The Surgeon King's Secret Baby

Chapter One

A year later, Toronto

REAGAN WALKED THROUGH the halls of the hospital in a daze. There wasn’t enough coffee in the world to wake her up. It had been a long shift at the hospital and then her infant son had a bad night. The cot in her son’s hospital room in the pediatric critical care unit wasn’t exactly comfortable, and she could use a break to go home and have a shower.

The problem was there was no one to give her a break.

It was just her and Peter in the world.

A year ago she’d spent an unforgettable night in Kainan’s arms. A night that she would cherish forever. Then he’d gone to the front lines and died for his country.

She’d come back to her life in Toronto, empty and alone.

Although it had turned out she was not completely alone, because her one night with Kainan had resulted in pregnancy.

It was the best gift.

A piece of Kainan.

A child.

Someone to love.

And she wasn’t going to make Peter feel like a mistake, the way her parents had made her feel.

Nothing she’d ever done had pleased them.

Her father had never wanted kids. When her mother had got pregnant with Reagan he’d stuck around, but he had always been distant. Over time, her mother had come to resent her for causing such distance in her marriage.

There had been times when she’d got shreds of love and affection from her mother, but it they had been few and far between.

She’d thought maybe being grandparents would soften her parents’ hearts.

She’d been wrong.

When she’d told her mother about the situation—about the baby and the father dying—her mother’s response had been heartless. Painful.

“Get rid of the problem, Reagan. You can’t raise a baby on your own.”

“I’m not getting rid of the baby, Mother.”

“Then what do you want from me, Reagan?”

Honestly, she didn’t know. Some part of her had hoped her mother would change, but she should have known better.

Reagan had always been a burden to them. And her getting pregnant overseas on a mission was just another disappointment for her parents. They were even more disappointed that she’d kept the baby.

As soon as Reagan had found out she was pregnant she’d vowed that she’d protect Peter. She’d give him the love she had never had, the compassion she had to learn by herself.

No one would hurt Peter. Ever.

Her parents had never cared about her. They’d only taken care of her because they were legally obligated to do so.

“I’ve never run from my mistakes, Reagan. That’s why I took care of you. At the time, abortion wasn’t an option.”

Reagan was a mistake. It hurt to hear it time and time again.

She focused on the lukewarm coffee she was drinking.

A baby had never been in her plan, but she was responsible for her actions. There were plenty of single parents out there, going it alone. And she would do the same. She would never let Peter feel as if he was an obligation or a mistake.

But what should have been one of the most joyous days of her life, when Peter was born, had quickly turned into her worst nightmare.

In all her years as an intern and then a resident in hospital, and then her time in the field with the Canadian military, serving as a trauma surgeon during natural disasters and being tossed into the fray of war zones, she’d seen many sick children. Critically ill children. It had always been a deep-rooted fear of hers that one day, if she ever had a child, something might happen to that child.

She had never been able to handle the thought of it.

And then it had happened.

She’d had Peter.

“Let me see him!” she’d cried, relieved that the birth was over.

Only none of the doctors had answered her. Marisa, her OB/GYN, hadn’t looked at her. It was in that moment that Reagan had realized the baby wasn’t crying. There wasn’t a sound coming from him at all.

“What’s wrong?” Reagan had asked.

She’d craned her neck as Marisa had turned back to her, watching the pediatrician on call with her baby in his hands, blue-grey and barely moving.

It had only been a couple of hours later when she’d learned that her baby had cardiomyopathy and would be staying in the hospital indefinitely. The only reminder of her and Kainan’s time together was placed on the list for UNOS and would be staying there while he waited for a new heart.

The nursery she had so painstakingly started to prepare in her small apartment before his birth was still unused, and she hadn’t been able to look at it the few fleeting times she’d managed to get home.

Don’t think about it—and don’t think about Kainan.

Even a year since his death often Kainan crept into her thoughts because Peter looked like him so much. And she couldn’t help but wonder what it would have been like had Kainan lived.

Reagan had had a couple of relationships before Kainan, but they’d failed because of her—because she couldn’t trust. At the back of her mind she was terrified she’d disappoint, that she’d never be good enough and her heart would be broken. Again.

It was better this way.

She was better off alone.

