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The Rescue Doc's Christmas Miracle
Amalie Berlin
From partners to parents!Dr Gabriel Jackson and paramedic Penny Davenport make a great team – despite driving each other crazy! She’s Manhattan Mercy’s daredevil helicopter pilot, who thrives on adventure after a childhood spent wrapped in cotton wool, while he’s the cautious flight doctor who, after a disastrous marriage, will never take risks again.But after the elation of surviving a storm explodes into passion, Penny discovers she’s pregnant! This could be an unforgettable Christmas – if they listen to their hearts and take the greatest risk of all!Christmas in ManhattanAll the drama of the ER, all the magic of Christmas!
From partners to parents!
Dr. Gabriel Jackson and paramedic Penny Davenport make a great team—despite driving each other crazy! She’s Manhattan Mercy’s daredevil helicopter pilot, who thrives on adventure after a childhood spent wrapped in cotton wool, while he’s the cautious flight doctor who, after a disastrous marriage, will never take risks again.
But after the elation of surviving a storm explodes into passion, Penny discovers she’s pregnant! This could be an unforgettable Christmas—if they listen to their hearts and take the greatest risk of all!
Dear Reader (#ucd27e015-8e66-5f10-adae-7cdade0b876c),
Every book I write is a new puzzle to figure out—that’s part of why I do it. Writing a book in a continuity like this—a miniseries within the line—is the biggest puzzle in the world. If you’re unfamiliar with how these book babies are born, this is what happens: our talented editors cook up a bunch of linked characters, do some world-building to craft a community, then put together a project book with outlines and info for the writers who’ll be collaborating to write the books.
This is extremely challenging. You have to take someone else’s characters, shove them and the outline into your brain, and start running. Because of the nature of the beast, if one story deviates from the plan all the other stories might have to too. It requires a lot of off-the-cuff problem-solving and co-operation. It also requires extremely talented editors to make sure it hangs together at the end.
In short, it’s the kind of project that forces you to grow as a writer. It also means the final result is never just due to your effort, it’s even more of a team effort than usual—and it has to be a great team to work. Writers who’ll immediately give feedback on something within minutes, or brainstorm a way to craft an event that has to happen in your book for future books to make sense. It’s kind of a miracle, and kind of a nightmare at times, but it turns out some of the best stories.
I really hope you enjoy Gabriel and Penny’s story, and I hope you’ll pick up the other books in the series to see how the remaining Davenports get their happy-ever-afters.
Amalie xx
The Rescue Doc’s Christmas Miracle
Amalie Berlin
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
AMALIE BERLIN lives with her family and her critters in Southern Ohio, and writes quirky and independent characters for Mills & Boon Medical Romance. She likes to buck expectations with unusual settings and situations, and believes humour can be used powerfully to illuminate the truth—especially when juxtaposed against intense emotions. Love is stronger and more satisfying when your partner can make you laugh through the times when you don’t have the luxury of tears.
Books by Amalie Berlin
Mills & Boon Medical Romance
Hot Latin Docs
Dante’s Shock Proposal
Desert Prince Docs
Challenging the Doctor Sheikh
The Hollywood Hills Clinic
Taming Hollywood’s Ultimate Playboy
Return of Dr. Irresistible
Breaking Her No-Dating Rule
Surgeons, Rivals…Lovers
Falling for Her Reluctant Sheikh
The Prince’s Cinderella Bride
Visit the Author Profile page at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk) for more titles.
First, I must thank Dr Trish Connor from the bottom of my heart for her help figuring out what was wrong with Penny! I knew she had to have had a childhood illness, and had a list of boxes that illness had to tick to make the story work, but no idea what the illness could be. She listened to the list, rapidly spat out several options, and generally was a lifesaver. Without her directing me to juvenile dermatomyositis, which Id never heard of, Penny might have never come alive to me as fully as she did. Massive thank-you to Dr Connor.
I must also shower love on Robin Gianna, sister-in-law to Dr Connor, who handled the conversation one day over lunch while I was panicking. :)
Finally, I’d like to thank Amy Ruttan, Annie O’Neil and Robin Gianna for the brainstorming and handholding it took to get this crazy book baby born. Love you, ladies!
