t even realize her eyes were damp until she reached up to swipe at a tear.

Hanging up the phone, she stiffened her spine and turned to find Dr. Warmington watching her from the doorway. Perhaps it was the set of his lips, or the way he seemed to be watching her, with a hint of the gentleness he’d lavished on Mrs. Cardozo, but whatever it was made Nychelle’s heart rate escalate and warmth bloom in her chest.

Once more thankful for the cocoa-toned skin that made her blushes unnoticeable, she said the first thing that came to her mind. “You speak Portuguese?”

He laughed quietly as he stepped into his office and moved toward the desk. “I’m lucky to have an ear for languages. I speak a few and understand a few more.”

“Lucky indeed.”

She should go. Although another nurse practitioner would have seen the patient she’d left waiting in the reception area, the day’s schedule was full. No doubt there was another patient for her to see. And she had details to iron out regarding the free child wellness clinic she was helping coordinate, scheduled for the coming weekend. Yet she lingered, watching as Dr. Warmington sat down and pulled his chair up to the desk.

“I’m pretty good with Spanish,” she said, after a moment, “but never got past that. Out of curiosity, what was Mrs. Cardozo saying to her husband?”

When he looked up, Nychelle’s breath caught in her throat. For an infinitesimal moment she read excruciating hurt in his eyes, but then he blinked and it was gone.

“They’re here from Sao Paulo, visiting his uncle, and when she realized she was pregnant she didn’t want to go on the boat trip they’d planned. But her husband talked her into it. She was saying if she lost the baby she’d never forgive him.”

He was still looking at her, seemingly waiting for her to reply, and suddenly—desperately—she wanted to say the right thing; wished she knew what the right response was. Wished she could smile and soothe the hurt she was sure she’d seen in his eyes.

“Well,” she said slowly. “That was patently unfair, but pregnant women—especially those expecting their first child—aren’t always known for their rationality.”

She risked a little smile, and was relieved and unreasonably happy when those stern lips relaxed into an answering tilt: not quite a smile, but enough.

“Hormones running rampant, as you men are quick to point out.”

That brought a wider smile, and Nychelle laughed quietly, before turning away from the magnetic pull of his grin.

“I won’t tell anyone you said something so blatantly sexist, Nurse Cory. It’ll be our secret.”

The laughter in his voice lightened her mood more, even as the rich baritone trickled like liquid sin down her spine. Suddenly she was glad she didn’t have to work with him too often. Now she understood what the other nurses were talking about, why they gazed at him like lost puppies whenever he passed by.

“I appreciate your tact, Dr. Warmington.”

She said it briskly and, her face still warmer than she’d like, she beat a hasty retreat before her own hormones went from simply gadding happily about in her system to having an actual full-on dance party.

He was too sexy for his own good—and hers.

* * *

Still smiling, David swiped a hand through his hair as the door closed behind Nychelle Cory. If anyone had told him he would smile after attending to a patient who might be losing her first child to miscarriage—especially one who seemed determined to blame her husband if it happened—he’d have said they were demented. It cut too close to home, brought the pain and regret that still haunted him after all these years into sharp focus.

If he closed his eyes he knew he’d instantly be able to bring Kitty’s face to mind, see the anger and near hatred glittering in her eyes, hear the blame she’d spewed at him before walking out of their home and his life.

That wasn’t something he dwelled on often; he knew she’d been devastated by the loss of their child, had lashed out at him as the only available target. But to have a patient come in at this time of the year, when the memories were so close to the surface anyway... Usually he’d be hard-pressed not to be overwhelmed by them, but now, instead, he clung to Nychelle’s warmth and kept smiling.

Just seeing the nurse practitioner buzzing around the clinic, dispensing that wide, sunny grin like instant relief medication, always gave him pleasure. This was one of the few times they’d interacted directly, but that was his own fault. When they’d first met, looking into those dark, gleaming eyes, seeing her gorgeous smile, had sent a sensation like an electric shock through his body, and he’d known immediately she was a woman to stay away from.

Agonizing memories were overshadowed by more enjoyable ones, and he closed his eyes, pictured Nychelle as he’d first seen her. Her hair had been pulled back into a simple bun, which had only emphasized the beauty of her oval face, her wide-set eyes and sweet, full mouth. Her smooth dark skin had been set off to perfection by a silky sunshine-yellow top that had done nothing to camouflage the high, rounded breasts beneath it, and her smart linen pants had showcased the rest of her glorious curves.

As far as he’d come from his rural roots, and as many lovely women as he’d met, something about Nychelle Cory had regressed him to the stuttering idiot he’d been in junior high school. She was intelligent and beautiful: the kind of woman men fantasized about finding and cherishing forever.

Making a family with.

But going down that road again wasn’t an option he wanted even to contemplate. Having children was a dream that had died for him, and he didn’t dare reawaken it. So, even if he was feeling that instinctive pull toward her, the smartest thing to do was to stay far away.

Painful memories threatened once more, the agony almost as sharp as it had been all those years ago. With a curse, David pulled his thoughts back from that precipice and reached for the tablet on his desk. He had notes to finish and an appointment due to begin any moment.

Yet his eyes strayed one more time to the door, and he remembered seeing Nychelle wiping away a tear as he came into the office. Apparently he wasn’t the only one affected by their shared patient, and the knowledge of her tenderheartedness tugged at something deep in his chest.

Cursing again, he turned his attention to the digital device in his hand, determinedly putting all thoughts of the delectable nurse practitioner out of his head.

