A Magical Christmas

by Patricia Thayer

  The words dried up and he stared at her, desperate to find some reaction in her face, her eyes.

  Nothing!

  He’d made a complete fool of himself and she felt nothing!

  The silence lasted a year and a half then he had to break it.

  ‘Have you got nothing to say?’ he demanded, as the discomfort of the silence and his own idiocy stirred a kind of anger in his chest.

  She smiled again, then whispered, ‘No.’

  ‘No? That’s it? No you don’t love me?’

  She reached out and touched a finger to his lips.

  ‘No, I’ve got nothing to say,’ she explained. ‘What can I say when you’ve stolen my breath—the same way you stole my heart?’

  And she leaned forward and kissed him, gently at first then with increasing passion, so the very least he could do was kiss her back.

  Did ‘stole my heart’ mean she loved him? the part of his mind not concentrating on the kiss wondered.

  The kiss seemed to be telling him she did, so he intensified the exploration of his lips and tongue and held her closer, one hand resting on the bulge of the baby, guarding it as he fitted her body to his in the way he knew was meant to be.

  Applause from the other beds eventually made him break away and, though hugely embarrassed, he stood up and took a bow for both of them.

  ‘We’ve just got engaged,’ he explained to the three watching and applauding women.

  ‘Well, given the size of her, I’m glad about that,’ one of them said, but most of Mak’s attention was on the woman in the bed by the window. He hadn’t actually asked her to marry him, had he?

  ‘Did I ask you in the nervous ramble when I came in?’ he asked, sitting down on the bed but far enough away from Neena that kissing couldn’t start again.

  ‘I don’t think so, though love was mentioned,’ she told him, taking his hand and holding it tightly. ‘And, anyway, Mak, can we really be engaged? Can we really take these feelings further? I can’t leave Wymaralong, not only because it’s the place of my heart but because of what I owe the people there. Not that they ever expected repayment for their generosity, but it’s what I want to give them. And you belong in a city hospital—your skills and training, everything you’ve worked for, mean that’s where you should be.’

  It was a problem Mak had been struggling with himself for the past two days, and although he hadn’t fully worked out a solution, he knew there were options available that could make his professional life in Wymaralong as fulfilling as he needed it to be.

  ‘I’m sorting that out,’ he told her, shifting so he could tuck her close to his body, their backs to the audience in the ward. ‘I’ve been working on my master’s because I want to teach, and a lot of teaching these days can be done over internet links. Lectures can be put on the ‘net and as long as the students have some face-to-face sessions during the year, that’s all they need. I can keep up with the first response research, and if the week I’ve spent at Wymaralong is anything to go on, I’ll still be getting plenty of hands-on experience. On top of that, the town needs two doctors—why shouldn’t one of them be me?’

  Neena was tempted. It all sounded so wonderful it was hard to believe.

  ‘The baby?’she asked, because he had to get a mention.

  ‘The baby will be mine,’ Mak said firmly. ‘I will be the only father he or she will ever know. Later we can talk about Theo and explain as much or as little as you want to explain, that’s up to you, but the baby will be mine.’

  ‘Really?’ Neena asked, unable to believe things could be this simple.

  ‘Really,’ Mak said, and he kissed her again, long and hard, so she had no breath left to argue with him over it.

  But after he’d gone, with the coming of darkness, doubts grew and although Neena told herself there was no way Mak would be committing himself to her and to Wymaralong for the sake of shares in the family company, the spectre of doubt hovered over her head.

  So much so she rummaged through the information stored under ‘not needed right now’in her brain and came up with the name of the solicitor who had been in touch with her over Theo’s will, and as soon as offices opened in Brisbane next morning, she was on the phone to him.

  ‘No, you cannot give the shares away or sell them. They are to be held in trust for the baby, so really, until he or she reaches his or her majority, you must hold on to them.’

  ‘And vote them in the case of business decisions?’ Neena asked.

  ‘You will hold the proxies and you can vote them yourself or give your proxies to someone else should you so wish.’

  Mak would be the obvious choice, Neena thought as she hung up the phone, though Mak knows little of the business.