Contents
Cover (#u09f96907-3483-5e9e-b162-c496c356116f)
Back Cover Text (#u897bc209-5a88-511a-9b7b-c4f40666e904)
Dear Reader (#ud90c16a2-b819-582e-b1d0-572b2e5f601a)
Title Page (#u475fd50e-de40-5ec3-bcb0-f766451cc8e7)
About the Author (#u54747c58-0d31-508d-986b-a07b4de06ff2)
Dedication (#u0192674b-3aea-5e7c-9d8d-d78244ef2476)
PROLOGUE (#ub0c9a2e3-2a15-5807-aa2b-7d96e00c8d1b)
CHAPTER ONE (#ubcd95bd3-eff7-5154-9b12-7e8253cc87ad)
CHAPTER TWO (#u1affdcb6-a1bb-5291-9315-f1ae4f5dce04)
CHAPTER THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
PROLOGUE (#ucd27e015-8e66-5f10-adae-7cdade0b876c)
WERE IT NOT for the strong shopping bags protecting her clanking purchases, Penelope Davenport would never have made the walk back to her darkened motel, if the brisk, sometimes sideways shuffle she’d been doing through the gusting wind and sheets of rain could be called a walk. Whatever it could be called, it was better than her flying had been today.
Deep in the pit of her belly, she still felt the plummeting sensation triggered two hours earlier when the early autumn storm she’d been trying to outrun had caught them despite her best efforts, and a microburst had tried to slam her flying ambulance into the ground.
She still didn’t know why they hadn’t crashed.
Altitude had been on her side. And the storm’s sharp down-blast of wind had probably only caught them at the edge. Luck no doubt could be credited with making her jerk the stick in the correct direction, tilting them out of the wind to where she could level out and avoid killing them all.
The energy, a terrible need to just keep moving, had stayed with her too. If she stopped now, her bones might burst from her skin.
Yes, she’d kept Baby in the air.
Yes, she’d been given clearance to fly between storms.
And they’d gotten their patient to a Schenectady hospital for treatment, even if they’d had to divert an hour’s flight north to do it.
But she still felt responsible for such a near miss. Not only had there been almost death, but her partner, Dr. Gabriel Jackson, couldn’t even treat their patient at the new hospital, having no privileges there. On top of that, he got a ruined night not doing whatever he’d planned on doing, and he was stuck in a powerless motel without supplies.
Precisely how she’d ended up hiking to a strip mall during the height of a line of storm cells for stranded-at-a-lousy-motel-during-a-power-outage supplies.
Anything to make it better. For her. For him...
There had been attraction between them from the jump. A chemical thing that sometimes made them look too long, and sometimes required she remind herself what they were and should be to one another. Professional. Coworkers.
The first week they’d worked together had been peppered with awkwardness only eased when they actively treated a patient. In the confines of the chopper, even though it maintained a mild hospital-like antiseptic scent, she’d babbled her way to every destination because the act of talking helped her keep from thinking too much. To keep from noticing the light cologne he wore with its hints of ginger. To block out that vibrating awareness that filled up the spaces between them.
But with all the crazy bouncing around in her head, none of that would matter tonight. They were just going to hang out, eat some liquor store sausage and cheese sampler, drink wine, play cards, and talk. Him for once, rather than her filling up the space. He knew more about her than she did about him.
A blast of wind flattened her into the side of the motel just as she’d reached the awning-covered walk that should’ve gotten her out of the rain. Another ten or so doors, and she’d be inside, and safe, and she could roll up in the bedspread like a burrito to get warm.
Dying of pneumonia from how wet and cold she’d become after all that? Yeah, that’d suck. Gabriel would probably find the biggest horse pills with which to save her life, just to punish her for having gone out in a freaking monsoon.
He’d do it all while being sedate and so handsome it was like a big cosmic joke. Of course he would have to look like that—jaw that still looked like geometry even with the beard he kept short enough she wasn’t sure it was technically a beard, or just some long, perfectly groomed stubble. The best-looking men were always the least attainable.
They’d never spoken about it, never made a move, but there had come to be an understanding between them. Conversations that began with proclamations of the benefit of having such a great partner to work with didn’t need many lines to read between. The way he would sit away from her during work meetings, always on the other side of the conference table. She knew what interest looked like in a man’s eyes, and she’d seen it there, so his distancing techniques said everything else.
