 
## The Army Doctor's Forever Baby

By

Helen Scott Taylor

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Copyright © 2014 Helen Taylor

Cover design © Helen Taylor

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Smashwords Version

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The right of Helen Taylor to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the UK Copyright, Designs, and Patents Act, 1988.

This is a work of fiction. All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the Copyright owner.

# Chapter One

1982

Dr. Sandra Fisher hurried along the corridor of the London hospital where she worked, trying to suppress the limp from her bruised knee. Thank goodness it was nearly eleven p.m. and the place was quiet. She would be mortified if any of her colleagues saw her in this state. It wasn't her fault a taxi had knocked her off her bicycle, but she was still embarrassed that her coat was wet and dirty, and her nylons ripped.

Not to mention her broken spectacles. She pushed them up her nose, blinking at the disorienting view of the linoleum floor with one eye focused and the other fuzzy from the missing glass lens.

Ahead, a tall male figure came through the double doors and strode towards her. She squinted at him and her heart plummeted. Of all the people to bump into, it had to be George Knight—the last person on earth she wanted to see her like this. Not that he'd care what she looked like. She'd spent five years at Oxford with him and he'd never shown any interest in her. He was so out of her league, he was in another universe.

George's long strides brought him closer far too quickly. Sandra averted her gaze and increased her pace. "Good evening," she mumbled as she scurried past, her handbag gripped to her side, hoping it hid some of the dirt on her coat.

"Sandra, are you all right?"

Her already hot cheeks flamed. She slowed, not wanting to appear rude to a fellow doctor, one she had to work with. "Fine, thank you. I'm on call and I'm late. Better go."

She wasn't late, of course. Her job was too important to jeopardize it in even the smallest way. She'd worked hard to win a place at one of the most prestigious universities in the UK. Now she was a qualified doctor, she was determined to excel in every specialty during her rotation so when she applied for a place in general practice, she would have her pick.

"Sandra, wait. You're not all right. What happened to you?"

Sandra's cheeks burned hotter. "I'm fine. Honestly." Unfortunately, at that moment her foot twisted as the loose heel on her shoe finally came off. In her rush to get away from George, she'd forgotten about that.

She bent and grabbed up the shoe with its dangling heel and hobbled on towards the door that led to the sanctuary of the on-call room. She prayed that George got the message that she didn't want his help, and he would leave her alone.

Decisive male footsteps followed and a strong hand slipped beneath her elbow, supporting her awkward gait. "You are _not_ fine," he said as he reached for the door handle and helped her inside.

She wished she could have privacy to repair her appearance, but as a doctor, he had as much right to use the on-call room as she did. The four bunk beds stood empty. George guided her to a lower one and didn't release her until she was sitting on the side of the mattress.

"I'll be okay now." She tried to get rid of him, desperately aware she must look stupid with her broken glasses and the French twist in her hair half fallen out.

She still hadn't looked him in the face and hoped he would leave before she had to. If her cheeks grew any hotter, they would catch on fire.

He ignored her words and hunkered down in front of her. Reluctantly, she raised her gaze from her lap and blinked a few times, adjusting to the half-clear, half-fuzzy view of him through her broken glasses.

Despite her utter mortification, at the sight of his sleek dark hair and brown eyes, her heart still fluttered in the stupid, uncontrollable way that she hated. Every time she'd worked with him in college, she'd turned into a tongue-tied dunce while he took charge—a natural leader, capable, articulate, and bright. He probably thought she was a half-wit and wondered how she'd managed to pass her medical degree.

"You're hurt." He cupped her calf in his large hand and eased off her remaining shoe, examining her grazed knee through the shredded nylons. Tickly streamers of sensation raced up Sandra's leg from his touch and she caught her breath. How many times had she imagined his fingers on her skin? He'd filled her dreams ever since she set eyes on him their first week at college, over five years ago.

"It's only a graze. I can deal with it."

"What happened to you?" he demanded.

When he used that tone, it was impossible not to answer.

"A taxi knocked me off my bicycle." She'd had to push the bike with a buckled wheel the last half mile to the hospital.

"Damn taxis. Are you hurt anywhere else?"

Her elbow, hip, and shoulder ached, but her thick winter coat had protected her. She suspected the other injured places were only bruised. Sandra shook her head, not meeting his gaze. George put a finger beneath her chin and tilted it up until she had to look him in the eye. He elevated an eyebrow, clearly indicating he didn't believe her.

"Take off your nylons. I'll fetch a dressing pack and clean up your knee. I'll be back in a moment." He rose, towering over her, filling the small room. His army uniform only served to increase his innate air of authority, making her swallow back another protest.

The door closed behind him, and her breath whooshed out with a mixture of relief and another emotion that she didn't want to examine. However much she longed for George Knight, it was completely pointless, like grasping for the moon. Even if he had been attracted to her, she should avoid him. It had been clear all the way through medical school that he was dedicated to the army.

Once Sandra found her dream job in general practice, she planned to marry a family man and have lots of children. She would live in a small country town like the one where she'd grown up, and devote herself to the community and her family. Marrying an army officer who would be posted overseas was not part of that plan.

Despite her secret yearning for George, he was off-limits. Not that she need worry about making such a difficult choice. He wouldn't want to marry her in a million years.