  Time to start taking control of her life again. She phoned the surgery and asked to speak to Mak.

  ‘And put the phone down in Reception,’ she told Mildred. ‘I’ll hear if you keep listening.’

  Mildred huffed then put her through and Neena heard the click of the disconnection.

  ‘Do you really want to marry me?’ she demanded of the man on the other end of the phone.

  ‘I do,’ Mak said, so circumspectly Neena knew he had a patient in with him. Well, too bad.

  ‘And do you really love me?’

  ‘I do,’ Mak said again, as if already practising for a wedding. ‘Didn’t I tell you that when I phoned this morning?’

  ‘Yes, several times,’ Neena told him. ‘I just wanted to be sure.’

  ‘Be very sure,’ Mak said, and the conviction in his voice sent shivers down her spine.

  She said goodbye and phoned Information, then dialled a number and asked for Mrs Cassimatis.

  ‘And who shall I say is calling?’ a snooty receptionist demanded.

  ‘Tell her Dr Singh—Neena Singh from Wymaralong.’

  ‘Helen Cassimatis!’

  The voice was brisk and businesslike, but Neena sensed the hesitation in it—hesitation that sounded very like fear.

  This was confirmed with Helen’s next words.

  ‘Has something happened to Mak?’ she asked, her voice faltering with anxiety.

  ‘Oh, dear, I didn’t mean to frighten you. Mak’s fine,’ Neena assured her, then hesitated, uncertain how to proceed. Fortunately Helen spoke again.

  ‘Mak tells me I may have misjudged you. I’m sorry.’ The words were quiet but they held real regret and had a ring of sincerity that made Neena swallow hard.

  ‘I may have done the same to you,’ she admitted huskily. Then she took a deep breath and began again. ‘That’s why I’m phoning.’

  ‘Oh, yes?’

  Neena smiled to herself. This sounded more like the Helen of the emails—brisk and confident. Another deep breath and Neena plunged ahead.

  ‘I’m phoning to ask you and your mother to come out for Christmas. You can fly to Baranock and I’ll have someone meet you there. Mak tells me you usually have a family Christmas and you’ve been too busy with work to organise it so I wondered if the two of you might like to join us out at Wymaralong.’ She hesitated then added, ‘Spend Christmas with your family-to-be.’

  The silence at the other end stretched to infinity then back before Helen said, ‘Do you mean that—about the family-to-be?’

  ‘I do,’ Neena told her. ‘The baby will need a grandmother and you’re the only one available, and a great-grandmother, well, that would be so special. So what do you think? Wymaralong for Christmas?’

  More silence then a muffled voice.

  ‘I can’t talk now because I’m crying but I’ll phone tonight. I’ve got Mak’s mobile number, I’ll call him.’

  ‘No, don’t do that,’ Neena said quickly. ‘I want your visit to be a surprise. I’ll phone you.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Helen said, her voice still thick with tears. ‘Thank you so much.’

  Pleased with her morning’s work, Neena rode up front in the ambulance on the return trip to Wymaralong, and though she wanted to go to the surgery she’d pr
omised Mak she’d go straight home and keep on resting.

  ‘Best for Baby Singh,’ he’d said.

  ‘Best for Baby Stavrou,’ she’d corrected, and had heard his sigh of pleasure.

  For Christmas, Neena slipped the proxy papers in a cylinder and wrapped them like a bon-bon, put Helen’s name on them and put them under the tree. For Mrs Stavrou she had some pretty jewellery her mother had brought from India. It had been around long enough to become fashionable again but as Neena never wore jewellery herself, she was happy to give it to the older woman.

  Mak raised his eyebrows at the growing number of parcels under the tree but showed no interest in reading names or cards, so her surprise was safe. Mak actually showed little interest in anything other than work and being with her, touching her, holding her, kissing her, and now that he was convinced she was well, even sleeping with her, although the first few nights they shared a bed precious little sleeping went on.

  ‘I do love you, you know that,’ he said for about the millionth time. It was Christmas Eve and she was preparing a picnic supper to take up to the hill above the dam.