CHAPTER TWO

“THIS COUNTRY HAS been so good to me, and it is my pleasure to be able to give back in some small way.”

Crowded around the raised stage at the front of the school auditorium, the assembled doctors, nurse practitioners, RNs, medical and nursing students listened respectfully to Dr. Hamatty’s pep talk.

It was a great turn-out, and Nychelle was cautiously confident that they were fully prepared for the influx of children who, brought by their parents, would soon be streaming in for the pediatric clinic. It had taken months of intense work by all the committee members to pull it together, but with Dr. Hamatty’s connections they had assembled all the equipment and personnel they needed.

She’d been on site the evening before, helping to supervise the setting up of field hospital cubicles and examination tables, and directing the placement of diagnostic machines and dispensary. The Lauderlakes free clinics were famous for their quality of care—a point of pride for Dr. Hamatty, his staff and associates. Even the older, more established doctors turned out to lend their talents when time permitted.

In the middle of the group, Nychelle split her attention between the familiar speech and the conversation scrolling across her phone.

How much longer before you know for sure?

Aliya had added an excited face emoji for emphasis, making Nychelle smile. Anyone meeting her cousin in her guise as a rising young oncology researcher would never guess the depth of Aliya’s silly side.

Already told you, another week and a half. Asking every day isn’t going to speed up the process!

Are you going to cheat?

Nychelle smiled, shaking her head at how well her cousin knew her. The thought of buying one of those early detection pregnancy tests and taking it a couple of days before her next appointment had crossed her mind.

No. It would be like tempting fate.

A quick check found that Dr. Hamatty was at the point where he spoke about coming to the States as a child. His family had been poor, unable to speak proper English, and suffering the effects of the war-torn situation they’d left behind. After telling the story of how he’d got to where he was, he’d wrap it up and they’d all take their places, ready for the deluge of patients. He’d be another five, maybe seven minutes, she estimated.

Just enough time to finish her conversation with Aliya.

Without more than a glance at her phone, she typed her message.

Have you told your mom you won’t be at the gala?

Yes. She’s not amused, but agreed work had to come first.

Pursing her lips, Nychelle replied.

Not surprising at all.

To Dr. Monique Girvan work always came first. There had been a time when Nychelle had resented her mother for rarely being around, for putting her career advancement before everything else, up to and including her children. Now, although it still rankled, she’d learned to accept her mother for who she was.

It didn’t mean her daughter had to walk in her footsteps, though. In fact, if anything, it made Nychelle determined not to. Her children wouldn’t want for love, affection, and understanding.

Dr. Hamatty was getting close to winding up his speech, so Nychelle typed, Okay, almost go time. TTYL, then stuffed her phone into the pocket of her lab coat.

The crowd shifted, and muffled apologies following their movement as people bumped into one another. The nurse standing just in front of Nychelle turned to frown at the source of the disturbance, but her disapproving expression immediately faded and she lifted a hand to smooth her hair.

Following the other woman’s gaze, Nychelle found herself face to face with David Warmington.

As usual his expression was serious, but there was a glint of a smile in his eyes and Nychelle was suddenly breathless, her heart stumbling as she drowned in the bright blue gaze.

He inched a little closer, surrounding her with the clean, fresh scent of utter maleness and, her legs suddenly wobbly, she turned back toward the stage, feigning the greatest of interest in the wrap-up of Dr. Hamatty’s speech.

Keeping her head steadfastly trained forward, she contemplated with some annoyance the fact that the darn man was suddenly everywhere she looked. Over the last week it had felt as though she couldn’t go two steps without seeing him. Worse, she’d found herself paying him far more attention than was warranted.

She had to admit, though, that what she’d seen was surprising, considering her previous assessment of his character. What she’d thought of as smooth charm seemed instead to be simply politeness. He never crossed the line into familiarity, and even seemed to display, on occasion, a touch of shyness.

He was unfailingly courteous, had a sly sense of humor, and he spoke to everyone from the janitorial staff to the senior partners in exactly the same way. Professionally, everyone agreed he was an excellent diagnostician and a thorough, diligent doctor.

Anyone hearing the nurses talk would believe him to be a paragon of every virtue, and Nychelle was beginning to understand why. He knew all their names, and she’d even overheard him asking one of the nurse aides about her son, who’d been ill the week before.

Once you got past his amazing looks, David Warmington seemed to be just a thoroughly nice person—but she knew better than to trust her own assessment of a man’s character. She’d thought the same of Nick, and had been horribly wrong. She just wished she could get her hormones to remember how painful disappointment was, especially when it left you feeling used, so that they’d stop reacting to the man standing at her side.

“And now it’s just about time to open the door and let our patients in.” Dr. Hamatty beamed as he rubbed his hands together in what looked like anticipation. “Have a great, productive day, and on behalf of everyone involved in planning this I once more thank you for giving up your Saturday to help those in need.”

There was a short round of applause as Dr. H. stepped away from the microphone and the clinic committee chairperson stepped forward.

“Any latecomers who haven’t received their instruction packages, please report to the intake table. Everyone else—please go to your assigned cubicle.” She glanced at her watch. “We have fifteen minutes, folks.”

Her smile was slightly strained, and Nychelle felt a pang of sympathy. It was no wonder almost every free clinic had a different coordinator. The stress of getting it all arranged was immense.

Clapping her hands together, like a schoolteacher trying to rally her students, and injecting a strident enthusiasm into her voice, the chairperson concluded, “Let’s do this!”

