A Family Worth Waiting For: The Midwife's Miracle Baby

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)

His Unexpected Child (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ONE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWO (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THREE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)

The Midwife’s Miracle Baby (#u70b3c252-7574-5df0-be50-882125b835b7)

Amy Andrews

To Karen, midwife extraordinaire, for helping my

daughter and recently my nephew into the world.

You are a truly special person with a truly special gift.

And to the RBWH Birth Centre for a magnificent job.

CHAPTER ONE (#u70b3c252-7574-5df0-be50-882125b835b7)

CLAIRE took a deep breath and pushed open the solid oak door. Here we go again, she thought. Six men sat around the matching oak table in the boardroom. Their conversation stopped. It appeared they’d started their departmental meeting without her.

‘Ah, Sister West, do join us.’ Dr Martin Shaw, St Jude’s Obstetric Director, pushed back his cuff and looked at his watch.

Claire felt the scrutiny of six pairs of eyes as she prayed that her legs, which suddenly felt as wooden as the furniture in the opulent room, would move her to the indicated seat.

Anger sparked them to life as she reminded herself she had a job to do. This posse of six thought they could ruin one year of her hard work? Determination flushed her cheeks and glittered in her rich, cinnamon-colored eyes. They really ought to know her better than that by now.

She noted her placement at the head of the table and wondered nervously if they’d reserved it to honour her or interrogate her.

‘I don’t believe you’ve met our new consultant,’ said Martin. ‘Sister West, meet Dr Deane.’

Claire bristled at Martin’s formality. They had known each other for years, surely he could use her first name? Claire wouldn’t have minded so much if she hadn’t been absolutely certain that it was Martin’s way of keeping her in her place. You nurse, me doctor.

Unfortunately, only a few years off retirement, he was, like so many doctors of his generation, clinging to the formalities of a bygone era when doctors had been gods and nurses merely their handmaidens.

Well, this is a new millennium, she wanted to yell. Move on or move out of the way. Normally she ignored his irritating habit of using her full nursing title, but Claire was already annoyed that she had to be here at all. Unfortunately the hospital board, in its wisdom, thought she might be able to make a difference.

‘Campbell. Please, call me Campbell.’

His rich voice invaded Claire’s thoughts, dragging her gaze to him. So, this was the man that had driven the hospital grapevine into overdrive! His reputation with the ladies had preceded him. Apparently he was quite the man!

Claire had been so nervous she hadn’t even noticed Campbell Deane. Staring at the newcomer, she couldn’t think why. Even seated, she could tell he was tall. Tall and broad-shouldered, his impressive bulk dominating the chair. In fact, dominating the whole table.

And young, too—relatively speaking. She judged him to be in his mid-thirties. At least two decades younger than the other men in the room.

But it wasn’t her impression of his size that drew her interest, it was his hair. Thick and longish on top with a tendency to flop in his eyes, and very definitely red. Not carrot red, more subtle and peppered with golden highlights that hinted at a fondness for the beach.

It reminded her of a long forgotten ex-fiancé. OK, so Shane’s hair had been a different shade of red. Deeper. But the way it drew her gaze was the same. The way it tempted her to run her fingers through it … the same. Great! As if she needed that distraction right now!

His eyes were green and beneath the faint shadow of stubble at his jaw was skin that had obviously seen its share of boyhood freckles. Although considerably faded now, they afforded a tantalising glimpse of his younger years.

As Claire reached across to shake his proffered hand she felt a tingle of apprehension. Something told her she should avoid all physical contact with this man. Just as she should have with Shane. Some lessons in life were too painful to repeat.

‘Claire,’ she said automatically, as the warmth of his hand enclosed hers. And then something happened. For the briefest moment as his skin touched hers she felt … energised. Like he’d transferred his warmth into her body, raising her temperature a degree. He smiled at her and his eyes glittered like emeralds in sunshine. She knew he’d felt it, too.

She withdrew her hand abruptly and sat, wiping her still tingling palm on her white uniform. Her mind spun. She didn’t need this now. She really didn’t.

She needed to focus on her objectives for this meeting. She couldn’t afford to be distracted by a man who vaguely reminded her of someone else. She thought about Campbell Deane’s reputation in an effort to refocus her thoughts. One ladies’ man in her life had been more than enough!

So, he was attractive. But the only thing she needed to know about him now was his opinion on alternative birthing practices. The word was he had a more modern approach, but was it really the case? Would he be as difficult to reach as the others? Would he be old school, too? Would he be an enemy or an ally?

The meeting got back on track and Claire pushed thoughts of Campbell Deane out of her head as she perused the agenda. She grimaced and fought her rising irritation. She was last. Item number ten—Birth Centre. The board may have forced their hand, but this group of men weren’t going to smooth the way.

She frowned at her watch and resisted the urge to drum her fingers on the table. They may be able to sit around and chat for hours but she had a job to get back to. Nobody else would do it for her while she sat in this room. Claire didn’t have the luxury of registrars and residents. She wasn’t asking them for much, just a bit of support.

Claire was aware she was considered radical. She thanked her lucky stars this was the twenty-first century and not medieval times. Back then midwives had been regarded with suspicion and often accused of witchcraft. She had a feeling they would have burnt her at the stake years ago. The thought seemed absurdly funny in such a modern setting and Claire smiled to herself.

She looked up and noticed Campbell Deane staring at her, a small smile playing on his full lips. He winked at her and Claire could sense his interest. She dropped her gaze back to the agenda and decided to ignore him.

It was time to emit her famous ‘not interested’ vibes. Because she wasn’t—absolutely not. And even if she had been, the rekindled memory of Shane and their messy break-up ten years ago served to remind her that men were not part of her life equation. That was the way it had to be and Claire had accepted it a long time ago. She wouldn’t let an attractive stranger ruin her focus.

The meeting dragged and Claire’s impatience grew. She tapped the foot of her crossed leg lightly on the table leg and didn’t care how rude it appeared.