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Father By Choice
M.J. Rodgers
Emily Barrett wants a baby in her life–not a husband.And that's the reason she went to a sperm bank. Through some detective work she's able to work out who the donor is, but she doesn't ever plan to reveal to Dr. Brad Winslow that he's about to become a father.Yet when the two are forced to work together to solve a century-old mystery with a modern-day twist, Emily begins to wonder if she should revise her life plan.
Amazing a woman like this had gotten involved with such losers
Emily gazed out at the boats again. “The problem with my old life plan was that it required the cooperation of someone else to work. With my new life plan, I don’t need anyone else’s cooperation.”
So that’s why she’d gone the artificial insemination route. Her choice made a little more sense to Brad now. But understanding her reasons hadn’t changed his opinion of her actions.
Except the timing was lousy. He was in his final year as an E.R. resident and had those Board Certification exams to study for. Finding the hours he’d need to establish a close relationship with Emily was going to be difficult.
But his baby would be a reality in seven months’ time—a reality that couldn’t be ignored. He was going to be there to see to its emotional, physical and financial needs. That’s what a responsible father—and a real man—did.
Her initial life plan had included a father for her child. It was only the bastards she’d picked who had soured her on the idea.
He could make it sweet for her again.
Dear Reader,
Father by Choice is the first book in a new series called CODE RED. This series tells the stories of dedicated medical professionals, police and firefighters as they save lives and fall in love in the fictional community of Courage Bay, located in Southern California.
Courage Bay’s residents are proud of their long history of selfless acts of bravery. In this first story we get a glimpse into the community’s earliest history after a time capsule is dug up to reveal a hundred-year-old mystery. Solving the case will take the cooperation of two unlikely sleuths: Brad Winslow—an E.R. resident at Courage Bay Hospital and a man on the front lines of the community’s emergency teams—and Emily Barrett, the curator of the city’s botanical gardens and a member of its esteemed historical society.
As they join forces to find the answers to the mystery unearthed with the time capsule, Brad and Emily soon discover themselves confronted with a few modern-day surprises, as well. And the best of those surprises turns out to be the deep and very unexpected love that they begin to share.
I hope you enjoy Brad and Emily’s story. If you would like a personally autographed sticker for your book, send me a SASE at P.O. Box 284, Seabeck, Washington, 98380-0284.
Warmly,
M.J.
Father by Choice
M.J. Rodgers
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
This book is for Frances Demoor of Kalamazoo, Michigan.
Fran is a real heroine.
Even when faced with the worst of life’s heartbreaks,
she always responds with kindness and love.
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
CHAPTER ONE
EMILY BARRETT KNEW WHEN to stop and smell the roses. And those that opened beneath the dazzling April sunshine filling Courage Bay’s Botanical Gardens were irresistible.
She buried her nose inside the fragrant petals of “Perfect Moment,” a red-orange bloom with a center fold of pure gold and then went on to the “Chicago Peace” behind it, a lush pink that measured no less than five inches across. The bright lemon yellow of “Graceland” farther down the trellised walkway was already producing more flowers than any other bush. And then there was “Unforgettable”—so perfectly named—a robust giant with petals as soft as a baby’s cheek.
No gardener could take credit for creating a rose. But when she met their needs, Emily felt as proud as any parent could gazing into their beautiful fresh faces.
“We’re going to miss the crane guy,” Josh Smithson warned.
She looked up to see her assistant purposely eyeing his wristwatch. Nothing was as impatient as youth.
“Don’t you like flowers?” she asked as she straightened, feeling grateful for every one of her thirty-three years.
“They’re all right, I guess.”
The sweep of Emily’s hand encompassed the colorful blooms fluttering in the early afternoon breeze. “All right? What could be more impressive than this?”
“I don’t know.”
Josh’s most frequent answer to any question she asked. Either he knew very little about his own feelings or was hesitant to reveal them.
When Emily was nineteen, she knew exactly how she felt and had no problem sharing it. As her brothers used to complain, getting her to shut up was the real trick. Maybe this was a gender thing. Most of the males she knew refused to acknowledge they even had feelings, much less took the time to examine them.
“You want me to like the flowers, Dr. Barrett?”
If Josh had asked that sarcastically, she would have laughed. But the flat-open sincerity in his words bothered Emily.
“You don’t have to like them for me. Or anyone else. Like them for you or not at all.”
“You won’t be disappointed?”
“Hey, you work hard, and you’re dependable. I’ve never had a better assistant. So if flowers aren’t your thing, it’s okay.”
He greeted her assurance with a bony shoulder shrug.
“What is your thing, Josh?”
“I don’t know.”
There it was again. And the saddest thing about his words was that Emily believed them. Why did high schools require all kids learn algebra—something which most of them would never use—and yet fail to teach them how important it was to get to know themselves—something they could all use?
“Has taking this year off before going to college helped at all?” she asked.
Another shrug.
“Your folks have any suggestions?” she persisted.
“My dad and granddad want me to study science like they did and join the firm. But I suck at that stuff.”
“So outside of being a great assistant, what don’t you suck at?”
