The Surgeon's Miracle / Dr Di Angelo's Baby Bombshell (15 page)

‘Poor Cousin Charlotte. She’ll be heartbroken.’

‘She will—you’re unkind to her, Andrew,’ his mother chided gently.

‘She’s fixated. She needs to get over herself. How many is that?’

‘Fourteen.’

Libby nodded. ‘That sounds OK—oh my neighbours. He’s been really good to me and she’s lovely. Oh, and there’s a cousin, Edward,’ she added, looking up at Andrew. ‘I met him at the funeral. I don’t know if he’ll be able to come. He may not be well enough.’

‘We’ll ask him,’ Andrew said gently.

‘That’s seventeen. I’m sure there will be a few more, but we’ll keep it under twenty,’ Jane promised. ‘Leave it to me. I’ll find out when the church is free—fifteen clear days, isn’t it? Or three Sundays? Does it have to be a Saturday?’

‘Any day suits me, I don’t mind,’ Andrew said. ‘I’ll
book it off as soon as we’ve agreed a date with the church.’

‘I’ll phone Louise now and find out the technicalities, ’ Tony said, getting to his feet. ‘Andrew? Could we have a word?’

They left the room, and Jane looked up from her list and smiled. ‘I’m so glad it’s you. I really wondered if he’d ever settle down. I had no idea about the fertility issue. I wonder what made him check it?’

Libby had no intention of discussing that with his mother, but it was a rhetorical question, the woman who’d given birth to him and raised him much more concerned with the impact it had had on his life.

‘You know, I always felt there was something wrong, but I couldn’t put my finger on it,’ she murmured. ‘I mean, he’s always been so strong on family, so loyal and dutiful, and I know he grumbles about this old place, but he loves it, really, and I know it’ll be in safe hands when we’re gone.’ She met Libby’s eyes.

‘You do realise, I take it, that you’ll be Lady Ashenden when that happens?’ she said gently, and Libby felt her mouth open.

‘Oh, good grief, I hadn’t given it a moment’s thought,’ she said, panic washing over her. ‘I can’t possibly—’

‘Can’t possibly what? Love my son and raise your children here in this lovely, draughty old house? Of course you can, my dear. It’s a wonderful place for children, just a great big adventure playground. And, anyway, we have no intention of handing over the reins for years, so relax and enjoy yourself and worry about it when we get carted off in a box.’

‘Who’s getting carted off in a box?’ Tony asked, coming back in with Andrew, and Jane laughed.

‘Nobody, yet. So what did Louise say?’

‘We can be married here in the chapel so long as there’s a registrar attending, because we don’t have our own register, and we’ll need a notice of marriage, so provided we do that first thing tomorrow, we can be married here two weeks on Friday.’

By which time, she thought, her heart pounding, she would know the answer. Even though it wouldn’t change anything, she wanted Andrew to know what he was taking on—the fact, not the possibility. Suddenly, perhaps because she’d been reminded of Edward and his abrupt exit from her life, that had assumed a greater importance.

‘Two weeks on Friday sounds fine.’

‘Right. Libby, you may have your own ideas, but—I’d be so pleased if you’d let me do your flowers.’

Flowers? She hadn’t even thought about flowers, but it suddenly came home to her in a rush that she was getting married, to a man she loved with all her heart, and his family were welcoming her with open arms.

‘Thank you, that would be lovely,’ she said, her eyes filling, and as she and Jane stood up and hugged, Will walked into the room with Sally, and they grinned.

‘I take it you aren’t being disinherited, then, bro’? Never mind,’ Will said, and they all laughed, but Andrew’s arm slid round her and hugged her close, and she knew that whatever happened, whatever fate had in store for them, it would be all right, because they’d have each other…

He eventually got her away from the family and back to his house.

‘I’m exhausted,’ she said. ‘Don’t cook, I only want a bit of toast.’

‘OK. There’s something I want to say to you first, though, and I know it’s a bit cock-eyed and back to front, but…’ He swallowed hard, feeling suddenly ridiculously uncertain, and, taking her hand, he knelt down in front of her on one knee and stared up into her bemused, strained, beautiful eyes.

‘I want you to forget everything except us,’ he began. ‘Because this is about us, and about nothing and no one else. I love you, Libby. It started when you were dancing with Will and I was so jealous of him, and it hit me like a truck in Paris. I’ve tried to rationalise it, tried to talk myself out of it, and I can’t. I love you, really love you, and it’s a love that won’t go away, won’t fade, won’t weary. I want to watch you grow old, I want to see you with grey hair and wrinkles, still smiling at me over breakfast, still loving me back the way you do now.

