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Marriage by Contract
Sandra Steffen
As a devastating summer storm hits Grand Springs, Colorado, the next thirty-six hours will change the town and its residents forever…
From the first moment she sees him, nurse Bethany Kent falls in love with little baby Christopher, who’s been abandoned by his mother. She dreams of adopting him, but in small town Grand Springs she’ll need a husband in order to adopt a child.
Dr. Tony Petrocelli has a reputation for romance. In reality, he’s tired of short-term relationships and intrigued by Bethany. And if he’s going to get that promotion to Head of Obstetrics, he needs to show the Board he’s a stable family man by getting married.
A marriage of convenience can help them both. As long as Tony never learns Beth’s secret, it’s the perfect solution….
Book 8 of the 36 Hours series. Don’t miss Book 9: A straight-arrow cop is attracted to his prime suspect in a murder investigation in Partners in Crime by award-winning author Alicia Scott.
Marriage by Contract
Sandra Steffen
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Contents
Prologue (#u3b969c36-3f5f-555f-a83c-0583d7e24268)
Chapter One (#uc5084c2e-e072-566f-8d10-c355d8bf53de)
Chapter Two (#ufbad40be-7976-52e5-b3be-6d24c164cbab)
Chapter Three (#u5cb309d8-e8b6-5189-8375-562a24d8b508)
Chapter Four (#udc7ded5b-ccb2-55d8-b613-18d399f3b53d)
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)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
Prologue
June 6, 1997, 10:00 p.m.
“Somebody help me. It hurts. Make it stop. Please, make it stop.”
Bethany Kent placed an ice pack on a patient’s swollen wrist, her feet already moving in the direction of the quavering voice. Wheelchairs and gurneys blocked her path, and men, women and children all looked up as she passed, worry and pain and shock in their eyes.
It had been almost three hours since a mud slide took out the power in Grand Springs, Colorado, and the rain had yet to let up. Most of the people were here tonight because of car accidents due to the mud, the driving rain and the absence of street and traffic lights throughout the city. Some had sustained injuries from falling down stairs or tripping over furniture. Even the mayor had been brought in—the victim of an apparent heart attack. Beth was nearly asleep on her feet, and there was no end in sight.
Thunder rolled in from the mountains, rattling the windows and stirring up the overwrought patients huddled together in the emergency room. The lights dimmed, sending a hush from one end of the room to the other. An old man’s gravelly voice cut through the tense silence. “The generator’s going out. Without lights, the doctors will have to wait until morning to fix us up.”
Others took up the cry. By the time Beth slid her arm around the teenage girl who was doubled over in pain near the door, some of the patients were rocking back and forth, others were starting to wail.
In a voice as sure and steady as her hands, Beth said, “I’ve worked in the ER long enough to know the ins and outs of the generators Vanderbilt Memorial uses during emergencies such as this one. And believe me, the lights are not going to go out.”
Turning her attention to the girl who was moaning softly, she ignored the sheen of perspiration dampening the hair on her own forehead, and placed her hand on the girl’s abdomen, which was taut with another contraction. “Dave,” she called to a clerk near the desk on the other side of the room. “Find Dr. Petrocelli. Stat. Tell him we have another mother in labor.”
The girl tried to straighten but couldn’t. “I can’t have the baby yet. It’s ten weeks early.”
Beth did her best to hide the anxiety twisting the knot in her stomach as Dr. Amanda Jennings joined her. A baby born ten weeks premature would be tiny, its lungs dangerously underdeveloped. As the two women helped the young mother to a vacant wheelchair, Beth had her first glimpse of pale skin, big eyes and a narrow face framed with a tangle of wet, dark hair sticking out of a tattered baseball cap. Sweet heaven, the girl was just a baby herself.
“What’s your name?” Beth asked as they wheeled her into a trauma room and prepared to move her to the examining table.
Blue eyes rose to hers. “Annie. Annie Moore. Will you help me?” the girl pleaded, looking from Beth to Amanda Jennings.
Beth had seen lives saved, and she’d seen lives lost. Neither ever failed to move her. But nothing in all her thirty-five years had ever touched her more deeply than the entreaty and the unusual flicker of bravery in Annie Moore’s eyes. Blinking back the tears that always seemed close to the surface these days, Beth nodded. “We’ll help you.”
The girl folded over as another contraction racked her thin body. Beth didn’t like the looks of this. The pains were coming fast and furious with little time in between.