As the crowd dispersed, Nychelle hesitated. She should acknowledge Dr. Warmington in some way, but was reluctant. Ridiculous as it might be, just thinking of meeting his intent gaze made goose bumps fire down her spine and had her nipples tightening to tingling peaks.

“This is quite some set-up. I wasn’t sure what to expect.”

His words were obviously directed at her, since she was the only one left standing in the immediate vicinity.

Silently admonishing herself to stay cool, Nychelle made the half turn necessary to face him. Thankfully he was taking in the room, his gaze on the dispensary across the gymnasium.

Before she could answer, he continued, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a pharmacy at a free clinic.”

Okay, this was a safe topic to talk about, and since she wasn’t skewered by that intense gaze Nychelle relaxed.

“Dr. Hamatty had to work really hard to get a special license for it. Apparently he realized, after the first few clinics he arranged, that it didn’t help the patients if they were given prescriptions they couldn’t afford to fill. All the medications are donated and, with a few exceptions, they’re limited to mostly over-the-counter drugs, so eventually he was allowed to have it.”

Nychelle couldn’t help chuckling softly, before continuing, “Dr. H. has a lot of clout in the medical community, and beyond. It was inconceivable they’d be able to hold out against him forever.”

As though drawn by the sound of her laughter, David looked at her, and immediately she was snared. Really, was it fair for a man to have eyes like that? So gorgeous they made a girl’s heart stop for a second and then had it galloping like an out-of-control horse?

No, Nychelle decided. No, it wasn’t in the slightest bit fair.

David’s lips quirked at the corners and amusement lit his eyes again. “Somehow I’m not surprised. Dr. H. is a powerhouse. I doubt anyone says no to him. Not more than once anyway.” He waved his hand in an abbreviated arc, gesturing to the room at large. “The number of us here is testimony to that.”

Had he wanted to say no? Wasn’t being charitable a part of his nature?

Unaccountably disappointed at the thought, she asked, “You weren’t at the last one? I would have thought you’d be roped in from the start.”

David briefly lifted one shoulder in what she’d come to realize was a characteristic shrug. “I had already committed to going to Los Angeles to finish a course on genetic counseling for oncology patients. Dr. H. knew about it when he hired me, so knew I wouldn’t be at the free clinic. I assured him I’d happily participate going forward.”

He looked down at the information package in his hand. “I should try to find my spot.” Glancing up at the alphabetically arranged banners hanging from the ceiling, he continued, “I’m in D section, cubicle five.”

“I’m just two cubicles down from you, so I can show you where it is.”

“Oh, good.”

He gave her a full, beaming smile, and the breath seized in her throat.

“So I can run to you if I have any questions?”

“Um...” Nychelle swallowed to make sure her voice wasn’t breathy and ridiculous before she attempted to answer. “Somehow I doubt you’ll need my help. I, on the other hand, am glad to know I’m in close proximity to the polyglot doctor.”

Wanting to lighten her emotional response to his smile, she narrowed her eyes, giving him a mock glare.

“You do speak several languages, right? You weren’t just pulling my leg?”

With a touch on her arm, which even through her lab coat caused a burst of heat over her skin, David guided her around to face their section and began to walk. Nychelle fell in beside him, keeping her attention on where she was going rather than looking up at the stunning profile of the man beside her.

“Spanish and Portuguese, French, Italian and some German—enough to get by anyway. A little Arabic and a smattering of Hindi. I can understand a bit of Mandarin, but just the basics. I’ve been told my Cantonese is a disgrace, but once the person I’m talking to stops laughing I can carry on a conversation...”

That last bit was said in such a disgruntled tone Nychelle couldn’t help giggling. “Okay, okay—I believe you.”

“Oh.” David paused abruptly, just before they got to their assigned areas. “I actually sought you out to let you know that Mrs. Cardozo and her baby are in no danger, and she’s been cleared by Dr. Tza to fly back home next week.”

Nychelle was about to ask for more details when the coordinator’s voice boomed through the auditorium. “Ten minutes, people. Ten minutes.”

“Oops, better get going.” Nychelle smiled up at David, was rewarded by an answering grin. Then she asked, “Did Dr. Tza’s office call with the update?”

“No, I called to follow up. See you.”

He strode toward his assigned examination area and warmth flooded Nychelle’s chest. Checking on a patient he’d only seen once and likely wouldn’t see again was beyond his purview, but knowing he’d done so made her unreasonably happy.

Get a grip on yourself. You’re getting as bad as the other nurses!

But the admonishment couldn’t wipe away the smile on her lips.

* * *

“I’m going to suggest going back to your old detergent. The location of the rash seems to indicate contact dermatitis, and the recent change to a different brand of laundry soap seems the obvious culprit.”

As the elderly man and preteen boy David was escorting out paused at the entrance to the examination area David continued. “The hydrocortisone cream will help with the itching, but if you go back to the old detergent and the rash doesn’t clear up in about a month, you’ll need to have him examined again.”

The old man nodded, then held out a gnarled and wrinkled hand to shake.

“Thanks, Doctor.” He shook his head and grumbled, “Darn kids. That new brand is cheaper than the old one. Wouldn’t you know one of them would be allergic?”

But, despite his grousing, he slung his arm around the boy’s shoulders as they walked away, and the youngster looped his own arm around the waist of the man he’d called “Grandpa.” Clearly there was genuine affection between the pair.

