He’d only planned on staying until it was paid off and he had enough money to get his quota of cattle ready.
Now with this baby, that dream seemed impossible.
I can’t be a father.
If the paternity test proved he was indeed the father, he was going to do the right thing by Ingrid. He was going to help her out; at least financially he wasn’t going to leave her in the lurch.
He’d never do that. He had been raised properly. Clint wasn’t sure about the rest, about being involved in the child’s life and about being close to Ingrid again.
Emotionally he wasn’t there for that.
He was numb inside.
Dead.
Just a walking ghost of himself.
Or at least he thought so.
What he hadn’t expected had been the rush of intense emotions that had struck him the moment he’d seen her again. All those memories of their night together had flooded him, like he was being swept away in a strong current. Each touch, each caress was ingrained in his mind and burned in his flesh.
It was those memories of their night together that he’d clung to during endless hours of working in surgery in the middle of a war zone.
Clint closed his eyes and took some deep breaths to keep the horror of his time overseas at bay. The last thing he needed was for another flashback to overtake him.
He was new here and he didn’t want to be thought of as a liability.
When his pulse returned to normal he looked up and caught a last glimpse of Ingrid at the end of the hallway before she turned down another corridor.
Clint turned back to head into his patient’s room and write up a script for analgesics, but he couldn’t help but look back to where she’d disappeared.
He couldn’t believe that he’d ended up at the same hospital as her.
Ingrid had been his nameless salvation. He wondered how much worse his mental state would’ve been had he not had that respite in the storm.
“Dr. Clint Allen to the E.R., please. Dr. Clint Allen to the E.R.”
Clint shook his head, chasing away those dark thoughts. Although a child hadn’t been part of his plans, especially one with a woman he barely knew, he was going to do right by Ingrid and support her financially as much as he could.
As for being an involved father?
What kind of father figure could he be to a child, as messed up as he was?
INGRID STRETCHED HER back. A knot was forming between her shoulder blades. It’d been a long shift, but thankfully it was almost over. She hated the night shift, especially now, but it was her turn on rotation and she had to do her duty.
To prove to the chief of surgery, Dr. Ward, and the board that she was worthy still of her promotion. Even though the first thing she’d done after said promotion had been to get pregnant.
She’d hid it for as long as she could, but when she had suffered for so long from extreme morning sickness and had needed to go on medication, she’d had to tell Dr. Ward that his new ortho attending was pregnant.
Dr. Ward hadn’t been overly pleased, but he hadn’t been able to fire her. That would’ve been a human resources nightmare, but she wasn’t going to ride on that easy train. That wasn’t her. So instead she worked just as hard as she had before she’d got pregnant, to prove to everyone she was in control. That she was capable of being a good surgeon still, that he and the board of directors at the hospital wouldn’t regret their decision.
So even though she put on a brave face and seemed strong, she couldn’t wait to go home and take a nice long, hot shower and climb into bed. Though she highly doubted sleep would come easily to her. Even feeling extremely exhausted, she knew her mind would be focused on one individual.
Dr. Clint Allen.
She hadn’t seen him since near the beginning of her shift, after she’d discharged Mr. McGowan. After the discharge the E.R. had been flooded with trauma cases from a large accident on the interstate and Clint had disappeared into the thick of it.
As she had. A shattered femur had required her utmost attention and she’d spent the last several hours in surgery, trying to repair the damage from the twisted metal and carnage from the highway.
So much damage caused in a split second.
A twinge of pain knotted in her shoulder again and Ingrid winced, bracing her back. Oh, yes, she was looking forward to getting back home.
When she looked up she caught sight of a woman watching her, something familiar jogged at the corner of her mind. She took a step forward to get a better look but someone stepped between them, and when she looked again, the woman who had been watching her was gone.
Ingrid shrugged it off. It was probably just a worried loved one, wondering how a patient from the accident was doing, and she probably thought the pregnant surgeon would be easier to pin down and ask questions of than another surgeon.
She’d probably found someone closer and was talking to them.
Which was good, because Ingrid was too tired to form coherent words at the moment.
“You looked exhausted. I think you should maybe sit down or call it a night.” The words were whispered in her ear as a man leaned over.
Ingrid glanced at him and saw Clint standing next to her, his dark hair under a scrub cap as he wrote notes in a file attached to a clipboard.
“Dr. Allen,” Ingrid greeted him.
“Seriously, you look tired.” There was concern in those blue eyes.
“I am, but my shift isn’t over for another couple of hours.”
He frowned. “Do you want me to speak to the chief of surgery?”
“No, I don’t want you to speak to Dr. Ward,” Ingrid snapped. That was the last thing she wanted anyone to do. “I can work the last two hours of my shift. I’m not an invalid.”
“I never said you were an invalid, but you’re pregnant and tired.”
Ingrid was going to tell him to mind his own damn business, but the moment she looked up she could see the surgical nurses, residents and whoever else was in earshot were staring at the two of them with looks of confusion.
The last thing she wanted was the rumor mill to start.
It was bad enough everyone knew that she’d got knocked up because of a one-night stand, but the last thing she wanted them to know was that Dr. Allen had been the one to do it.
She glared at those who were still brave enough to stare, one of those cold, calculating looks she was apparently so well-known for.
Most pregnant women had fits of tears. Her emotional trigger was anger and when it happened she turned into a bit of a dragon.
Ingrid needed to regain control over this situation, and fast.
“Dr. Allen, may I have a word with you? Privately.” She turned on her heel and headed to an empty scrub room. When the scrub-room door closed behind him she crossed her arms over her belly and set the gaze of fury on Clint.
He took a step back, but mirth twitched at his lips. “There’s good reason why they call you Ingrid the Harridan.”