West Wing to Maternity Wing!(19)

Lincoln walked over to one of the benches outside the hospital doors and  sat down. He took a long, slow breath, in and out. He had to take some  time to think about this-think about what to do.

If he discharged baby Esther tomorrow, he would have to tell Amy that it  was time for his staff and equipment to leave Pelican Cove. So why did  his stomach churn at the mere thought of that?

He stared out over the ocean, watching the crashing waves. It was time  to stop skirting around the edges. It was time to face up to the facts.  How did 'playboy Linc' really feel about Amy?

He could remember how much he'd missed her when she'd left the boat. But  then he'd thought it was only a holiday and she'd be back before he  knew it. Except she hadn't been.

When she'd gone on holiday it had hit him how much he missed her. He'd  lain awake in his cabin at night, listening to the sounds of the Amazon  rain forest, his thoughts filled with her, stealing his sleep away from  him. He'd watched the calendar hanging in the galley, counting the days  until she came back.

Except she hadn't.

And the feelings that had descended on him when she hadn't returned had  been a first for him. He had been frustrated beyond belief by the fact  that no one had been able to tell him where she was, or why she hadn't  returned. Most of the other staff had just shrugged their shoulders and  said it happened often-people went home to their nice, clean homes and  calm lives, and decided not to return to the damp, humid conditions of  the Amazon.

Everyone just seemed to accept it and carry on with their lives-whilst Lincoln had felt as if he was losing his mind.

So he'd pushed it all away. Put his mind on the job at hand, the fate of  a thousand people living on the banks of the Amazon and coming for  medical care and treatment. Then, six months later, his new position in  the States at San Francisco's Children's Hospital and the chance to be  part of a world-class team had arisen.

But he couldn't shake her from her his mind. He couldn't replace her in  his thoughts with the next nurse that came along-the next woman who  showed interest in him. Even his potential bride didn't push her from  his thoughts. Poor Polly didn't deserve the cold way he had treated her,  but in the end he just couldn't stop the visions of the long red curly  hair and dark green eyes.

Even months later, in another world, another city, he would see a turn  of a head, a flash in the corner of his eye and the feeling of his heart  in his mouth when he'd thought he'd glimpsed her again, only to have it  plummet seconds later at the realisation it wasn't her. It wasn't Amy.

And then, a few days ago, he'd seen her again and all those feelings  came rushing back. His skin on fire, his heart pounding in his chest,  and the sick feeling in his stomach when he realised she was unwell, and  then again when he realised she was pregnant.

The horror when she told him she'd been ill. Breast cancer. Even now,  the mere thought of it made him angry. Those tiny malicious cells  growing around her body, filling her with disease. Filling her with fear  for her future. Then the horror of her treatment-treatment that some  people maintained was worse than the disease. How on earth had she  managed that on her own?

He shook his head. How would he have coped if it had been him? Could he  have been so brave? So sure? So steadfast? So determined? Then the  list-the list she'd written to get her through. To give her focus and a  way ahead.

Another sensation surrounded him and he sank his head into his hands.  Because this feeling made him feel sick to the pit of his stomach.  Guilt.

Guilt about the relief he'd felt when she'd revealed that there was no one in her life. No husband. No father for the baby.         

     



 

Was that wrong of him? Was it wrong of him to feel that way? Was it wrong that those words had given him a small sliver of hope?

And what about the baby? If Amy's condition didn't improve, her baby  could arrive in a matter of a few weeks, or even days. Would that change  the way he felt about her? He was a playboy, no matter how much he  detested the word. He'd never given children a second thought-well, not  children of his own.

His stomach was churning. Any day now he was going to have to pack up and leave. But what would happen to Amy then?

She could stay here in Pelican Cove. David would continue to be her  obstetrician. But there was no neonatologist if she had an early  delivery. It was routine procedure that any woman at risk in Pelican  Cove would be transferred to San Francisco. His home. Chances were, he  would have ended up being her neonatologist by default if she'd turned  up there.

