How to Win the Surgeon's Heart Page 16

  “I’m wondering how long it takes to get a very handsome man out of his tuxedo?”

  He growled, pulling her toward him. “You’d better be talking about me.”

  “No one else, my love. No one else. I’ll miss the hammock, but we’ll have to make do with a bed that’s a whole lot narrower than yours.”

  He kissed her long and hard. “Believe me, Sash. There’s not going to be enough room between us to tell the difference.” With that he scooped her into his arms and carried her into the interior part of the house. A place where they would pledge their love and become the asymptote that defied all the odds, when it dared to intersect and join lovers as one.

  EPILOGUE

  Two years later

  NATE LOWERED HIS baby girl into her crib. “Good night, sweetheart.”

  She was already sound asleep, her belly full. He was finding he loved these middle-of-the-night feedings. It was a time when the world was still and quiet, when he could take the time to reflect on how utterly happy he was.

  He reached into the pocket of his robe and felt something. Damn. He’d almost forgotten. He pulled the object free and walked over to the shelf that flanked the white crib. Placing the doll carefully in the spot he’d chosen, he touched its hand.

  Arms encircled his midsection, and warm lips tickled his neck. “I have a lot to be grateful to her for.”

  Nate didn’t ask who she meant; he knew. “It’s still hard to think about her death.”

  “I know. But there’s an awareness out there now, that our island is not exempt from things like schistosomiasis. And you’re watching for it now. It won’t take you by surprise again.”

  She was right. They’d treated three more cases over the last couple of years, all of them children. All of them had lived. Maybe Marie was somehow looking down on them, watching over her island and its inhabitants.

  Sasha turned him around to face her. “Guess who I saw in town today?”

  “Who?”

  “Uncle Art.”

  Two years after his diagnosis, treatment had put him into remission. He would live with the condition for the rest of his life. But he was making the most of whatever time he had left.

  “You did?”

  “Yes. He was with Corinne.”

  He cocked his head, trying to place the name. “You mean the Corinne? The one whose parents broke them up?”

  “Yep. And they looked pretty chummy.” She reached up and cupped his face. “Wouldn’t it be great if they got their happy ending too?”

  “It would, indeed.” Sasha’s amyloidosis test had come back negative for the gene. They’d both been relieved, and while they’d already talked about having children, it had erased any lingering doubts. Dayna Marie Edwards had made her way into the world kicking and screaming and letting everyone know she was taking after her mama. She still was. Their baby was direct and to the point about what she needed and when she needed it. And Nate couldn’t love her more. Couldn’t love her mother more.

  She glanced up at him. “Your mom called today. They booked their flight for next week.”

  Nate frowned. “Are you sure you’re up to this?”

  “I’m looking forward to it.”

  This would be his parents’ third visit. The first time was at the gala, when he’d been too busy wooing Sasha to spend time with them. The second time was at their wedding a year ago. The fences weren’t completely mended, but they were working on it. Thanks to Sasha’s wisdom and her canny knack of moving chess pieces into just the right spot.

  He still couldn’t believe she was his. And he was hers. But he was never going to take her for granted. Never going to take their love for granted. They could have so easily lost it all.

  But thank God they hadn’t.

  “Hey, come on.” He leaned down to kiss her. “You need your sleep. I’m hoping she won’t wake up again.”

  But if she did, Nate would come get her and bring her in to nurse so that Sasha wouldn’t have to make the trek. It was the least he could do, and he did it with a grateful heart. He had the family he thought he’d never have.

  The family who’d stolen his heart and then given it back. The family who showed him every single day how loved he was. And that was worth more than money to Nate.

  It was...everything.

  * * *

  Look out for the next story in the The Island Clinic quartet

  Caribbean Paradise, Miracle Family

  by Julie Danvers

  And there are two more tropical

  stories to come

  Available August 2021!

  Also, if you enjoyed this story, check out these other great reads from Tina Beckett

  The Trouble with the Tempting Doc

  Consequences of Their New York Night

  All available now!

  Keep reading for an excerpt from Caribbean Paradise, Miracle Family by Julie Danvers.

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  Caribbean Paradise, Miracle Family

  by Julie Danvers

  CHAPTER ONE

  “COME ON, MAISIE! Kick! You can do it!”

  Willow Thompson clung to her three-year-old daughter’s chubby little hands as Maisie did her best to keep herself afloat in the shallow water. The beach behind their home on the island of St. Victoria was an ideal place to learn to swim, as the water curved into a sandy cove that provided refuge from the strong waves of the Caribbean Sea.

  Willow could have chosen to live at the accommodations provided by her workplace. She was a nurse at the Island Clinic, a private clinic in the Caribbean that specialized in providing top-notch medical care to some of the wealthiest and most well-known patients on earth. The clinic prided itself on its ability to provide patients with luxury almost as much as its ability to provide quality health care, and the clinic’s extravagance extended to its staff quarters.

