LITMIR.BIZ

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      About the Author

      ALISON ROBERTS lives in Christchurch, New Zealand and has written over sixty Medical Romances^™. As a qualified paramedic, she has personal experience of the drama and emotion to be found in the world of medical professionals, and loves to weave stories with this rich background—especially when they can have a happy ending.

      When Alison is not writing you’ll find her indulging her passion for dancing or spending time with her friends (including Molly the dog) and her daughter Becky, who has grown up to become a brilliant artist. She also loves to travel, hates housework and considers it a triumph when the flowers outnumber the weeds in her garden.

      Mother to five sons, FIONA MCARTHUR is an Australian midwife who loves to write. Medical Romance^™ gives Fiona the scope to write about all the wonderful aspects of adventure, romance, medicine and midwifery that she feels so passionate about—as well as an excuse to travel! Now that her boys are older, Fiona and her husband Ian are off to meet new people, see new places, and have wonderful adventures. Fiona’s website is at www.fionamcarthur.com MAYBE THIS CHRISTMAS…?

       Recent titles by Alison Roberts:

THE LEGENDARY PLAYBOY SURGEON***

      FALLING FOR HER IMPOSSIBLE BOSS***

SYDNEY HARBOUR HOSPITAL: ZOE’S BABY**

      THE HONOURABLE MAVERICK

      THE UNSUNG HERO

ST PIRAN’S: THE BROODING HEART SURGEON†

THE MARRY-ME WISH*

** Sydney Harbour Hospital

*Part of the Baby Gift collection

† St Piran’s Hospital

*** Heartbreakers of St Patrick’s Hospital

       These books are also available in eBook format from www.millsandboon.co.uk

      Did you know that THE HONOURABLE MAVERICK won the 2011 RT Book Reviews Reviewers’ Choice

      Award for Best Mills and Boon^® Medical Romance^™?

      It’s still available in eBook format from

      www.millsandboon.co.uk

      CHAPTER ONE

      ‘HER name’s Sophie Gillespie. She’s six months old.’

      A surprisingly heavy burden, but perhaps that was because Gemma hadn’t thought to bring a pushchair and she’d been holding the baby on her hip for far too long already. The A and E department of the Queen Mary Infirmary in Manchester, England, was heaving and, because it was Christmas Eve, it all seemed rather surreal.

      Reams of tired-looking tinsel had been strung in loops along the walls. A bunch of red and green balloons had been tied to the display screen, currently advertising the waiting time as being an hour and a half. And if they were this busy when it wasn’t quite seven p.m., Gemma knew that the waiting time would only increase as new cases came in by ambulance and demanded the attention of the doctors and nurses on duty in the department.

      ‘Look… this is an emergency.’

      ‘Uh-huh?’

      The middle-aged receptionist looked as if she’d seen it all. And she probably had. There was a group of very drunk teenage girls in naughty elf costumes singing and shouting loudly in a corner of the reception area. One of them was holding a bloodstained cloth to her face. Another was holding a vomit bag. A trio of equally drunk young men was watching the elves with appreciation and trying to outdo each other with wolf whistles. The expressions on the faces of the people between the groups were long-suffering. A woman sitting beside a small, crying boy looked to be at the end of her tether and she was glaring at Gemma, who appeared to be attempting to queue jump.

      The receptionist peered over her glasses at Sophie, who wasn’t helping. Thanks to the dose of paracetamol she’d given her as she’d left the house, the baby was looking a lot better than she had been. Her face was still flushed and her eyes over-bright but she wasn’t crying with that frightening, high-pitched note any more. She was, in fact, smiling at the receptionist.

      ‘She’s running a temperature,’ Gemma said. ‘She’s got a rash.’

      ‘It’s probably just a virus. Take a seat, please, ma’am. We’ll get her seen as soon as possible.’

      ‘What—in a couple of hours?’

      Gemma could feel the heat radiating off the baby in her arms. She could feel the way Sophie was slumped listlessly against her body. The smile was fading and any moment now Sophie would start crying again. She took a deep breath.

      ‘As soon as possible might be too late,’ she snapped. ‘She needs to be seen now. Please…’ she added, trying to keep her voice from wavering. ‘I just need to rule out the possibility that it’s meningitis.’

      ‘Rule out?’ The receptionist peered over her glasses again, this time at Gemma. ‘What are you, a doctor?’

      ‘Yes, I am.’ Gemma knew her tone lacked conviction. Could she still claim to be a doctor when it had been so long since she’d been anywhere near a patient?

      ‘Not at this hospital you’re not.’

      Gemma closed her eyes for a heartbeat. ‘I used to be.’

      ‘And you’re an expert in meningitis, then? What… you’re going to tell me you’re a paediatrician?’

      Like the other woman waiting with a child, the receptionist clearly thought Gemma was trying to queue jump. And now there were people behind her, waiting to check

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