Alison Roberts - Twins for Christmas

ALISON ROBERTSlives in Christchurch, New Zealand. She began her working career as a primary school teacher, but now juggles available working hours between writing and active duty as an ambulance officer. Throwing in a large dose of parenting, housework, gardening and pet-minding keeps life busy and teenage daughter Becky is responsible for an increasing number of days spent on equestrian pursuits. Finding time for everything can be a challenge, but the rewards make the effort more than worthwhile.

Look out for Alison’s latest great novel, Her Baby Out of the Blue , also available in November 2009.

Alison Roberts

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Dear Reader,

Christmas … Merry Christmas. Happy Christmas. Christmas Blessings. The word invokes emotion, doesn’t it? A sense of caring. Being able to show that you care for the people you love and for others that might be in trouble.

An emergency department is not where anyone wants to be on Christmas Eve. This particular emergency department on the outskirts of London is certainly not where my hero, Rory, wants to be because … well … Kate’s there, isn’t she? And she’s pregnant and clearly he isn’t the father.

It’s not where a busload of orphans want to be, either, but there’s magic in the air.

Christmas magic. I hope some rubs off on you.

Happy reading!

Love

Alison

‘GOOD grief! It can’t be—’

Kate Simpson glanced up from the computer screen in time to see the back of a tall man who must have climbed out from the back of the ambulance in the bay to give the crew space to unload their patient.

‘Of course it isn’t,’ she told Judy.

Her colleague’s eyebrows rose at her tone. ‘Looked like him for a sec, though, didn’t it?’

Kate shrugged, pretending interest in the screensaver that had just kicked in on the screen in front of her. Santa’s sleigh, being pulled by ridiculously happy-looking reindeer, emerged from one side of the screen and then took a circuitous route to the other side amidst snowflakes and the soft jingle of bells. A clock in the bottom right corner of the screen ticked off the countdown until Christmas Day. Five hours and fifty-nine minutes to go.

Of course it wasn’t him .

How many times, she reminded herself, had she caught a glimpse of a masculine figure with some feature familiar enough to make her heart miss a beat? Broad shoulders, perhaps, or dark hair. Even a hand with elegantly long fingers or a way of moving with quiet confidence.

How many times had she taken a second glance and felt the weight of disappointment? An echo of the loss she’d never really had the right to feel in the first place.

‘You OK, Kate?’

‘I’m fine. Why?’

‘I dunno. You look kind of … sad.’

‘Bored, more like. I’m not cut out to be a receptionist, and it’s so qu—’

‘Don’t!’ Judy held up her hand in a stop signal and the quick movement of her head made her festive bell earrings jingle. ‘Don’t you dare say the Q word! I’m off duty in an hour and I’ve still got Christmas shopping to finish.’

Kate smiled. ‘OK. So far I’ve logged in one broken ankle, a kid with tonsillitis and a septic finger. It’s … shall we say … restful?’

‘Restful is exactly what you need. You should be at home with your feet up.’

‘I’d rather be doing the job I’m trained for, thanks.’

‘You can’t get close enough to a bed to take a pulse unless you turn sideways. Anyone would think you were carrying triplets instead of just twins.’ Judy turned to look out through the double doors ringed with bright red and green tinsel that led to the ambulance bay. ‘They’re taking their time.’

‘Probably finishing their patient report form or something. Can’t be urgent.’ Kate had been resisting taking that second glance. The one that was such an ingrained habit after so many months. Her soft sigh was an admission of defeat. It was too compelling to resist.

What was it about the man still standing out there as the paramedics finally lifted a stretcher from the back of the vehicle? The sense of him listening , for want of a better word, she decided. Standing so patiently when it had to be freezing, with the sleet that now appeared to be thickening into real snow falling heavily just beyond the overhang. He gave the impression of waiting but still being active. Absorbing everything happening around him. Ready to act on information instantly if necessary. A sense of control. That was what it was. He might be wearing civvies, but you’d pick him as the person in charge.

No. Kate gave herself a mental shake. It couldn’t be him. She didn’t want it to be. Not now. Not when she finally felt in control of her life enough to be looking forward to the future. She transferred her gaze to the patient propped up on the stretcher as the double doors slid open to admit the new arrivals to the emergency department of St Bethel’s Hospital—a choice made easy by the fact that the paramedics were now blocking the figure of the man accompanying the frail-looking, elderly female patient.

Judy moved to the other side of the reception desk to do her assigned task of triage, which meant that she would greet the patient, listen to the hand-over and decide where the patient should be taken first.

Kate’s job was to collect the copy of the patient report form that had the patient details, input them into the computer program, then order sticky labels and request notes from previous admissions if appropriate.

Except that the small entourage had moved enough to reveal the man again, and she couldn’t stop staring because it was him.

Rory .

He was staring back at her, his expression unreadable. He couldn’t be as shocked as she was because he’d had the advantage of being prepared for the possibility of this encounter, hadn’t he? No surprises there. He’d always had the advantage over her.

He looked … as gorgeous as ever. A little thinner, perhaps. Different. But that could be because he was wearing clothes he would never have come to work in. Black jeans. A leather jacket over a black fisherman’s jersey. His hair was longer than she remembered, and there were beads of moisture caught in the dark waves. Melting snowflakes? No wonder they were melting. Had something gone wrong with the heating in here?

The voice of the paramedic telling Judy about the patient was a background blur of sound, only partially comprehensible.

‘… seventy-two-year-old woman…. Parkside Rest Home … Advanced Alzheimer’s …’

Kate hadn’t set eyes on this man for six months. No one had. Rory McCulloch had simply vanished. One minute he’d been the senior consultant of this very department and the next he had been … gone.