  But as much as Willow enjoyed elegance, she enjoyed balance between her work and personal life even more. The small cottage she’d rented on the beach offered privacy for herself and her daughter, and gave Willow the separation from work that she needed. As much as she loved her job as a nurse, part of the reason she’d taken the job was so that she could put work behind her at the end of each day and focus on spending time with her daughter. And living apart from the clinic gave Willow the chance to fully immerse herself—and Maisie—into island life. Willow wanted her daughter to take advantage of all that growing up in the Caribbean had to offer. Which, at the moment, included swimming lessons.

  Most island children learned to swim almost before they could walk, but Willow and Maisie had only moved to St. Victoria in the past year. As Maisie paddled in the gentle waves, Willow thought, for what felt like the hundredth time, of how right she’d been to move from their dreary North London flat to the sun-drenched Caribbean islands. In London, swimming lessons would have been impossible on Willow’s budget. In fact, just about everything in London was a strain on her budget. Between her modest income as a critical care nurse, and the small amount of money her grandmother had left in trust for Maisie before she passed, there was never much left over after accounting for rent and childcare.

  Willow had lived her whole life in Islington, raised by her grandmother. Though they didn’t have much, she’d never once felt poor, because Gran had always made her feel loved. But becoming a single mother had opened Willow’s eyes to just how wide the divide was between the haves and have-nots. She constantly had to deny Maisie all the little “extras” that her preschool classmates were able to enjoy. Worse, after working all day, Willow only had time to spend a few exhausted hours with Maisie each night. She’d
ached to have a child for so long, but felt as though Maisie’s childhood was passing her by. The final straw came when she’d picked Maisie up from day care and learned that her daughter had spoken her first word. Willow was devastated that she hadn’t been there to hear it. That very night, she decided that she and Maisie needed a change. She hadn’t been certain, at first, of what that change would be, but she knew that it needed to be as different from North London as possible.

  St. Victoria certainly fit the bill. The vast turquoise waters and boundless blue sky of the island were a stark contrast to London’s relentless clouds and smoke. Their little house on the beach was small, but cozy. Like many homes in the Caribbean, it was raised on stilts to protect against flooding and hurricanes. The back door opened directly onto the beach, which was a toddler’s delight. There was plenty of sand for Maisie to play in, a network of tide pools to explore and miles of clear, gentle water, perfect for swimming.

  Of course, one would have to learn how to swim first. Maisie furrowed her brow in concentration as she kicked her legs in the water.

  Living on the beach as they did, Willow had known that she’d need to teach Maisie to swim as quickly as possible. But they’d hit a snag almost as soon as they’d started: Maisie was unwilling to submerge her head under the waves. She could kick her legs, but she refused to put her face into the water. As Maisie began to huff and puff, Willow stood her daughter up in the waist-high water.

  “Look, darling. You must put your face into the water if you are to learn to swim.”

  “Don’t want to.” Maisie’s lower lip began to pout, an expression Willow knew all too well.

  “Mummy can do it. See?” Willow quickly dunked her own head under the water and then broke the surface. “It’s not hard. It feels lovely.”

  Maisie’s lower lip began to tremble, and Willow knew that tears were likely to come next. Maisie was usually a very agreeable child, rarely protesting against Willow unless she felt anxious or in need of reassurance. So far, tantrums were a rare event in their little two-person household by the sea. But Willow knew that once the tears started coming, there would be no closing the floodgates again until Maisie had had a good cry. What had started as a pleasant day could turn to tears and storm clouds if Willow pushed Maisie before she was ready.

  Perhaps they’d had enough of the sea for one day. Willow wanted swimming to remain a fun experience for Maisie, so the girl would feel confident in the water. Pushing Maisie any further today might spoil it.

  “All right, then. Maybe that’s enough swimming for this morning. Run up to the house and get your sand toys. Show me what kind of castle you can build on the beach.”

  Maisie’s face broke into a smile, and she sprinted ahead of Willow onto the beach.

  As always, it brought Willow joy to see Maisie happy. But she also felt a pang of uncertainty that was becoming all too familiar as Maisie grew. Had she done the right thing, giving in so easily when Maisie didn’t want to put her head under the water? She never wanted Maisie to feel pushed to do anything she was afraid of. But on the other hand, children needed to be challenged. If she always gave in at the first sign of Maisie’s lip trembling, wouldn’t that create its own set of problems later on? Willow wanted her daughter to be resilient. If she was too soft on Maisie, her daughter might begin to think she could avoid anything unpleasant simply by crying.

  Oh, who am I kidding, she thought. Maisie’s already got me wrapped around her little finger, and she probably knows it.

  Willow wondered if her fate, as a single mother, would involve forever questioning whether she was pushing Maisie too hard, or not enough. Although she had never regretted her decision to raise Maisie on her own, one of the hardest parts about single parenting had been learning to trust her instincts. Her grandmother had passed away shortly after Maisie was born, and Willow had no other family she could ask for advice. At times like this, when she found herself questioning whether she’d given in too easily, she longed for someone who could offer support. Someone she could trust, and who she could rely on to watch over both her and Maisie.