“Reagan, you look like you didn’t get a wink of sleep!”

Reagan rubbed her tired, sore eyes and saw the Chief of Surgery leaning over the central desk, where he’d been studying a chart.

Michael McNeil had been so understanding. He’d trained her as a resident, and encouraged her into the Canadian Armed Forces to expand her skills, and since she’d announced her pregnancy and Peter’s birth he’d been accommodating, knowing she needed to work. Right now he was looking at her with pity. Like most people. She hated pity.

“We need better cots on the NICU floor,” she mumbled, stifling a yawn.

“Are you going to be able to work with this new doctor?” he asked.

Reagan nodded. She needed this job. It was more pay, and not so much time spent doing surgical rounds. Right now she couldn’t do a lot of surgery. A call about a heart might come in at any time, and she needed to be near Peter.

Peter was all she had.

She really needed sleep, but right now she needed work more. It kept her sane. And she was looking forward to this new job. It was more flexible.

“Yeah, I’m good.” She walked to the other side of the central desk and poured herself another cup of coffee into a plastic cup and capped it.

“Good. I know things have been hard—”

She held up her hand to cut the chief off. “Michael, I’m okay. I need the work. I love the work. And Peter is not that far away. Besides, I’m the only staff member available who knows American Sign Language.”

“And you worked in Isla Hermosa as well,” Michael said, setting down his chart.

Reagan’s heart skipped a beat—which was silly. “The new specialist is from Isla Hermosa?”

Michael nodded. “The Canadian government is giving him asylum. His work is important. That’s all I know. And he’s a brilliant teacher. I think he will be an asset to our medical students.”

“I wonder if I worked with him?” Reagan said, taking another sip of the bitter coffee. The caffeine was doing its job. There had been many other Hermosian physicians out in the field whom she’d worked alongside, but none had been like Kainan.

No one will ever be like Kainan.

She couldn’t think about him now.

“I don’t know, but the Canadian government was very adamant that he should be given asylum here, and after chatting with him over email I’m very excited to have him on board.”

“I’m looking forward to meeting him,” said Reagan. “To become a surgical consultant when you can’t speak—that’s impressive.”

She couldn’t recall any nonverbal surgeons out in the field on Isla Hermosa. Of course it had been a war zone. Everything was a bit blurry about her experience. Except...

“Well, he could speak before. He was injured at the front and a badly placed endotracheal tube damaged his vocal cords. I’m told he can speak a bit—but not much, and not for long periods of time. He will be getting corrective surgery here before the New Year, but for now you’ll help him.”

“Of course,” she agreed. She would be happy to. “Does he know about my son and my need for flexibility?”

“No,” Michael said. “I told him you needed a flexible schedule, but I thought it best if you tell him about Peter if you want to.”

She breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks.”

It was exhausting, constantly explaining Peter’s condition to people. It drained her. The new surgeon didn’t need to know about Peter, he just needed to know she needed flexibility—which Michael had taken care of.

Reagan fell into step beside Michael as they walked toward his office, where she would meet this Hermosian doctor and they could get to work.

“So, my job consists of interpreting American Sign Language to the students so he doesn’t overtax his voice?”

Michael nodded. “You can use my office to draw up your plans. The first medical students will be coming at one—after the lunch rotation.”

Reagan nodded. “Sounds good, Chief.”

Michael smiled, and then said softly, “You know we’re all here for you, Reagan. If there’s anything more we can do...”

Reagan gave Michael a quick nod. She appreciated it, but she didn’t want pity or help. Too many people pitied her, and she was tired of it. She was still a surgeon. She was still Reagan Cote, even if it sometimes didn’t feel that way.

“I’m good.”

“Are you sure?” Michael asked, and there again was that expression of pity that she loathed, directed toward her.

She couldn’t push Michael away like she did so many. He had been her mentor when she was resident. He’d taught her compassion and patient care. Things she hadn’t been able to learn from her parents. When she’d started her bedside manner had been atrocious, but Michael had guided her, and he had been the one who welcomed her back with open arms when she’d finished her tour of duty.

“I appreciate it so much, Michael. You know that, but I’m fine. Let me work—it keeps me busy.”

Michael gave her a quick kiss on the top of her head and whispered, “He’ll pull through.”