‘I want to be with you for the rest of my life, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health. I need you. You’re my other half, and I know I said I was never going to marry, but I can’t imagine how much it would have hurt me to let you go, or how I would have done it.

‘I know I’m crabby sometimes, and I’ll probably get a lot worse as I get older, and it means you’ll end up living in a heap of dry rot some day, but I swear I will do everything I can to make you and our children happy, and to care for you, if you’ll do me the honour of being my wife. Will you, Libby? Will you marry me?’

She stared down at him, her eyes filling until his dear, beloved face was just a blur, and then she knelt down in front of him and went into his arms.

‘Oh, Andrew—of course I’ll marry you! I can’t think
of anything I want or need more than to be with you for ever. Of course I’ll marry you. I’d be honoured.’

He hugged her, then released her gently and put his hand into his pocket, pulling out a ring.

A beautiful ring, three diamonds in a row in a simple, antique setting, which he slid onto her finger. ‘It was my great-grandmother’s ring,’ he said softly. ‘I didn’t know if it would even fit you, but it can be altered if necessary.’

But it wasn’t. It fitted perfectly, sparkling through her tears, and bringing fresh ones that welled up and spilled over. ‘Oh, Andrew, it’s beautiful!’ she whispered. ‘Oh, thank you!’

‘You’ll have to give it back one day,’ he said with a wry smile, ‘when our son’s getting married.’

And then she remembered, remembered that if they had a son, he might not ever live to marry, and her tears fell again, mingling with his as they held each other tight and hung on.

‘I can’t zip my dress up—honestly, I can’t believe how much my bust has grown!’

‘Let me—there. You look fabulous,’ Amy said, standing back and grinning broadly. ‘Fantastic. You’ll knock his socks off. Doesn’t she look great?’

Libby’s mother nodded, then her eyes filled with tears and she hugged her daughter gently. ‘You look absolutely beautiful, darling. Gorgeous. He’s a lucky man.’

Oh, lord, I hope so, she thought.

There was still no news. The clinic was open, she could ring Huw Parry, but she didn’t want to, not now, not so close to the wedding.

The results were taking for ever, and she’d been so
sure they would have been back in time, but they weren’t, and in an hour’s time she was marrying Andrew with the uncertainty still hanging over them.

‘Is that your mobile? I’ll fetch it.’

Her heart crashed against her ribs, and she took the phone from Amy as she ran back upstairs with it, staring at the number in consternation.

It was Huw.

‘Who’s ringing you?’

‘God knows.’ He pulled his phone out of his pocket and stared at it. ‘Libby.’ He flipped it open. ‘Hi, darling, what’s up? Libby? Libby, for God’s sake, talk to me.’

‘I’ve got the results,’ she said, and then started to cry again, incoherent.

He shut the phone and stared at Will. ‘She’s got the results. I’m going over there.’

‘Not on your own, you’re not. I’ll drive you.’

For once he was glad that Will had no fear and that there was no traffic on the road—and apparently no police. They pulled up outside her house and he was out of the car before it stopped, running up her path and pounding on the door.

‘Libby! Let me in!’

The door opened and she fell into his arms, her face awash with tears. ‘Oh, Andrew!’ she wailed, and sobbed into his shirt front.

‘What?’ he demanded, freeing himself and holding her at arm’s length, desperately trying to work out what she was saying, but she was laughing and crying so hard he couldn’t understand a word.

‘I’m not a carrier,’ she managed finally, but by then he’d worked it out from the laughter and the smiles of
the women grouped around behind her, and Will slapping him on the back, and the huge ball of pain that had been lodged in his chest for the last few weeks dissolved, leaving nothing but a searing joy so great it threatened to overwhelm him.

‘Oh, my love,’ he said brokenly. Dragging her into his arms, they wrapped her hard against his heart and held her while he wept.

‘Um, you’re not supposed to see your wife on your wedding day until the ceremony,’ Will pointed out, shoving a handkerchief in his hand when he eventually let her go. ‘It’s unlucky.’

‘No way,’ he said, shaking his head and smiling, but he backed away. ‘I’ll see you at the church. Um—your make-up might need a little attention.’

‘And you need a clean shirt,’ she pointed out, laughing a little unsteadily, then Amy pulled her back inside, pushed him out and closed the door.

They were married at twelve, in the little chapel at Ashenden, in a simple, joyful ceremony attended by their closest family and friends, and one year later, they were back there for the christening of their son.