It was funny, David mused, how freely people talked about their lives in the short period of time they had with him in this clinic setting. Already today he’d heard myriad stories about difficult circumstances—like Mr. Jones and Tyrell, the pair now making their way to the dispensary. Mr. Jones wasn’t even the boy’s blood relative, but was married to Tyrell’s great-aunt, who’d taken Tyrell and his two sisters in after their mother went to jail. A sad story in a way, and yet a testament to people’s innate goodness.

David could relate to many of the stories of poverty. After all, he’d lived it, and it really wasn’t that long since he’d broken away from the grinding cycle of just trying to survive.

Sometimes it felt as if it were yesterday he’d been patching his shoes with newspaper and wearing clothes donated to the family by charitable organizations. Often he caught himself reverting to type—hesitating to buy something he could definitely afford because the price was still shocking to him on an almost visceral level, or rinsing a jar to save instead of putting it into the recycling. Some habits were definitely harder to break than others when they’d been acquired at a really young age.

About to call for the next patient in line, he glanced toward where Nychelle was working, just in time to see her trying to get his attention. He stayed where he was for a moment, allowing himself to enjoy the sight of her hurrying toward him. Even in a pair of pink scrubs printed with pictures of bunnies and teddy bears under a generic white lab coat, her face bare of makeup except for a slick of lip gloss, Nychelle was beautiful.

The only thing missing was her habitual smile. Instead her mouth was set in a firm line, and noticing that had him moving to meet her in front of the examination area that separated their assigned areas.

“Dr. Warmington, if you’re free I’d appreciate your assistance.”

Her voice was level, without inflection, but David searched her eyes, saw the hint of deep emotion she was trying hard to subdue.

“Of course. What’s the problem?”

“I have a toddler—male, three years old, underweight—with jaundice and an elevated temperature, and a Haitian mother who doesn’t speak much English, so I can’t get an accurate history.”

She turned to lead the way to her area.

“What are you thinking?”

Nychelle sent him a worried glance over her shoulder. “I don’t know how long they’ve been in the country, so until I do I can’t rule out malaria or Hep A—although it would be unusual for a toddler to show symptoms of hepatitis.”

Children that young, he knew, were usually asymptomatic when they contracted Hep A, and quickly recovered without treatment. The real danger would be the chance of the child passing Hepatitis A on to others around him, especially if they were living in less than hygienic conditions.

“Without a history I can’t rule out sickle cell anemia or Gilbert’s syndrome either.”

She paused outside the curtain surrounding her examination area, and David could hear the little boy fussing and the sounds of his mother hushing him without success.

Nychelle shook her head, her frustration patently clear for an instant. “I’m pretty much dead in the water without knowing more.” Then she squeezed his wrist—just a quick, strong clasp of her long fingers—and said, “I’m so glad I have you to call on.”

Then she slipped between the curtains, leaving him there trying to catch his breath and get a grip on his suddenly wayward libido.

Who knew that one little touch could be as effective as a striptease?

Cursing himself, he ruthlessly pushed away all imaginings of what it would be like to have Nychelle Cory’s fingers on other parts of his body, and then followed her through the curtain.

The mother looked harried, and instinctively David held out his arms to the little boy. Big brown eyes widening, the toddler stopped crying and gave David a considering look. Then, after a hiccup, he smiled and tipped forward right into David’s grasp.

As he caught the little boy, and then settled the slight weight against his chest, David took a quick inventory. The little fellow was definitely warm, and the sclera of both eyes had a distinctive yellow tint. Time to figure out what was going on.

So, putting on his most calming smile, he turned to the little boy’s mother. “Bonjour, madame. Puis-je vous poser quelques questions?”

CHAPTER THREE

NYCHELLE SIGHED AS she stepped into the kitchen of her South Fort Lauderdale bungalow and pulled the door closed. Putting down her tote bag, she toed off her shoes, appreciating the cool air indoors, so different from the heat of her garage. Twisting her head first one way and then the other, she tried to work out the tension tightening her neck muscles.

Although each of the medical personnel were only asked to work a three-hour shift at the free clinic, she knew extra hands were always needed at the patient intake booth, or as troubleshooters for the other medical practitioners, and she’d offered her services.

The afternoon had flown by, and before she’d even realized it the clinic had been winding down, so she’d stayed until it ended at five. She was tired—maybe even more so than she’d usually be—but as she yawned widely a feeling of accomplishment made the weariness bearable.

Barefoot, she wandered into the kitchen to retrieve a bottle of water from her fridge, grabbing a handful of grapes at the same time.

The day had been a resounding success, as usual, yet a nagging sense of discontent dogged her every move, and she wasn’t able to put her finger on the source. Stifling another yawn behind the water bottle in her hand, she considered having a nice soak and an evening of watching some of the myriad TV shows she’d recorded.

Usually there would be some wine thrown into the mix for good measure but, of course, that wasn’t in the cards right now. Hopefully wouldn’t be for another thirty-nine weeks.

There was no stopping the grin stretching her lips to the maximum, nor the little thrill trickling down her spine. No matter what else was bothering her, the prospect of a baby—her baby—made it all okay.

She was still smiling as she put the grapes in a bowl and then headed across the living room toward her bedroom to prepare her bath.

When her cell phone rang, the distinctive sound of Beethoven’s Fifth made her good humor all but evaporate. A little groan escaped before she could stop it, and the immediate wave of guilt that brought had her shaking her head.

Reversing course, she strode back toward the kitchen, hurrying so as not to miss the call. Dumping the water bottle and bowl on the console table, she launched a frantic rummage in her bag to find her phone. Locating it under her wadded-up lab coat, she swiped the screen and brought it up to her ear.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Nychelle. How did the clinic go?”

