same as her, had sworn to it more than once.
Could be all talk, she reasoned, zipping up the skirt. Besides, no matter what this neurosurgeon’s reputation was—justified or not—she was fairly certain that he wouldn’t consume her for breakfast.
Bailey smiled to herself. She had already faced someone like that. Several “someones” like that, actually, if she were keeping count. Reformed cannibals. Those were part of the “perks” of having missionary parents who were famous for being the first to tread where angels feared to go.
Those angels, her father was fond of scoffing, were an overly cautious breed. And then he’d follow his comment up with his booming laugh. A laugh that somehow always made everything seem so much better. A laugh that was full of warmth and hope. And love.
Bailey pulled her honey-blond hair back and stuck in a few strategic pins to hold it up. It made her look older. Constantly mistaken for someone in her early twenties, she had a feeling she needed all the help she could get to be taken seriously.
God, but she wished she could hear her father’s laugh now. But she had left all that behind her. Her parents, their mission and her other life.
Her second other life, as well, she thought cryptically. Technically, she was about to embark on her third life. The first had involved being the daughter of two prominent, dedicated missionaries. She’d been halfway toward fulfilling her parents’ fondest dream and becoming a missionary herself before she realized that was not what she wanted. Her “second life” began when she’d decided, after a visit back to the States to check out colleges, to rebel against “all that goodness” that surrounded her. In her third year at Stanford, during spring break, she ran off and got married to the son of a professor. At the time, she’d thought that was what she wanted.
And it was. For about two months.
Slowly, she discovered, much to her surprise, that “all that goodness” she was fleeing was actually packaged inside of her. Not in such a way that she felt compelled, as her parents, Grace and Miles, were to spread the word of God and medicines in the darkest parts of the world. Her take on “goodness” was to help the sick and make them well. She wanted to become a doctor, a surgeon. The best surgeon she could be.
That was where she and her husband, Jeff, differed. She wanted to be a surgeon, he wanted her to be his wife and nothing else. He’d laughed and told her that taking care of him and his needs would always be more than a full-time job for her.
It took very little for her to realize that he was serious, that “carefree” was perilously close to “irresponsible” and that “dropdead gorgeous” only went so far in the scheme of things and was a very poor trade-off for respect. There was nothing about Jeff she could respect and he in turn seemed to have none for no one, least of all her.
What she’d foolishly believed was the greatest love of all time was merely a case of intense infatuation. She was more in love with the idea of love than she was with Jeff. She just hadn’t been smart enough at the time to know the difference. Jeff had been a feast for the eyes, beautiful in every sense of the word, but only outwardly. Inwardly, he lacked even the simplest of attributes that went into comprising her parents and her older brother, Simon.
Accustomed to selfless people, selfishness, especially of the magnitude that Jeff eventually displayed, was something Bailey found she just couldn’t get used to or accept. So, eighteen months after she said “I do,” she said “I don’t” and the marriage she’d thought would last forever was terminated.
Her parents waited for her return with open arms. And for a while, it was all right. But from the very beginning, she was restless. Restless because she’d discovered that there was another road she wanted to follow. One she was certain she was capable of traveling to the very end. One she swore to herself she wasn’t choosing just on a whim. She was a different person than she’d been six years earlier.
In their work, her parents were predominantly concerned with healing the soul, but not exclusively. They also fed the belly and brought medicines to the body. It was that part that interested her, that captured her imagination and fed her passion.
She applied to twelve medical schools, was interviewed by nine and was eventually accepted by six. She chose Johns Hopkins and threw herself into her studies. Being away from home the first time around, the taste of freedom in abundance had made her almost giddy. But the second time she was away, it was with a clear purpose. Bailey settled down and settled in, focusing on her goals and the career that she wanted with all her heart.
She had something to prove to everyone, most importantly, to herself.
The course work was hard, she was harder, determined to make up for what she considered lost time. With single-minded purpose, even though she worked to put herself through school, Bailey managed to graduate in less time than the average medical student. She fed on her own energy and enthusiasm, sometimes going for thirty-six hours at a time. Her letters of recommendation were glowing and well deserved.
She came to believe there was nothing she couldn’t do.
“I have the strength of ten because my heart is pure,” she murmured to the image in the mirror as she inspected herself one last time, reciting something her father had once read to her. Right now, she’d settled for the strength of two and a half.
Her pulse was beating fast. She closed her eyes and told herself to calm down.
Breathe, Bailey, breathe. He’s just a man, like everyone else. He has to put his pants on one leg at a time, same as you.
God, but she wished they were here right now, just for a few minutes. Her father and her mother. Or Simon. Or her uncle and aunt with whom she’d lived as an undergraduate. Someone she could turn to for an encouraging word. She liked her housemates, but right now, they were just contributing to the problem, telling her every single frightening encounter anyone had ever had with the great and terrible Ivan Munro.
Bailey pressed her hand against her abdomen. There was one hell of a huge butterfly inside, insisting on spreading his wings and flapping so that she felt utterly nauseous.
She hadn’t felt this nervous since that time she’d looked into Jeff’s eyes and knew that he was going to make love to her. Knew and worried that he would be disappointed because she was a virgin. So she did what she always did when she felt the slightest bit uncertain. She forged straight ahead. That time, she’d pulled out all the stops and made love to Jeff first, completely overwhelming him. She’d been so eager, so gungho, he hadn’t even noticed the momentary resistance he encountered when he’d entered her. He’d been too busy just trying to keep up.
Jeff never even suspected that she hadn’t been acting on instincts but on something she had witnessed as a young girl. Unknown to her parents, she’d snuck out to watch an elaborate mating ritual between two young people in one of the tiny African countries whose names kept changing nearly as often as the seasons.
Emulating it, she’d knocked Jeff’s socks off and kept him enamored of her for months.
Before the bloom finally came off the rose and the sexiest guy on the planet became someone she found she really didn’t like. Definitely not someone she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. Not unless she was firmly committed to doing what the Catholics had once referred to as penance. Because being with Jeff had turned into penance.
She laughed softly to herself, shaking her head. One of the pins in her hair began to slip. Bailey shoved it back, tucking her hair back around the pin.
All that seemed like more than a lifetime ago. And very small potatoes now that she looked back at it. It was not nearly in the same league as what she’d accomplished in the last few years.
And definitely not in the same league as what she was about to undertake today. She squared her shoulders and turned away from the reflection. Today, she was about to face the biggest challenge she’d ever gone up against.
Surviving Ivan the Terrible.
CHAPTER 5
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