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A Doctor's Vow
Christine Rimmer
Pediatrician Veronica Powers could handle crying babies and sticky-fingered toddlers without batting an eye, but in her personal life, order reigned supreme.So the beautiful and hardworking doctor was unnerved by her fascination with strong, sexy hospital administrator Ryan Malone–especially since his chaotic life involved three rambunctious kids and an inquisitive mother-in-law. Nevertheless, the single father was wreaking havoc with Ronni's well-ordered notions. And whether she wanted it or not, this man and his family were chipping away at Ronni's guarded heart and changing her mind about marriage!
“Come on,” Ryan coaxed. “Stay, just a little while.”
She looked right at him. He smiled. He had the kind of smile that seemed unwilling, as if he didn’t do it often—which made it special, made her feel special.
Ronni had heard it said that Ryan Malone could get money out of a stone. He’d spearheaded the plan to raise millions so that Honeygrove Memorial could add on a much-needed wing. Everyone marveled at him, wondered how he’d done it. But looking into his eyes right now, Dr. Ronni Powers understood the mystery completely.
The man possessed a commanding presence, a natural reserve—and a reluctant knock-’em-dead smile. An unbeatable combination, whether it came to convincing wealthy donors to put their money in his hands—or coaxing a woman to stay up all night talking to him….
A Doctor’s Vow
Christine Rimmer
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For the ones who take care of the children…
CHRISTINE RIMMER
came to her profession the long way around. Before settling down to write about the magic of romance, she’d been an actress, a salesclerk, a janitor, a model, a phone sales representative, a teacher, a waitress, a playwright and an office manager. Now that she’s finally found work that suits her perfectly, she insists she never had a problem keeping a job—she was merely gaining “life experience” for her future as a novelist. Those who know her best withhold comment when she makes such claims; they are grateful that she’s at last found steady work. Christine is grateful, too—not only for the joy she finds in writing, but for what waits when the day’s work is through: a man she loves who loves her right back, and the privilege of watching their children grow and change day to day. She lives with her family in Oklahoma.
Dear Reader,
My first PRESCRIPTION: MARRIAGE book, Dr. Devastating, was so much fun to write. I loved working with Christine Flynn and Susan Mallery, creating the doctors and nurses of Honeygrove Memorial. Naturally I was thrilled when our editors at Silhouette asked us to do it again.
And that wasn’t all. Our editors also informed us that the twenty-year anniversary of Silhouette was coming up.
Chris, Susan and I started brainstorming. We thought, what if Honeygrove Memorial Hospital was planning its own twenty-year celebration? What if a big new wing was being added? And what if, this time around, instead of three doctor heroes, we chose three heroines with M.D. after their names?
We also decided to make our heroes three powerful, determined men, each with his own part to play in the creation of Memorial’s new wing—and each destined to find love where he least expects it. And then we agreed that our heroes would have more in common than they realized, that this group of stories would be about a family—a family once torn apart by tragedy, reunited at last.
We hope that in these three new PRESCRIPTION: MARRIAGE stories, we’ve given you a little bit of everything you look for when you choose Silhouette Special Edition: love, laughter, passion, fulfillment, heroes you can fall in love with—and heroines who face life and relationships with humor, heart and honesty.
All the best,
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Epilogue
Chapter One
A bright flash of hard light cut through Ronni’s dreams. Then the sound of a drum, a huge drum. Someone pounding on it. Hard.
With a small, disgruntled moan, Ronni turned over in bed, thinking disjointedly, Lightning. Thunder. A storm coming…
Another harsh flash. More ominous drumming. Ronni opened her eyes—and saw the figure standing beside her bed.
A burglar, she thought. There’s a burglar in my bedroom.
A very short burglar.
All at once, as if a huge hand had ripped a hole in the belly of the sky, the rain began. A downpour. It beat on the roof. A sudden angry gust of wind sent it spraying at the French doors to the small patio beyond the bedroom, making a sound like gravel thrown against the panes.
More lightning. A blinding burst of it, flooding in through the gauze curtains, casting the bedroom—and the undersized intruder—into sharp relief.
She thought, not only small, but young—too young to be involved in a life of crime. Eight, maybe. Or nine. In striped pajamas and a dark-colored robe, standing by her bed at—she shot a glance at the clock—one-thirty in the morning.
Recognition dawned.
Not a burglar at all.
Ryan Malone’s son, the older one. She’d met him the afternoon before, when she’d stopped by the main house to pick up the keys. “This is Andrew,” the boy’s grandmother had said. “And this is Lisbeth. And here is Griffin….”
In the harsh wash of light, the boy’s blue eyes widened; he had seen that her eyes were no longer shut.
Thunder cracked, roared out and faded off beneath the heavy thrumming of the rain. The boy stepped back as the room plunged into shadow once more. He whirled for the French doors.
“Wait!” Ronni called, the sound a sleep-rough croak.
The boy froze.
“Please.” She spoke more gently. “It’s okay. Stay.”
The boy didn’t turn toward her, but he didn’t try to run again, either. He remained poised—waiting, no doubt, for what she might do next.
Very slowly, so as not to send him fleeing, Ronni reached over and turned on the bedside lamp. The boy flinched when she did that, but he stayed where he was.