Not How are you? or What are you up to? Nope—straight to work. Sometimes Nychelle wondered if that was all herself and her mother had in common. The thought irritated her more than usual tonight, and she had to temper her annoyance so it wouldn’t show in her voice.

“It went very well. We had approximately two thousand patients come through.”

“When will you be taking on the chairperson position? Haven’t you been asked?”

Nychelle took a deep breath, willing herself not to react to the obvious implication of her mother’s last question.

“I was asked, but I didn’t accept.”

Before her mother could launch into another lecture about ambition and the necessity of taking on hard tasks so as to be able to advance in the workplace, Nychelle continued.

“I was in the middle of those skill improvement courses Dr. Hamatty requested we all take. To be honest, I wanted to make sure I didn’t just complete them, but aced them.”

“Hmph.”

Nychelle knew her mother still wanted to take her to task for not accepting the position anyway, but really couldn’t, since her reason for not doing so was also work-related.

“Well, I suggest taking it on if it’s offered to you again. But don’t be surprised if it isn’t. Many of the best opportunities come along only once. Rarely are there second chances in life.”

Nychelle bit her lip, holding back a snort of laughter. Her mother would have a fit if she knew Nychelle had already gotten another chance to chair the committee and had once again asked to defer to one of the other committee members.

“Also, I want you to make sure you’re on time for the pre-gala reception next Saturday.”

Having said her piece on one subject, her mother had swiftly moved on to the next. She probably had a list of points to touch on written out in front of her.

“I know it’s embarrassing to come to these functions by yourself, but please endeavor to arrive early. If you lived closer to Martin, he and Jennifer could pick you up, but your house is too out of the way to be convenient.”

Another one of her mother’s thinly veiled criticisms. While her parents and her cousin Martin all lived in the northern end of the city, in far more expensive neighborhoods, Nychelle had chosen to live in the trendier and more affordable South Fort Lauderdale. It was a nice area, but the way her parents talked about it anyone would be forgiven for thinking it a slum.

“No problem, Mom. The hotel isn’t that far from here, so it wouldn’t make sense to have someone pick me up anyway. And, yes, I’ll be there early enough for the reception.”

“Do you have something appropriate to wear?”

Nychelle allowed the chuckle she’d been holding in to escape.

“Not yet, Mom.” Her mother didn’t wear the same formal dress twice, and expected the same from her daughters. “I plan to go and buy something this week.”

She actually didn’t plan to buy a new dress. For her, the outfit she’d worn to a friend’s wedding would be suitable—but she wouldn’t be telling her mother that. No. She’d avoid the lecture until later, then just say she’d been too busy with work to get something.

“Leaving it a little late, aren’t you?”

Shaking her head, Nychelle picked up the water bottle from where she’d put it on the console table and, juggling it, her phone and the bowl of grapes, started back across the living room.

Suddenly exhausted, all she wanted was that longed-for bath and a chance to relax: impossible to do with her mother on the other end of the phone.

“I haven’t had a chance before. You know how it is. Work must come first.”

Unfair, perhaps, to quote her mother’s words back at her, but it should be an effective topic-closer.

Yet it wasn’t.

“The annual Medical Association charity gala is where you’ll find all the movers and shakers of the Florida medical community assembled in one place. You need to make a good impression.”

“Yes, Mom. I know.” If there was one thing her parents had drummed into their daughters, it was that connections were important when it came to building a career. “One day I might be applying to one of them for a job.”

If she’d had more energy she’d have pointed out that Dr. Hamatty, arguably one of the most influential doctors in the city, had hired her without knowing anything about her other than her credentials. Tonight she just felt as if she’d be battering her head against a wall.

“Exactly. Well, I’ll let you go. See you next Saturday.”

And just like that, without waiting for Nychelle to reply, her mother hung up.

“Wow, Mom. Bye to you too,” she said to the dial tone, before throwing her phone onto the bed.

While she undressed, she carried on the imaginary conversation. “And how’s Dad? Oh, I’m glad to hear his shoulder is better. How was the surgical conference? Will his latest paper be published?”

Still grumbling to herself, she filled the bathtub and added a sprinkle of bath salts, hoping to soak out the aches of the long, busy day. Sinking into the warm water, she released a long sigh and willed herself to relax.

There was no changing her parents at this late stage, so it didn’t make sense to let their attitude toward her life and her career stress her out. Especially now. When she told them she was pregnant there’d be no excitement or joy, just more disapproval, so best she prepare for it.

Realizing she was grinding her teeth, she sank a little deeper into the tub and, forcibly dismissing old hurts, turned her thoughts to the day just past.

Immediately David Warmington came to mind, and she smiled as she remembered little Etienne, the Haitian toddler, throwing himself out of his mother’s arms into David’s. Children of that age were notorious for clinging to their parents, especially if they weren’t feeling well, but Etienne had hardly hesitated before happily going to the doctor.

Not that Nychelle blamed the little boy in the slightest. She’d found herself wanting to throw herself into Dr. Warmington’s arms too. Which was ridiculous—and no doubt caused by some strange chemical reaction that all the IUI drugs had created in her brain. Yes, he was gorgeous, seemed nice, and was sexy as hell—but those weren’t good excuses to be panting after him. In fact they were all great reasons to avoid him like the plague.

Besides, even if she had been tempted, now she knew for sure David Warmington would never be the man for her even if the circumstances had been different.

