Once Upon a Christmas

‘Sarah Morgan puts the magic in Christmas’

—Now
magazine

‘Full of romance and sparkle’

—Lovereading

‘I’ve found an author I adore—must hunt down everything she’s published.’

—Smart Bitches, Trashy Books

‘Morgan is a magician with words.’

—RT Book Reviews

‘Dear Ms Morgan, I’m always on the lookout for a new book by you …’

—Dear Author blog

As a child
SARAH MORGAN
dreamed of being a writer and, although she took a few interesting detours on the way, she is now living that dream. With her writing career she has successfully combined business with pleasure, and she firmly believes that reading romance is one of the most satisfying and fat-free escapist pleasures available. Her stories are unashamedly optimistic, and she is always pleased when she receives letters from readers saying that her books have helped them through hard times.

Sarah lives near London with her husband and two children, who innocently provide an endless supply of authentic dialogue. When she isn’t writing or reading Sarah enjoys music, movies and any activity that takes her outdoors.

Readers can find out more about Sarah and her books from her website: www.sarahmorgan.com. She can also be found on Facebook and Twitter.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

‘M
UMMY,
I’ve written my letter to Santa.’

Bryony tucked the duvet round her daughter and clicked on the pink bedside light. A warm glow spread across the room, illuminating a small mountain of soft toys and dressing-up clothes. ‘Sweetheart, it’s only just November. Don’t you think it’s a little early to be writing to Santa?’

‘All the decorations are in the shops. I saw them with Grandma.’

Bryony picked up a fairy outfit that had been abandoned in a heap on the floor. ‘Shops are different, Lizzie.’ She slipped the dress onto a hanger and put it safely in the wardrobe. ‘They always start selling things early. It’s still ages until Christmas.’

‘But I know what I want, so I thought I might as well write to him now.’ Lizzie reached for the stuffed mermaid that she always slept with. ‘And anyway, this present is special so he might need some time to find exactly the right one.’

‘Special?’ Bryony gave a groan and picked up the book
they’d been reading all week. ‘Go on.’ Her tone was indulgent. ‘Hit me with it, Lizzie. What is it this time—a horse?’ She toed off her shoes and curled up on the end of her daughter’s bed with a smile. This was the best time of the day. Just the two of them, and Lizzie all warm and cuddly in her pink pyjamas. She smelt of shampoo and innocence, and when she was tucked up in bed she seemed younger somehow, less like a seven-year-old who was growing up too fast.

‘Not a horse.’ Lizzie snuggled down, her blonde curls framing her pretty face. ‘Bigger.’

‘Bigger than a
horse
?’ Bryony’s eyes twinkled. ‘You’re scaring me, Lizzie. What if Santa can’t find this special present?’

‘He will.’ Lizzie spoke with the conviction of youth. ‘You said that Santa always gives you what you ask for if you’re good.’

‘Ah—did I say that?’ Bryony took a deep breath and made a mental note to concentrate more when she answered her daughter’s questions in future. ‘Well, it does depend on what you ask for,’ she hedged, and Lizzie’s face fell.

‘You said he
always
gives you what you ask for if you’re good.’

‘Well, he certainly does his best,’ Bryony said finally, compromising slightly and hoping that the request wasn’t going to be too outlandish. Her doctor’s salary was generous, but she was a single mother and she had to watch her expenditures. ‘Do you want to show me this letter?’

‘I’ve sent it already.’

‘You’ve sent it?’ Bryony looked at her daughter in surprise. ‘Where did you post it?’

‘I went into the post office with Grandma and they said that if I posted it there it would go all the way to Santa in Lapland.’

‘Oh.’ Bryony smiled weakly, her heart sinking. ‘So it’s gone, then.’

Which meant that there would be no chance to talk Lizzie out of whatever it was that she’d chosen that was obviously going to cost a fortune and be impossible to find in the wilds of the Lake District.

Bryony sensed a trip to London coming on. Unless the internet could oblige.

‘Uh-huh.’ Lizzie nodded. ‘And he’s got until Christmas to sort it out.’

‘Right. Are you going to give me a clue?’

‘You’ll like it, I know you will.’

‘Is it something messy?’

‘Nope.’

‘Something pink?’ Everything in her daughter’s life was pink so it was a fairly safe bet that whatever was top of her Christmas list would be pink.

Lizzie shook her head and her eyes shone. ‘Not pink.’

Not pink?

Feeling distinctly uneasy, Bryony hoped that her mother had managed to sneak a look at the letter before it was ‘posted’ otherwise none of them were going to have the first clue what Lizzie wanted for Christmas.

‘I’d really like to know, sweetheart,’ she said casually, flipping through the pages of the book until she found where they’d left off the night before. She wondered
whether the post office had binned the letter. At this rate she was going to have to go and ask for it back.