She rose, took off her dirty coat, and gingerly slid down her nylons, wincing as the threads caught in the wound. Then she pulled the pins out of her hair, letting it tumble down over her shoulders, before removing her damaged glasses.

Washing the grit off her hands in the small sink, she sluiced cool water on her face and patted her skin dry with a towel, trying to make herself presentable before George returned.

He probably wouldn't care what she looked like. After five years at college together, she was certain he saw her purely as another professional. But a defiant little part of her desperately wanted him to think she was pretty—even if he was off-limits.

• • •

George strode back down the corridor towards the on-call room, his jaw clenched with annoyance. A London taxi had knocked the side mirror off his new Triumph sports car two days ago. Now a taxi had forced Sandra off her bicycle. It appeared she only had minor injuries, but she could have been badly hurt. Those black cabs were a menace!

He knocked on the door before entering the room, aware that Sandra was uncomfortable accepting his help. He dealt with injured people every day in the ER and knew they were at their most vulnerable when they were hurt. The last thing he wanted to do was walk in on Sandra while she was removing her nylons and embarrass her further.

At her soft "Come in," he entered and closed the door behind him. She had removed her coat to reveal a navy skirt and dark red cardigan over a pinkish blouse. He switched on the main light to give him a good view of her knee.

"Did you bump your head?" He should have asked her that immediately, but his concern for her had temporarily disrupted his usual cool. He'd never had to treat a friend before, not that Sandra was a close friend, more an acquaintance. Actually, he was surprised how much her being hurt had affected him.

He'd admired her in college. Her hard work and dedication matched his own. There were only a few of his fellow students that he'd trusted to pull their weight in group projects, and Sandra was one of them.

George filled a kidney dish with water from the sink, then kneeled in front of Sandra and lifted her foot to rest on his thigh. He wet a gauze pad to wash the grit from her lacerated knee. "Ready?" He glanced up and paused, his heart giving a strange bump as his gaze met hers.

Her long dark hair tumbled around her shoulders in soft waves and her hazel eyes seemed much bigger than usual. It was incredible how different she appeared without her glasses. "You look..." Pretty, he thought, biting back the compliment that was totally inappropriate right now. What was the matter with him?

He returned his attention to the task at hand and carefully stroked the wet dressing over her knee, ensuring all the dirt was removed before applying antiseptic and covering the wound. The light weight of her slender bare foot on his thigh tugged at his awareness in a way he didn't want to admit. The poor girl had been hurt, and his mind was moving in a direction that shamed him.

He set her foot down gently and returned his gaze to her face. She blinked at him as if dazed. Was she concussed? She might have bumped her head without realizing it. He'd known that to happen.

George rose to sit on the bed at her side, instinctively slipping a comforting arm around her shoulders. "Are you sure you feel up to work? I was going home, but I can stay if you want me to cover for you."

"I'll be fine once I put on clean nylons and another pair of shoes." She winced as George squeezed her shoulder, and he realized it must be sore. If she'd come off her bicycle, it was likely she'd sustained more damage than just a grazed knee.

"Where else are you hurt? Your shoulder? Let me take a look."

"No, honestly. I'm sure it's just bruised."

"You didn't check while I was gone?"

"No, but—"

George was already on his feet, drawing her up with him. "Come on. It'll only take a moment to examine."

With a small sigh, Sandra unbuttoned her cardigan and a few buttons on her shirt and eased the fabric away from her shoulder, revealing the strap and top of a practical white cotton bra. George stared for a moment before he caught himself and focused on the nasty contusion darkening her pale shoulder to an angry purple. But the skin wasn't broken.

Sandra ran her fingers over her discolored flesh and pressed her lips together. "You see. There's nothing you can do to help. I'll just have to be patient until it gets better." She pulled the shirt up and quickly re-buttoned it.

"What about your elbow and your hip?"

"Just bruised, I think. Nothing to worry about." She firmly refastened her cardigan and crossed her arms.

George had noticed her coat sleeve was torn, but he didn't push her. The way he was feeling right now, asking her to remove any more clothing probably wasn't a good idea. "Are you sure you don't want me to cover your shift for you?"

"I'm sure."

"Right, then. I'd better go home and get some shut-eye." He'd been on call for thirty-six hours and should be tired, but his weariness had fled when he encountered Sandra. For some reason he was reluctant to leave her. Strange, when she had never really been his friend at medical school. Although he'd worked with her often, he'd found it difficult to get to know her. She was one of those private people who kept to herself.

"I hope you recover soon. If you don't feel well during the night, go down to the ER and have them check you out."

"That's a good idea." Sandra nodded in a way he knew meant she had no intention of following his advice. She just wanted to be rid of him.

He was good at reading most people, but he'd never been able to work Sandra out. She confused him. That was unusual and a little intriguing.

• • •

George pulled up in the drive of his parents' house in Wimbledon and cut the engine. He flipped his keys in his hand, his thoughts still back at the hospital. Sandra had been on his mind as he made his way home through the London traffic, still busy even after midnight.

He should have covered her shift and insisted she go home. She was clearly shaken by her accident, even if she wasn't badly hurt. He tapped the steering wheel, annoyed with himself for not insisting.

A streak of light flashed across his vision as the sitting room curtains parted briefly. Was someone still up? George glanced at his watch to confirm what he already knew. It was nearly one a.m. His parents would be in bed, and likely most of their houseguests would be asleep as well.

