West Wing to Maternity Wing!By: Scarlet Wilson
Amy sighed. The sun in Mendocino Valley was strong. She could feel it beating down on the pale skin at the parting in her red hair. A parting she usually always kept covered—too bad she’d forgotten her sunhat. She swallowed nervously. Trust her to get the cop who was smarter than the average bear.
She fumbled around her bag, looking for the bottle of water she had been drinking in the cab. Two hours in a cab with no air-conditioning with the heat so strong you could practically see it rising from the ground. Four hours in a train beforehand that had been packed with tourists. This trip had been a nightmare. There was no way she wasn’t getting to see Lincoln.
She pulled her tunic from her sweating back. At least the sea winds around her were giving some relief.
The cop was getting annoyed. She could sense that good cop had retreated and bad cop was hovering near the door.
‘Here.’ She pulled out a battered envelope from her bag containing her medical notes. ‘Give these to Lincoln Adams, he’ll see me.’
The cop rolled his eyes. ‘Dr Adams is currently looking after the First Daughter. He won’t see you or anyone else.’ He pointed in the direction of a cluster of reporters as he handed the notes back to her. ‘Nice try, though.’
Amy felt a wave of panic wash over her as her baby gave a few anxious kicks. This heat was really starting to get to her. What if Lincoln wouldn’t see her? What if he refused to look after her baby when it was born? What if didn’t even remember her?
The blood rushed to her cheeks. Surely he hadn’t forgotten her? How could he possibly forget those six months spent on the Amazon aid boat? She couldn’t forget a single minute. The hours they hadn’t spent working, they’d spent in his bed—and neither of them had been sleeping.
Trouble was, even though she remembered every minute of their time together, did he? She’d heard sneaky rumours that Lincoln had had a long line of female friends on his Amazon trips. Was it possible she had been just another pretty face to him? Had she just been a summer-long fling?
Six months with the most gorgeous man on earth. A man who hadn’t cared about appearances. He hadn’t been looking for a designer-clothed, styled woman, piled with make-up. Which was just as well since her luggage had gone astray at Iquitos airport in Peru and hadn’t arrived until two weeks later. She’d spent the first two weeks with her hair pulled back in her solitary hair bobble, wearing pale blue or green surgical scrubs and paper knickers. Just as well her breasts hadn’t been big enough to really need the support of a bra.
She looked downwards. Things had certainly changed in the last six years. In more ways than one. Her extended stomach was definitely evidence of that.
Her hands went back to guarding her stomach. Her precious bundle. Her one and only chance of motherhood. Was it so wrong to want the best man in the land to look after her baby? More than that, someone she trusted. Someone she’d seen battle the odds to help a baby survive. Someone who refused to take no for an answer.
She wanted that. She wanted that for her baby—her son. Lincoln was the best neonatologist she’d ever worked with. If anyone could help her with an early delivery, it was him.
Her eyes drifted upwards. The cop was dealing with someone else now and looking more and more agitated by the minute. The sun was obviously getting to him too.
She looked around her. Security was everywhere. And no wonder. If reports were to be believed, the President, the First Lady and the First Daughter were currently in the hospital at the top of the hill. So how was she going to get in there?
Amy took a deep breath. ‘Officer, officer!’
The cop scowled at her and walked back along the cordon. ‘You again. What do you want?’
‘You never let me finish,’ she panted as she pushed her stomach out as far as she could. ‘Lincoln Adams—he’s my husband. So you have to let me in to see him.’
Where had that come from?
Amy was starting to feel light-headed. She really needed a seat. Oh, boy. She was definitely going to be caught out now. The cop squinted at her, ‘You do know I’ll radio up and check, don’t you?’ It was almost as if he could read her panicking mind and was giving her a last-minute opportunity to give up the madness, admit that she’d lied and retreat—never to be seen again.