The Army Doctor's Forever Baby (Army Doctor's Baby Series Prequel)

by Helen Scott Taylor

  Chapter Four

  Sandra paused in the door to the hotel's light, airy breakfast room and scanned the tables, looking for anyone from her party. Not that she expected them to be here. George and Celia had no doubt spent most of the night at the hospital with Mr. Featherington, and it was likely the Knights had gone there as well.

  When she realized none of them were here, she chose an unoccupied table with its bright red-checkered tablecloth and took a seat. Almost immediately, a waitress appeared to take her order for a pot of English breakfast tea and a bowl of granola.

  The tea had arrived and she was tipping the teapot over her cup when she caught sight of Colonel and Mrs. Knight entering the room. Sandra ducked her head, pretending a fascination with the dark liquid flowing from the spout, and hoped the Knights either didn't see her or chose to pretend they hadn't.

  She'd rather sit alone than suffer through an awkward, stilted conversation with George's parents.

  Her heart sank as the older couple threaded their way between the tables towards her. When they arrived, she put on a smile and looked up. "Good morning. I hope you slept well."

  Instead of Mrs. Knight's usual indifferent expression, the woman beamed a bright smile that changed her whole demeanor. She took the chair beside Sandra and angled her body closer. "Good morning, my dear. We slept very well, thank you, despite the night's distressing episode. George spent the early hours at the hospital with Celia and tells us Harold is stable now. I can't tell you how grateful we are that you were here to revive him."

  Colonel Knight mumbled his agreement and wished her good morning.

  Sandra's cheeks heated at the unexpected praise, her mind racing to catch up with this sudden change in the Knights's attitude. "Thank you, Mrs. Knight. But I am a doctor. I was just doing my job."

  "And you did it very well. We were both impressed. When we met you, we overlooked the fact you're a qualified professional. I'm sorry, dear."

  Was that an apology for the way they'd cold-shouldered her? It sounded like it.

  "Anyway." Mrs. Knight covered Sandra's hand with her own bejeweled one. "We want you to know that we're very pleased you're here this weekend, don't we, John?"

  She glanced at her husband, who grunted again. "Absolutely."

  "We're heading to the hospital this morning to visit Harold. Would you like to come with us?"

  "Yes, that would be great. Thank you." Mr. Featherington was a dear man and she'd like the chance to see him again.

  "That's settled then." Mrs. Knight placed her breakfast order, gifting Sandra with frequent smiles that lit up her face. She really was an attractive woman when she wasn't scowling. This must be where George got his good looks from.

  Once they'd finished breakfast, they all returned to their rooms for a few minutes before meeting in the foyer. A taxi picked them up outside the hotel doors and wound through the city traffic to the hospital.

  Harold had spent the night in intensive care but early that morning, they'd moved him to a normal ward.

  As soon as Harold saw them, he lifted a hand off the bedcovers and held it out to Sandra. "You are my guardian angel, Miss Fisher. George tells me you saved my life."

  With a burst of pleasure, Sandra took the offered hand. "I'm glad I was there when you needed me."

  "So am I." He patted his chest. "This rusty old ticker is past its expiration date. They tell me I need all sorts of tests to find out what's the matter."

  They chatted with the Knights for an hour about Mr. Featherington's heart condition and the coming wedding, then a nurse suggested that Harold needed to rest and they should leave.

  A row of taxis parked outside the hospital offered the quickest way back to the hotel. "Do you need to stop for anything," Mrs. Knight asked Sandra as their vehicle moved off.

  "Not really."

  "What do you have to wear to the wedding?"

  "I've brought a long woolen dress for the cold weather. It's one of my favorites, actually. I love the color, a bright berry red."

  "Jewelry," Mrs. Knight demanded, her face a mask of concentration as if she were planning a military operation.

  Sandra lifted the gold chain at her neck and pulled out the diamond and pearl pendant. "Mum and Dad gave me this for my twenty-first birthday."

  "Very pretty."

  "I thought I'd pair it with some pearl earrings."

  Mrs. Knight nodded approvingly. "I agree. You don't want to overdo the sparklies. You're not the sort of girl who could carry it off."

  That sounded like criticism, but from Mrs. Knight's expression, she hadn't intended any offense.

  "Let me give you a tip. Wear your hair down this afternoon."

  Sandra put a hand to the French twist on the back of her head. She always wore her hair up for work. Having it loose was unhygienic, and it got in the way. And to be honest, she preferred it like this all the time, so it wasn't dangling in her face. "Doesn't it look more sophisticated to wear it up?"

  "Men like loose hair," Mrs. Knight said with certainty.

  Was George's mother giving her dating advice to entice her son? The thought seemed ludicrous. She was obviously just being kind, trying to make up for her initial coolness.

  "Actually…" Mrs. Knight leaned forward and spoke to the taxi driver. "Do you know of a good hairdresser and beautician that might fit us in this morning?"

  "Wait, no." But Sandra's words were drowned out by the taxi driver's laugh and reply.

  They changed course and stopped outside Hair, Nails & Face, a small salon down a narrow side street where the taxi driver's niece worked.