He had a nasty feeling he knew who was waiting up for him, and he really didn't want to see her. She was the reason he'd dawdled after he finished work.

With a resigned sigh, he slid out of his sports car and locked it. As he approached his parents' front door, it opened and a waft of sickly sweet perfume enveloped him.

"George, I thought you'd never get home. I've been waiting up for you."

Celia Featherington's arms looped around his neck and she aimed a kiss at his mouth. At the last moment he turned his head, and the sticky lipstick planted on his cheek instead. He extracted himself from her embrace, pretending to check his pockets for something. It took all his concentration to resist rubbing his face where her lips had touched him. From experience he knew he'd have a red imprint there.

"Thank you for waiting up, Celia. I wish I had time to chat, but I've been on call for thirty-six hours. I'm afraid I need my bed."

"I could always come with you." She giggled and George took a subtle step back.

He'd known Celia all his life and had never really liked her. She just wasn't his sort of girl. She was giggly and high maintenance. When they were children, she'd simply irritated him with her endless girly babble. Recently she'd become worse. Everything about her was fake—dyed hair, false eyelashes, awful long plastic fingernails, and makeup that caked her face like cement.

He liked fresh-faced, intelligent women who only spoke when they had something meaningful to say. An image of Sandra flitted through his mind and he pressed his lips together thoughtfully. Although he didn't know her well, he suspected she was exactly the sort of woman he should marry—bright, hard-working, and sensible. The army would keep him away from home for long periods of time. He wanted to know his children were being raised by a wife who shared his values.

Unfortunately, his parents had earmarked Celia as a potential daughter-in-law and started pushing her at him.

Celia put her hand through his arm and clung. "No fair, Georgie. I've nearly finished a whole bottle of wine because I've been waiting so long."

"Come on. I'll walk you upstairs." She was obviously tipsy and he didn't want her falling off the ridiculous high heels she tottered about on.

She babbled on about all sorts of things as they mounted the wide staircase. George only half listened, weariness finally fogging his thoughts. He generally didn't need much sleep, but after so many hours at work, he was ready for his bed.

He led Celia along the hall and stopped outside the door of the guest room she was using. "Thank you again for waiting up. I'm sorry I couldn't spend more time with you."

She gave him another sticky kiss and he held still to receive it, his teeth gritted. Since she arrived, he'd been trying to signal his disinterest without hurting her feelings, but it was difficult when their respective parents were matchmaking.

"Never mind, Georgie. We'll have lots of time together at Robert's wedding."

A shot of horror wiped the fog from George's mind. Why hadn't it occurred to him that the parents would expect him to escort Celia next week? Robert Mackenzie was one of George's best friends, but he'd been so wrapped up with work, he hadn't given the wedding much thought.

They had to travel up to Scotland and spend two nights in a hotel. He'd have nowhere to hide from Celia. The thought gave him hives.

He pinched the bridge of his nose as his normally quick brain stalled. "I can't, Celia. I'm sorry."

Her eyes widened. "Don't tell me you have to work. That wretched hospital takes up too much of your time. People need to have some consideration and stop being sick for a few days to give you a break."

"It doesn't work that way, I'm afraid."

"But you must come. Your parents told me you'd booked the time off."

And so he had. He couldn't miss his best friend's wedding. George squeezed his eyes closed, grasping for an excuse for why he couldn't escort Celia. Then it came to him. He drew in a calming breath and summoned an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry if Mum and Dad misled you. I'm afraid I already have a date for the wedding."

An image of Sandra flitted through his mind, and he prayed she would be free and willing to help him out.

# Chapter Two

Sandra couldn't believe how rude and ungrateful she'd been when George helped her after her accident. She must have been more shocked than she'd thought to have behaved so ungraciously. Her parents would be ashamed of her.

Instead of avoiding him like she normally did, for the next few days she sought him out. Their paths didn't cross very often because he worked in the ER, while she was four floors up on the general medical wards. Three days after the bicycle incident, she finally noticed him across the far side of the cafeteria when she popped in for a quick lunch between clinics.

She grabbed a sandwich and carton of juice, then lined up to pay. George sat alone, his head bent over a newspaper on the table. Part of her wanted to go and apologize. Another part shied away from talking to him—the same part that was going all soft and soppy just because they were in the same room.

Once she had paid, she hesitated, an internal battle raging. Then he glanced up and saw her. As their eyes met, a strange sensation twisted in her tummy.

"George Knight," she whispered under her breath, "what is it you do to me?" Her feet started moving towards him despite her reluctance. She hated the way her mind blanked and she could barely form a coherent sentence around him, but the draw to be close to him was impossible to ignore.

He rose as she approached, a smile stretching his lips. She'd heard people accuse him of being arrogant, but that was exactly what she liked about him. George Knight was confident, focused, and knew exactly where he was going. She had no doubt he would get there and leave his critics standing in his dust.

"Hello," she said tentatively. "I wanted to apologize about the other night. I forgot to thank you for your help."

"No need. You'd just been in an accident, Sandra. You probably weren't quite yourself." He indicated an empty chair. "Join me?"

"Oh." Sandra's stupid cheeks heated and she tried to will the blush away. "Thank you." She pulled out the plastic chair and sat opposite him.

"Ah, excuse me." George grabbed a pen lying on the white Formica table and filled out a word in the _Times_ newspaper crossword. "I've been puzzling over that clue since I sat down and the answer just came to me."