She nodded, blinking back the tears that always threatened to fall when someone started talking about Peter and his condition. Tears that she had learned to swallow because she had to be strong for Peter.

And for herself.

She had to be tough. There was no time for weeping or sorrow. If she gave in to the grief that she was actually feeling she would collapse and be useless.

This new assignment had come at the perfect time. Even though it would take her off her precious surgical rotation, it would keep her at the hospital.

It would keep her busy and close to Peter.

And that was the most important thing.

“You okay?” Michael asked.

“Perfectly.”

Reagan plastered on the fake smile she was used to wearing. The one she’d perfected when she was a small girl, because her father had liked her just a bit better when she’d smiled, and had been nicer to her mother when Reagan had smiled and behaved.

Michael nodded and then opened the door.

Reagan stepped in, seeing the Hermosian doctor had his back to her. Something tugged at the corner of her mind, but she couldn’t sift through the fog—or maybe she was having a hard time seeing. Maybe she was so sleep-deprived that this was just a dream.

She began to tremble.

“Dr. Kainan Laskaris—I would like to introduce you to Dr. Reagan Cote, who will be working with you here at the hospital.”

The ghost turned around, those dark, expressive eyes of his hollow and wide with shock. The beautifully chiseled face was marred with scars, and on his throat she could see where they had put the botched endotracheal tube. It was almost as if his throat had been slit, the scar was so bad. The dark brown curls were tamed, and streaked with silver. He’d aged. The war had aged him. But he was still devastatingly handsome.

He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but then snapped it shut. And his lips pressed together firmly, as if he was angry.

Her coffee shook in the cup she was gripping so tightly. Her world was spinning and her tight rein on those emotions she’d become so darn good at locking away had gone slack.

She was losing control.

“Never lose control, Reagan. Don’t show your weakness to anyone or they’ll take advantage of you.”

Her mother’s voice was screaming in her head.

“Kainan?” her voice finally squeaked out in disbelief.

“You two know each other?” Michael asked.

She waited for that deep, rich voice to answer, Si. That affirmation had always made her go a bit weak in the knees.

But of course it couldn’t.

His voice had been taken from him.

Instead he just nodded quickly and looked away. As if he was annoyed she was there.

“We worked together on Isla Hermosa during my last tour of duty,” Reagan answered, steadying her hand so Michael wouldn’t see her tremble. “And we worked well together.”

Michael looked visibly relieved. “I’m glad to hear it! Well, I’ll leave you two to it. I’m sure you have a lot of catching up to do.”

Reagan didn’t even see Michael leave. She just heard the door shut, her gaze focused on Kainan. The man she’d thought was dead.

He stared back at her, but he didn’t smile at her the way he’d used to. There was no twinkle in his eyes. Just darkness. It was cold. It didn’t faze her, didn’t hurt her. She was used to people looking at her that way. It did sting a little, and it gave her confirmation that Kainan was like all the other men she’d met. Like her father. Cold and distant.

“You’re alive.” It wasn’t so much a question as it was a statement of fact, because she’d thought he’d died.

Clearly, he signed in American Sign Language, barely looking at her.

“They told me you had died.”

His expression softened briefly. I’m sorry. There was a lot of confusion at first. I was reported dead for days...

“Your medical transport was attacked and they found your dog tags in the rubble.”

Again, there was a lot of confusion.

It was obvious that he wasn’t going to give any further information about it.

Reagan sat down on one of the chairs at the table in Michael’s office. There was a stack of materials there. New orientation information for Kainan. She needed to keep busy and not think about why he never reached out to her.

“Has anyone explained all this stuff to you?” she asked as she quickly scanned the binder full of information. If she kept busy she could ignore the racing of her pulse, her trembling hands, the urge to hug him and cry because he was alive.

He shook his head and took a seat across from her. Then he cleared his throat. “Best...come...from...you.”

His voice was broken, harsh and guttural. And color bloomed in his cheeks. It was either embarrassment or anger, and knowing Kainan it was most likely anger.

She knew how much he liked to be in control of every situation. He’d commanded all those around him during surgery, and those working with him had followed him blindly.

When he lost control he got angry, but that would drive him to work harder to solve the problem and regain control.

He was an amazing surgeon.