Suddenly wanting to move, to be active, even though the whole point of the bath was to relax, she sat up and reached for her body wash, shivering slightly as the cooler air touched her shoulders and breasts when they rose out of the water.

It wasn’t a conversation she should even have been privy to, but it wasn’t as though she’d eavesdropped on purpose. She’d just happened to be sitting at the table behind David and Dr. Tomkins, one of the other doctors from Lauderlakes, in the cafeteria during her lunch break. Besides, neither had made any effort to keep their voice down, so they obviously hadn’t had any expectation of privacy. Mind you, Dr. Tomkins had a voice like a cannon, his words booming out in ear-shocking volleys.

“Dr. H. mentioned to me that the parents are very impressed by you, David. Saying how well you handle their kids. Maybe you should have gone into pediatrics.”

When David had replied he’d sounded neither gratified nor amused. “No...no pediatrics for me. It was never an option.”

Dr. Tomkins had chuckled. “Well, at least when you have children of your own you should have a good rapport with them, if today was any indication.”

“That’s something else I don’t consider an option.”

Had it been her imagination, or had his voice been cold—not like his usual mellow tones? Without being able to see his face she hadn’t been sure, but the alacrity with which Dr. Tomkins had changed the subject had Nychelle suspecting she was right.

Shaking her head, she sank back into the water and frowned. Another man who professed not to want kids—probably for some damned selfish reason too. Nick had said he’d consider children once his career was more settled, although he was already well on his way. Now Nychelle couldn’t help wondering what David’s reason was. He didn’t strike her as the selfish type.

Charm, which Nick had exhibited in abundance, was something she’d learned could be easily feigned, and it differed markedly from good character and genuine caring. Even her father, normally coolly distant, had the ability to turn on the charm when he thought it worthwhile.

Nychelle couldn’t help wondering if the real David was hiding behind a thin veneer of charisma, like the one Nick had. Not that it mattered to her. She couldn’t care less. Wouldn’t allow herself to care.

What truly irked her, though, was her physical reaction to David, since she should know better than to be attracted to another charmer.

As she lay back in the water, it wasn’t the popping of the soap bubbles floating away from her skin that raised goose bumps on her arms and chest and made her nipples tighten and tingle. It was the memory of watching David’s hands as he’d worked, hearing the warm cadence of his voice as he’d soothed the patient and his mother, and the breathlessness she’d felt each time his gaze caught hers or she looked at his lips.

With a little groan of surrender Nychelle swept a palm over one breast, succumbing to the lure of a fantasy in which David Warmington pulled her close to his strong body and kissed her until she turned to putty in those gorgeous hands.

And somehow she knew those hands, lips and body could bring her more pleasure than she’d ever known before.

“Cut it out, Nychelle.”

Saying it out loud didn’t stop the ache building in her core, and with a growl of frustration she slapped both palms down on the surface of the water, inadvertently splashing herself in the face.

“Oh, for crying out loud!”

Spluttering, she wiped the soapy water from her cheeks, then laughed as she reached for a towel to dry her eyes. It was the kind of silly thing she’d usually share with Aliya, but in this case probably wouldn’t. The last thing she needed was to get in the habit of talking to her cousin about David. Aliya would definitely pick up on hearing his name over and over again.

Despite claiming to understand why Nychelle was undergoing IUI, her cousin had tried to convince her to wait a little longer before having a baby.

“There’s a man out there for you,” Aliya had said over lunch the last time she’d come to Florida for a visit. “I know Nick broke your heart, and you’re probably not ready to trust yet, but give it a little more time.”

Just the sound of her ex-fiancé’s name had made a sour taste rise into the back of her throat, and Nychelle had shaken her head. “It’s not about Nick.”

When Aliya’s eyebrows had gone up, Nychelle had known her cousin didn’t believe her.

“It’s not all about Nick,” she’d qualified. “Yes, he broke my heart, but that was a couple of years ago, and I’m over it.”

“Are you really?” Aliya had pressed the point. “You were with him for years, and he used our family connections to advance his career. Then he cheated on you and got some other girl pregnant after telling you he wasn’t ready to have a child yet. I’d have a hard time getting over that. And the fact you won’t even consider waiting to find someone else tells me you’re anything but over it.”

“I don’t need a relationship to get what I want.” She raised her hand to stop her cousin launching into a rebuttal. “And I don’t have time to build one, to learn to trust again, before I start trying to conceive.”

“But...”

“No. You know that with the scarring on my uterus the longer I wait to try to start a family the harder it will be. Realistically, I’m almost thirty, and at the optimal time in my life—physically, financially and emotionally—to start a family. I don’t want to wait, hoping I’ll meet someone, and miss this chance.”

Aliya’s expression had softened, and she’d said, “From when you were little you said you wanted a big family. I guess that’s never changed.”

“Exactly. So I’m going to do the IUI and let the rest of it take care of itself.” Then she’d added, just so Aliya wouldn’t figure out she wasn’t planning even to consider another relationship and get on her case, “If there’s someone out there for me he’ll find me, or I’ll find him. If not, it’s not a big deal.”

“Huh.” Disgruntlement had radiated from Aliya’s snort. “I still think waiting a couple years more wouldn’t hurt.”

Now, as Nychelle stepped out of the tub, she reached down to touch her belly, skimming her fingertips over the place where, hopefully, her baby was growing and thriving. “It’s okay that it’s just you and me, sweetie. We really don’t need anyone else.”

Funny how suddenly the words had a bittersweet quality—but she didn’t want to consider why that might be. Instead, she gave her reflection a bracing nod, then turned away to reach for her towel. This was the best time of her life and nothing would make her regret trying for a baby.