They called him Edward, in memory of the cousin who had lost his fight against DMD just three weeks before, and William, for his uncle.

Amy and Will and Chris Turner were his godparents, and during the ceremony Sally rocked and shushed their baby Lucie—Lucie, whose birth had shocked Will into common sense, at last, and made him sell his horse and stop taking foolish risks.

It was a beautiful day, and afterwards they took a picnic down to the folly and drank champagne to celebrate.

There was so much to celebrate, so much to be thankful for, and as they strolled back to the house that would eventually be their home, their baby sleeping peacefully in his father’s arms, Libby’s heart was filled with joy.

‘Happy?’ Andrew asked, smiling down at her, and she smiled back, her love flowing over.

‘Happy,’ she murmured. ‘Very, very happy.’

By

To Anna Sugden—true friends are precious treasures and you’re a jewel that sparkles brightly in my life. Thank you for the years of laughter, shared tears, and unfailing support. Love you!

“I
NEED
you to pretend to be madly in love with me.”

Startled by the request, Dr. Blake Di Angelo tapped his thumbs against the sleek surface of his mahogany desk, thinking that perhaps the petite blonde pacing across his Knoxville medical office had already gone mad.

“You’ll have to repeat that, Darby.” He leaned against his leather chair’s backrest, eyeing her with more than a little curiosity. “Because I don’t think I heard you right.”

His business partner paused long enough to bestow a glance on the bluest eyes that side of the Mississippi. Eyes that were usually sparkling with laughter. Not today. Today, her fingers clenched around a card of some sort, Dr. Darby Phillips’ eyes were clouded with displeasure.

“You owe me.” Her expression dared him to deny her claim. “Last weekend of the month. You’re going with me to Alabama and you’re going to pretend to be goo-goo-ga-ga, head-over-heels in love with me the entire time.”

His brow arching at her determined expression, Blake grinned. God, she was bossy. He liked it. Had always liked Darby’s assertiveness and self-assurance. From the time he’d met her four years ago, she’d been driven to be the best at everything she did.

“Why am I going to do this?” He couldn’t resist teasing. Mostly because he knew how to push her buttons to have her going from zero to through the roof.

She started pacing again. “Because you owe me, and I’m collecting.”

Blake’s eyes traveled over her curvy little frame encased in a no-nonsense navy business suit, exposing shapely legs beneath her skirt hem. The shirt was tucked into a waist that his hands would probably fit around. Her breasts—well, he knew better than to let his thoughts go there. He valued their business relationship too much to acknowledge her as the desirable woman she so obviously was.

“And because of this.” She tossed the embossed card onto his desk and shuddered. “Which I’d completely forgotten about.”

She turned those big baby-blues on him again, stared with such beseeching that his insides shifted off axis enough to make his world wobble, to make him want to take her into his arms and promise he’d fix whatever had her so upset.

“How could I have forgotten that was this year? This month?” Panic brewing in the blue depths, her gaze bored into him. “I really don’t need the headache of looking for a date who’ll no doubt get the wrong idea by an invitation to something so personal. But I do need a man for that weekend.” Taking a deep breath, she lifted her shoulders and took on the expression of a seasoned soldier, readying for battle. “Tag, you’re it.”

Blake picked up the card and studied the fancy maroon and gold embossing more closely. Armadillo Lake Ten-Year High School Reunion. “Don’t they usually give folks more notice than two weeks for these kinds of things?”

Darby muttered something under her breath. “Usually.”

“You could go without a date.”

“Oh, no.” Stray pale blonde tendrils loosened from her upswept hair danced at her almost violent headshake. “I’d rather not go than go dateless.”

“Then don’t go. Problem solved. No one says you have to go to your high school reunion.”

Although he had meant to, he hadn’t gone to his. Darby had been sick with the flu and he’d covered for her at the hospital instead. No big deal, since he’d moved so often he’d never gotten particularly attached to any of the numerous private prep schools he’d attended.

She let out an exasperated sound. “It’s not that simple. Besides, you owe—”

“Yes, I know,” he conceded. “I owe you for bailing me out last month, when it was my turn to be on call and I wanted to go out of town.” A weekend that had ended in disaster when his then girlfriend had got wedding bells on her brain. He liked his life as it was and had no intention of marrying. For one reason or another, marriages didn’t seem to work in his family. Besides, he was enjoying bachelorhood too much for that.

