Amy Ruttan - The Surgeon King's Secret Baby

Reagan nodded. “Sounds good, Chief.”

Michael smiled, and then said softly, “You know we’re all here for you, Reagan. If there’s anything more we can do...”

Reagan gave Michael a quick nod. She appreciated it, but she didn’t want pity or help. Too many people pitied her, and she was tired of it. She was still a surgeon. She was still Reagan Cote, even if it sometimes didn’t feel that way.

“I’m good.”

“Are you sure?” Michael asked, and there again was that expression of pity that she loathed, directed toward her.

She couldn’t push Michael away like she did so many. He had been her mentor when she was resident. He’d taught her compassion and patient care. Things she hadn’t been able to learn from her parents. When she’d started her bedside manner had been atrocious, but Michael had guided her, and he had been the one who welcomed her back with open arms when she’d finished her tour of duty.

“I appreciate it so much, Michael. You know that, but I’m fine. Let me work—it keeps me busy.”

Michael gave her a quick kiss on the top of her head and whispered, “He’ll pull through.”

She nodded, blinking back the tears that always threatened to fall when someone started talking about Peter and his condition. Tears that she had learned to swallow because she had to be strong for Peter.

And for herself.

She had to be tough. There was no time for weeping or sorrow. If she gave in to the grief that she was actually feeling she would collapse and be useless.

This new assignment had come at the perfect time. Even though it would take her off her precious surgical rotation, it would keep her at the hospital.

It would keep her busy and close to Peter.

And that was the most important thing.

“You okay?” Michael asked.

“Perfectly.”

Reagan plastered on the fake smile she was used to wearing. The one she’d perfected when she was a small girl, because her father had liked her just a bit better when she’d smiled, and had been nicer to her mother when Reagan had smiled and behaved.

Michael nodded and then opened the door.

Reagan stepped in, seeing the Hermosian doctor had his back to her. Something tugged at the corner of her mind, but she couldn’t sift through the fog—or maybe she was having a hard time seeing. Maybe she was so sleep-deprived that this was just a dream.

She began to tremble.

“Dr. Kainan Laskaris—I would like to introduce you to Dr. Reagan Cote, who will be working with you here at the hospital.”

The ghost turned around, those dark, expressive eyes of his hollow and wide with shock. The beautifully chiseled face was marred with scars, and on his throat she could see where they had put the botched endotracheal tube. It was almost as if his throat had been slit, the scar was so bad. The dark brown curls were tamed, and streaked with silver. He’d aged. The war had aged him. But he was still devastatingly handsome.

He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but then snapped it shut. And his lips pressed together firmly, as if he was angry.

Her coffee shook in the cup she was gripping so tightly. Her world was spinning and her tight rein on those emotions she’d become so darn good at locking away had gone slack.

She was losing control.

“Never lose control, Reagan. Don’t show your weakness to anyone or they’ll take advantage of you.”

Her mother’s voice was screaming in her head.

“Kainan?” her voice finally squeaked out in disbelief.

“You two know each other?” Michael asked.

She waited for that deep, rich voice to answer, Si. That affirmation had always made her go a bit weak in the knees.

But of course it couldn’t.

His voice had been taken from him.

Instead he just nodded quickly and looked away. As if he was annoyed she was there.

“We worked together on Isla Hermosa during my last tour of duty,” Reagan answered, steadying her hand so Michael wouldn’t see her tremble. “And we worked well together.”

Michael looked visibly relieved. “I’m glad to hear it! Well, I’ll leave you two to it. I’m sure you have a lot of catching up to do.”

Reagan didn’t even see Michael leave. She just heard the door shut, her gaze focused on Kainan. The man she’d thought was dead.

He stared back at her, but he didn’t smile at her the way he’d used to. There was no twinkle in his eyes. Just darkness. It was cold. It didn’t faze her, didn’t hurt her. She was used to people looking at her that way. It did sting a little, and it gave her confirmation that Kainan was like all the other men she’d met. Like her father. Cold and distant.

“You’re alive.” It wasn’t so much a question as it was a statement of fact, because she’d thought he’d died.

Clearly, he signed in American Sign Language, barely looking at her.

“They told me you had died.”

His expression softened briefly. I’m sorry. There was a lot of confusion at first. I was reported dead for days...

“Your medical transport was attacked and they found your dog tags in the rubble.”

Again, there was a lot of confusion.

It was obvious that he wasn’t going to give any further information about it.

Reagan sat down on one of the chairs at the table in Michael’s office. There was a stack of materials there. New orientation information for Kainan. She needed to keep busy and not think about why he never reached out to her.

“Has anyone explained all this stuff to you?” she asked as she quickly scanned the binder full of information. If she kept busy she could ignore the racing of her pulse, her trembling hands, the urge to hug him and cry because he was alive.

He shook his head and took a seat across from her. Then he cleared his throat. “Best...come...from...you.”

His voice was broken, harsh and guttural. And color bloomed in his cheeks. It was either embarrassment or anger, and knowing Kainan it was most likely anger.

She knew how much he liked to be in control of every situation. He’d commanded all those around him during surgery, and those working with him had followed him blindly.

When he lost control he got angry, but that would drive him to work harder to solve the problem and regain control.

He was an amazing surgeon.

And this loss of control...

She could only imagine what he was going through. She liked control in her life, but she’d learned a humble lesson when Peter was born. Control was just an illusion.

Reagan had to admit that she was angry too. That he was alive and hadn’t let her know. He’d known where she was going. He’d known so much about her. Why hadn’t he reached out?

Only she couldn’t think about that right now. She’d swallow the anger she had and do her job. Keep moving forward as she had always done. If she stopped for a second everything would fall apart.

“Okay,” she said, setting her half-empty coffee cup down and opening up the materials. “We can do this together.”

Is there anyone else? he signed.

The words were like a slap. He didn’t want her here. She realized his body language was more than just embarrassment or anger over his situation. He was annoyed that she was here, helping him.

Her spine stiffened.

She should have known his attention to her back then had just been seduction. He didn’t want to see her again. He’d just been using her.

You wanted it too.

Well, she wasn’t going to let him shove her aside. She had a job to do, and anyway she’d got the best part of him. She had Peter, and she didn’t regret that for anything.

“No, there is no one else. I am the only doctor here who can interpret American Sign Language and who’s free to support you.” Now she was really annoyed with him. She wasn’t going to let him ruin this job for her.