She was in the process of helping Annie into bed when Dr. Tony Petrocelli pushed into the room, past Dr. Noah Howell. Dr. Petrocelli’s scrub suit was clean, and a face mask and stethoscope hung from his neck. The black stubble of his day-old beard was testimony to the fact that he’d been here for twenty-four hours, at least.
“Hello,” he said matter-of-factly. “Who have we got here?”
“We don’t have anyone. I’m here by myself. And my name is Annie. Am I going to die?”
Dr. Petrocelli glanced at the girl, obviously taking her terse words in stride. “No. I’m Dr. Tony Petrocelli. It’s nice to meet you. How old are you, Annie?”
“Seventeen. How old are you?”
An arched eyebrow was the doctor’s only indication of surprise. “I’m thirty-six. Nice night to have a baby.”
The line creasing his lean cheek and his notorious half smile didn’t seem to faze the girl. Squaring her jaw and straightening her shoulders, she said, “I’m not having the baby tonight. It’s too early. I’m not ready. For once in my life, I’m going to do something right. So just make it stop.”
Beth spared another glance at Dr. Petrocelli. She’d heard all the rumors and tall tales about the sexual prowess of the Don Juan of Vanderbilt Memorial. She’d seen him in the cafeteria, the corridors and elevators, but until now, she’d never actually worked with him. And she’d certainly never understood how a man with his image could also have the reputation for being one of the best obstetricians in Colorado. It didn’t take long for her to understand.
While Beth held the girl’s hand, showed her how to breathe and bathed her face with cool water, Tony conducted a quick examination. All the while, he talked to Annie, asking her questions about her pregnancy, the weather, and then moved on to about a dozen other topics. His voice was a husky baritone, his lips prone to smiling. His touch was strong and sure and was meant to put patients at ease, even through his latex gloves. “I’ll be right back,” he said, then motioned Dr. Jennings and Dr. Howell out to the hallway. Moments later he returned. Going around to the other side of the bed, he looked directly into Annie’s eyes and said, “Your labor is too far advanced to stop. This baby wants to be born tonight. Let’s get to work. Dr. Jennings here is going to help out.”
Beth had expected panic, stark and vivid, to glitter in Annie’s eyes, but she hadn’t expected the shuddering breath the girl took or the pride and determination thickening her voice as she said, “My sister’s name was Christie, so if the baby’s a girl, I’m going to name her Christina. Christopher, if it’s a boy. I just want you to know. In case something happens.”
The girl cried out with the next contraction, and there was no time to reassure her. She groaned, bore down and cried out again, clutching Beth’s hand, straining, hurting. She breathed when she could, pushed when she had to, and wept, her face contorting in pain a girl her age shouldn’t have to endure. And then, after a momentary stillness, a baby’s weak cry wavered through the room.
“It’s a boy!” Dr. Petrocelli called.
“A boy?” Annie cried. “Is he all right?”
“He’s tiny, but he has all ten fingers and toes.”
Smiling around the lump in her throat, Beth wrapped little Christopher in a blanket, then held him up so his mother could see. Lord, he was small, but he was alive.
“Can I hold him?” Annie asked.
Beth placed the baby in his mother’s arms for but a moment while the doctor cut the cord, then she whisked him away into a mobile incubator for his trip to the neonatal unit upstairs. Annie’s voice stopped her at the door. “Promise you’ll take care of him for me?”
Touching the baby gently, Beth turned. The young girl looked weak and exhausted and so alone Beth would have promised her anything. “I’ll take care of him, Annie. You have my word.”
For some reason, her gaze trailed to the foot of the bed where Dr. Petrocelli was standing. He was tall and dark, and looked as if he could have just stepped off a steamship from southern Italy. Even tired, his features were striking and strong—his nose, his chin, his cheekbones. But it was his eyes that held her spellbound. She knew the moment only lasted for the span of one heartbeat, but in that instant, everything went strangely still. His look warmed her in ways she hadn’t expected, and didn’t want to examine.
The baby moved beneath her hand, and the moment broke. With one last glance at Annie, Beth turned and left.
Tony heard the swish of the door and saw the blur of an auburn braid as Bethany Kent disappeared. He was aware of the whir of a fan, the strong scent of disinfectant and the floor beneath his feet. But he felt frozen in time, and in place. He’d delivered hundreds of babies, had been yelled at and kicked and hit. He’d witnessed countless moments of joy and tears and happiness at that first tiny cry. But he’d never felt exactly the way he had during that brief instant when his gaze had met Bethany’s.