“So you have to go to your reunion.” He dropped the invitation back onto his desk. “Why the ‘in love’ stuff?”

“Mandy Coulson.” Darby’s agitation tripled. Quadrupled.

Blake’s curiosity grew accordingly. Even when under intense pressure, Darby rarely lost her cool. God, he’d loved to watch her work when they’d been in residency—still did. Calm, cool, in control. Today she was hot under the collar, sweating like any normal person,
and not because of his teasing. No, although Blake had thought he knew better than anyone how to get a rise out of his pretty little partner, apparently this Mandy person and a high school reunion had him beat.

He didn’t see what the big deal was, but he was intrigued as to why Darby did.

“And Mandy is…?” He stretched his hand out in question. “Who?”

“Every shy kid’s worst nightmare.” The words hissed from Darby’s pursed lips like air escaping a rapidly deflating balloon.

Interesting. He had a hard time imagining the confident young woman he knew as shy. Ever.

This trip might prove to be educational.

He tossed the invitation on his desk and waggled his eyebrows mischievously. “Okay,
darling,
I’ll be your boy toy.”

Boy toy? As if. Darby rolled her eyes before meeting her partner’s black-as-sin gaze. As attractive as she found Blake, the man went through women as if he were competing for a world record. That didn’t mean she wasn’t crazy about him—just that she knew better than to feed his oversized ego.

“Keep that up and you’ll leave me no choice but to call Rodney,” she threatened, knowing Blake had never liked her recent attempt at dating. “If I pander to his ego a little—” a lot “—and tell him how rotten you are—” Rodney had been jealous of the “Italian Stallion”, Rodney’s label for Blake, not Darby’s “—he’s sure to go with me.”

Although they’d only gone out for a couple of months, he was still calling her, trying to convince her
they could make things work if only she’d have sex with him. Yeah, right. Not during this lifetime.

There was only one man she wanted to sleep with, and he had no clue that was how she felt.

“The hell you say,” Blake growled. “He was the most suspicious man I’ve ever met—dropping by here all hours of the night.” His strong jaw clenched, emphasizing the slight cleft in his chin. “What did he expect? To catch me with my pants down?”

For the first time since she’d stormed into his office her lips twitched. “Actually, that
is
what he expected.”

And then some. She hadn’t been able to convince Rodney that Blake was nothing more than her business partner. Maybe because from the time they’d met she’d hoped Blake would see her for more than her brain and medical skills. After four years of his treating her much as one of her brothers did, she’d decided she didn’t register on Blake’s female radar. Just as well. None of the women he was interested in ever lasted long. Blake’s love-life consisted of a revolving door and multiple women. She wanted him forever, not just for a few weekends.

So she’d waited, hoped, become more and more frustrated.

“He thought you were getting lucky.” Since Rodney hadn’t been getting lucky, he’d automatically assumed Blake, being the only other man in her life, must be.
Men.

Blake waggled his brows again. “Well, you can’t blame the guy for thinking I’d get lucky. I am irresistible.”

“And so modest, too.” She snorted at his mock-innocent expression. “Luck has nothing to do with how you get women.”

His lips twitched. “Enlighten me. How
do
I get women?”

Any way he wanted them.

“With that jet-black hair and those dark-as-midnight eyes you don’t have to get women, they get you.” The laughter in those black eyes had her feet wanting to shift—or run for the closest exit. How had the conversation even taken this turn? Her face grew hot and her skin clammy.

“At least, women
try
to get you,” she rushed on, hoping he didn’t notice how uncomfortable talking about his love-life made her. “You’re oblivious to most, yet they keep chasing you. So, like I said, you don’t have to get women, they get you.”

“And, like I said—” he rocked back in his chair and blatantly eyed her with amusement“—I’m irresistible.”

Dimples cut into his cheeks, making her think perhaps he was right. Certainly she’d always wanted him. Then again, with so little experience when it came to men, how could she be expected
not
to fall for someone so skilled in the ways of the opposite sex?

Because if Blake’s love-life was a revolving door, Darby’s was a vault that had rusted shut long ago from lack of use.

“For example,” he continued, “I was recently propositioned to spend the weekend with a beautiful woman.” His black eyes twinkled. “I even get to pretend to be in love with her. How much luckier can a guy get?”

Picking up a spongy ball—a stress-reliever advertising a pharmaceutical firm—she tossed it at him. “I wouldn’t count on getting lucky that particular weekend if I were you. You’re not that irresistible.”

At least not that she’d ever admit. But if she thought
there was the slightest chance Blake could love her, she’d throw caution to the wind and make him notice she was a woman the weekend of the reunion.