‘OK. I’ll tell you, because it’s sort of for you, too.’

Bryony held her breath, hoping desperately that it wasn’t a pet. Her life was so frantic she absolutely didn’t have time to care for an animal on top of everything else. A full-time job and single parenthood was the most she could manage and sometimes she struggled with that.

A pet would be the final straw.

But then she looked at Lizzie’s sweet face and felt totally overwhelmed by love. More than anything she wanted her daughter to be happy and if that meant cleaning out a rabbit …

‘Whatever it is you want,’ Bryony said softly, reaching out and stroking her daughter’s silken curls with a gentle hand, ‘I’m sure Santa will get it for you. You’re such a good girl and I love you.’

‘I love you, too, Mummy.’ Lizzie reached up and hugged her and Bryony felt a lump building in her throat.

‘OK.’ She extracted herself and gave her daughter a bright smile. ‘So, what is it you want for Christmas?’

Lizzie lay back on the pillow, a contented smile spreading across her face. ‘A daddy,’ she breathed happily. ‘For Christmas this year, I really,
really
want a daddy. And I
know
that Santa is going to bring me one.’

‘S
IX-MONTH-OLD
baby coming in with breathing difficulties.’ Bryony replaced the phone that connected the accident and emergency department direct to Ambulance Control and turned to the A and E sister. ‘That’s the third one today, Nicky.’

‘Welcome to A and E in November.’ The other woman pulled a face and slipped her pen back in her pocket. ‘One respiratory virus after another. Wait until the weather gets really cold. Then everyone falls over on the ice. Last year we had forty-two wrist fractures in one day.’

Bryony laughed. ‘Truly?’

‘Truly. And you wouldn’t laugh if you’d been working here then,’ Nicky said dryly as they walked towards the ambulance bay together. ‘It was unbelievable. I wanted to go out with a loudhailer and tell everyone to stay at home.’

As she finished speaking they heard the shriek of an ambulance siren, and seconds later the doors to the department crashed open and the paramedics hurried in with the baby.

‘Take her straight into Resus,’ Bryony ordered, taking one look at the baby and deciding that she was going to need help on this one. ‘What’s the story?’

‘She’s had a cold and a runny nose for a couple of days,’ the paramedic told her. ‘Temperature going up and down, and then all of a sudden she stopped taking any fluids and tonight the mother said she stopped breathing. Mother came with us in the ambulance—she’s giving the baby’s details to Reception.’

‘Did she call the GP?’

‘Yes, but he advised her to call 999.’

‘Right.’ Bryony glanced at Nicky. ‘Let’s get her undressed so that I can examine her properly. I want her on a cardiac monitor and a pulse oximeter—I need to check her oxygen saturation.’

‘She’s breathing very fast,’ Nicky murmured as she undid the poppers on the baby’s sleepsuit. ‘Poor little mite, she’s really struggling. I suppose we ought to call Jack—even though calling him will massage his ego.’

Bryony looked at the baby, saw the bluish tinge around her lips and heard the faint grunting sound as she breathed.

‘Call him,’ she said firmly. ‘This baby is sick.’

Very sick.

She didn’t care if they massaged Jack’s ego. She trusted his opinion more than anyone else’s and not just because he was the consultant and she was a casualty officer with only four months’ A and E experience behind her. Jack Rothwell was an incredibly talented doctor.

Nicky finished undressing the baby and then picked up the phone on the wall and dialled, leaving Bryony to carry out her examination. She watched the baby breathing
for a moment and then placed her stethoscope in her ears, strands of blonde hair falling forward as she bent and listened to the child’s chest.

When she finally unhooked the stethoscope from her ears, Jack was standing opposite, looking at her with that lazy, half-bored expression in his blue eyes that always drove women crazy.

And she was no exception.

She’d known him for twenty-two years and still her knees went weak when he walked into a room. She’d often tried to work out why. Was it the sexy smile? The wicked blue eyes that crinkled at the corners when he smiled? The glossy dark hair? The broad shoulders? Or was it his sense of humour, which had her smiling almost all the time? Eventually she’d come to the conclusion that it was everything. The whole drop-dead-gorgeous, confident masculine package that was Jack Rothwell.

When she’d started working in A and E in the summer, she’d been worried about how it would feel to work with a man she’d known all her life. She was worried that finally working together would feel odd. But it didn’t.

She’d fast discovered that Jack at work was the same as Jack not at work. Clever, confident and wickedly sexy.

‘So, Blondie,’ his deep masculine tones were loaded with humour. ‘You need some help?’