This was so complicated. Should he offer her help? Support? What would  he do if this was just another female friend? If this wasn't Amy-a woman  who messed with his mind just by being there?

The most sensible solution was to invite her to stay with him in San  Francisco and let her continue her obstetric care there until the baby  arrived. That's what he would do for anyone else. Anyone he considered a  friend.

The thoughts jumbled around in his head. But was that really sensible?  She could deliver in two days or two weeks. How would it feel to have  Amy in his apartment-under his roof?

Lincoln closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He was helping a friend.  And maybe, just maybe, if he kept repeating that, he might actually  believe it.



Lincoln stood at the nurses' station and looked over Amy's chart  quickly. David had reviewed her again this morning, taken more blood  samples and adjusted her blood-pressure meds.

The handwritten script in the case notes was precise. David felt she was  teetering at the edge. She was still clearly at risk of her  pre-eclampsia developing into the full blown disease. He wanted her  treated with caution and monitored daily.

Lincoln understood. And strangely it filled him with confidence that  he'd made the right decision and was about to take the right steps.

He leaned over to the nearest computer and checked his e-mail account.  Because he was away from his normal hospital, all his e-mails were  currently being diverted to his personal account. 'What the … ?' He leaned  in closer to his account. Three thousand e-mails. He squinted at the  screen. A voice behind him laughed, leaning over his shoulders.

'Wow,' she said, 'that's a lot of friend requests.'

Lincoln shook his head, 'I don't get it,' he mumbled, the thoughts of  his paltry list of twenty-six friends the day before bewildering him.  'Who on earth are all these people?' His eyes ran up and down the names  on the list. 'I don't even recognise any of them.'

The nurse behind him patted him on the shoulder. 'That's what happens  when you appear on the TV as the President's doctor, handsome.' She gave  a little laugh as she walked away.

Lincoln sat for a few seconds. Instant fame. He hadn't even given it  much thought. One television appearance and suddenly half the world  wanted to be his 'friend'.

A small hand positioned itself on the box on the counter next to him. 'Lincoln, we didn't know you cared.'

His hands shot out and grabbed the cake box and carton of coffee on the  counter. 'I don't.' He gave the nurse a smile. 'Hands off. These are my  bargaining tools and I think I'm going to need them.'

She shook her head. 'Just don't let her throw them off the wall-those cupcakes are too good to waste.'

Amy's door was slightly ajar and he could see her lying in the darkened  room. Her blinds were drawn to block out the glaring sun and she lay on  her side on the bed, her eyes closed, wearing a pale blue smock and  drawstring linen trousers.

'Knock, knock.'

Her eyelids flickered open, a smile starting on her face before her  brain switched into gear and she remembered she was angry with him.

She pushed herself up the bed. 'Hi, Lincoln, what do you want?'

He put his gifts on the bedside table, pushing it up towards her until it sat just before her extended abdomen.

Amy took a deep breath. Coffee. That was definitely coffee she could  smell. She lifted the lid on the cup and inhaled. Even better, it was a  caramel latte. She'd seriously thought about killing someone for one of  these the other day.

She pulled the pink ribbon on the cake box, tugging it clear and lifting  the lid on the box. Cupcakes. Strawberry, chocolate and lemon. And all  of them had her name written on them. Literally.         

     



 

Her taste buds started watering. Lincoln knew her well. The best way to her heart was through her stomach. What was he up to?

She picked up a pink cupcake, peeled the paper case and took a bite.  'Mmm. I know that there is probably an ulterior motive to these … ' she  raised her hand ' … but I don't want you to tell me what it is until I've  finished eating. I don't want you to spoil this.' She eyed the cup. 'I  thought you weren't letting me drink coffee?'

'It's a special occasion.'

She took a sip of the caramel latte. Perfect. Her taste buds exploded.  Oh, how she'd missed this. Her eyes swept over the box of cakes. Could  she eat another before he started speaking? Probably. They were tiny-two  bites and they were gone. Her fingers hovered over a chocolate cupcake,  the next in the box.