Dare she dream of a family...

...with a heartbroken single dad?

Kirri West is dedicated to helping women who can’t have children. A heartache she lives with every day. But as she joins Ty Sawyer’s groundbreaking clinic, the gorgeous surgeon and his little girl become the kind of distraction she’s long avoided! While they could be a perfect family, Ty and Kirri would have to lay their hearts on the line first...

ANNIE O’NEIL spent most of her childhood with her leg draped over the family rocking chair and a book in her hand. Novels, baking, and writing too much teenage angst poetry ate up most of her youth. Now Annie splits her time between corralling her husband into helping her with their cows, baking, reading, barrel racing (not really!) and spending some very happy hours at her computer, writing.

Also by Annie O’Neil

Tempted by Her Single Dad Boss

The Doctor’s Marriage for a Month

A Return, a Reunion, a Wedding

Making Christmas Special Again

Miracles in the Making collection

Risking Her Heart on the Single Dad

And look out for the next book

The Neonatal Doc’s Baby Surprise by Susan Carlisle

Available now

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Risking Her Heart on the Single Dad

Annie O’Neil

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-0-008-90234-6

RISKING HER HEART ON THE SINGLE DAD

© 2020 Annie O’Neil

Published in Great Britain 2020

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.

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This book goes out to all those amazing doctors

who pour their hearts and souls into

making true medical miracles occur.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

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

Extract

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

KIRRI LOOKED UP at the soaring skyscraper and beamed. Unbelievable. Her new workplace for the next six weeks was epically fabulous.

The Medical Innovations Center, from the outside at least, was everything she’d been hoping for. A towering testament to pioneering medicine. Maybe the doctors here would see what her brother couldn’t. Dreams could become reality if she worked hard enough.

So what if it was pouring down with rain and she looked like a drowned rat? She wasn’t here to look hot. She was here to set her brain alight. She was in Atlanta, Georgia, baby!

Ah...spring. Wet and warm. Such a contrast to back home in Sydney, where people were deciding whether or not to turn the central heating on. If everything went according to plan her research would blossom in tandem with the Georgia peaches.

Mmm... She inhaled a big lungful of Georgia air. Totally different from the salt-laced breezes back home. It was more...floral. Jasmine? Honeysuckle? Who knew? She had six weeks to find out. If she ever left the lab, that was. From the brainboxes alleged to be inside it, she was pretty sure she’d have to be dragged out when the research exchange was over.

She tipped her head back further, then opened her eyes wide against the rain. In this weather, and from this angle, it really did look as if her new office building’s rooftop was tickling the heavens. All glass and steel, the ultramodern building that housed the Piedmont Women and Baby Pavilion screamed trailblazing, forward-thinking, state-of-the-art medicine. It was her kind of place. The pinch herself variety.

Still a bit jet-lagged from the long-haul flight, and too excited to sleep, she’d come in early. Sunrise early. And perhaps three entire days early on top of that. She wasn’t technically meant to start until Monday—but who needed settling-in time when she was about to embark on a last-ditch attempt to prove to her brother she’d been right all along?

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 been 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.

None of which explained why he’d expected an old, frumpy librarian type. Smart didn’t equal unattractive, but...

Oh, this was a disaster.

Kirrily West pressed her freshly gowned elbow to the intercom button again. “Any thoughts on the anesthetic front?”

“Dr. Sawyer?” whispered Mary, reaching for his hand. “Is what she’s saying true?”

Right. Though only a handful of seconds had passed, it was a handful too many. His operating theater. His operation. His method of treatment.

He looked at Kirrily West and said pointedly, “As our patient Mary, here, is awake right now, perhaps it would be best if we talk her through just how safe her child will be rather than focus on what hasn’t happened.”

He didn’t know how they did things Down Under, but they did things Southern-style here. It entailed TLC and a whole lot more professionalism and tact for starters.

He addressed his team—and, most importantly, the patient. “As ever, Mary, our number one priority is your baby’s safety. I’m not saying this is a routine surgery. It isn’t. It’s specialized. But this is the best place for you to have it and everything has been taken into account. Particularly the anesthetic.”

Mary’s brow was knitted with worry lines. “But what was that other doctor talking about? Will the anesthetic hurt my baby? I don’t want to do this if the surgery is going to induce labor!”

She tried to push herself up from the gurney.