Blondie …

Bryony grinned. He’d called her ‘Blondie’ when she’d been five years old, and now she was twenty-seven he was still calling her ‘Blondie’. She’d even had a brush with being brunette at one point in her teens but it had made no difference. He’d still called her ‘Blondie’. It was one of the
things she loved about their friendship. The way he teased her. It made her feel special. And, anyway, it meant that she could tease him back.

‘This baby’s sick.’

‘Which is presumably why she’s in hospital,’ Jack drawled, leaning across and reaching for her stethoscope, the fabric of his shirt moulding lovingly to the hard muscle of his shoulders. Despite his teasing words his eyes were on the baby, looking, assessing, mentally cataloguing his findings.

Bryony watched him with admiration and more than a touch of envy. His instincts were so good. If anyone she loved ever ended up in A and E, the doctor she’d want them to see would be Jack. He had a brilliant brain and an amazing ability to identify medical problems based on seemingly scanty information. And she’d learned more from him in her four months in A and E than she had from any other doctor in her career so far.

‘So what did you notice, Blondie? Apart from the fact that there’s a little patient on the trolley?’

He stood back while Nicky attached leads to the baby’s chest and connected them to the monitor.

‘She’s cyanosed, has intercostal recession and she’s grunting,’ Bryony said immediately, her eyes on the baby. ‘Her resps are 60 per minute and she’s becoming exhausted.’

Jack nodded, his eyes flickering to the monitor, which was now operational and giving them further clues to the baby’s condition.

‘She has acute bronchiolitis. We need to get a line in this baby fast,’ he ordered softly, holding out a hand to Nicky
who immediately proffered the necessary equipment. He handed it to Bryony. ‘Go on. Impress me.’

‘You want me to do it?’ Bryony looked at those tiny arms and legs and shook her head. ‘I’d rather you did it.’

She could see how ill the baby was and she didn’t have the confidence that she’d get the line in first time. She knew Jack could. And with the baby that sick, his skill was more important than her need to practise.

His eyes narrowed and his gaze was suddenly serious. ‘Don’t doubt yourself,’ he said softly, his blue eyes searching as he read her mind. ‘Do it.’

He was still holding out the equipment and Bryony sucked in a breath. ‘Jack, I—’

‘Can do it,’ he said calmly, those wicked blue eyes locking on hers. ‘In three months’ time you’re going to be working on the paediatric ward and you’re going to be taking blood all the time. You need the practise. Go for it.’

Bryony hesitated and Jack lifted an eyebrow, his blue eyes mocking.

‘You want me to hold your hand?’ His voice was a lazy drawl and Bryony blushed. How could he be so relaxed? But she knew the answer to that, of course. During her time in the A and E department she’d learned that panic did nothing to improve a tense situation and she’d also learned that Jack’s totally laid-back attitude to everything rubbed off on the rest of the staff. As a result, they operated as a smooth, efficient team.

Looking at the baby, Bryony bit her lip and lifted the child’s tiny wrist.

‘Relax. Take your time.’ Jack closed long, strong fingers
around the baby’s wrist and squeezed. ‘OK. Here’s one for you. What do you call a blonde with half a brain?’

Bryony was concentrating on the baby’s wrist. She found a tiny, thready vein and wondered how she was ever going to hit such a tiny target. It seemed almost impossible.

‘Gifted,’ Jack said cheerfully, squinting down at the baby’s hand. ‘You’ll be fine. She’s got good veins. Stop dithering and just do it.’

So she did and the needle slid smoothly into the tiny vein on her first attempt.

Relief and delight flooded through her.

‘I did it.’ She looked up, unable to hide her pride, and Jack smiled, his eyes creasing at the corners.

‘As I said. Gifted. Now you just need the confidence to go with it. You’re a good doctor. Believe in yourself.’ His eyes held hers for a moment and then he looked at Nicky. ‘OK, we need a full blood count, U and Es, BMG, blood culture and viral titres. And Nicky, let’s give the child some humidified oxygen.’

Believe in yourself.

Well, she did believe in herself. Sort of. It was just that she was afraid of making a mistake and Jack Rothwell never seemed to be afraid of anything. He just did it. And it turned out right every time.

Bryony busied herself taking the necessary samples. ‘Should I do arterial blood gases?’

‘They can do them on the ward,’ Jack said immediately. ‘Nicky, can you call Paeds and get them up here? This little one is going to need admitting. She’s a poorly baby.’

Bryony looked at him. ‘You think it’s bronchiolitis?’

‘Without a doubt.’ He smothered a yawn and looked at her apologetically. ‘Sorry. I was up half the night.’

It was Bryony’s turn to look mocking. ‘Was she nice?’

‘She was gorgeous.’ He grinned, that wonderful slightly lopsided grin that affected her knees so acutely. ‘She was also eighty-four and had a fractured hip.’

‘You love older women.’