  ‘I do,’ she said, stopping the preparations of a simple salad long enough to give him a kiss. ‘Now, go down and check on Albert while I finish here. You know Ned’s joining us up on the hill, and the girls from the surgery, and Lauren and her family.’

  She didn’t tell him Ned had driven into Baranock earlier to collect his mother and his sister—for that was her Christmas present to him, his mother and his sister joining them for the celebrations—a family time for all of them. And though the nerves in her stomach were so tight she worried about Baby Stavrou’s comfort, she knew it would be all right because the love that had grown between herself and Mak was strong enough to leap any hurdle.

  An hour later they all stood, Helen, Mrs Stavrou, Ned, Mak and her friends, and watched the sun go down over the red desert landscape. They raised their glasses and toasted the sunset, then toasted the future—Mak and Neena’s future, Hellenic Enterprises’ future, and the future of the little town in the far outback of Australia that now had two doctors.

  EPILOGUE

  THE baby gave a cry and Mak let go of Neena’s hand to turn and take the still wet bundle from the obstetrician.

  ‘A baby girl, for all your conviction,’ he teased his wife as he handed her the baby and watched her hug the precious bundle to her breast.

  ‘Well, we’ve already got a boy with Albert, so a baby girl is good,’ she whispered, touching the wrinkled face with a gentle forefinger. ‘Don’t you think?’

  She looked up at Mak with so much love in her eyes he felt his heart move in his chest. This was stupid. They’d been married nearly three months now and he still felt strange tugging movements in his chest when his wife looked at him! Shouldn’t he be over that?

  He sat down beside Neena and probed a finger at the newborn child, who turned dark blue eyes in his direction. Then one scrawny arm moved and her tiny hand grasped his probing finger and held tight, and his heart bumped around in his chest once again.

  ‘My two girls,’ he whispered, not ashamed of the tears that filled his eyes and clogged his voice. ‘My two beautiful girls.’

  The Christmas Baby Bump

  Lynne Marshall

  LYNNE MARSHALL has been a Registered Nurse in a large California hospital for twenty-five years. She has now taken the leap to writing full time, but still volunteers at her local community hospital. After writing the book of her heart in 2000, she discovered the wonderful world of Mills & Boon® Medical Romance™, where she feels the freedom to write the stories she loves. She is happily married, has two fantastic grown children, and a socially challenged rescued dog. Besides her passion for writing Medical Romance, she loves to travel and read. Thanks to the family dog, she takes long walks every day! To find out more about Lynne, please visit her website www.lynnemarshallweb.com.

  Special thanks to Sally Williamson for her constant support and for keeping me on the right path with this story.

  Chapter One

  MONDAY morning, Stephanie opened the door of the cream-colored Victorian mansion and headed toward the reception desk. Though the house had been turned into a medical clinic, they’d kept the turn-of-the-century charm. Hardwood floors, tray ceilings, crown molding, wall sconces, even a chandelier made everything feel special. She could get used to showing up for work here.

  A man with longish dark blond hair in a suit chatted with not one but two nurses at the receptionist’s desk. Nothing short of adoration gleamed from the women’s eyes. He looked typical trendy Santa Barbaran—businessman by day in a tailored suit and carefully chosen shirt/tie combo, outdoorsman on the weekends by the tone of his tan. Not bad, if you liked the type.

  “Of course I’ll help you out, Dr. Hansen,” one of the young and attractive nurses gushed.

  “Great.” He held a clipboard. “I’ll pencil you in right here. Anyone else?”

  Was he taking advantage of the staff? Unscrupulous.

  “Sign me up for Saturday,” the middle-aged, magenta-haired receptionist chimed in.

  Hmm.

  “Got it.” As he scribbled in her name his gaze drifted upward. The warm and inviting smile that followed stopped Stephanie in her tracks.

  “May I help you?” he said.

  Flustered, and not understanding why—okay, she knew exactly why, the guy was gorgeous—she cleared her throat. “I’m Stephanie Bennett. I have an appointment with Dr. Rogers.”

