But for some reason he didn’t want to give her an easy way out. Why couldn’t she just find the words to tell him? She had no idea he’d already read them. And he was beginning to feel too tired to care.
‘In the interests of professionalism I’ll read your notes, not now—later—but I want to hear everything—straight from the horse’s mouth, so to speak. There’s nothing in these notes that you won’t be able to tell me yourself. I’ll come back later. We’ll talk then—and I’ll decide if I can be your baby’s doctor or not. I can’t do it if there’s going to be a conflict of interest for me, and …’ his eyes rolled towards the outside corridor as he gave her a crooked little grin ‘… your timing could have been better.’
Amy watched as he exited through the curtains, her throat tight.
She needed him. She needed him to be there for her baby—and for her. He was the best in the world. No one else would do. She couldn’t lose this baby.
It had all seemed so simple in her head. As soon as she’d known she was at risk of pre-eclampsia, she’d known she had to find Linc. She’d seen him bring neonates that should have died back to life. And that was normal for him.
The long line of mothers who’d queued up on the banks of the Amazon to show them their healthy, growing children—children he had saved in previous years—was testament to that.
There had been no doubt in her mind. This was all about her baby. All about the little boy currently growing in her stomach.
So why was she feeling like a teenager with a schoolgirl crush? She hadn’t thought about Lincoln for the last five years.
No. That wasn’t strictly true. He’d crept into her dreams on a few occasions—all of them X-rated. But dreams you couldn’t control. Truth be told, she hadn’t let herself think about playboy Linc for the last five years. Too much potential for heartache. She’d had to concentrate all her energy on beating the cancer.
And now she was only here because she needed him for her son. Really.
When she’d had her detailed scan she almost hadn’t asked what sex her baby was. But at the last moment she’d changed her mind. She’d wanted to prepare for her son or daughter. She’d wanted to pick his pram, his bedclothes and the paper for his nursery wall. She’d even picked his name. Zachary. Zachary John Carson.
She whispered the name as her hands ran over her stomach. ‘Stay inside just a little longer, Zachary. I need you to be as healthy as can be when you come out. Momma needs to know that you’re going to do just fine.’ A tear slid down her cheek and the anger started to rise in her chest.
Why should the First Lady’s baby be any more important than hers? And why did she, after everything she’d been through, have to develop a condition that could threaten her baby?
But this was it. Cancer had crept through her body tissues and the chemotherapy had ravaged them. She’d lost her ability to have a baby naturally and this embryo was her last chance. Her only chance.
So how come she couldn’t just focus on her baby?
From the first second she’d opened her eyes and seen Lincoln again, her heart had gone into overdrive. There were so many things about him she’d forgotten. His intense gaze. His lazy smile. His flirting. The way he could comfort her with the touch of his hand and the stroke of his finger.
And the camouflage he kept around himself.
She’d seen how he jumped from being really comfortable around her one minute, like it had only been a few days since they’d seen each other, since they’d slept together and been wrapped in each other’s arms, to shifting into the professional role, the possibility of being her baby’s doctor and all the lines that blurred in between.
But she wasn’t asking him to be her doctor, so surely that simplified things?
So why did her heart keep beating rapidly in her chest every time he was next to her? Why did her hairs stand on end when he touched her and make her feel as if an electrical charge had run up her arm?
Amy squeezed her eyes shut tightly. She couldn’t allow herself to feel like this. Lincoln wasn’t interested in her. She was a six years past girlfriend who’d had a mastectomy and was carrying a child that wasn’t his. Why would he even give her a second glance?
He was only being kind. He was only being a friend. He couldn’t possibly want anything else from her, could he?
This was Lincoln Adams. And yesterday this gorgeous blue-eyed, brown-haired doc had been announced on television as looking after the First Daughter. He was world news. Women would be throwing themselves at his feet.
She had to concentrate on the most important thing right now—a safe delivery and outcome for her baby. She’d come here to find Lincoln Adams because he was the best doctor to care for her baby. Nothing else. No matter how he currently made her feel.
CHAPTER THREE
‘LINC? Linc?’
The voice was quiet, softly spoken, but the hand pressing down on his shoulder was firm, stirring him from the first hour’s sleep he’d had in two days.
‘What … what is it?’ His hands automatically went to his sleep-filled eyes and he rubbed hard. He looked around him. He’d sat down for just a minute in the NICU, waiting for the First Lady to awaken and try to feed her baby again, but the heat from the unit had enveloped him and before he’d known it …
Val, one of his nurses, was standing next to him smiling. ‘Wake up, sleeping beauty, you’re needed.’
‘Is Jennifer Taylor awake?’
Val nodded. ‘She’s been awake for the last half-hour. Both Ruth and I have tried to assist her with breastfeeding, but the truth is we just can’t get this baby to latch on.’ She glanced down at her watch. ‘And if we’re going to follow the protocols we normally use at San Fran then we’re at our time limit for getting some fluids into this baby. You’re going to have to come and talk to her.’
Linc gave a nod, stood up and tried to flatten his rumpled scrubs. He walked over to the nearby sink and splashed some cold water on his face and hands.
Neonates could be hard work. Esther, who had been born at thirty-two weeks, hadn’t yet developed her natural mechanism to suck and feed. It was a common complaint in premature babies and one he was used to dealing with. The last thing in the world he wanted to do was to put a tube into the baby’s stomach and feed it artificially. The First Lady wanted to breastfeed and he would make sure that he and his staff did everything they could to make that happen.
He pulled some paper towels from the nearby dispenser and dried his face.
‘Have you had any success expressing some breast milk?’
Val nodded. ‘Ruth’s in there with her now—we knew that would be the next step.’
Lincoln took a deep breath and pushed open the door into the adjoining room. Charles Taylor, the President of the United States, was perched on the edge of the bed one arm wrapped around his wife’s shoulders, the other cradling daughter Esther. By neonatal standards Esther was a healthy weight at just under five pounds. Would Amy’s baby be so lucky? Where had that come from? Lincoln felt a little shudder drift down his spine. He had a job to do. He couldn’t allow himself to be distracted.
Jennifer’s brow was furrowed, her eyes fixed on the pump that the nurse Ruth was using to help her express some milk from her breasts. She looked exasperated as the smallest trickle of creamy breast milk started to collect in the receptacle.
‘What’s wrong with me?’ she gasped. ‘Is that it? No wonder my baby can’t feed.’
Lincoln crossed the room in a few steps and sat down at the bottom of the bed. This was no time for pomp and ceremony. The last thing he wanted was for Jennifer to think she was failing at feeding her child.
‘Give