Nothing.

CHAPTER FOUR

THERE WAS SOMETHING a little off about David Warmington today, but Nychelle couldn’t put her finger on it. Perhaps it was that for the first time she sensed he was growing ever more irritated with a patient.

Not that she could blame him. Douglas Comstock, a sports agent referred to the clinic by one of his star clients, was being willfully difficult. He’d come in complaining of persistent leg pain, and after examining him she’d sent him for X-rays and a MRI. He had requested pain medication, because over-the-counter painkillers were no longer working, and since nurse practitioners weren’t allowed to prescribe medication Nychelle had requested one of the GPs see him. David had been available.

Now she was being treated to a battle of wills, her head swiveling back and forth between the two men as though she were at a debate. It would be entertaining if it weren’t for the fact she was sure David was having a hard time dealing with this patient.

As she watched, it seemed David took a deeper than necessary breath before saying, “Mr. Comstock—”

“Doug.” The man grinned, totally at ease. Almost seeming to be enjoying himself. “Call me Doug, Doc.”

“Doug. I’m going to refer you to Dr. Napoli, who is one of the best orthopedic surgeons in Florida. But, I’m telling you, she’s not going to be able to help you until you lose some weight.”

Doug Comstock was still smiling, even as he shook his head. “Don’t bother sending me to anyone else. Just give me some meds, Doc, and I’ll be on my way. As I was telling Nychelle, that losing weight thing’s probably just not going to happen. I’m on the road for most of the year, traveling with the athletes I manage, and I don’t have time to add anything else to my schedule, you know?”

He made the argument sound reasonable, but David was having none of it.

“No,” he countered. “I don’t know. Explain to me how eating healthier and getting exercise are going to disrupt your schedule.”

“Sure, Doc.”

Doug kept right on smiling, and Nychelle realized it was probably part of the reason he was successful. It was an effective way to rebuff almost any dissent.

“I’m at sporting events most nights, or out scouting new talent. Then there are after-parties or press conferences. Even if there are no events there are dinners, where I’m schmoozing prospective clients or dealing with owners. I’m up with the birds, on the phone making connections, setting things up, talking to people on the other side of the world. Then I’m taking people to lunch, or sitting around in meetings most of the day. My day is long, and as full as you can get, and it involves a lot of eating and drinking to boot. Add one more thing into that and I have to drop something else. What do you suggest? The three or four hours of sleep I get a night?”

While his pleasant expression hadn’t changed, there was a steely tone in his voice. He obviously wasn’t used to being lectured or opposed, but once more David didn’t back down.

“I see from the chart Nurse Cory tried to schedule you for some tests, but you told her not to set them up.”

“Yup.” Doug shifted on the table, lifting one beefy leg and then the other, obviously uncomfortable although his smile remained in place. “I’m heading to Taiwan in three days, so it doesn’t make sense for her to bother. I won’t make the appointments anyway.”

David glanced at Nychelle and she gave him a quick upward quirk of her eyebrows. A silent good luck. Then David gave Doug a thoughtful look. Normally by now he should be telling the patient to put on his clothes and come into the adjacent office, where they could sit and discuss the situation in comfort. Instead, perhaps to underscore the importance of what he had to say, David launched right in.

“Okay, Mr. Comstock. I know I should probably be more tactful, but I don’t think you’ll take me seriously. So I’m going to give this to you straight.”

Was that a slight wavering of the smile on their patient’s face? Nychelle couldn’t be sure, but she hoped so. It might mean the other man was really listening.

“You’re at least a hundred pounds over the optimal weight for your height and bone structure. I suspect, from the X-rays and MRI results, that you may have a herniated disc, which accounts for the leg pain, and the numbness and weakness you’re experiencing. While there are treatments that could help with the pain, those are best explored with a specialist like Dr. Napoli. Realistically, though, the treatment is probably going to be ineffective if you don’t address the root causes of the problem. And pain medication on its own will only mask the symptoms.”

“But—”

David gave the man a stern look and held up one hand. “Wait, please. Let me finish.”

Smile totally gone, Doug gave a little huff of clear annoyance, but subsided.

“Perhaps even more important, even at your age, your weight puts you at risk for so many other diseases. Ones that can halt you right in your busy tracks.”

He glanced down at the tablet in his hand, maybe to give his words a chance to sink in, then continued.

“Your blood pressure is elevated, and although you’re on the appropriate medication you say you haven’t been to a doctor in a few years, so I suspect your management of that hasn’t been tracked, nor your medication adjusted. Uncontrolled blood pressure can lead to a stroke.”

Doug’s eyes widened slightly, but David pressed on, relentless in a way she suspected he normally wouldn’t be. Seeing him like this was a little surreal.

And surprisingly attractive.

She shook that thought away, but not before a little tingle had tiptoed down her spine.

“You’re also at an elevated risk for diabetes—which, should you develop it, would definitely add new tasks to your daily routine, such as taking your blood sugar levels three times a day and giving yourself injections of insulin to ensure you don’t go into a diabetic coma.”

Doug Comstock paled. His lips parted, but then he looked down and closed them again. David waited and then, assured the other man wouldn’t interrupt, he continued.