Ty resisted shooting Kirrily West a look—an eyebrows raised look, straight up to his surgical cap, that would make it clear to her that this was exactly why precision verbal conduct was every bit as important as precision surgical conduct.

But actions spoke louder than words, so he gave Mary’s hand a reassuring squeeze and a pat. They both knew this was very likely her last chance of having a child, and he sure as hell wasn’t about to be the surgeon to let her down.

“Like I said, everything’s been taken into account and the protocol is as safe as these things can be. We’re going to administer tocolytics. They’re drugs designed especially to prevent premature labor. And I’ve just been told the emergency transport team administered an H-2 antagonist last night, which will also help.” He looked Kirrily West straight in the eye. “Thoughts, Doctor?”

CHAPTER TWO

KIRRI GULPED. THIS was exactly the sort of thing her brother would have ejected her from his operating theater for. Leaping before she looked.

She called it spontaneous innovation. He called it foolishness. Up until now she’d thought both of them were a little bit right.

How on earth had she not noticed that the patient was still awake?

Easy. She was running on adrenaline and showing off for the hot doctor. At least Dr. Ty Sawyer wasn’t there—the surgeon who ran the Piedmont Women and Baby Pavilion. That would have been unrecoverable.

Even so, she had to wonder if she could have made a worse first impression...

Probably not.

That’s what happened when she showed off like a teenaged girl, hoping her nerdiness would appeal to his nerdiness, and then maybe—if pigs began to fly—she and Captain Umbrella would live happily ever after...

Struth.

If she hadn’t been fully scrubbed up she would have thunked herself on the forehead.

Sheepishly she pushed the intercom again with her elbow. “Still all right if I join you?”

“Observation only,” came the crisp reply.

Fair enough.

She’d been too keen to please. Too eager to prove she was worth the investment. And she wasn’t just talking about the business class flight over. She was talking about being given access to one of the world’s premier research labs, an amazing park-side apartment in the center of Atlanta and six precious weeks away from her brother to give her project one final push before deciding whether or not to give up the ghost.

Fulfilling one dream to make up for the loss of another was the way she’d rolled for the past few years.

Her hands hovered above her flat belly, then dropped to her sides.

Right. Enough of all these feelings.

She dialed back her nerves and entered the operating room. Whoever this doctor was, he wasn’t impressed with her. And very likely he had the ear of Ty Sawyer, her benefactor. She had one shot to prove him wrong. Otherwise her packed bags would stay that way.

She stood to the side while Dr. Chocolate Eyes spoke with his patient for a while longer, assuring her that whilst nothing came with a one hundred percent guarantee he would do his best to offer her ninety-nine-point-nine percent. Next he spoke with the anesthetist, then the pair of them together. He was calm, encouraging, and a picture of capability. It took a lot to impress Kirri but she was impressed.

Soon enough he was ready to begin.

Hypo-plastic left heart syndrome was a critical congenital heart defect, and performing the surgery to the letter was the only option. If he didn’t fix it now, once the baby was born the left side of his heart would be unable to pump essential oxygen-rich blood to the rest of the body.

“Where would you like me, Doctor...?”

Kirri scanned the small group. There were three women and three men there. All gowned up. Only one with eyes that made her heart skip a beat. She looked away from him and chose a chap with more gray hair than the others. Could he be Dr. Sawyer?

A nurse nodded at a spot directly across from Dr. Chocolate Eyes. “Dr. Sawyer likes his spare pair of hands here.”

Wait. What? Dr. Chocolate Eyes was Dr. Sawyer?

Oh, this was bad. The turn-around-and-jump-right-back-on-the-plane sort of bad. Why weren’t there any pictures of him on the website? Normally this type of surgeons—the so-good-they-were-famous type—had pictures of themselves all over their websites, their literature. How had she managed to pick a camera-shy guy?

She checked herself. A woman who jumped on a plane and went to the other side of the world at the first whiff of a chance to prove her brother wrong should probably research things a bit more thoroughly.

Not that she would’ve refused the trip even if she’d seen his photo. Plenty of too-good-to-be-true men walked through the doors of their clinic back in Oz. Usually with a gorgeous wife on his arm, seeking the opinion of the Baby Whisperer to get the beloved child she’d put on hold after opting to have her career instead.

Lucky them. Able to put it on hold rather than spend their entire life knowing it would never be an option.

