“It’s okay. I’ve got you. In through the nose, doctor. Out through the mouth. Focus on me. Look at me.”

  Jackson had sensed it, the looming panic attack. Moving closer, he ran his hands down Lucy’s arms one more time. Reached for the shaking hand in her lap.

  “I’m here, Luce,” he said softly, the breath pushed out from his words whispering over her skin as he kissed the back of her hand. “I’m not going anywhere, ever. Okay?”

  She looked back at Jackson, and the strength of conviction in his expression almost felled her. As though the swirling brown of his eyes was more intensive, boring into her soul to bring the words home.

  “You believe me, right? Luce?”

  She nodded, squeezing his hand tight with her own. “I know you’ll stay with me.”

  “Forever, Lucy. You’ll never be alone again. Not while I’m here,” he rumbled, pulling their entwined hands to rest against his chest.

  Dear Reader,

  Book seven—how did that happen?

  I loved dreaming up this story—the core of this idea has been in my head for a long time. As ever, my editor Soraya and Harlequin believed in the tale and helped me to shape it to be the very best book for you all to enjoy. As ever, I wouldn’t be able to write these stories without my readers, so thank you all!

  I sincerely hope you love reading this book and enjoy escaping from the real world, if only for a few hours.

  Happy reading!

  Rachel Dove

  A Baby to Change Their Lives

  Rachel Dove

  Rachel Dove is a writer and teacher living in West Yorkshire with her husband, their two sons and their animals. In July 2015, she won the Prima magazine and Mills & Boon Flirty Fiction Competition. She was the winner of the Writers Bureau Writer of the Year Award in 2016. She has had work published in the UK and overseas in various magazines and newspaper publications.

  Books by Rachel Dove

  Harlequin Medical Romance

  Fighting for the Trauma Doc’s Heart

  The Paramedic’s Secret Son

  Falling for the Village Vet

  Single Mom’s Mistletoe Kiss

  A Midwife, Her Best Friend, Their Family

  How to Resist Your Rival

  Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com.

  In honor of the late, great and much-loved

  Eric Bell

  Praise for Rachel Dove

  “I found Rachel Dove’s interpretation broke that mold and I enjoyed the realistic way in which she painted the personalities. All in all, the well-crafted characters plus the engaging story had me emotionally invested from the start. Looking forward to reading more of Rachel’s work.”

  —Goodreads on Fighting for the Trauma Doc’s Heart

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  EPILOGUE

  EXCERPT FROM WINNING BACK HIS RUNAWAY WIFE BY LOUISA GEORGE

  CHAPTER ONE

  THE IRONY OF meeting her work nemesis on an NHS ‘team-building’ day was not lost on Lucy Bakewell. She didn’t want to be here in the first place and, given what she had just endured, she knew her gut, as ever, had been right on the money. She didn’t ‘do’ people at the best of times, and enforced bonding such as this set her teeth on edge. The last hour had been particularly abysmal: mud, testosterone, stupid, cumbersome apparel and bullets pinging past her ears. It was her worst nightmare.

  Well, it was right up there, anyway. Definitely top three, and she was no shrinking violet either. Lucy was used to high pressure situations—at work she thrived in them—but this? This was her idea of pure unadulterated torture, all in the great outdoors. What was even worse than the last hour was her current situation. She was doing something that she’d never thought she would in a million years. Instead of being at work, doing what she loved, she was here, hiding, sheepishly hanging out in the huts that masqueraded as toilets, praying for a miracle to get her out of there.

  Just as she was wiping the last bit of thick mud off her face, there was a loud barrage of knocking at the door.

  ‘Are you still in there, or did you fall down the pan?’ No way. She knew that voice. She’d just listened to it howl in pain.

  ‘Er...yeah! Still here.’

  Worst luck.

  She eyed the toilet bowl. If she’d thought she could crawl her way out Andy Dufresne style, she’d already have been long gone. ‘I’ll be right out!’

  She used the last bit of toilet roll in the stall at least to try to look clean before reluctantly sliding back the lock and facing her aggressor. He didn’t look amused.