He tucked the pen in the breast pocket of his white coat and folded away the newspaper, giving her his full attention.

Sandra swallowed and nervously pushed the glasses up the bridge of her nose, then mentally chided herself for doing so. It was such a nerdy thing to do. "I might have been in shock the other night, but that doesn't excuse my not thanking you. If there's ever anything I can do to help you, just ask."

"Thank you. I'll remember that." He smiled again, his chiseled lips stretching, tiny lines fanning out beside his eyes—those lips and those eyes that filled her dreams. With his dark hair and classic good looks, he was such a handsome man that it was hard not to stare at him. But it wasn't just his looks she liked. He had an aura of strength about him, as though nothing could knock him back.

Sandra took a bite of her sandwich and chewed awkwardly, her mouth dry, her insides all warm and squishy from being so close to George.

"Actually," he said, lines crinkling his forehead in thought, "there is something I need help with."

"Of course. What is it?" Sandra nodded, relieved to be able to return his kindness.

"One of my school friends is getting married in a few days and I need a date."

Sandra's mouth fell open. Had she heard right? "You want me to come to a wedding with you?"

"Yes, if you can get the time off. I'd be very grateful. In the interest of full disclosure, it's so my parents don't make me take their friends' daughter."

So this wasn't _really_ a date. Sandra's little burst of hope faded. "What's wrong with this other woman?"

"She's perfectly nice, just not my type."

"Oh." The woman must be really plain and boring if he'd rather have Sandra's company. She'd learned at school that boys didn't consider her pretty or entertaining company. Most of the girls hadn't liked her much either. She'd been bullied for being a four-eyed geek. She got along fine with people in a work environment; she just wasn't very good at social stuff. Normally she'd rather work than attend a wedding, but it was worth going to spend the day with George.

Shivery excitement raced through her and she squashed it down, reminding herself this was _not_ a real date.

"Okay, then. I'd love to." She tried to sound casual.

"I'll help you arrange cover at work if you need me to."

"I should be able to swap a day." Sandra took a sip of orange juice.

"You'll need three days off."

The orange juice went down the wrong way and Sandra spluttered all over the table, hastily mopping at drips with a napkin, her eyes running as she coughed.

George jumped up and came around the table to thump her on the back as everyone in the cafeteria paused to stare at her.

"Why three days?" she croaked as soon as she could draw breath without coughing.

"The wedding's in Scotland. Two days traveling and a day there," he said matter-of-factly. "Don't worry about the hotel. I'll pay for your room as you're doing me a favor."

Hotel? Room? Sandra had thought she was committing to an afternoon and evening. Not a trip to Scotland for three days.

"You haven't changed your mind, have you?" George regained his seat and frowned at her.

She could hardly back out now. And why would she want to? Three days in Scotland with George Knight was a dream come true. Or it would be if it were a real date.

• • •

Sandra slammed the taxi door and hurried into the cavernous interior of King's Cross station, her small battered suitcase in her hand. She was due to meet George at eight forty-five, and she only had a few minutes to find him. She hated rushing, but she'd overslept after another thirty-six hours on call. She'd barely had time for a bath and to wash her hair. As it was, she hadn't had time to dry her hair properly, so she'd put it in a French braid this morning.

She threaded her way through the commuters streaming into London from the suburbs to work in the offices and shops. Despite the sea of people walking every which way, she spotted George easily as he stood a few inches taller than most people. He waited outside the cafe where they'd agreed to meet.

When he caught sight of her he smiled, and the usual warm, fuzzy feeling unfurled inside her as their gazes met. Since the bicycle incident, she'd relaxed the iron grip she kept on her feelings for him, and they had grown exponentially. She was terribly afraid she was falling in love with him. Was it too late to stop?

He'd only invited her today so he could avoid his parents' matchmaking. If she fell in love with him she was bound to get hurt. All she could do was be aware of the danger and try to keep a check on her wild imaginings that he might really be attracted to her. Yet as she approached and fell into the warm welcome in his brown eyes, she had trouble remembering this was not a real date.

"Hello. You're right on time." George took her suitcase and pointed along the row of platforms. "Our train's over there. My parents and the Featheringtons are already on board."

"Featheringtons? Wasn't it Celia Featherington you wanted to avoid?"

"I didn't want to take her as my date. She's still coming with us. She's my godfather's daughter."

Sandra's eyebrows rose and she sucked in a breath. This was going to be a fun journey. Although she knew his parents were attending the wedding, it hadn't really sunk in that she'd have to travel with them, let alone sit and make small talk with the spurned woman.

Oblivious to her concerns, George led her through the crowd, turned onto a platform, and headed past the second-class carriages. When he reached first class, he opened the door to the restaurant car. "They're in here." He stood back for her to step inside.

A frisson of unease passed through Sandra as she stepped up into the carriage and waited for George to board and stow the suitcases in the luggage rack. She knew he came from a wealthy family, but it hadn't occurred to her they'd be traveling first class.

He must have noticed her expression as he folded his large, warm hand around hers and squeezed. "It'll be fine. Don't worry. The parents are rather old school, but they don't bite."

Sandra pasted on a smile in defiance of the nerves dive-bombing her insides. It was a good thing she hadn't thought this through properly; otherwise, she might not have come.