  "Come on, dear." Mrs. Knight stepped out and beckoned Sandra to follow. "We'll see you back at the hotel later, John," she said to her husband. "Stay off the sauce. I don't want to have to prop you up on a pillar during the wedding."

  Sandra nearly choked on her laugh and tried to keep a straight face. It was obvious who wore the trousers in this relationship. Colonel Knight frowned but nodded.

  Mrs. Knight bustled into the salon and booked them both to have their hair and makeup done. "We just have time before the service."

  Sandra drew in a calming breath and released it slowly. She normally wore little makeup and had her hair trimmed occasionally, but all this expensive primping and pampering seemed like a waste of money. Yet if spending a few hours in a salon allowed her to get to know Mrs. Knight better, then maybe it was worth the cost.

  • • •

  George sat in the hotel bar eating a sandwich, positioned at a table with a view of the elevator. He'd spent most of the night at the hospital with Celia. He'd seen a different side of her last night, a more vulnerable, emotional side that she normally hid behind her bright, confident facade.

  The prospect of losing her father obviously terrified her. He'd realized that losing her mother at thirteen must have also had a profound effect on her. A few years ago when that happened, he probably hadn't been as sympathetic and understanding as he should.

  In the early hours of the morning, he'd tried to make up for that by providing a strong shoulder for Celia to cry on, and reassurance when it was clear Uncle Harold was stabilized—thanks to Sandra's quick action.

  A jolt of feeling shot through him as he remembered bursting into Harold's room to find Sandra administering CPR. She'd handled the situation calmly and professionally, and been there when she was needed to save his uncle's life, been there when he hadn't.

  The odds were that without Sandra's intervention, Harold would not be in recovery but in the mortuary.

  When Celia thanked him for all he'd done for her father, George made sure she understood that it was Sandra who'd made the difference, not him.

  He finished his sandwich and brushed his hands together to knock off the crumbs, then checked his watch. Sandra should come down at any moment, so he rose and headed out to the foyer. She would be on time. In his experience, Sandra was always reliable.

  The elevator doors swished open and she stepped out. George's pace falte
red and he paused, a pulse of heat racing along his nerves. He'd admired her dedication in college and thought she was pretty in an understated way, but over the last few days his admiration for her had grown. And now…

  His heart raced as his gaze skimmed her curves. Her glossy dark hair fell loose over her shoulders while a red dress clung to her slender form from her neck to just below her knees. The only skin on display was her shapely calves clad in nylons, yet the modest dress was far more tantalizing than the short skirts and low tops many women wore.

  There was something demure and secretive about Sandra that would make the pleasure of winning her trust so much more satisfying.

  She wasn't wearing her glasses and those large hazel eyes of hers drew his attention. She really was much prettier than he'd realized while they were at college.

  Her gaze skated over him but instead of smiling in recognition and moving towards him, she didn't react. Frowning, she walked forward and bumped into a table. A man nearby jumped to assist. He grasped her elbow, lowering his head with a smile as he talked to her while someone else hastened to grab the wobbling vase of flowers about to topple.

  Her rescuer's arm crept around her waist and he tried to guide her to a chair. It seemed another man had noticed how pretty she was as well. George snapped out of his daze and strode across the room.

  "It's all right. She's with me." He moved in front of the man who was pawing her and cut him off, sliding his own arm around Sandra's waist. She squinted up at him, looking disoriented. Was she sick?

  "What's the matter, love? Do you want to sit down?"

  "Oh, George. Thank goodness it's you. When that man caught my elbow, I thought he was you to start with. Then he wouldn't let go."

  Protective feelings welled in George's chest. He wrapped his arms around her and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. Holding her close, he whispered, "If you're not well, you don't have to come to the wedding."

  "I'm fine." She fumbled in her handbag and took out her glasses, then slipped them on. "That's better." Her breath rushed out on a sigh. "Your mother suggested I go without my glasses this afternoon, but I really am as blind as a bat. I'll have to wear them to the wedding. I hope you don't mind."

  "Why would I mind?" What on earth had his mother said to her? As he examined her face, he noticed she was wearing more makeup than usual, and she didn't smell of the light floral perfume she normally used. A stronger, sweeter smell rose from her hair.

  "Did Mum take you to a beauty salon?"

  "Yes. We visited Harold this morning and afterwards she wanted me to have my hair and makeup done for the wedding. She was so insistent, it was difficult to say no."

  George knew, only too well, that when his mother set her mind on something it was near impossible to go against her.

  "You look beautiful." And she did. The makeup was light and natural, a shimmer of dusky brown on her eyelids, a stroke of pink on her cheeks, and shiny lip gloss that made her full lips very inviting.

  He sucked in a breath and stepped back. In the last couple of weeks, Sandra had worked her way under his skin. While he'd kept vigil over Harold with Celia, it was Sandra who'd filled his thoughts.

  He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. Her eyebrows rose and he simply smiled. George had always believed that when he met the right woman he would know it—and Sandra was the one. Now he had to decide what to do about it.