Kirri squished the thoughts away. Worrying about who her brother could and couldn’t wave his magic fertility wand over wasn’t her remit today. Making a fresh start was.

So... Dr. Chocolate Eyes was her new boss.

Okay. Fine. Just because he made her tummy do all sorts of curious things that other deeply scrumptious men didn’t, did not mean she couldn’t get a grip and focus.

So she took in a deep breath, calmed herself, and watched as the magic of surgery began.

A few hours later she exhaled.

Watching Ty Sawyer at work was breathtaking. It was like having a special glimpse of one of the world’s best artists at work. Skill and finesse all wrapped into one incredibly talented package. No wonder people flocked to his clinic.

With little more than a microscopic glance in her direction, he’d left with his patient and gone to the recovery room. Now he’d returned, wearing a pair of fresh scrubs. Dark green. A nice contrast against his skin. He definitely looked as if he had a splash of Latin in him. It would explain the shiny black hair and thick dark lashes...

Barely meeting her eyes, he gestured that she should follow him.

Okay. She guessed they weren’t going to go through the ritual. How do you do? Nice to meet you. Sorry about earlier.

Well, he had given her an umbrella. Maybe if she gave it back the gesture would melt the frosty atmosphere keeping him two briskly timed paces ahead of her as they virtually race-walked down the corridor to a stairwell.

“How’re mum and baby?” she asked his back, then jogged a bit to catch up with him.

“Not too different from when you saw them last. As you saw, the surgery went well. The prognosis looks good. Her son will no doubt have more surgeries ahead of him when he’s older...but it’s a life saved for now.”

She let the words slide into place with the weight they deserved. Easy enough, considering everything he’d said had slipped down her spine like warm, buttery caramel. How was it that the Georgian accent wasn’t the world’s favorite? She was its newest number one fan. So long as it came out of a certain someone’s mouth.

A rather nice mouth, now that she could see it properly because he wasn’t wearing his surgical mask. It was full for a man’s mouth. Sensual, even. And tipped into a demi-frown that she could just imagine parting with her tongue—

Er...no, she couldn’t! She could imagine no such thing.

She forced her mind back to more neutral territory as they zipped down the stairwell and opened a door to another corridor. This floor was quieter than the surgical floor above, which had what she liked to think of as the quiet hum of healing. This floor was obviously for the researchers.

Her heart-rate accelerated as she jogged yet again to catch up with Ty Sawyer and an idea struck. “You wouldn’t happen to have the fetal echocardiogram, would you? The one they made the diagnosis from?”

He slowed his pace enough so that Kirri didn’t have to jog. “It’s on the system. Any reason why?”

She shrugged. “I geek out on that kind of stuff.”

She threw him a goofy look, then tossed caution to the wind. She’d already made a complete idiot out of herself in front of him, and would very likely be packed off back to Oz by the end of the day, so why not go the whole hog?

“I kind of have a collection.”

“Of echocardiograms?”

“Yeah.” She risked a bit of a brag. “The earliest HLHS I diagnosed was fifteen weeks.”

He gave a low whistle. “Early.”

She grinned. Couldn’t help it. She was the first to do it as far as she knew. Before that it had been sixteen weeks.

“I know. I think I was lucky. That or I have bionic ears. Anyway, I’ve got prenatal ultrasounds for pretty much every day of gestation and for all sorts of conditions. I thought it’d be interesting to have a look. Or rather a listen.”

“Fine. But first...”

Oh, here it comes. The ticking-off she deserved for stuffing her bloody foot in it back in surgery.

Ty stopped in front of a door, crossed his arms and went epically frowny. “In future, if you scrub in again—and that’s conditional—it’s important for you to recognize hierarchy. And that begins with me.”

Kirri barely contained an eye-roll. Typical male surgeon. Showing the little girl how things were done in the big boys’ world. Yeah, she’d messed up—but she did have a few strings to her own bow in the surgical department. Thank goodness she was going to be a lab rat for this six-week stretch. Hot or not, she couldn’t deal with being patronized in surgery.

“Right!” Ty clapped his hands, as if relieved the telling off was over, and gave her a quick once-over. The type a general might give a soldier before allowing him out onto the battlefield. “Allow me to show you our lab, Dr. West.”