George kept hold of her hand and led her into the carriage. The restaurant car boasted plush burgundy seats and polished wooden tables set for breakfast with silverware and napkins. The heavenly smell of coffee, toast, and frying bacon permeated the air and her stomach rumbled. Sandra often caught the train from London to Hampshire to visit her parents, but she'd never traveled in such style.

They stopped beside a table where four people were already drinking coffee. "This is Sandra Fisher," George announced. "Sandra, these are my parents, Colonel and Mrs. Knight." He glanced at a distinguished couple who had an air of superiority. They were older than she'd expected, both gray-haired, but perfectly turned out. Colonel Knight wore an army uniform and Mrs. Knight a yellow silk dress with a cream jacket and pearls, as if she were already prepared for the wedding. Sandra might have felt underdressed in jeans and a blouse she normally wore for work, if George hadn't been even more casual in faded Levis and a padded ski jacket.

George's mother offered a cool, polite smile that left her in no doubt she was there under sufferance and they were _not_ pleased to see her.

"Hello. Nice to meet you," she said, her mouth awkward with nerves. If she'd met these people at work, she'd have handled them perfectly well. When she put on her white coat, it was like being an actor on stage. The professional role gave her confidence she didn't possess in social situations when she was plain Sandra Fisher.

George shifted his attention to the other two people at the table. "This is my godfather, Harold Featherington, and his daughter, Celia."

Sandra followed his gaze, briefly noting the warm smile on the man's face before taking in the young woman. She froze with shock. She'd been expecting someone plain and dowdy, but Celia could be a model with her sleek blonde hair, perfect makeup, and designer clothes.

"Hello," Sandra mumbled. Mr. Featherington smiled and greeted her back, but his daughter's green eyes widened then narrowed, and her small pert nose crinkled as though she'd smelled something bad.

"Is this a joke?" She glared at George.

Celia's gaze raked over Sandra dismissively and George's hand tightened around hers. "I don't know what you mean."

"I mean that you can't be serious about..." Celia pulled a disgusted face and angled a long red fingernail towards Sandra.

"Celia, shh." Mr. Featherington grabbed her wrist and pulled her pointing finger down.

George released Sandra's hand, leaving her cast adrift, her heart pounding in mortification. She was used to being bullied by girls like Celia, beautiful girls who seemed to get along with everyone effortlessly, but she'd thought she had left that behind at school.

Then George's arm came around her shoulders, pulling her flush with his side. Calm ran through her as if he'd surrounded her with his strength.

"I'm deadly serious, Celia. And I won't have you make Sandra feel unwelcome." He'd pitched his voice low, but it carried such a weight of authority that it sliced through the awkward atmosphere like a scalpel. Even his parents shifted uncomfortably in their seats.

Celia shrank back and Sandra almost felt sorry for her. But if this stunning woman had wanted a date for the wedding, she could easily have found one. With her looks, she must have men falling at her feet. The thing that puzzled Sandra was why George wasn't one of them.

# Chapter Three

Sandra sat at a table in the trendy Italian restaurant where they were eating dinner, feeling surprisingly chilled out. Despite the train journey to Scotland starting out badly with the uncomfortable introductions to George's parents and their friends, the rest of the journey had been fun.

In the train's restaurant car, Sandra and George had a table to themselves. The trip had passed without her having to exchange more than a few words with his parents.

They were served with a full English breakfast by a waiter and then spent an entertaining hour completing the _Times_ cryptic crossword—or George completed it and Sandra offered suggestions where she could. Her brain didn't really work like that. The way George fathomed out the clues and came up with answers amazed her.

Next they settled back with a cup of coffee and chatted as the English countryside whizzed past the window, and people climbed on and off the train at various stations. George asked her about her family and her plans for the future, then spoke at length about how he saw his life unfolding, especially his goal to make brigadier by the age of forty-five.

Her hope that he might only stay in the army for a couple of years disappeared when she realized he was totally dedicated to life as a military doctor. His father had been in the army since he was a young man, and George had grown up expecting to follow the same path.

Eventually Sandra's busy week had caught up with her and she'd snoozed for the last hour of the journey, waking with her head on George's shoulder. Any embarrassment she might have felt was forgotten in the rush to put on their coats and gather their belongings before disembarking at Edinburgh.

A taxi ride had brought them to this small, luxurious hotel just off the Royal Mile, a short walk from the Edinburgh cathedral where the wedding service was due to take place the following day.

"How do you like your risotto, my dear?" Mr. Featherington beamed at her. In contrast to George's distantly polite parents, Harold, as he'd asked her to call him, was warm and friendly. She suspected he was trying to make up for his daughter's rudeness. Celia ignored Sandra while she chatted with Mrs. Knight about an endless succession of topics, her hands dancing in the air to illustrate her points, her words punctuated by her musical laugh.

Celia was like a bubbly, overflowing flute of champagne, full of energy and enthusiasm for everything she spoke about, as well as elegant and beautiful. Men at the surrounding tables glanced at her, admiration in their eyes. It still mystified Sandra that George had wanted to avoid being Celia's date for the wedding. She was everything Sandra wasn't and never would be.

George was attentive, passing Sandra the dish of vegetables, offering her wine, and topping off her water glass. A couple of times his hand brushed hers and tingles ran up her arm, bringing heat to her cheeks. When their eyes met, she had difficulty pulling her gaze away. She had to keep reminding herself this was not a proper date, because it sure felt like one.