  ‘I wondered if you were in there trying to fake some kind of emergency.’

  ‘Of course not,’ she lied. ‘Just...freshening up. What is it that you want, exactly?’

  He frowned, leaning closer and plucking a glob of mud from her pinned-back light-blonde hair. The masked helmet thing they’d made them wear had destroyed her usual neat and functional look—another reason to detest the day. The guy in front of her looked right at home. He didn’t look ruffled, which made her feel even worse.

  ‘Yeah?’ His voice was deep, masculine. The kind of voice that you took notice of. ‘No mirror in there, I’m guessing?’ He looked amused. She could tell he was suppressing a grin. His twitching lips gave him away. ‘I just wanted to see if you were coming. They’re waiting to start the next game.’

  Dear Lord in heaven, I’d rather deal with an outbreak of diarrhoea and vomiting on my ward than play again.

  She focused on keeping the look of pure revulsion from breaking out across her rather sweaty face. ‘Oh, that’s fine. I can sit it out.’

  He was already moving her away from the hut back to the paint-balling area.

  ‘Not a chance. All participation is compulsory, remember?’ She did remember.

  All department heads are to attend. Cover has already been arranged.

  It was so annoying. Also, it wasn’t true. Her future brother-in-law Ronnie wasn’t here as Head of A&E! She was still salty about that too. Sure, he was only Acting Head, but he was a sure thing for the job. He’d been filling in for two months since the department head had left. He should have been here, if only to endure this so-called morale booster with her.

  She didn’t need a morale boost, she needed real funding for her department. She needed her nurses and support staff to get paid a decent wage so she could keep them on her team and not lose them to better paid private sector positions. What was running around in a muddy field in the middle of a chilly February going to achieve?

  ‘Anyway,’ her adversary continued, unaware of her snarky inner monologue, ‘After the last game, I have a score to settle, Lucky Shot.’ He pointed to his long, camo-clad legs where a very noticeable and brightly coloured paintball splat was glaring up from his crotch area. Lucy winced; he had her there, not that she’d ever let him know it.

  She puffed up her indignation instead. ‘I did apologise for that.’ She huffed. ‘And you didn’t have to be such a baby about it. It’s not like we’re using live ammo, and I’ve never done this before. I’m not exactly the gun-toting type.’

  ‘Yeah, more Calamity Jane than GI Jane, eh?’ he scoffed, making her scowl deepen.

  Having her flaws pointed out by anyone was not something she relished, never mind from a stranger who she’d almost maimed.

  ‘You hit that neurosurgeon guy pretty hard in the coccyx,’ he banged on, frog-marching her back to her fate. ‘He’s been icing his backside for the last ten minutes.’

  They were almost back at the starting point, and Lucy’s anxiety was growing with every step. She could see the other medical professionals all looking around, some brandishing paint guns as though they were extras in an action movie. A couple of them were eyeing her warily. Normally, she would have revelled in the fear she had produced. Today, she felt as if she might end up on the evening news for shooting an ear off a consultant or something. It did nothing to soothe her frazzled nerves, and if there was one thing on this planet Lucy hated it was the feeling of not being in total control.

  ‘Well,’ she retorted sulkily, tutting when her jailer jumped away from the business end of the weapon she was waving. ‘Why did we need to do this anyway? I barely get time off from the hospital as it is, and now I have to spend an entire day off shooting at other stressed out department heads? I mean, who’s running the hospitals while we’re all here playing “shoot them up”?’

  He chuckled at the side of her, pushing her gun down to aim at the floor as they walked. When she glanced his way, she could see he was almost...smiling. His groin and pride were obviously recovering. He looked as if he belonged here, dressed like a soldier in the woods. He was tall, dark, handsome and rugged with a five o’clock shadow that made him look as if he’d slept rough under the stars after a day wrangling wild horses.