  It was a nice dream, but Willow was a practical person. Any dreams of a partner for herself, or a father for Maisie, were unlikely to ever become more than dreams.

  She’d always wanted to have children. As a nurse, she’d had so many chances to see firsthand the joy that new babies brought to their parents. Moreover, she’d seen the support that families brought to one another when going through hard times. But Willow had always felt like an outsider as she watched families comfort one another through hardships. At home, it was only herself and Gran. But when Gran had passed away, there had been no one to comfort Willow.

  Growing up with Gran had felt special, because it was just the two of them, but it had also felt lonely at times. Willow had always wondered what it would be like to grow up in a large family, with siblings and cousins to share joys and sorrows. Since she couldn’t change her own childhood, she decided that she would do the next best thing by having plenty of children of her own. For many years, she’d dreamed of starting a family, and she’d always thought that Jamie, her childhood sweetheart, was dreaming along with her.

  Jamie had always agreed that he, too, wanted to get married and have a big family—but he wanted to wait for the right time to start. For eight years, Willow waited with him. She waited as Jamie went through career changes, as he started and dropped out of educational programs and as she watched many of her friends get married and start families of their own. Finally, after her best friend’s wedding, she decided she’d waited long enough. She confronted Jamie and asked exactly when they were going to get married.

  “What’s the rush?” he’d asked. “We’ve got all the time in the world for that sort of thing.”

  But Willow knew that wasn’t true. As a nurse, she knew that a mother’s age had an impact on an infant’s health, and newer research was showing that the age of the father had an impact, as well. Even though she’d seen plenty of women give birth to healthy babies well into their forties, she wanted to avoid any increased risk. If she and Jamie were going to have children, she wanted to start soon.

  That was when Jamie had dropped his bombshell. He didn’t want children. Any children. He’d never really been interested in starting a family at all. And when she’d asked him why he’d never shared this rather important information with her, his easy explanation left her breathless.

  “You’ve been talking about having children for years,” he’d said. “How was I supposed to tell you that I realized that I didn’t want kids? I thought you’d break up with me if you knew the truth. It just seemed easier not to say anything until it was too late. You can’t blame me for keeping quiet. I was just trying to keep us together.”

  His explanation made things so much worse. Jamie hadn’t just changed his mind about wanting children. He’d never wanted children, and for years he’d told her otherwise because it was what he’d thought she wanted to hear. She felt as though her dream of having a large family was slipping though her fingers, but worst of all, she felt manipulated and betrayed.

  After the breakup, she’d despaired of ever having a child. She’d never dated much before Jamie. He’d been her first serious relationship. And now, after eight years with one person, she felt clumsy and awkward on the dating scene. It didn’t help that her trust in men—and in herself—felt irreparably shattered. She was certain she would never be able to trust anyone enough to be in a relationship again.

  But even though she was done with relationships, she wasn’t done with her dream of having a family. She couldn’t be. Her heart ached to even think of it.

  And so she’d decided to take a different path. If there was one thing Gran had taught Willow, it was to not let obstacles stop her. There were many ways to have a family, and Willow wasn’t going to let one broken dream get in the way of another.

  Gran had wholeheartedly approv
ed of Willow’s decision to have a child via donor insemination. Willow was unfazed by the idea of using an anonymous sperm donor, because she knew how carefully clinics screened donors for potential issues in their health history. The more she thought about it, the more confident she became that she could be a single mother.

  There had been one small, unexpected snag in her plan. Shortly after the insemination process, an extremely apologetic director from the fertility clinic had called her to let her know that there had been a mistake. Instead of using a sample from a carefully vetted donor, the clinic had accidentally used sperm from a man who’d had cancer and had frozen his sperm due to the effects that chemotherapy could have on fertility.

  At first, Willow had been alarmed at the news. She was shocked that the clinic could make such a mistake, and she was concerned that the donor hadn’t been vetted for hereditary health issues. But the clinic informed her that the donor had been diagnosed with melanoma, a nonhereditary form of cancer. Willow’s child would not be affected. Still, not only did Willow need to know what had happened, but they would have to inform the donor, as well.

  Willow felt uneasy at the idea of the donor having any kind of involvement. But she knew that if their situations were reversed—if she had a child, somewhere out there, who was biologically hers—she’d want to know about it. There was nothing she could do to change the mistake the clinic had made, and the donor, whoever he was, probably felt just as shocked as she did. There was no use in casting blame, and ultimately, the only thing that mattered to her was that she had a healthy baby. She decided to give permission for the clinic to share her contact information with the donor, in case he wanted to discuss their extremely unusual circumstances, and in case he wanted the chance to get to know his child.

  But the donor had never shown the slightest interest in meeting her. Not then, and not several months later, when she’d given her permission for him to be informed of Maisie’s birth. As far as Willow was concerned, the donor had no interest in being part of their lives. Which was fine with her. It was how she’d planned it all along.