Amy Ruttan - The Surgeon King's Secret Baby

Fine, he signed. He crossed his arms and leaned back in the chair. His gaze was fixed on her, but instead of anger or annoyance, like before, there was bit of humor. Some smugness.

She wanted to wipe that off his face. “What?” she snapped.

I forgot how prickly you get. How fast your walls go up.

The twinkle she knew so well returned to his eyes. It was meant to lighten the mood, but she wasn’t in the mood for that.

“I get prickly when people are acting like jerks.”

“Sorry.” He spoke, his voice now barely a whisper.

Reagan shut the binder and, though she knew she was going to regret it, she had to ask. “Why don’t you want to work with me?”

* * *

The question caught him off guard. Of course this whole situation had caught him off guard. He’d known that Reagan was Canadian, but hadn’t realized that she worked at this hospital, in this city. Canada was a large country. He’d chosen this hospital simply because Dr. Shaw, his otolaryngologist was here.

He hadn’t known that Reagan was here. And he hadn’t known that she knew American Sign Language or that she would be working in the education part of the hospital. He’d have thought she would be on the surgical floor, wherever she worked, which was where he wanted to be, but couldn’t be any longer.

How could a man with no voice convey what he needed to his surgical staff during an emergency situation? He couldn’t, so his surgical career was over.

Of course that wasn’t the only reason his career was over.

His throat tightened at the thought of why it was over. It always tightened when his stress levels rose, and he was certainly stressed now.

Seeing Reagan again was a shock.

And he’d had to hold himself back, because his first reaction when he’d seen her had been to run to her and take her in his arms and kiss her. But this wasn’t the time or place.

Nowhere was the time or place.

Still, seeing her again had brought back so many memories. Even though they’d served during a war—a brutal war which had torn his country apart—working alongside her had been some of the happiest moments of his life.

He loved his country, but being called back to serve had been painful. Since his mother had died Isla Hermosa had reminded him only of loneliness and pain.

Reagan had brought back joy into his life.

One of the hardest things he’d had to do in his life was to leave her behind, knowing that she was going back home to her country and that he was going to the front lines. That he might never see her again.

It had nearly broken him, but it had been for the best that she’d left when all was said and done. Now circumstances had changed and they could never be together. He’d never trap her the way his mother had been trapped in her marriage to his father.

Still, he wanted Reagan—even though he shouldn’t. Their year apart had done nothing to extinguish the flames of passion that he felt for her.

He still wanted her.

That long, silky brown hair that was so neatly tied back. The long, graceful neck that he’d once run his hands over. And those lips he’d kissed and wanted to taste again.

Only he couldn’t now. Not because he’d lost his voice, but because he would never, ever put her inside the dangerous situation he now found himself in.

He was a displaced king, of a country that was precarious and about to sink into oblivion, and he couldn’t bring her into that situation.

There were people who wanted to assassinate him. And he would gladly take a bullet for his country, because he felt responsible for Isla Hermosa’s downfall.

He hadn’t been able to control his late brother. Kainan had tried, but his brother had ruined the country in six months after their father had ruled gracefully for fifty years.

Now Kainan was King of a broken, bleeding country. And instead of being there he was here in Canada. First in Ottawa, to recuperate from all the injuries that he’d sustained when the palace had been attacked, and now here at this hospital in Toronto, working and waiting for surgery that might or might not return his voice to him. Surgery he might not survive due to the damage in his throat.

Still, he needed a voice to rule. As King, he had a duty to his country—a tradition to uphold and a service which had so depressed his mother and made her feel trapped.

His father had been a great king, but cold, and protocol had come first. Kainan had watched his mother take second place to Isla Hermosa.

So, no, he couldn’t drag Reagan into that. The crown would die out with him. And maybe it was better that way.

What’s first? he signed.

“Have you got your hospital identification yet?” she asked, leafing through all the papers from Human Resources that Kainan had just skimmed.

No. I haven’t got that yet.

“Okay, we’ll fill out this paperwork and—”

Kainan touched her arm and got her attention. Why aren’t you practicing surgery?

“I told you. I’m the only one fluent in American Sign Language here who has room in her schedule to assist you.”

So this is a punishment for you?

“What?”

Surgery was your life.

She frowned, and continued to leaf through the binder. “It still is, but I was asked to do this and—” She was interrupted by a knock at the door. “Yes?”

A nurse stuck her head round the door. “I’m sorry to interrupt, Dr. Cote, but it’s Peter.”

Reagan’s expression changed. She frowned, looking worried as she slammed the binder shut. “I’ll be right up.”

The nurse nodded and shut the door.

“I’m sorry, Kainan. I’ll try to be as fast as I can but...it could take a while.”

Is it a patient? he asked.

Reagan sighed sadly. Her expression was tired, broken, and Kainan couldn’t help but wonder who Peter was. Was Peter her husband?

That brief, fleeting thought of her with another man enraged him. It made him jealous to think of another man loving her.

Not that he deserved to feel any sense of jealousy when it came to Reagan. He’d given up those rights when he’d let her go in Isla Hermosa.

“No, it’s not a patient.” Then she sighed again and looked almost as if she was going to be sick. “Kainan, I’m... He’s my son. Peter is my son.”

She stood up to leave, her body tense.

Kainan was shocked, and sat back as reality sank in. He hoarsely asked, “Your son?”

And then it dawned on him—because he knew that she hadn’t had a child when she was serving alongside him in Isla Hermosa.

A cold tendril of dread unfurled in his belly. He jumped up and stood in front of her, blocking her escape and he cleared his throat. “How. Old?”

“He’s three months now. He’s your son, Kainan.”

Reagan didn’t offer any other explanation.

* * *

“Never trust women, Kainan. Never. Your mother tried to hide you from me when she wanted to divorce me, but you were a prince of Isla Hermosa. She had no right to do that. But she did try. Women are fickle. They are not devoted, they only think of themselves. Never trust them. Close your heart to them or you’ll be hurt!”

Kainan didn’t want to hear his late father’s voice in his head. He’d been a fine king, but a terrible husband and father.

Still, Reagan hadn’t told him he had a son.

“I have to go and check on him. Kainan, please move.”

Numb, he stepped to the side so she could open the door.

Of course Kainan was going to let her go, but he needed more answers. His son? It couldn’t be. Why was his son at the hospital? Why was a nurse taking care of him?

He dashed after Reagan, cursing himself inwardly because he couldn’t call out to her to stop, but he caught up with her quickly and grabbed her arm, holding on to her.