St Piran's: The Wedding!

Praise for Alison Roberts:

‘Readers will be moved by this incredibly sweet story about a family that is created in the most unexpected way.’

—RT Book Reviews on THE HONOURABLE MAVERICK

‘I had never read anything by Alison Roberts prior to reading TWINS FOR CHRISTMAS, but after reading this enchanting novella I shall certainly add her name to my auto-buy list!’

—Cataromance.com on TWINS FOR CHRISTMAS

‘Ms Roberts produces her usual entertaining blend of medicine and romance in just the right proportion, with a brooding but compelling hero and both leads with secrets to hide.’

—Mills & Boon® website reader review on NURSE, NANNY … BRIDE!

St Piran’s:

The Wedding!

Alison Roberts

Dear Reader

Two years ago I had the pleasure of being part of the St Piran’s Hospital series.

I loved my story about Luke and Anna, and adding to the conflict of the characters Josh and Megan, whose tense relationship ran throughout each of the stories in the St Piran’s series.

When the series finished, it certainly looked as if these two star-crossed lovers could never get a happy ending of their own. Not only was there a wife still in the picture but, shockingly, she was now pregnant! I was honoured to be asked to revisit St Piran’s and find a happy ending for Josh and Megan, but I also thought: Hmm … this will be quite a challenge. Challenge is a good thing, I reminded myself. It takes us out of our comfort zone and makes us stretch our wings and achieve more than we might have thought we could. And isn’t it true that the more you put into something, the more you get out of it?

I really hope you love this story as much as I did in the end.

Happy reading!

With love

Alison

PROLOGUE

‘CODE ONE, DR Phillips.’ The registrar slammed down the phone as he swung his head. ‘Theatre Three.’

Megan’s pager began sounding at precisely the same moment, with the particular sound reserved for an absolute emergency.

The surge of adrenaline made everything else irrelevant. Even signing her resignation. Her ticket to finally escape.

She dropped her pen on top of the paperwork and leapt to her feet.

‘Let’s go.’

A code one was a life-threatening emergency. A life was at stake. More than one life, potentially, if Megan was being summoned. For a paediatrician to be called in with the same paging system used for something like a cardiac arrest meant that a newborn baby could be in need of specialist resuscitation. For it to be happening in Theatre meant the baby was arriving by emergency Caesarean. There were no scheduled Caesareans for the St Piran’s maternity department today so this one must have come in via the emergency department.

The registrar, Matt, was keeping pace with Megan as she ran for the elevator.

‘Suspected uterine rupture,’ he said.

Megan nodded, holding her finger on the button as if that would speed up the arrival of the lift. Then she turned away.

‘Stairs,’ she snapped. ‘It’ll be quicker.’

‘She’ll be bleeding out, won’t she?’ Matt was right behind her. ‘The baby won’t stand much of a chance.’

‘Depends.’ Megan was taking the stairs two at a time. ‘Internal blood loss can sometimes slow down or even stop simply because it’s filled the available space and that puts pressure on ruptured vessels. The real danger comes when you open that space and release the pressure.’ She blew out a hard breath as she pushed open the fire stop door on the theatre suite level. ‘But you’re right. It’s critical for both of them.’

The main corridor in St Piran’s theatre suite was deceptively quiet. The flashing orange light above the door of Theatre Three was a beacon. But so was something else that Megan hadn’t expected to see.

A lone figure, at the end of the corridor, in front of the tall windows. A figure that stopped pacing and was now poised, reminding her of a wild animal sensing danger.

There was no mistaking the intensity of the stare Megan knew was directed at her.

‘Get some scrubs on,’ she ordered Matt as they reached the door to the change rooms. ‘Then go in and make sure we’ve got everything we might need on the resus trolley. Check the incubator. I’ll be right there.’

The figure was moving towards her. It might only be a silhouette because of the background light of the fading day beyond the windows but Megan knew exactly who it was.

Josh O’Hara.