When the dessert dishes had been cleared away, George checked his watch and put his napkin on the table. "I'm due to meet Robert Mackenzie in the bar in five minutes. I'll see you all in the morning. We don't have to be at the cathedral until two; shall we meet at nine thirty for breakfast?"

Everyone murmured their agreement, then he turned to her. "I know you're tired, but I'd like to introduce you to Robert."

"I'd love to meet your friend." As Sandra rose, she noticed George's mother eyeing her with disapproval. It couldn't be more obvious that she was not what they wanted for their son. And she didn't blame them. In their eyes, she surely wasn't much of a catch compared with the beautiful socialite Celia.

"I'll come, too. I'd love to see Rob again before he gets hitched." Celia jumped to her feet, her skintight black dress hugging her slender body, her sleek, straight golden hair cascading down her back. She clutched a black silk purse that matched her dress and rounded the table to link her arm through George's. Her chin high, she shot Sandra a gaze full of challenge.

If Celia thought she could manipulate George, she was sorely mistaken. Despite the other woman tugging him to move, he waited while Sandra picked up the cardigan she'd hung on the back of her chair and looped her handbag strap over her shoulder, then he offered his other arm for her to slip her hand through.

Awkwardly, the threesome made their way between the tables towards the foyer. A couple of times when Sandra tried to disengage her arm to walk behind as they squeezed along the narrow aisle, George clamped his arm to his side to keep her from pulling away.

They strolled through the modern reception area, their heels clicking on the polished marble floor. Celia talked loudly, flicking back the silky golden strands of her hair, effortlessly stealing the show while Sandra couldn't think of anything she needed to say. She hadn't been gifted with the ability to make social small talk. She was far more comfortable in a hospital environment where she knew what was expected of her.

The trendy bar did not suit Sandra. She felt like a fish out of water. With a shiny red bar and matching stools, a multitude of silver globe lights, and walls covered in modern art, it was _not_ her sort of place. Having grown up near a small English market town where she lived in a fifteenth-century cottage, she was more comfortable in traditional surroundings.

An attractive dark-haired man holding a glass of whiskey stood and raised a hand in greeting as they entered. "George, how are you? How was the journey up?"

"Very good." George released both women's arms to shake hands with his friend and slap him on the back. "So, how do you feel on your last evening of freedom?"

The Scotsman gave a wry smile. "I'm fed up with all the preparations. I'll be pleased when the wedding's over."

"Don't say that, Rob. It should be the happiest day of your life." Celia threw her arms around the man and planted a kiss on his lips.

He didn't seem in any hurry to disentangle himself. "Celia, darling. You look ravishing as always."

Sandra was just starting to feel uncomfortable when George took her hand and eased her closer to his side. "This is Sandra Fisher. She works at the hospital with me."

"Pleased to meet you, Sandra." Robert Mackenzie shook her hand. "You're a doctor, too?"

"Yes. We were at Oxford together."

"Ah, the hallowed halls of learning. I always thought George needed a brainy girlfriend who could keep up with him. It's nice to meet you."

They moved to a quiet table where the two men chatted about old friends and future plans. Celia joined in the conversation. It seemed she'd been part of their social group for long enough to know everyone they did. Sandra sipped her white wine and listened quietly. After twenty minutes, she set down her glass and picked up her handbag.

"The busy day's finally caught up with me."

George rose as she did. "Would you like me to walk you up?"

"No. You stay with your friends. I'll see you for breakfast tomorrow."

He leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. His move was so unexpected that the kiss she'd fantasized about for years was over before she even knew it had started. All she remembered was the warmth of his lips and the slight roughness of stubble against her skin.

She stood frozen for a moment before she regained her senses and cleared her throat. "Well, good night then. It was nice to meet you, Robert. Good luck for tomorrow."

Avoiding Celia's gaze, she turned and hurried away. The moment she reached the foyer, her hand went to her mouth. George Knight had kissed her. Her brain was so full of cotton wool, she didn't know what to make of this.

Light-headed, as if in a dream, she headed for the elevators, rode to her floor, and found her room. After changing into the oversized T-shirt she slept in, she stood in front of the mirror and took her hair out of its French braid before brushing it out.

Placing her glasses on the nightstand, she climbed into bed and switched off the light. Lying in the dark, she relived the kiss again and again, trying to remember every sensation. A shivery giggle burst from her lips and she hugged the covers around her body. George had kissed her!

• • •

Pounding on the bedroom door woke Sandra. She blinked and glanced at the bedside clock. She'd only been asleep for an hour. Sliding out of bed, she hurried to the door, wondering what the emergency was.

Peeping outside, she found Celia dressed in a slinky blue nightdress, but the confident beauty of earlier had morphed into a frantic woman. Celia speared her fingers through her hair, gripping the back of her head, her face a mask of distress. "Are you a doctor?"

"Yes." Sandra nodded. "Are you ill?"

"Not me. It's Dad. He came to my room saying he felt nauseated and his chest was tight. I told him to lie down on the bed while I fetched his meds from his room. Now he's not breathing."

Sandra's heart jumped and pounded as she slipped into professional mode. "I'm coming." She donned her glasses and snatched up her key before dashing out of the room and hurrying past four doors to the one that Celia was fumbling to unlock.

