“Do you forgive me?”
She didn’t. It was too soon for her to do that.
“I’m working on it,” she said, and he smiled. A gentle, apologetic smile that coaxed a reluctant answering smile from her.
A smile that slowly faded when his eyes continued to hold hers and she saw the guilt in them replaced by something altogether darker, hotter, more disturbing.
Get out of here, Maddie, she told herself as she felt her pulse kick up and every nerve ending she possessed spring into life. Get out of here, fast.
“I…I ought to get back to my work,” she said, trying to jerk her eyes away from his, only to find she couldn’t.
“Must you?” he said, and she swallowed, hard.
Oh, Lord, it would be so easy to like this man. Hell, she was halfway there already. But this time it wouldn’t just be her who would get hurt if it all went wrong.
I’ve always had a very personal interest in neonatal intensive-care units. My niece and nephew, who weighed just two pounds, seven ounces at birth, spent three months in one, and I learned more than I ever wanted to know about the highs and lows involved in the care and treatment of preemies. The medical staff I met in that NICU was incredible, and I knew I wanted to write a story about their work, but for a long time I struggled to find my hero—until my niece and nephew were squabbling like crazy one morning and suddenly the character of Gabriel Dalgleish popped into my head. What if this big-cheese consultant was terrific with babies, but completely hopeless with children who could talk? What if I gave my heroine, Maddie Bryce, two very opinionated children? And what if, instead of my hero instantly bonding with these children, as heroes so often do in the movies, Gabriel said all wrong things? I started to chuckle. I’m a cruel, cruel person, and it was then I knew I had a story. A story I wanted to share with you all, and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!
Maggie Kingsley
The Good Father
Maggie Kingsley
For Pat, who has listened to my moans and groans over the past year without ever once telling me to shut up, and who has the most tolerant husband in the world in Peter
CONTENTS
SOME days it just didn’t pay to get up, Maddie decided as she sat in the office of the neonatal intensive care unit of the Belfield Infirmary, feeling her confidence evaporate with every passing second. Some days it would have been better if she’d simply pulled the duvet back over her head and forgotten all about trying to get a job, and today was undoubtedly turning out to be one of those days.
‘It’ll be a breeze,’ her cousin Nell had said when she’d told her she’d got an interview. ‘A little typing, some filing, answering the phone… You can do that, Maddie, no sweat.’
Dr Washington didn’t seem to think so. In fact, judging by the way the specialist registrar’s frown had deepened as he’d read through her application form, she’d be better off just leaving now and putting them both out of their misery.
‘Miss Bryce,’ he said at last, putting down her application form and sitting back in his seat, his brown eyes puzzled. ‘Can I ask why you’ve applied for this job?’
Because Charlie and Susie like to eat. Because my cousin Nell thought the job would be perfect for me but now I think she needs her head examined.
‘Well, I’ve always enjoyed working with people,’ she said, all perkily upbeat and trying very hard to look as though a six-month contract to cover the maternity leave of the Belfield’s NICU secretary was the job she’d been secretly dreaming of since she’d been in kindergarten. ‘The position sounded interesting—challenging—and I have secretarial certificates—’
‘One in typing and one in computer studies, both gained at night school.’ Dr Washington nodded. ‘But, Miss Bryce, you’re also a fully qualified nursing sister. A sister who was the ward manager in charge of the nursing staff of the neonatal intensive care unit of the Hillhead General for four years. So why in the world is somebody with your qualifications and experience applying for a secretarial post?’
On days like this she asked herself the same question. On really bad days, when she was trying to work out how she was going to be able to afford new shoes for Susie and new trousers for Charlie, she found herself wondering if this was all there was, if this was how it was always going to be, but she also knew that she didn’t—and never would—regret her decision.
‘I gave up nursing because I have children to look after,’ she said. ‘The hours a nurse has to work—the constantly changing shifts—it’s not a viable option for me.’
‘We have crèche facilities at the Belfield Infirmary.’
‘Charlie is eight and Susie is fourteen. They’re much too old for a crèche.’
The specialist registrar glanced down at her application form, then up at her again. ‘Your daughter is fourteen? But…’ He coloured slightly. ‘It says here on your application form that you’re twenty-nine.’
‘The children aren’t mine. My sister…’ Maddie’s throat closed as it always did when she had to talk about Amy. ‘My sister and her husband John were killed in a car crash two years ago. John’s parents…’ We’d like to help, Maddie, we really would, but we’re much too old to look after children, and with Charlie the way he is…‘They couldn’t look