‘True.’ He checked the monitor again. ‘But generally I like them mobile. OK, Blondie. What’s the likely causative organism here? Exercise your brain cell and impress me twice in one evening.’

‘RSV,’ Bryony said immediately. ‘Respiratory syncytial virus causes 75 per cent of cases of bronchiolitis.’

He inclined his head, his expression mocking. ‘All right, you’ve impressed me. And you’ve obviously been studying your textbook again. Now we’ll do some maths. What’s two plus two?’ His eyes were dancing. ‘No need to answer immediately and you can use your fingers if you need to. Take your time—I know it’s tricky.’

‘No idea,’ Bryony returned blithely, batting her eyelashes in a parody of a dumb blonde and handing the bottles to Nicky for labelling. ‘Jack, should we pass a nasogastric tube?’

‘No. Not yet.’ He shook his head, his gaze flickering over the baby. ‘When you’ve finished taking the samples we’ll set up an IV and get her to the ward. I’ve got a bad feeling about this little one. She’s going to end up being ventilated.’

‘I hope not,’ Bryony murmured, but she knew that Jack was always right in his predictions. If he thought the baby
was going to need ventilating, then it was almost certain that she would.

He looked at her quizzically. ‘Is the mother around?’

As he asked the question the doors to Resus opened and the paramedics came back in, escorting a tall woman wrapped in a wool coat. Her face was pale and her hair was uncombed.

‘Ella?’ She hurried over to the trolley, her face lined with anxiety, and then she looked at Jack.

Bryony didn’t mind that. She was used to it. Women always looked at Jack.

Even before they knew he was the consultant, they looked at him.

And it wasn’t just because he was staggeringly, movie-star handsome. It was because he was charming and had an air of casual self-assurance that attracted women like magnets. You just knew that Jack would know what to do in any situation.

‘I’m Dr Rothwell.’ He extended a hand and gave her that reassuring smile that always seemed to calm the most frantic relative. ‘I’ve been caring for Ella, along with Dr Hunter here.’

The woman didn’t even glance at Bryony. Her gaze stayed firmly fixed on Jack. ‘She’s been ill for days but I thought it was just a cold and then suddenly today she seemed to go downhill.’ She lifted a shaking hand to her throat. ‘She wouldn’t take her bottle and she was
so
hot and then tonight she stopped breathing properly and I was
terrified.
’

Jack nodded, his blue eyes warm and understanding. ‘It’s always frightening when a baby of this size is ill because
their airways are so small,’ he explained calmly. ‘Ella has picked up a nasty virus and it is affecting her breathing.’

The woman blanched and stared at the tiny figure on the trolley. ‘But she’s going to be OK?’

‘We need to admit her to hospital,’ Jack said, glancing up as the paediatrician walked into the room. ‘This is Dr Armstrong, the paediatric registrar. He’s going to take a look at her now and then we’ll take her along to the ward.’

‘Will I be able to stay with her?’

‘Absolutely.’ Jack nodded, his gaze reassuring. ‘You can have a bed next to her cot.’

Deciding that Jack was never going to be able to extricate himself from the mother, Bryony briefed Dr Armstrong on the baby’s condition.

She liked David Armstrong. He was warm and kind and he’d asked her out on several occasions.

And she’d refused of course. Because she always refused.

She
never
went on dates.

Bryony bit her lip, remembering Lizzie’s letter to Santa. She wanted a daddy for Christmas. A pretty tall order for a woman who didn’t date men, she thought dryly, picking up the baby’s charts and handing them to David.

Dragging her mind back, she finished handing over and watched while David examined the baby himself.

A thoroughly nice man, she decided wistfully. So why couldn’t she just accept his invitation to take their friendship a step further?

And then Jack strolled back to the trolley, tall, broad-shouldered, confident and so shockingly handsome that it
made her gasp, and she remembered the reason why she didn’t date men.

She didn’t date men because she’d been in love with Jack since she’d been five years old. And apart from her one disastrous attempt to forget about him, which had resulted in Lizzie, she hadn’t even
noticed
another man for her entire adult life.

Which just went to show how stupid she was, she reflected crossly, infuriated by her own stupidity.

Jack might be a brilliant doctor but he was also the most totally unsuitable man any woman could fall for. Women had affairs with Jack. They didn’t fall in love with him. Not if they had any sense, because Jack had no intention of ever falling in love or settling down.

But, of course, she didn’t have any sense.

It was fortunate that she’d got used to hiding the way she felt about him. He didn’t have a clue that he’d featured in every daydream she’d had since she’d been a child. When other little girls had dreamed about faceless princes in fairy-tales, she’d dreamed about Jack. When her teenage friends had developed crushes on the boys at school, she’d still dreamed about Jack. And when she’d finally matured into a woman, she’d carried on dreaming about Jack.