"What sort of medication does your father take?"

"A few things, including little tablets he puts under his tongue."

Glyceryl trinitrate for angina. If Harold had heart disease, it was possible he'd gone into cardiac arrest. Sandra chewed on her lip, gathering her wits, preparing for what she would find inside. The moment Celia got the door open, Sandra slipped past her and headed for the bed.

Harold Featherington lay flat on his back, his head on the pillow. He might have been sleeping except for his extreme pallor and the sheen of sweat on his face. Kneeling on the bed at his side, Sandra shook the man's shoulder. "Harold, Mr. Featherington, can you hear me?" No response. She leaned down with her ear over his mouth, listening for breathing while she pressed her fingers to his neck and felt for his carotid pulse. No pulse or respiration.

"Is he all right?" Celia asked.

"Phone 999 for an ambulance, and when you've done that, fetch George."

"I don't know his room number."

"Then call reception." Sandra turned down the covers and unbuttoned the man's pajama top.

Celia's voice sounded but Sandra tuned her out. She needed to concentrate. It was vital that she restore cardiopulmonary blood flow immediately to prevent brain and organ damage. She pulled the pillow out from beneath Harold's head and tilted his chin up, checking inside his mouth for any obstruction.

Then she pinched his nostrils, put her mouth to his, and blew out two breaths slowly before starting chest compressions. She linked her fingers, placed the heel of her right hand over his sternum, and pushed hard and fast thirty times, counting in her head.

As she continued the CPR, she was vaguely aware of voices and people arriving, but she didn't look up. After what felt like forever, the bed dipped and George climbed on the other side of the mattress. "Let me take over."

Wrists and shoulders aching, she stopped and sat back on her heels, pressing her fingers to Harold's carotid pulse. George put his linked hands on his godfather's chest, ready to resume the compressions.

Her tension eased as she felt a thready beat. "He has a pulse."

George put his ear over Harold's mouth and Sandra watched for chest movements. "He's breathing as well," George said. The shallow rise and fall of the man's chest confirmed the observation.

Relief swept through her, greater than anything she'd ever felt before. She was always pleased when her treatment had a successful outcome, but this was different. Harold Featherington was important to George.

Together, they bent Harold's leg and arm and rolled him into the recovery position, before pulling up the bedcovers to keep him warm.

"Thank you." George's gaze met hers, gratitude shimmering in his eyes.

"From Celia's description, it sounds as though he only went into cardiac arrest a minute or two before I started CPR. Do you want me to wait to talk with the paramedics?"

"No, that's fine. I'll brief them. They'll need a list of his medications as well, and I know what he takes. You go back to bed." He squeezed her hand, then turned his attention to his godfather.

"Uncle Harold." George gripped the man's shoulder and kept repeating his name.

After a few minutes, the patient grunted and groaned. "My chest."

"You're all right. An ambulance is on its way."

"I couldn't breathe." Fear filled the man's breathy tone.

"Don't worry. I'll stay with you."

George sat on the edge of the bed where his godfather could see him, and Celia rushed forward and kneeled on the floor, gripping her father's arm.

"I'm here, Dad. You're going to be all right. They'll take you to the hospital."

Colonel and Mrs. Knight huddled at the side of the room, both clothed in long dressing gowns and slippers. They didn't spare Sandra a glance, all their attention riveted on George, Celia, and Harold.

Sandra climbed off the mattress and pressed a hand to the saggy neckline of the old T-shirt she wore as a nightie, belatedly hoping it hadn't gaped while she was bending over the patient. It fell to mid-thigh, far shorter than any skirt she would wear in public. She tugged at the hem, but that only made the top dip lower.

Aware she must look a fright, she smoothed back her loose hair, but she need not have worried. Nobody even noticed her as she moved quietly around the bottom of the bed, grabbed her key from where she'd dropped it on a table, and left the room.

Her heart still pounding with the aftermath of the tension, she let herself into her door. She prayed Harold would recover. Apart from George, he was the only one of the party who'd made an effort to make her feel welcome.

After washing her hands and face, then brushing her teeth, she slid into bed, only to be disturbed a few minutes later by another knock on the door.

"Sandra. It's me, George."

She slid out of bed and pulled on a cardigan, holding it closed. A waste of time as he'd already seen her in the least flattering piece of clothing she owned. Next time she stayed in a hotel, she would pack a pretty nightie, not a faded, baggy T-shirt with a picture of a cartoon dog on the front.

Pulling open the door, she found George dressed in jeans and his padded ski jacket. "I thought you'd like an update. The paramedics are taking Harold down in the elevator now. Celia and I are going to follow in a taxi. I'm not sure how long I'll be at the hospital, but I'll come back in time to attend the wedding. If I don't see you before, meet me in reception here at one thirty tomorrow."

"Okay. I hope Harold's condition stabilizes and he has a good night."

"He stands an excellent chance, thanks to your quick action."

Sandra opened her mouth to reply but before she could, George pulled her into his embrace. Strong arms gathered her to his chest and held her tight; the warmth of his lips pressed to her temple. "Thank you so much. You were great."

She closed her eyes, the sensation of his hard, masculine body pressed against her making her senses swim. She breathed in the spicy smell of him, and her arms folded around his waist of their own accord. Never in a million years had she expected to find herself in George's arms like this. It was something she dreamed about when she was alone in bed, something she'd thought quite impossible.