Oh … God …

Why now? When she’d successfully avoided being alone with him for months.

Ever since that final, devastating kiss.

She could have avoided it now, too. Why hadn’t she gone straight into Theatre with her registrar?

Because there was only one reason why Josh would be pacing the corridor like this. Why he wouldn’t be in the Theatre with a case that would have been in his emergency department only minutes ago.

Megan was holding her breath. She’d never seen Josh look this tense. Distraught, even. Not even when he’d come to tell her that he loved her but they had no future.

Or … maybe she had. Once. So long ago now that the memory of his face was only a faint chord in the symphony that nightmare had been.

They’d had more than one turning point in their star-crossed history, she and Josh.

Clearly, this was another one. The third.

Bad things came in threes, didn’t they?

That meant that this had to be the last. Of course it was, because escape was only days away for Megan now. She’d be on the other side of the world very soon. Just not quite soon enough.

Megan sucked in enough air to be able to speak. ‘It’s Rebecca, isn’t it?’

His wife. They might not be living together as man and wife at the moment but they were still married.

A single nod from Josh. God, he looked terrible. He always looked like he could use a shave but right now his face was so pale it looked like he hadn’t been near a razor for a week. And he must have been virtually scrubbing at his hair with his fingers for it to look so dishevelled. The expression in his eyes was worst of all, however. Blue fire that was born of desperation. Guilt. Despair.

And shame, perhaps, for what he had to beg for?

‘The babies …’ The words came out strangled. ‘Please, Megan. Do your best for them. They … they won’t let me in.’

Of course they wouldn’t. He was far too emotionally involved. This was his family in Theatre Three. The whole family. As if it hadn’t been hard enough for Megan that Rebecca was going to give him a child, she had to go one step further and present him with a complete family. Two babies.

And it might be up to her to save the lives of Josh’s children.

The irony would be unbearable if she gave herself even a moment to think of it. Fortunately, she didn’t have a moment to spare. As if any reminder of the urgency was needed, her registrar burst out of the changing room and went into the theatre.

Even then, something made Megan hesitate for just a heartbeat and, without any conscious thought, she reached out to touch Josh’s arm in a gesture of reassurance. Not that she needed to touch him to ramp up the tension. Megan opened her mouth to say something but there were no words available.

With a curt nod, she turned away and went to throw on some scrubs.

Of course she would do everything she could to save his family. She would do it for any of her patients but if heroics were called for in this case, she wouldn’t hesitate.

After all, it was Josh who had saved her life all those years ago.

That touch on his arm was almost enough to utterly unravel Josh.

His breathing ragged, tiny sounds escaping that could have been the precursors of gut-wrenching sobs if he couldn’t pull himself together, Josh went back to his pacing.

Back to the window end of the corridor where he was far enough away to keep his agony private but close enough to see who came and went from Theatre Three.

He got his breathing back under control and silent again but guilt was still threatening to crush him.

This was his fault. If Rebecca died, he would know where the blame could be laid. Why had he allowed himself to be pushed so far away? In recent weeks she had refused to see him. Or talk to him even. The only information he had been given had been that Rebecca was ‘fine’. That her GP was looking after her, with the implication that he was doing a better job than Josh ever had.

God … if it hadn’t been so hard, he would have been able to ask the questions that might have told him something wasn’t right. He might have given in to the urge to turn up on her doorstep and make sure she was ‘fine’ for himself.

As recently as this morning, he’d thought of doing exactly that on his way to work but it had been all too easy to talk himself out of it. He hadn’t really wanted to start his day by stopping by his old house, had he? If he was really honest, he wanted to avoid laying hands on the woman he’d once loved but should never have married.

But the way he felt about Megan had been the reason he’d married Rebecca at all, wasn’t it?

Oh … God … the threads of his life were so tangled. So confused … The pain of his childhood, knowing how much his mother had loved his father and seeing how she’d been destroyed bit by bit as she had been cheated on time and again. The conviction that, if this was what love was all about, he wanted nothing to do with it.