Just as she reached his room, she felt the bag with the wine start to tear, and captured the bottle with her thigh against the hollow metal door. Knocking with her elbow was all she could manage.
“It’s me!” A sudden clap of thunder drowned her out. Not exactly the entrance she’d planned. Then again, she hadn’t really planned much beyond go to the store and make tonight better. In the back of her mind she held on to have a great time as her final objective, because it was at least statistically possible.
If he was moving in there, she couldn’t hear anything over the rain.
“Hurry up, I think it’s going to rain!” Ha-ha. See, she still had a sense of humor, before her untimely passing from hurricane-induced pneumonia.
Another blast of wind smacked her in the back and wrapped her completely saturated hair around her face. It stuck like a furry squid.
She opened her mouth to curse the door down—if she had to dig out her own key for the room next door it was all over. But as she began considering the logistics of juggling her tearing bags, the door opened. Before he could say anything, before he could yell at her for this exercise in ridiculousness, she grabbed her slowly shredding bag of wine by the rip and darted inside, the rest of her loot in swinging bags presently cutting off her circulation at the elbows.
“You think it’s going to rain?” he said, like he couldn’t tell a joke when he heard one. Because his mood was apparently so foul he couldn’t even picture a reason to be in a good one. “Are you nuts? You walked somewhere in this? You look like you just got pulled out of the Hudson.”
Laughing a little, she swung the bags up onto his table. “It was only about half a mile. I think. I don’t know. I’m better at judging distances from the air, less good at it from the ground. Though since I’ve only been flying a couple years and been on the ground the rest of my life, you’d think it’d be the opposite.”
For a normal person, it probably would’ve been, but Penny had learned young to judge distance by how far she’d be able to walk or roll her wheelchair. It was more a can-I-make-it-that-far? measuring system than something with math and numbers. Being now able to easily walk a mile, or whatever, in the pounding rain was something to celebrate. Not that he needed to know all that. It certainly wouldn’t help put him into a better mood. He might even start fussing over her health—like her family still did on occasion, even though she’d been in remission for years.
“Niagara Falls is coming off the roof.” Even though Gabriel’s words were complaints, his tone had taken on that sardonic lilt that let her know that even in the dark he was shaking his head and saying words he really didn’t expect to mean anything to her. Might even be rolling his pretty brown eyes.
“Yep. But what was I going to do, call a cab to go the equivalent of a few blocks? Rain’s not going to kill me.” She hoped. But, goodness, she needed to warm up. Which...she didn’t have a plan for. No spare clothes.
“Your teeth are chattering,” he noted.
“I don’t know how you can see anything in here, it’s dark.”
“I can hear them clacking.”
She clamped her mouth shut to control the noise and finished piling her dripping bags on the table so she could dig out the candles she’d purchased. Candles meant fire, meant light, and especially some kind of heat.
“I know you’re trying to be nice.”
“I am,” she chirped, felt her voice wobble with her involuntary jaw wobbling, still determined to give Dr. Grouchy a better evening than the universe had conjured for either of them. Finding the matches and grabbing one of the candles, she created fire. And light. “Saw a strip mall on the way here with one of those cheapo general-store places beside a liquor store.”
Clack. Clackity. Clack. She gritted her teeth until her jaw tensed and felt more under control. She kept the rest of it short. “Got supplies. You could play along, pretend you’re someone who doesn’t hate f-fun. M-might s-surprise y-you.”
The last several words stuttered out and she gave up trying to pretend. She was cold. During her brisk walk in the downpour she’d stayed more or less warm. Standing around made the chill seep into her, and life become decidedly less livable.
Outside the storm continued to rage, and when a gust blew against the side of the building, she looked over and noticed Gabriel was in his underwear.
Gabriel was in his underwear.
How had she missed that?
Putting the candle down, she smooshed her wet hair back from her face, where it was obviously obstructing her vision, and looked at him. Beneath his carefully zipped flight suit he’d been hiding all that?
Even as dark as the room was, she could see the definition of abs in his rich, brown skin. Wide, solid shoulders. Hip flexors. Good God, the man had chiseled hip flexors.
Which would be something she could spend time appreciating as soon as she got warm.
“Did you get something dry to wear in that?”