He’d seen her around the hospital and had heard rumors about a recent divorce. Although she kept to herself, he’d noticed her the way all men notice all women. But he hadn’t had this gut-wrenching, knee-jerk reaction to her before. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so…so—hell, he didn’t even know what to call it.
Telling himself the jolt of longing that pulsed suddenly in the very center of him was a result of too little sleep, too many patients and an adrenaline surge due to the emergency, he shook his head to clear it, then turned back to the seventeen-year-old girl who was crying, and trying not to let it show.
Chapter One
Bethany walked through the automatic door, her senses assaulted with the sudden burst of air-conditioning and the smell and clatter of patients’ supper trays. After saying hello to the lab technicians heading for the cafeteria, she rounded a corner, her footsteps slowing to accommodate all the people milling around in front of the elevators. Too restless to wait, she spun around and took the stairs.
The exercise felt good. Maybe climbing eighteen or nineteen flights of stairs would ease the dread and disappointment dogging her steps. Unfortunately, Vanderbilt Memorial had only four floors. Beth stopped at the third.
She’d just come from the social worker’s office downtown. All the deep breaths she’d taken since her meeting with Mrs. Donahue had failed to dull the sharp edges from the words still echoing through Beth’s head.
“I know you love Christopher, Bethany,” Mrs. Donahue had said. “And I think you’d be a wonderful mother. But even in this day and age, our court system prefers two-parent homes, especially in infant adoptions. I’m sorry, but I’m afraid your only hope is to get married.”
Beth was no stranger to marriage. She’d been married for seven years. The attorney who’d handled the divorce had casually dubbed Barry’s quest to end the marriage “the seven year itch.” Of course, the legal terminology he’d used in court was irreconcilable differences. Nobody had addressed the real reason Barry had wanted a divorce. But Bethany knew.
Her stomach roiled, a combination of the smell of hospital food, her dark thoughts and the memory of Mrs. Donahue’s parting words. Forcing her worries to the back of her mind, she strode down the hall to the nursery.
Kitty Garcia looked up from the diaper she was changing and slanted Beth a genuine smile. “Hi, Beth. You’re a little later than usual today.”
“I had an appointment,” Beth answered, her gaze automatically trailing to the other side of the glass. Already smiling at the tiny hands flailing over the top of the incubator, she strode to the sink, scrubbed her hands and donned a sterile gown. The sadness and despair she’d felt since her meeting with Mrs. Donahue faded the instant she took Christopher in her arms.
Lord, he smelled sweet, all talcum powder and baby innocence. She kissed his cheek, his chin and the tiny fold of skin at his neck. “Hello, sweet pea,” she whispered. “How’s my big boy today?”
She was almost sure she heard him sigh. Holding him several inches from her face, she smiled at him, marveling at his serious expression. He was two months and three weeks old, and he was slowly but surely gaining weight. It was a little too soon to tell what color his eyes would be, but his little head was covered with a layer of fine, dark hair a shade or two lighter than his mother’s.
Nobody had seen Annie Moore since she’d left the hospital shortly after Christopher was born. With all the confusion and chaos in the aftermath of the enormous storm that ravaged Grand Springs, no one knew exactly when she’d disappeared. The girl had given her child life. She’d even given him a name and filled out his birth certificate. And then she’d left. Beth knew it was unusual for a mother who planned to abandon her child to sign the birth certificate. But Annie had…and it was definitely complicating the adoption process.
For the life of her, Beth didn’t understand why the young woman had left. Maybe she hadn’t planned to leave Christopher behind. Or maybe she’d decided she couldn’t raise him on her own. Whatever the reason, Beth prayed that nothing bad had happened to Annie Moore.
“Take care of him for me.”
At the time, Beth had assumed Annie had meant it in a temporary sense, but as the days and weeks had passed without word from the young woman, she’d begun to wonder if Annie had meant forever.
And forever was what Beth wanted with this child. As she stared into Christopher’s eyes, a yearning so deep and so strong wrapped around her heart and squeezed like a fist. “I love you,” she whispered. “If I was your mother, I’d make you feel safe and secure and well loved. Oh, Christopher, you really are a miracle baby, do you know that?”
Christopher looked up at her, his expression so earnest she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He weighed less than five pounds, but his personality was ten times that big, and so was his will to live. The first two months of his life had been difficult. His lungs had been underdeveloped, and he was so tiny at birth that many people hadn’t expected him to survive. The infection he’d gotten had weakened him further, but the little scrapper had clung to life by a thread. And through it all, Beth had stood by his incubator. On breaks, during her lunch hour and long after her shift was over, she’d laid her hand on his tiny body that was hooked up to so many wires and tubes he couldn’t be picked up. Talking to him, reassuring him that she was there.