He caught the stress ball with ease. “Come to think of it, my luck’s never been
that
good. Just look at the last female who found me.” He cringed with revulsion and gave an exaggerated shudder.

Darby bit back a smile.

So the foolish physical therapist he’d been dating on and off for a few months had thought Blake was taking her out of town to pop the question. Instead, the Yankees had been in Atlanta, and a friend had given him Braves tickets. Blake’s proposal had consisted of, “Do you want mustard or ketchup on your hot dog?” When the game had ended, with no highlighted proposal on the scoreboard, Kristi had issued an ultimatum she’d regretted the moment Blake had waved goodbye.

He interrupted her thoughts. “But you have to admit I am better than Rodney.”

True, but Rodney had been an okay boyfriend—a good start to her late-in-life attempt to develop dating skills. Well, an okay boyfriend except for his jealousy of Blake and how he’d pushed for sex. After Blake had dumped Kristi in Atlanta, Rodney’s possessiveness had suffocated Darby. He would view going to her high school reunion as moving their relationship into another realm. A realm where she didn’t want to go, as she had no intention of having sex with him. Ever.

Blake was right. He was the better choice in so many ways.

No one from her past would expect to see her with a man like Blake. With him at her side she could pretend
she wasn’t still the geeky girl who’d left Armadillo Lake with big dreams and stars in her eyes.

She picked up the invitation to return to Armadillo Lake, Alabama. Her hometown.

She had to go.

Had to prove Mandy Coulson wrong. Prove her entire class wrong. Prove to herself that she really was the confident young woman she looked at in the mirror each morning. She was, wasn’t she?

Her hand clenched around the invitation Mandy had no doubt delayed in sending.

She’d go home with her head held high, with a gorgeous hunk attending to her every whim, and she’d show them all how wrong they were.

Or pretend to, at any rate.

And if along the way Blake discovered she was a girl behind her lab coat and high IQ—well, that would be icing on the cake, now, wouldn’t it?

Blake stepped into Darby’s office during the week of the reunion. “Can I get your opinion on Mr. Hill’s leg?”

It was late Tuesday evening and Darby had already finished with her last patient for the day. She glanced up from the computer screen where she researched an unusual plethora of symptoms a patient had come in with that morning.

“Nathan Hill, from Strawberry Plains?”

“That’s the one.” He skimmed his fingers over the model of the heart on top of her bookshelf. It was a running joke that he had heart envy. Every time he came into her office he touched the plastic heart. Someday she’d give the darn thing to him.

“I just examined him,” Blake continued, “but since you
were the last one to see the ulcer on his lower extremity, I wanted your opinion on whether you think it’s improved. ”

“Sure thing.” She bookmarked her page on the web and followed him into the exam room.

“Hi, Mr. Hill.” She washed her hands and slid on a pair of disposable gloves. “Dr. Di Angelo has asked me to take a look at the place on your leg since I’d checked you a week or so ago.” She smiled at the thin gentleman, patted his wrinkled hand. “How do you think it looks? Better? Worse? Or about the same?”

“Better,” the seventy-year-old said. Unfortunately, Mr. Hill would say his leg was doing better even if his toes were black. Very simply, the man wouldn’t complain. He’d just smile his toothless smile and tell her how he was doing just fine.

Squatting to examine his leg, Darby winced at the oozing ulcer that encompassed a good portion of his shin.

“Have you been taking the antibiotics I prescribed?” she asked, concerned that he’d gotten worse rather than better. “The culture I did on the area says the one prescribed should clear the infection, but obviously the medicine isn’t working.”

“I got the prescription filled.” He scratched his mostly bald head with a thickened yellow nail that curved over the tip of his arthritic finger. “Only took a few. Figured I’d wait and see if I really needed them.”

What was he waiting for? His foot to fall off? For the bacteria to build resistance to the antibiotics since he’d taken just enough to tease the infection?

Darby shook her head. “I stressed the importance of taking the antibiotics because they are vital to this area healing.” She looked to where Blake stood. He’d
entered the room with her, had been ready to assist if she needed anything, but was confident enough to stand back and let her do her job. She liked that about Blake. He trusted her, found her competent. Turning her gaze back to her patient, she gave him her most serious look. “I’d like to admit you to the hospital, give IV antibiotics for a few days, and keep a close eye on your leg.”

Not liking Darby’s assessment, Mr. Hill turned to Blake for another opinion. “Doc?”