  “Yes,” the older receptionist said, back to allbusiness. “He’s expecting you, Dr. Bennett. I’ll let him know you’re here.”

  Before she could take a seat in the waiting room, the man with the bronze-toned suntan (even though it was November!) offered his hand. “I’m Phil Hansen, the pulmonologist of the group. If you’d like, I’ll take you up to Jason’s office.”

  “It’s nice to meet you,” she said, out of habit.

  A long-forgotten feeling twined through her center as she shook his hand. She stiffened. Tingles spiraled up her arm, taking her by surprise. No wonder the ladies were signing up on his clipboard. She stifled the need to fiddle with her hair.

  “Oh, that’s fine,” she muttered. Then, finding her voice, said, “I’ll wait for him to…” Before she could finish her sentence and drop Phil’s hand, another man, a few years older but equally attractive with dark hair, appeared at the top of the stairs. Working with such handsome men, after being celibate for over three years, might prove challenging on the composure front. She’d imagined typical stodgy, bespectacled, aging doctors when she’d signed on as a locum. Not a couple of Gentleman’s Quarterly models.

  “That would be Jason,” Dr. Hansen said, his smile narrowing his bright blue eyes into crescents. Instead of letting go of her hand, he switched its position and walked her toward the stairs, as if they were old friends. “Here’s Stephanie Bennett reporting for duty.”

  “Great. Come on up, Stephanie. After we talk, I’ll show you around.”

  Phil brought her to the stairway complete with turned spindle rail, dropped her hand on the baluster, and patted it. “Thanks for stepping in,” he said in all sincerity. “You’ll like it here.”

  Considering the odd feeling fizzing through her veins, she was inclined to agree.

  Stephanie saw the temporary stint in Santa Barbara as the perfect excuse for missing the holidays with her family in Palm Desert. Thanksgiving and Christmas always brought back memories too painful to bear. Not that those thoughts weren’t constantly in her mind anyway, but the holidays emphasized everything.

  The promise of going through the season surrounded by well-meaning loved ones who only managed to make her feel worse was what had driven her to take the new and temporary job. She’d only been dabbling in medicine since the incident that had ripped the life from her heart, shredded her confidence, and caused her marriage to disintegrate. A huge part of her had died that day three years ago.

  The Midcoast Medical Clinic of San
ta Barbara needed an OB/Gyn doctor for two months. It was the perfect opportunity and timing to get away and maybe, if she was lucky, start to take back her life.

  As she walked up the stairs, she overheard Phil. “Okay, I’ve got one more slot for Friday night.”

  “I’ll take it,” the other nurse said, sounding excited.

  Was he full of himself? That fizzy feeling evaporated.

  Phil sat at his desk, skimming the latest Pulmonary Physician’s Journal unable to concentrate, wondering what in the hell he was supposed to do with a kid for ten days. But he couldn’t turn Roma or his father down.

  His father had recently survived his second bout with Hodgkin’s lymphoma. His stepmother, Roma, who was closer to Phil’s age than his father’s, had called last night. She’d wanted to talk about her plans to take Carl to Maui for some rest and relaxation.

  Reasonable enough, right?

  No!

  Just the two of them, she’d said. Had she lost her powers of reasoning by asking him to care for Robbie? The kid was a dynamo…with special needs.

  Robbie, the surprise child for his sixty-five-year-old dad and his fortysomething stepmom, had Down syndrome. The four-year-old, who looked more like a pudgy toddler, always got excited when his “big brother”—make that half brother—came for a visit. Phil didn’t mind horsing around with the kid on visits, because he knew he’d go home later on, but taking on his complete care was a whole different thing. Robbie’s round face and classic Down syndrome features popped into his mind. The corner of Phil’s mouth hitched into a smile. The kid called him Pill. Come on. No fair.

  “And it’s only for ten days. Your dad needs this trip and if we don’t jump on booking it right now we won’t get these amazing resort rates and airfares. Please, please, please!”

  Roma knew how to surgically implant the guilt. His father’s craggy sun-drenched face, with eyes the color of the ocean, the same eyes Phil had inherited, came to mind. The guy deserved a break.