And this loss of control...

She could only imagine what he was going through. She liked control in her life, but she’d learned a humble lesson when Peter was born. Control was just an illusion.

Reagan had to admit that she was angry too. That he was alive and hadn’t let her know. He’d known where she was going. He’d known so much about her. Why hadn’t he reached out?

Only she couldn’t think about that right now. She’d swallow the anger she had and do her job. Keep moving forward as she had always done. If she stopped for a second everything would fall apart.

“Okay,” she said, setting her half-empty coffee cup down and opening up the materials. “We can do this together.”

Is there anyone else? he signed.

The words were like a slap. He didn’t want her here. She realized his body language was more than just embarrassment or anger over his situation. He was annoyed that she was here, helping him.

Her spine stiffened.

She should have known his attention to her back then had just been seduction. He didn’t want to see her again. He’d just been using her.

You wanted it too.

Well, she wasn’t going to let him shove her aside. She had a job to do, and anyway she’d got the best part of him. She had Peter, and she didn’t regret that for anything.

“No, there is no one else. I am the only doctor here who can interpret American Sign Language and who’s free to support you.” Now she was really annoyed with him. She wasn’t going to let him ruin this job for her.

Fine, he signed. He crossed his arms and leaned back in the chair. His gaze was fixed on her, but instead of anger or annoyance, like before, there was bit of humor. Some smugness.

She wanted to wipe that off his face. “What?” she snapped.

I forgot how prickly you get. How fast your walls go up.

The twinkle she knew so well returned to his eyes. It was meant to lighten the mood, but she wasn’t in the mood for that.

“I get prickly when people are acting like jerks.”

“Sorry.” He spoke, his voice now barely a whisper.

Reagan shut the binder and, though she knew she was going to regret it, she had to ask. “Why don’t you want to work with me?”

* * *

The question caught him off guard. Of course this whole situation had caught him off guard. He’d known that Reagan was Canadian, but hadn’t realized that she worked at this hospital, in this city. Canada was a large country. He’d chosen this hospital simply because Dr. Shaw, his otolaryngologist was here.

He hadn’t known that Reagan was here. And he hadn’t known that she knew American Sign Language or that she would be working in the education part of the hospital. He’d have thought she would be on the surgical floor, wherever she worked, which was where he wanted to be, but couldn’t be any longer.

How could a man with no voice convey what he needed to his surgical staff during an emergency situation? He couldn’t, so his surgical career was over.

Of course that wasn’t the only reason his career was over.

His throat tightened at the thought of why it was over. It always tightened when his stress levels rose, and he was certainly stressed now.

Seeing Reagan again was a shock.

And he’d had to hold himself back, because his first reaction when he’d seen her had been to run to her and take her in his arms and kiss her. But this wasn’t the time or place.

Nowhere was the time or place.

Still, seeing her again had brought back so many memories. Even though they’d served during a war—a brutal war which had torn his country apart—working alongside her had been some of the happiest moments of his life.

He loved his country, but being called back to serve had been painful. Since his mother had died Isla Hermosa had reminded him only of loneliness and pain.

Reagan had brought back joy into his life.

One of the hardest things he’d had to do in his life was to leave her behind, knowing that she was going back home to her country and that he was going to the front lines. That he might never see her again.

It had nearly broken him, but it had been for the best that she’d left when all was said and done. Now circumstances had changed and they could never be together. He’d never trap her the way his mother had been trapped in her marriage to his father.

Still, he wanted Reagan—even though he shouldn’t. Their year apart had done nothing to extinguish the flames of passion that he felt for her.

He still wanted her.

That long, silky brown hair that was so neatly tied back. The long, graceful neck that he’d once run his hands over. And those lips he’d kissed and wanted to taste again.

Only he couldn’t now. Not because he’d lost his voice, but because he would never, ever put her inside the dangerous situation he now found himself in.

He was a displaced king, of a country that was precarious and about to sink into oblivion, and he couldn’t bring her into that situation.

There were people who wanted to assassinate him. And he would gladly take a bullet for his country, because he felt responsible for Isla Hermosa’s downfall.

He hadn’t been able to control his late brother. Kainan had tried, but his brother had ruined the country in six months after their father had ruled gracefully for fifty years.