“Crikey. Dr. West’s too formal for me!” Kirri laughed, but knew there was a bit of an edge to her narrowed eyes.

Ty had known in an instant he hadn’t needed to tell Kirrily West off. Something about the way her eyes had blazed when he’d made his ridiculous “hierarchy” speech told him she was the sort who’d be beating herself up about it for ages without him fanning the flames.

“Call me Kirri,” she said pointedly. “Not as awful as Kirrily. I’ve always thought it sounds a bit like a rash, doesn’t it?”

Hardly. More like the trill of a songbird, Ty thought, wishing like hell he hadn’t gone all speechy. It wasn’t his style. Nothing he was doing around this woman was his style.

“Right!” He clapped his hands again. Too loudly. “Let’s get you to work.”

Ty mentally kicked himself as he led her into the lab. Maybe he was the one who could do with keeping his mouth shut.

Watching Kirri introduce herself to the team in the research lab was like watching a peach tree break through the floor and blossom right in front of his eyes. Life where he hadn’t imagined it possible.

Not that Ty’s team weren’t amazing. They were. Their hard graft and scientific know-how were at the heart of many a so-called “medical miracle”. They were just...well, quiet.

“G’day.”

She held out her hand and beamed at one of the lab-coat-wearing researchers. Malachy. The older gent was unbelievably intelligent and incredibly shy.

She pumped his hand up and down. “Nice to meet you. I’m Kirri. It’s short for Kirrily, but Kirrily sounds a bit girly, doesn’t it?” She skimmed her hands along her scrubs, as if she were a tomboy rather than a stand-in for a nineteen-fifties pin-up. “Not exactly girly material, am I?”

She didn’t wait for an answer. She just laughed and moved on to the next person as Malachy nodded and gave a dazed smile, clearly as awestruck as Jose before him, who’d reacted in pretty much the same way. Open-jawed. A bit overwhelmed. Not at all under the impression she was a tomboy. Nathan was busily cleaning his specs. Fogged up, most likely.

All sorts of uninvited feelings were careening round Ty’s chest as Kirri worked her way round the room, her blue eyes occasionally flicking back, a bit nervously, to meet his. Admiration. Excitement. Disappointment. That last one was just for him, though.

He didn’t like it that the one person in the room she was nervous of was him. Sure, she’d made a bit of a hash of things back in the OR, but it wasn’t anything that he hadn’t been able to fix. There’d been no need for him to go all icy and withdrawn. It definitely wasn’t in his nature to be so cool, and he already knew he’d be getting an earful from the surgical nurses about not making her feel more welcome.

Apart from when she was around him, she didn’t seem to have a shy bone in her body. She asked people who they were, what projects they were working on, begged permission to read all their papers so that she could be on the same page as everyone else.

If hurricanes were something you could wish for, and came in the form of a beautiful woman who could work a room like a successful ice salesman in Alaska, this was Hurricane Kirrily in action.

Little wonder he’d felt blindsided when she’d swept into his OR with all that vitality. She’d reminded him of how he’d once been. Bursting with enthusiasm. Keen to make not only a good impression but the best impression. Feeling the sting when he was put in his place.

She’d come here seeking what he had wanted when he and his co-founder had set up the Piedmont Women and Baby Pavilion: a place where imagining the impossible was encouraged.

He stuffed his hand through his short hair and gave the nape of his neck a rough scrub. He’d been wrong to be so curt. To tamp her very clear passion for medicine. It was either envy or attraction that had made him behave like an ass. Or both. Not an easy pill to swallow when there were six more weeks of it to come.

Ty glanced down the corridor toward the stairwell. He had a full roster of patients today, and as everyone was used to him sticking his nose to the grindstone and then haring off late afternoon to meet up with his number one girl, today would be no different.

Except it already was.

He’d handed his umbrella to a complete stranger because he’d felt something he thought he’d never feel again. Connection. There’d been something in Kirri’s eyes that had touched him. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but whatever it was it had felt like hope.

He looked out the window, beyond the leafy presence of Piedmont Park, and pictured his little girl swinging from the climbing frame or whooshing down the slide in her school playground. Tallulah. His six-year-old. Fearless, a powerhouse. She had a nickname, too. Lulu. Not that having nicknames meant anything. It was hardly a sign.

“You’ll know, sweetheart. It may take a while, but you’ll know. And for heaven’s sake do something about it when lightning strikes. Our sort of magic rarely comes along twice.”