  He was different from the other, weedier men on the field today—almost too alpha male to be some department
head in some hospital somewhere. Most of the doctors she’d encountered over the years were like Ronnie—softer; geeky, almost—less Bear Grylls and more teddy bear. Most of them considered golfing a serious sport. This guy, in comparison, looked gruffer than that. He was wood-chopping burly. He probably loved these activities or even did them for fun.

  He was kind of cute, she noticed reluctantly. If she ever decided to have a dating life other than a few scattered first dates, he would probably be her type. Not that she’d taken the time to consider what her type was beyond the odd passing thought.

  ‘I mean, look at them all. Hardly the A-Team, are we?’

  ‘Why don’t you say what you really think?’ he joked, his laugh deep, rich. Stopping short of meeting the others, he came to stand in front of her. ‘I’m Jackson, by the way.’

  He flashed her a smile that on impact disarmed any remaining snarkiness she felt. Sure, he’d not reacted in the best way to her assault, calling her a ‘ridiculous woman’, but she’d never been shot in the crown jewels. She decided to let it pass. Maybe her day would be tolerable after all.

  ‘Lucy—Head of Paediatrics at Leeds General.’ She shook the huge hand he held out, feeling it dwarf hers entirely.

  He shot her one of those smiles again. It made the dimples in his cheeks stand out. Lucy had to look at her feet to stop herself from fawning over him. If her work colleagues back home saw her like this, she would never live it down. Being a ballbuster was something she prided herself on. ‘Well, hello, Lucy! It’s so weird I met you today, I’m actually—’

  ‘Come on, you two!’ The over-enthusiastic paintball instructor, who was ironically named Tag, came and shuffled them both over to the waiting teams. Lucy was on the red team, Jackson on the blue. ‘Game two commences in two minutes! Get your masks back on, make sure your guns are reloaded.’ He stared pointedly at Lucy. ‘And remember, it’s the torso you are aiming for. No below the belt shots. Team building, remember?’

  Lucy shot him a sarcastic grin, thrusting her mask over her face to stop her from biting back with a retort. She was pretty sure she heard a rumbling laugh from Jackson’s direction.

  ‘Positions, people! Let’s have some fun!’

  Lucy’s groan was drowned out by the others’ loud whoops.

  * * *

  The second game was even worse. Released from their usual whitewashed, walled workplaces, and possibly hungry for lunch, the medical professionals were unrecognisable from their usual polished and pedantic selves. The second the whistle went, it was all out war between the reds and the blues.

  ‘Let’s do this!’ one of the red women bellowed. ‘For the win!’

  ‘Come on, now!’ Lucy tried to placate the baying masses. ‘It’s just a game!’

  ‘I am not going back labelled a loser! Reds, we win this—we win or die!’

  ‘Slightly dramatic,’ Lucy countered, but someone shoved past her and she ended up knee-deep in the mud. ‘Hey!’ she yelled, her surprise turning to anger when she saw who’d pushed her.

  ‘Blue team, with me!’ Jackson growled, taking off for the tree line like some kind of Viking warrior. He turned to look at her when she shouted his name, and she was waiting for him to say sorry when he kept running and raised his gun, pointing it at her breast plate. ‘Take the red scum down! Death to the reds!’

  Lucy heard the pings and splats of his paintballs sail past as she rolled away. Jumping to her feet, she grappled for the gun slung from her waist.

  Okay, now it’s on, jerk.

  ‘Reds!’ she yelled. ‘Get it together!’

  A short bloke with a red sash ran to her side. ‘We’re outnumbered! We’re never going to make it!’

  Lucy grabbed his jacket as he babbled about targets and something about not being made for violence. ‘Shut up and fire at something!’ she chided, half-dragging him to the tree line further down. Their flag was in the hut near where Jackson had run, and she just knew he was going to try to get the win. Which would not only mean he would equalise, with her scrotum shot having secured their first win by slowing him down, but even worse than defeat it would go to best out of three. Which would mean another game with these hungry, half-crazed knuckleheads. It was getting very Lord of the Flies, and she wasn’t about to endure this a third time. ‘We can’t lose this one!’