Knowing that he was falling deeper in love with Megan with every passing minute of that night they’d spent together.

Turning his back on her and everything that that kind of love could lead to.

Marrying Rebecca because he had been lonely. And because it had been safe. He had liked her. Respected her. Loved her the way you could love a good friend. A safe kind of love.

Had he allowed himself to be pushed so far out of Rebecca’s life because it had been so hard to face the irrefutable evidence that he’d cheated on Megan by having sex with Rebecca that one, last time? When he’d known the marriage was over and it was only a matter of time before he and Megan could finally be together.

But Megan believed he had cheated on his wife when he’d gone to her bed.

He couldn’t blame her for hating him for it.

At least he’d had the chance to save Megan’s life that time, ironically in not dissimilar circumstances, but right now he’d been rendered useless. He couldn’t even try to save Rebecca.

Did people think he wouldn’t want to?

She was the mother of his children, for God’s sake. Still his wife, even if it was in name only.

He had loved her once.

Just … not the way he’d loved Megan.

A part of him, so ruthlessly and successfully squashed months ago, was still capable of reminding him that he still loved Megan in that way. And always would. Not that Josh was going to acknowledge the whisper from his soul. It was a love he had chosen to forsake.

For his career and his sanity, that first time.

The second time it had been for his unborn children.

What would he have left if things weren’t going well in Theatre Three?

He’d lose his wife.

His children.

And he knew what that pain was like. It was years ago now but the memory of holding that tiny scrap of humanity in his hands would never leave him. He’d known, on some level, that it had been his own son that Megan had lost that day. That he had been holding. It was too neat a fit, not only with the dates but with the power of that night. The connection that had felt like it would last for ever. The kind of connection that made it feel right to create a baby. Make a family.

He’d lose Megan again, too, if things weren’t going well in Theatre Three.

No. A fresh wave of pain ramped up the confused agony Josh was grappling with.

He’d already lost Megan. Months ago.

Something made him stop the caged-in prowl back and forth across the corridor end. Made him freeze and whip his head sideways.

Of course it was Megan. In green theatre scrubs now, with her hair covered by a cap. Moving decisively from the door of the changing room to the one beneath the flashing orange light. She didn’t look in his direction.

Despite, or perhaps because of, the overwhelming emotions he was having to deal with, Josh allowed himself to be distracted from the agonising, lonely wait for just a heartbeat.

Baggy, shapeless clothes like theatre scrubs did nothing to stop Megan being the most beautiful woman Josh had ever known. It didn’t matter what she wore. Scrubs. Tattered old jeans. The gorgeous gown she had worn as a bridesmaid in a royal wedding party.

Oh … no … Tasha. Josh reached for the mobile phone clipped to his belt. He needed to let his sister know what was happening. She could be the one to break the news to their mother.

What time would it be in San Saverre?

As if it mattered. Tasha would want to know the trouble that both her brother and her best friend were in right now.

Her loyalty would be tested. She knew the empty space he was in now, having sacrificed a relationship with the woman he truly loved for the sake of his children. To keep a marriage, even in name only, so that he wouldn’t repeat history by being the kind of man their father had been. She would know how devastating it would be, being faced with the prospect of losing those children.

But she would also know how hard this had to be for Megan. To be expected to save his babies that were being carried by another woman. The babies she could never have given him because losing their son, all those years ago, meant she could never have another child.

Josh had to stifle an audible groan.

He was a reasonably intelligent man. He was damned good at the job he did, running the emergency department of St Piran’s.

How was it that he always messed things up so badly when it came to his relationships with women?

He could save lives.

But he was just as good at breaking hearts.

It was his fault Rebecca hadn’t had medical help in time to prevent this catastrophe.

His fault that Megan had become pregnant with his first child.

His fault that she’d lost the baby. That she’d never have another.

No wonder Megan had blanked him at Tasha’s wedding. He’d done it to her, hadn’t he?