“Nurse Cory has noted you’ve had some breathing issues, which could be something as simple as a reaction to air quality or as serious as imminent congestive heart failure. I’m also concerned about your cholesterol levels, considering your lifestyle, but there is no way to know whether you should be worried about either of those matters without further tests. Furthermore, your excess weight, as well as putting undue pressure on your back, is also putting immense pressure on your other joints, so you can expect to begin experiencing knee, hip and/or ankle problems. Also, with all the traveling you do, you are definitely at risk for deep vein thrombosis. Do you know what that is?”

A now somber Doug shook his head. David definitely had his attention now, thank goodness.

“That is when blood clots form in your legs, which can then travel through the veins and cause a pulmonary embolism—a blockage in your lungs. You have two of the major risk factors—you sit down a lot, and you’re overweight.”

Sensing the patient’s rising anxiety, Nychelle stepped closer, and said, “Mr. Comstock, I know it seems like a real inconvenience to try to lose weight, or to concentrate on your health when you have so much going on, and so many people depending on you, but we can help. Make it achievable without adding too much fuss to your day.”

She smiled, hoping to soften the words. It was like playing “good cop, bad cop,” and if it would help to get the patient on the right track, she was willing to go with it.

“I...” Doug Comstock frowned, then looked down again at his hands, where they lay on his thighs. “I guess I can at least try. I haven’t been feeling so good lately, and I’m not sleeping well, but I just put it down to the pain.”

David opened his mouth, and Nychelle hoped he wouldn’t bring up any of the other myriad conditions obesity might be causing the patient, like sleep apnea. There was no point in overloading Doug with what ifs and risk him shutting down. Not now, when he seemed amenable to letting them guide him to a healthier way of life.

But instead David said, “Why don’t you put on your clothes and come through to the office? We’ll get you scheduled for some blood tests—many of which we can do right now, before you leave—and Nurse Cory and I will set you up with a plan to get you on the right track.”

“Okay. Okay.” Doug heaved himself off the table. “I’ve only gotten this big in the last six years, since my management business took off, believe it or not.”

“That’s actually good,” David said. “It’s not the habits of a lifetime you’re trying to break, just those you’ve developed over a short space of time. I think, for a man of your drive and character, this will be a breeze.”

And Doug, thankfully, was smiling again as David and Nychelle left the room.

* * *

David was hard pressed to remember when last he’d been so annoyed with a patient and, given the thoughtful look Nychelle sent him as they entered her office, he guessed he hadn’t hidden it very well.

“Whew,” Nychelle said quietly, after making sure the door to the examination room was firmly closed. David was already on the defensive, even before she said, “I’m glad you got through to Mr. Comstock, but you were pretty hard on him.”

“He needed me to be.”

He realized how much of a growl that had been when Nychelle glanced at him again, her eyebrows raised.

But all she said was, “Apparently. I said a lot of the same things to him and all he did was brush me off. I was a little worried he was prescription shopping, when he kept insisting all he needed were painkillers.”

As she crossed to the credenza where she kept various informational brochures, David went to sit at her desk and blew out a long breath.

“At least we cleared up that misapprehension, but I honestly have no idea whether he’ll actually listen to us and try to make the changes we suggest.” He pulled the laptop closer to bring up the necessary records. “Sometimes I wonder why we bother.”

Pausing in the midst of pulling pamphlets from a drawer, Nychelle sent him a steady look over her shoulder. “It can frustrating at times, I know.” Turning back to her chore, she asked, quietly, “Everything okay?”

“Yes.” Yet, he could hear the lie in his voice—feel it in the jagged ache that fired through his chest. “I’m fine.”

Thankfully she didn’t reply immediately, allowing him to continue selecting the tests he wanted the patient to undergo on the electronic form. It was easier to concentrate on that than to think about what today meant, or let Nychelle’s instinctive kindness undo all the emotional barriers he’d marshaled to get him through the day.

He didn’t look up from the computer screen when she came across to the desk, not even when she said, “Well, if you need anything—an ear, or a hand—just let me know.”

Her compassion was almost his undoing, and he was thankful when the door to the exam room opened and Douglas Comstock came in to join them.

After Nychelle had taken their rather subdued patient off to have some of the tests run, David made his way back to his own office. Dropping into his chair, he scrubbed both hands over his face, as though to awaken himself from the aching sorrow wrapped around him like a pall. He should have taken the day off, but the thought of being at home without anything to do had had zero appeal, and there was nowhere he could think of going that would have been any better. Work seemed the best way to deal with the pain.

How tempted he’d been to tell Nychelle what today was. Something in her empathetic gentle gaze, the timbre of her voice, had made him want to share with her that which he never shared. Had never been tempted to share, neither wanting to worsen the wound nor, conversely, diminish the loss. As if saying the words Today was the day my baby girl, my Natalie, was born way too early and didn’t survive would be a betrayal of the love he still felt ten years later.

She had been born at just shy of twenty weeks. As a doctor he would call it a miscarriage or, worse, a spontaneous abortion. As a man, Natalie’s father, he couldn’t bring himself to think of it that way. It was simply her birthday, the day he’d truly learned, for the first time, what love was. And it was also the day he’d learned the immensity of the agony love could cause. The irrevocable, heartbreaking loss hadn’t become easier to bear over time. Probably never would.

Taking a breath, he held it for a moment and then blew it out. Leaning back in his chair, he wished he were still in Chicago so he could visit her grave, the way he had every other year. When he’d been offered the job in Florida he’d thought about moving away from her and almost refused. Yet he’d known it was time to move on—not from her, but in his professional life. He’d reassured himself he didn’t need to be there to remember her, to miss her, but he hadn’t realized how bad today would be, the pain magnified by distance and the strangeness of his new life.

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