His wife’s words hit him straight in the solar plexus. It was the first time in years he’d remembered her saying them at all. He’d played them over and over when she’d first passed away—mostly because the idea that he’d find someone else to love the way he’d loved her had seemed impossible—but, as time had gone on he’d come to believe that she’d been wrong.

He wouldn’t find love again. Not like that.

Gemma had been the love of his life. Cancer had taken her just short of five years ago, and the only love he experienced now was the fierce, protective love between a father and a daughter. And the love of his family, of course.

His four sisters and his parents had all but moved in with him after Gemma had died. Gradually they’d left him and Lulu to it, but they were still in and out of each other’s homes so often they might as well all live together.

Loving them was enough. More than enough. Had been for the past five years, anyway. He wasn’t experiencing a hurricane. Or a sea-change. Just a spring shower with an unexpected twist. Handing a rain-drenched woman an umbrella was hardly the beginning of a journey down the aisle.

“What do you think, Dr. Sawyer?”

Ty looked back into the room and realized half of the researchers in the lab—and, more to the point, Kirri—were staring at him.

“I beg your pardon. What was the question?”

Kirri gave an embarrassed laugh. “See? Didn’t I tell you I keep putting my foot in it with the poor man! And now here’s me throwing a spotlight on it.” She turned to him and explained. “I was telling everyone that I looked like a drowned rat when I met you and you were a real-life Prince Charming.”

She bit down on her lip. Hard. As if she hadn’t meant to describe the scenario in quite that way.

When he didn’t say anything she pressed on. “C’mon. Help me out, here. I’m really digging a hole for myself. You know...?” she prompted gently, a hint of warmth pinking up her cheeks. “With the umbrella? It was the icing on the cake.”

“What cake?” Now he was properly confused.

“Getting the offer to join your brain trust for the next six weeks!” She said it as if it were the most obvious answer in the world.

Again he said nothing.

“Right! My chatterbox tendencies clearly need to be curbed.” She gave her hands a swift rub. “What do you say someone shows me some desk space so I can find some room for my womb?”

Ty took that as his cue to leave.

Kirri blinked at the empty spot that had been filled by Ty.

Um... Okay...

“Does he always do that?”

“What’s that, honey?” asked Gloria, a wonderfully warm African American woman with a slow drawl.

“Disappear.”

She had been hoping to apologize for being such a nincompoop in surgery before he left. And for the Prince Charming comment. At this rate she’d have a rather long list.

Gloria batted her hand at the empty doorframe. “Oh, don’t you worry about him, honey. He’s delighted to have you here—he’s just shy.”

“That’s one way to put it,” said one of the men in a white lab coat. Malachy, was it?

“He’s not shy—he was just distracted.”

Yet another piped up. “He probably got a page. The OR is booked all day today.”

Then the conversation took off in all sorts of directions until the entire population of the lab—about eight of them—were staring at the empty doorway in consternated silence. A silence only Gloria seemed brave enough to break.

“Mind you... I’ve never seen him like that.”

“Like what?” Kirri was enjoying this more than she should. But getting the low-down on her new boss was a whole jar full of awesome sauce from where she was standing.

“Tongue-tied,” said Malachy.

Gloria nodded in agreement.

“He isn’t exactly a Chatty Kathy at the best of times,” piped up another woman, Leigh, as she wheeled her chair over to a row of test tubes. “But it’s true. He’s normally not so...mute.” She shrugged, then tipped her head to a microscope. “Maybe he’s got a lot on his mind. It’s been a busy week. And next week’s even crazier, if what Stella was saying is anything to go by.”

“Who’s Stella?” Kirri asked.

“Surgical nurse,” they all answered.

“She was probably in there with you today,” one of them tacked on.

Kirri was about to quiz them about the surgeries Ty would be doing when Gloria patted the desk.

“Why don’t you put your bag down here and we can take you on a proper tour of the lab. We’re all real excited to hear more about your research. And, of course, show you our baby.”

Kirri grinned. “You mean the 3D printer?”

Gloria’s smile shot from ear to ear. “We didn’t think you’d flown round the world just to look into some Petri dish.”

Kirri felt an instant camaraderie with the group. Petri dishes had their place in the world of research...but 3D printers? They offered a gateway into modern medicine few things could.