Twice.

Every time he’d come to a point in his life where he was losing control … faced with the absolute vulnerability of loving someone—Megan—enough to give them the power to make or break him … he had frozen. Backed away and stayed with what he knew. What seemed to work.

He was an emotional coward.

Or a control freak?

As a modus operandi it was fine as far as his career went. Kept him on top. Moving forward. He could deal with a thousand people professionally and win acclaim. But he didn’t seem to be able to deal with even one person on an intimate level and not cause serious harm.

What made anybody think he would be a good father?

Maybe he’d end up just like his own father had been. Worse than useless.

Maybe he would fail all his children before they even had a chance of life.

No.

The word was wrenched from deep inside Josh.

These babies couldn’t die.

Megan wouldn’t let them.

The baby looked dead.

Delivered to Megan’s area of the theatre seemingly within seconds of the emergency surgery starting, the nurse laid her limp burden down under the lights, gave the paediatric team a grim glance and moved swiftly back towards the main table. Another baby would be delivered almost as quickly.

The resuscitation protocol was automatic for Megan. Airway, breathing, circulation, drugs.

She couldn’t allow the fact that this was Josh’s baby anywhere near the conscious part of her brain. Even a hint of distraction, let alone panic, could be disastrous.

‘Suction,’ she ordered.

Making sure the newborn’s head was at the correct angle to keep the airway open and holding the end of the soft tubing at a length that couldn’t go too far and trigger a laryngeal spasm, Megan cleared away any possible obstruction. Against the soft chugging of the suction machine, Matt was gently stimulating the baby’s body by rubbing the skin with a warmed towel.

To one side of them, the tension was escalating.

‘Pressure’s dropping again.’ The anaesthetist’s tone was a sharp warning. ‘Ectopic activity increasing.’

‘We’ve got to get this second baby out. Where the hell’s the suction? I can’t see a damned thing …’

On Megan’s side of the theatre the baby was showing no signs of starting to breathe.

‘Bag mask.’ Megan’s order was clipped.

With the tiny mask covering both the mouth and nose of the infant, she gently depressed the soft bag to deliver the tiny amount of air needed to inflate the lungs. Again. And again.

‘Not pinking up,’ Matt noted.

‘He’s in shock.’ Megan signalled for a technician to take over the bag mask. ‘Start chest compressions, Matt.’

‘You going to intubate?’ Matt was already slipping his hands around the tiny chest, keeping his thumbs in front ready to start compressions.

‘In a minute.’ Megan could see over her registrar’s shoulder. The second baby was lying on a towel a nurse was holding flat on both hands as the cord was cut. She was close enough to be able to see if there were any signs of life.

There weren’t.

They needed a second paediatric team in here but there hadn’t been one available. It was up to Megan and Matt here. At least they had a second resuscitation trolley set up.

‘Keep up the CPR,’ she instructed Matt. ‘One hundred and twenty beats per minute. He may need some adrenaline. We’ll need to cannulate the umbilical vein as well as soon as we can. Let’s see where we are with baby two.’

Baby two was a girl. Just as flat as her brother was.

Or maybe she wasn’t. After the first puff or two of air from the bag mask, the tiny girl gave a gasp and began trying to breathe on her own. It wasn’t enough, though. The heart rate was still falling.

At ten minutes the Apgar score for both babies was still unacceptably low. They needed intubation, stabilisation and transfer to PICU—the neonatal intensive care unit.

They were both alive, however, and Megan was fighting to keep them that way.

The battle on the other side of Theatre Three was not going so well.

Part of Megan’s brain was registering the increasing tension as she slid a small tube down the first baby’s airway to secure ventilation. The obstetric surgeon had found the torn abdominal artery but too much blood had been lost. The fluid replacement and the drugs being used were not enough. Rebecca’s heart had stopped.

CPR continued on the mother as Megan checked the settings on both incubators and watched the recordings being taken on both babies reach a level that meant it was safe to transfer them to PICU.