She’d never forget the day more than a month ago when she’d looked up from the chair where she was rocking Christopher and found Travis Stockwell and Peggy Saxon watching from the other side of the window, a twin in each of their arms. She’d appreciated their smiles and nods of encouragement, but she couldn’t help noticing the differences between their babies and the child she was holding. Little Travis and Virginia had been born the day after Christopher. Even though they were twins and had come into this world in a cab during the terrible storm, they were already chubby and wiggly and strong.
Just as Christopher would be soon, Beth reminded herself.
Barring any more setbacks, he’d be ready to leave the hospital in a week or so. She couldn’t think of anything in the world she wanted more than to be able to take him home and make him her son.
“Your only hope is to get married.”
The last Beth knew, husbands didn’t grow on trees, although her closest friend claimed that now and then they’d been known to crawl out from under rocks. Thoughts of Jenna made her smile, just as they always did. But no matter what Jenna said, Beth hadn’t found Barry under a rock. He happened to be bright and articulate and was an extremely successful corporate attorney. She’d loved him, and she’d thought he loved her. But a person couldn’t love someone and then casually throw them away. She was still aching from the events of the past year, but she had to hand it to Barry; he certainly knew the ins and outs of obtaining a divorce. Beth only wished adopting Christopher could be half as easy.
She fed the baby his bottle, burped him and changed him, then stood next to his incubator and watched him sleep. She’d never experienced the joy of feeling a baby grow beneath her heart, but she knew how it felt to have a child grow within it, as Christopher had.
If only wishes made things so, she thought to herself, finally turning to leave. Too tired to stave off the sadness that had been building up inside her since Mrs. Donahue’s parting words, Beth walked through the corridors, her arms folded, her footsteps quiet and slow.
A man’s voice drew her from her thoughts. “The hospital board wants to promote you to head of obstetrics, Tony, but they think it would look a lot better if you were married.”
Everybody in the hospital knew Dr. Noah Howell’s voice. And there was only one Tony on staff at Vanderbilt Memorial.
Suddenly alert, Beth glanced at the stairway at the end of the hall, and at the light spilling from the open doorway ten feet away. If she continued on toward the stairs, she would run the risk of interrupting the conversation between the two doctors. Glancing over her shoulder, she decided to head for the elevators.
Suddenly, an idea too absurd to contemplate froze her feet to the floor.
* * *
Tony Petrocelli took a deep breath, let it all out, then paced to the other side of the room. Shaking his head, he faced his friend and fellow doctor, but for the life of him, he didn’t know what to say. He was still in a state of shock due to the latest incident during which a patient—a stark-naked, voluptuous, single patient—made a pass at him in his own examining room. He’d heard the nicknames people called him when they thought he was out of hearing distance—the Don Juan of Vanderbilt Memorial, the Italian Stallion—but the forwardness of some of his patients was getting out of hand.
Scrubbing a hand across his face, he said, “Noah, are you telling me the board won’t give me the promotion unless I get married?”
“No, that isn’t what I said or what they said, at least not exactly. And you don’t have to make marriage sound like a death warrant.”
Tony strode to the window. Staring at the parking lot below and the mountain peaks rising in the west, he knew he could have dismissed Noah’s statement easily enough. After all, Noah Howell was a newlywed himself, and Tony had always suspected that married people belonged to a secret club and earned points for signing up their unsuspecting friends. He’d been ignoring his sisters’ attempts for years. But it was getting more and more difficult to dismiss his parents’ subtle hints about their only son’s bachelor status. And these blatant come-ons from his patients were becoming more frequent. One of these days, one of them could cost him his career.
Turning around, he looked at Noah, who was lounging comfortably in a chair on the other side of the desk. Rubbing at a bothersome knot in the back of his neck, Tony said, “I suppose you’re right about one thing, Noah. My life would definitely be a lot simpler if there was a wedding band on my finger.”
The other man’s laughter drew Tony’s eyebrows down. Noah Howell had a reputation for being responsible, dedicated and serious. Until a couple of months ago, he’d been no more prone to outbursts of laughter than he was to whistling. That was before he and Dr. Amanda Jennings had been thrown together during the blackout. Tony didn’t know what had been in the air that night, but strange things had been happening ever since. Some of them were sad and shocking, such as the murder of Grand Springs’ mayor, Olivia Stuart. Others, like Noah and Amanda’s surprise engagement and subsequent wedding, had been much happier events.