She unshouldered her backpack, looked round the room and grinned. “I can’t believe I’m actually here.”

“Dr. Sawyer is a champion of innovative medicine,” said Nathan. “So, like you said, he’s a real knight in shining armor. For this kind of stuff anyway.”

He abruptly turned to his lab table and started scribbling down some notes.

Gloria shook her head and laughed. “Don’t worry. You’ll get used to us all soon enough. C’mon, honey. Why don’t we go and get you a cup of coffee or tea or something? And then you can tell me all about this baby grow bag of yours.”

Kirri threw back her head and laughed. “That’s a brilliant way to describe it. Much better than womb on a chip.”

They walked and talked their way out of the lab to a small kitchen area, where some coffee was just being brewed.

“And this has nothing to do with artificial womb technology?” Gloria asked.

“No,” Kirri said solidly. “I’m sure you know as well as I do that elements of AWT are mired in all sorts of ethical and moral dilemmas that’ll take years, probably decades, to resolve. That’s why sticking with the purely biochemical elements of helping premature babies survive seems to be the fastest route to making an impact.”

Gloria gave her a sidelong look. “But you’re not expecting any sort of major breakthrough over the next few weeks, are you, sugar?”

“Oh, no!” Kirri lied. “I’m just here to spread my wings.”

And totally to have a breakthrough.

It was the only way she could garner some attention for her own rather primitive research lab and get some funding back in Oz.

“Good call,” Gloria said, pulling mugs down from the cupboard and pouring them both a cup of steaming coffee. “Dr. Sawyer is real supportive of that sort of approach. His specialty is, of course, surgery. But he’s a firm believer in investing in innovation.”

“Any particular reason why?”

Gloria looked at her as if she was crazy. “He’s Dr. Cutting Edge! He got that way by going out on his own. Taking huge risks not many doctors would take. He wants to help folk who can see a reality that other people can’t. There’s a line a mile long to work in this lab. You’re a lucky woman being eagle-eyed by Ty.”

Interesting... So Ty was a surgical maverick? Having watched him today, it was clear he was highly trained in classical surgical styles. So much so it made her itch to learn from him. See the fetal surgical world through his eyes.

Gloria handed her a mug. “So. Give me the elevator pitch for this grow bag of yours.”

“Well, first of all, I’m stealing that description.” Kirri grinned. “Let’s see... If it was a longish elevator ride, I suppose it’d go something like this: imagine a 3D printed womblike environment, hosted by a microfluidic cell culture chip that would ultimately serve as a replacement for an incubator.”

“Good...” Gloria nodded. “And how would you explain that to the layman?”

Kirri took a sip of hot coffee, thought for a moment, then said, “The baby grow bag will revolutionize survival rates in premature births and help expectant mothers’ health.”

Gloria gave her a satisfied nod. “I look forward to being a part of that.” She lifted her coffee mug to Kirri’s and toasted her. “Welcome aboard, Kirri. May your research be fruitful. And don’t you pay no mind to Dr. Sawyer. His head is always off and away somewhere. Unless he’s in surgery, of course. And then he’s your man.”

She gave Kirri a little wink, then set off back down the corridor as if she knew a secret she wasn’t yet ready to tell.

Her man.

The phrase knocked around her chest along with a strangely weighted sense of longing.

She’d had a man about six years ago. One she’d thought she’d spend the rest of her life with...right up until he’d dropped her like a hot potato.

He’d wanted children. She’d waited too long to tell him she would never be able to give him children of his own. When she finally had it had been as if he’d flicked a switch on his heart and turned glacially cold.

For the first and last time in her life she’d lowered herself to begging. Said she’d do anything to keep the relationship going. Adopt. Foster. IVF or a surrogate. But he’d lashed out and told her she’d never be fit to be a parent. Not with her compulsive need to be on a professional par with her brother.

He’d said it as if wanting to be the best was a bad thing! As if being on a par with Lucius was an impossible dream. It had been a cruel comment he had known would speak to the little girl in her who knew she’d never please her father.

She took a sip of scalding coffee and let the sensation burn away the all too familiar waves of emptiness as she headed back to the lab.

No point in worrying about it now. Her role in life was to help other women who could have babies. Women who could lead the life she’d always imagined having herself. And the only way she was going to do that and survive was by being at the top of her game.

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