As the second incubator was wheeled from the theatre, she heard the defeated note in the surgeon’s voice.

‘Time of death … sixteen forty-three.’

November in Cornwall could provide a bone-chillingly grey day with an ominous cloud cover that threatened a torrential downpour at any moment.

The rain held off for the duration of Rebecca O’Hara’s funeral but the background was suitably grim for the final farewell of a young mother who had never had the chance to see her babies.

‘I hope nobody gets too sick today,’ somebody muttered as the congregation filed into the chapel. ‘Looks like practically the entire staff of St Piran’s is here.’

There were whispered conversations in every pew.

‘Who’s that sitting beside Josh?’

‘Tasha. His sister. The one that married the prince. I didn’t know she was pregnant.’

‘No. On the other side. The older woman. Is that his mother?’

‘Yes. Her name’s Claire. I heard that she’s planning to move to Penhally to help him look after the babies.’

Further up the aisle, St Piran’s CEO, Albert White, was sitting with a member of the board of directors, Luke Davenport.

‘Thank goodness the babies are doing so well,’ he muttered. ‘Josh looks wrecked enough as it is.’

‘It’s all so sad.’ Luke’s wife, Anna, tightened her grip on her husband’s hand. ‘All of it. Rebecca was so unhappy for so long. I think she really believed that the babies would make everything all right.’

She exchanged a glance with her husband. One that suggested that—given enough time—maybe things would be all right eventually.

For Josh, anyway.

At the very back of the church, a woman noted for her tendency to gossip wasn’t about to rely on meaningful glances.

‘You’ll see,’ she muttered to the colleague sitting beside her. ‘Now that the wife’s out of the way, he’ll be married to his fancy piece in no time flat. You just wait and see.’

‘Shut up, Rita,’ her companion hissed.

For once, Rita did shut up. She spent the next few minutes watching as the final people squeezed in to take up the last of the standing room at the back of the church. She’d been watching the congregation ever since she’d arrived. Early.

‘Where is Megan?’ Rita finally had to ask. The organ music was fading and the funeral director was taking his place to start the service.

‘Haven’t you heard?’ The person on the other side seemed amused that Rita was out of the grapevine loop for once. ‘She left St Piran’s yesterday.’

‘Where’s she gone?’

‘Africa.’

‘She’s coming back, though … isn’t she?’

‘Doubt it. Her resignation was permanent. She’s joined Medécins San Frontières’

‘But—’

‘Shhh. Leave it, Rita. It’s over.’

CHAPTER ONE

Almost two years later

WHY ON EARTH had she come back here?

Penhally, Cornwall, on this November day seemed grim. Grey and bleak.

And so cold. Megan was quite sure the temperature was a single digit and having come from an African summer where a cool day could still be thirty degrees Centigrade, this was like being inside a fridge.

It didn’t help that she’d lost so much weight in recent weeks, of course. Dengue fever took a huge toll, especially the second time around. Her old coat hung so loosely on her that Megan could wrap it around her body like a blanket. Which was exactly what she did as she stood there, shivering, a suitcase by her feet, looking out over Penhally Bay as the taxi disappeared down the hill.

The sky was a deep, ominous grey and looked ready to unleash a torrent of rain at any minute. The sea looked equally menacing with whitecaps on the steel-grey water, moored yachts rocking on the swells and huge breakers crashing onto dark, wet sand. Seagulls circled overhead and the sharp, plaintiff notes of their cries echoed perfectly how Megan was feeling.

It was too cold to stand here in the street, that was for sure, but the view as she turned towards the cottage was just as dispiriting. The gate was barely visible in the wild growth of what had been a neatly trimmed hedge. The small garden was a wilderness but not high enough to disguise the coils of long-dead plants in the hanging baskets on either side of the front door or the broken panes in the lattice windows, some of which had curled pieces of cardboard trying to fill the small squares.