“Andrew.” Ronni schooled her tone, made it soft, nonthreatening. She pulled herself to a sitting position. “That’s your name, isn’t it?”
The boy squared his shoulders, sucked in a breath—and resolutely remained facing away. “My name is Drew,” he corrected her, speaking to the French doors. “My dad and my grandma still call me Andrew. I keep telling them I’m Drew now, but they keep forgetting.”
“Drew, then,” Ronni said. “I like that. Drew.”
With a deep sigh, the boy turned toward her at last. They studied each other as the rain drummed away and lightning flared again, a boom of thunder following seconds after.
Ronni asked, “What are you doing here in the middle of the night, Drew?”
The boy chewed on his upper lip for a moment, then replied gravely, “I couldn’t sleep. I had to check and be sure about you.”
Ronni frowned. “Be sure?”
“Yeah.” He was defiant now, the dark head held high. “Be sure. That you’re really okay. That you won’t…hurt anything. Here in the little house—or at my house, either.” He glanced again toward the French doors—and escape.
“Did something make you think I might not be okay?”
“No. I don’t know. I’m the oldest, that’s all. I should be watching out. But I guess it was a bad idea.”
He was way too far away, in the shadows. “Drew, I can hardly see you.” His shoulders tightened, his body tensed. She thought again that he would bolt. But no. He was caught and he knew it. “Won’t you come here?”
He took three reluctant steps in her direction. “What?”
She pushed back the covers and swung her feet to the floor. “I’m a doctor, did you know that?”
He answered with a careful nod. “I’ve seen you. At Dr. Heber’s office. He’s my doctor.”
“Yes.” She dared to stand, to reach for her robe at the end of the bed. “And did you also know that when you’re a doctor, you take a solemn vow?”
His eyes narrowed. “A solemn vow?”
Quickly, she stuck her arms in the sleeves of the robe, flipped her thick braid out from under the collar and tied the belt. “Do you know what that means—a solemn vow?”
His black brows drew together. “Solemn. That’s like…very serious, and vow means like a promise you can never, ever break.”
“Exactly. A serious, unbreakable promise to ‘First, do no harm.’ That means, more important than trying to help someone get well, is not to harm them. Not to hurt them.”
Was he buying? She couldn’t be sure. And right then, even her five feet two inches felt a little too tall. She sat again and gave a small pat to the edge of the bed.
He looked at the space she’d patted, mauled his upper lip some more—and then gave in. He came and sat beside her—but not too close, nearer the end of the bed than to her.
“Do you see what I mean, Drew?”
“Yeah, but you don’t need to help me get well, because I’m not sick.”
“I can see you’re not. And what I’m saying is, that as a doctor, I’ve taken an oath not to hurt people no matter what.”
“An oath?”
“An oath is the same thing as a vow.”
He peered at her closely, gauging the truth of her words. At last he conceded, “Well. Okay. Since you made a solemn vow like that, I guess you have to keep it.”
“I do. It’s a promise I will never break.”
He went on staring at her. He looked so…dignified. So young to be so old.
She longed to reach out and put her arm around him, to comfort with a touch. But she sensed a deep reserve in him. And a desire to be considered mature. A hug would be too much—too forward, and too patronizing.
All right, she thought, if hugs are out, what next?
In the silence, the rain sounded even louder and harder than before. Lightning flashed twice, and thunder rumbled in the distance. It would be a wet walk back across the big yard to the main house.
“Drew, how did you get in here?”
He squirmed a little, as if the edge of the bed had suddenly become an uncomfortable place to sit. Then he admitted, “My mom always kept a key under the flowerpot outside there.” He pointed toward the French doors. “I put it back where I found it.” Another sigh, a gusty one. “But you’re gonna say I shouldn’t have used it, huh?”
“That’s right. You shouldn’t have.”
He sniffed, and pulled his shoulders square once more. “Well, I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.” He stood. “And I’ll just go back to my own house now.”
Nice try, kid, she thought. She rose to stand beside him. “Fine. Let’s go.” As she said that, she thought of the boy’s father, her temporary landlord, Ryan Malone. Chief administrator of Honeygrove Memorial Hospital, Ryan Malone was an imposing man, a man who wore designer suits and came across as both cordial and aloof at the same time.
Ronni had only really talked to him once—at a fund-raising dinner about two weeks before. Marty Heber, Drew’s doctor and one of the two other pediatricians in her practice, had made the introductions. Somehow the talk had gotten around to her new condo, which wouldn’t be ready before her apartment lease was up.
“I have a guest house. You’re welcome to use it,” Ryan Malone had said. He’d pulled out a gold-embossed business card. “Call my secretary at Memorial. She’ll handle the details with you.”
She hadn’t spoken to Ryan Malone since. She’d called the number on the card. His secretary had described the little house to her and told her no rent would be required. Ryan Malone’s mother-in-law had shown her around a week ago and turned over the key just yesterday.
And now here she was, about to wake a virtual stranger in the middle of the night to return his wandering son to him. The idea did not thrill her. But what else could she do?
Evidently, Drew’s thoughts mirrored hers. “My dad won’t like this. I think it’s better if I just go back alone.”
“Drew. You know I can’t let you do that.”
“Yes, you can. Nobody has to know I was here. And I promise I’ll never do it again.”