“I don’t know.”
Emily gave up. Josh was a good worker, but as a conversationalist he left a lot to be desired. Her thoughts were rudely interrupted by the sudden blast of a leaf blower. Oh, no. Not again. She whirled around, trying to determine where he was. Then the breeze blew a faint whiff of gasoline fumes in her face and she knew.
Emily charged up the path through the rose garden, past the swaying beds of fragrant lilacs, and broke into a jog around the lily pond. Turning the corner, she saw Lester inside the greenhouse. He was shuffling to the tune he heard in his headphones, the leaf blower in his hand blasting dirt and debris off the stone path.
She’d asked him repeatedly not to use that polluting piece of crap in the Botanical Gardens, especially not the greenhouse. The toxic fumes were dangerous to the more fragile plant species, not to mention human lungs.
But Lester considered sweeping with a broom to be beneath his manhood. Which was why, every time he thought she wasn’t around, he brought out the leaf blower.
Emily waved, trying to get his attention. But he wasn’t looking in her direction. She hurried up the cobblestone path toward him, feeling her nostrils burn, trying not to inhale too deeply. She called out to him, but he obviously couldn’t hear her above the noise of the leaf blower and whatever he considered music in his ears.
Her temples had begun to throb. She entered the greenhouse, knowing she’d have to grab his arm to get his attention. But before she could, the heat and exhaust hit her full blast.
And she was sinking into a spinning, blinding nothingness.
BRAD WINSLOW OFTEN THOUGHT that working in the E.R. was a lot like going to the theater. It was always high drama with life hanging in the balance. But whether he ultimately found himself part of a mystery, triumph, tragedy or farce sometimes depended less on the skill and dedication of Courage Bay’s team of medical professionals than it did on the assortment of characters coming through the door.
Today the E.R. was overflowing with crazy fools bent on tempting fate and the limits of their medical insurance.
Behind curtains one and two were a pair of middle-aged golfers with head wounds—continuing to exchange obscenities while they waited for their CT scans. They’d been so bent on ramming each other’s golf carts as they raced to the next green that they never noticed they’d taken a wrong turn.
Fortunately, the driver of the industrial-size lawn mower they’d smashed into had escaped injury. It was the two idiots who had landed on his windshield that needed their heads examined.
Then there was the guy behind curtain three who decided to sail his son’s skateboard down his daughter’s slide to see how much lift he could get. He lifted over his neighbor’s fence and landed in the swimming pool.
Lucky for him the neighbor had filled it that morning or he’d have cracked a lot more than a collarbone.
And behind curtain four was the teenage artist determined to have a butterfly tattoo on her boob no matter how much her parents objected. She’d assembled a sewing needle, candle, some food coloring and had at it—until her swallowtail turned into an infected swirl of blisters.
Sometimes the most difficult part of being an E.R. physician was maintaining the controlled detachment that was a necessity in the face of such human folly.
Brad was passing the base radio station when the paramedic line began to ring. The nurse who generally answered the calls was trying to get a naked seventy-year-old loony balancing a bedpan on his head to return to the examining room.
Yep, it was definitely the day for crazies. Brad stopped to pick up the phone.
“Courage Bay E.R. Winslow.”
“It’s Paramedic Kellison on Rescue Squad Two. How do you copy?”
“Loud and clear, Kellison.”
“We’re en route to your location with a Code Red.”
Code Red meant they were coming in with red lights and siren—the emergency team’s protocol whenever they were faced with a possible life-threatening situation.
“We’ve got a female, around thirty, fell without warning onto a cobblestone path approximately twenty minutes ago,” Kellison continued. “Unconsciousness. No observable wounds. Her pressure is ninety-five over sixty, rate about seventy. She’s somewhat pale, but nondiaphoretic at this time. ETA to ambulance bay about three minutes.”
“We’ll be expecting you,” Brad said. “CB clear.”
“Number Two clear.”
Brad signaled to a passing trauma nurse and went to put on a fresh gown and gloves. With a little luck maybe this patient wouldn’t turn out to be a loony.
EMILY WAS ENCASED in thick white mosquito nets. She was thankful. The incessant buzzing that was going on outside was getting louder. Last time she’d been bitten by one of those bloodsuckers, she’d endured a painful welt for several days. Had one of the sprinkler systems developed a leak? Was water pooling somewhere? Were they breeding within the Botanical Gardens?
She tried to respect all life. But mosquitoes were a species that stretched the limits of her tolerance. She could hear one of them now—very loud and insistent.
“Wake up, Emily. I know you can hear me.”
Not a mosquito. An urgent voice—deep and very male—from someone used to being listened to. Her eyes fluttered open to a blinding light. She grimaced and quickly shut them again.
A hand closed over her forearm—large, warm. “Emily, you lost consciousness. You’re in Courage Bay’s Emergency Room.”
She still couldn’t make sense out of the blurred words coming through the thick mosquito netting, but the deep resonance of his voice vibrated nicely in her ears.
“Emily, we’re taking good care of you. But I need you to tell me if you hurt anywhere. I’m Dr. Brad Winslow.”