  The man, an ENT specialist from somewhere in Scotland, whimpered as they made the trees and sank to the floor, out of sight. ‘We only won the last one because you took out the sasquatch! We have no hope now; he’ll be at the hut by now! Emmett won’t be able to hold him off; he’s only an orthopaedic surgeon, not Rambo!’

  Lucy bit her lip. ‘Seriously, this is the NHS’s finest? We faced Covid, and the government dropping us right in it, and one big dude with a cheeky smile and a gung-ho attitude is enough to terrify you all?’

  The woman who’d hollered earlier crawled across from the nearest crop of trees commando-style. ‘Basically, yes. I told management that this would suck. I suggested a spa day...’

  She suddenly stood up, firing off a volley of shots and punching the air when she heard a satisfying yelp from a distance.

  ‘Yes! Got one!’

  ‘Nice!’ Lucy cheered, picking up on the woman’s Scottish accent. Pointing at her quivering tree mate, she motioned to the woman. ‘I’m Lucy. He one of yours?’

  ‘John? Yeah. I’m Annie. Do you think he breached the hut yet? That Emmett dude is on his own up there. Bigfoot will snap him like a twig.’

  Hmm; it seemed Jackson had made an impression on everyone, not just her. She rather liked his height...

  What? Concentrate! He’s the enemy.

  If he got that flag, lunch would be even further away, which would mean more of this torture. Looking at John, who was now hugging the tree and reciting anatomically correct body parts like a mantra as the blues hollered in the distance, she knew they were never going to make it.

  ‘I’ll try to take him out before he gets to the flag,’ she whispered, pointing to the break in the line of trees where their hut stood. ‘Make sure our team goes for theirs. Cover me, okay?’

  ‘God speed,’ John urged, releasing the tree to hug her and take up position, gun aimed. ‘Annie, watch my six!’

  Annie was already picking off another blue player who’d popped up at the wrong time.

  ‘Go, Lucy, now! I’ll go for the blue flag!’

  Lucy closed her eyes, took a deep breath and ran as fast as she could for the hut. ‘Thank God I love the treadmill,’ she huffed to herself, ducking as a blue player popped up from behind a bush and nearly took off her head. Springing back up, she popped a shot at his leg.

  ‘Ow! I’m out!’ he yelped, before slinking off towards the refreshments tent, his gun trailing along behind. Lucy didn’t wait to see who he was talking to, nor to see what had happened to make John scream behind her like a banshee behind her. She had one goal: to take Jackson out. Annie was right: he was the real enemy on that team; the others were just following his lead. They would be no match for Annie. Lucy had a feeling she worked in microsurgery or radiology or something, judging by her crack shot. She’d ask her over lunch, she decided, spying the hut with a grin, when they were enjoying their winning feast.

  She stopped by the closest barrier, a wooden fence covered in burlap and curved around the edge of the red hut. It was quiet—a little too quiet.

  ‘Emmett?’ she called out. Nothing. ‘Emmett?’

  Still nothing. He wasn’t there yet! If Jackson had taken Emmett out, the game would be over. The blue team would be crowing over the rest of them for sure.

  The background shots sped up. Annie was going for it, by the sounds of it. Lucy could hear the blues shouting to each other, ‘Take her out!’ When she heard a string of profanity in a thick Scottish accent, she knew that her number two was holding her own. She saw another barrier nearer the red hut and decided to move position. The lack of blues heading for their red flag told her that they had a plan, and Jackson was no doubt near, waiting to pounce.

  Before her foot hit the floor, she heard it—the snap of a tree root a few metres away. Ducking down, her eyes narrowing beneath the mask, she saw him. Even bent over at the other side of the opposite barrier, he was bigger than her, more noticeable. She waited for him to turn the gun on her, but his aim stayed focused on the hut. He hadn’t seen her. She reached for her gun, aware of every little movement of her clothing, the placement of her feet on the forest floor. Even her breath, which was coming out in shallow, excited bursts of adrenaline, filled air.