His stroked her hair back. "Sandra."

"Yes." She turned her face up and he lowered his head to meet her. His lips moved over hers, warm and firm, a delicious sensation racing through her. Then Celia called George's name.

"Must go," he whispered. "See you tomorrow in the foyer at one thirty." Then he released her and backed away.

Sandra stood at the door of her room and watched him stride towards the bank of elevators. Celia waited for him halfway down the corridor. When he reached her, she clung to his side and he put his arm around her waist.

As Sandra climbed back into bed, her thoughts raced in all directions, jumping from the medical emergency to George's kiss to Celia.

George had brought her to the wedding, but it was only a fake date. Or was it? She had no idea what to think after that passionate kiss.

# Chapter Four

Sandra paused in the door to the hotel's light, airy breakfast room and scanned the tables, looking for anyone from her party. Not that she expected them to be here. George and Celia had no doubt spent most of the night at the hospital with Mr. Featherington, and it was likely the Knights had gone there as well.

When she realized none of them were here, she chose an unoccupied table with its bright red-checkered tablecloth and took a seat. Almost immediately, a waitress appeared to take her order for a pot of English breakfast tea and a bowl of granola.

The tea had arrived and she was tipping the teapot over her cup when she caught sight of Colonel and Mrs. Knight entering the room. Sandra ducked her head, pretending a fascination with the dark liquid flowing from the spout, and hoped the Knights either didn't see her or chose to pretend they hadn't.

She'd rather sit alone than suffer through an awkward, stilted conversation with George's parents.

Her heart sank as the older couple threaded their way between the tables towards her. When they arrived, she put on a smile and looked up. "Good morning. I hope you slept well."

Instead of Mrs. Knight's usual indifferent expression, the woman beamed a bright smile that changed her whole demeanor. She took the chair beside Sandra and angled her body closer. "Good morning, my dear. We slept very well, thank you, despite the night's distressing episode. George spent the early hours at the hospital with Celia and tells us Harold is stable now. I can't tell you how grateful we are that you were here to revive him."

Colonel Knight mumbled his agreement and wished her good morning.

Sandra's cheeks heated at the unexpected praise, her mind racing to catch up with this sudden change in the Knights's attitude. "Thank you, Mrs. Knight. But I am a doctor. I was just doing my job."

"And you did it very well. We were both impressed. When we met you, we overlooked the fact you're a qualified professional. I'm sorry, dear."

Was that an apology for the way they'd cold-shouldered her? It sounded like it.

"Anyway." Mrs. Knight covered Sandra's hand with her own bejeweled one. "We want you to know that we're very pleased you're here this weekend, don't we, John?"

She glanced at her husband, who grunted again. "Absolutely."

"We're heading to the hospital this morning to visit Harold. Would you like to come with us?"

"Yes, that would be great. Thank you." Mr. Featherington was a dear man and she'd like the chance to see him again.

"That's settled then." Mrs. Knight placed her breakfast order, gifting Sandra with frequent smiles that lit up her face. She really was an attractive woman when she wasn't scowling. This must be where George got his good looks from.

Once they'd finished breakfast, they all returned to their rooms for a few minutes before meeting in the foyer. A taxi picked them up outside the hotel doors and wound through the city traffic to the hospital.

Harold had spent the night in intensive care but early that morning, they'd moved him to a normal ward.

As soon as Harold saw them, he lifted a hand off the bedcovers and held it out to Sandra. "You are my guardian angel, Miss Fisher. George tells me you saved my life."

With a burst of pleasure, Sandra took the offered hand. "I'm glad I was there when you needed me."

"So am I." He patted his chest. "This rusty old ticker is past its expiration date. They tell me I need all sorts of tests to find out what's the matter."

They chatted with the Knights for an hour about Mr. Featherington's heart condition and the coming wedding, then a nurse suggested that Harold needed to rest and they should leave.

A row of taxis parked outside the hospital offered the quickest way back to the hotel. "Do you need to stop for anything," Mrs. Knight asked Sandra as their vehicle moved off.

"Not really."

"What do you have to wear to the wedding?"

"I've brought a long woolen dress for the cold weather. It's one of my favorites, actually. I love the color, a bright berry red."

"Jewelry," Mrs. Knight demanded, her face a mask of concentration as if she were planning a military operation.

Sandra lifted the gold chain at her neck and pulled out the diamond and pearl pendant. "Mum and Dad gave me this for my twenty-first birthday."

"Very pretty."

"I thought I'd pair it with some pearl earrings."

Mrs. Knight nodded approvingly. "I agree. You don't want to overdo the sparklies. You're not the sort of girl who could carry it off."

That sounded like criticism, but from Mrs. Knight's expression, she hadn't intended any offense.

"Let me give you a tip. Wear your hair down this afternoon."

Sandra put a hand to the French twist on the back of her head. She always wore her hair up for work. Having it loose was unhygienic, and it got in the way. And to be honest, she preferred it like this all the time, so it wasn't dangling in her face. "Doesn't it look more sophisticated to wear it up?"

"Men like loose hair," Mrs. Knight said with certainty.

Was George's mother giving her dating advice to entice her son? The thought seemed ludicrous. She was obviously just being kind, trying to make up for her initial coolness.

"Actually..." Mrs. Knight leaned forward and spoke to the taxi driver. "Do you know of a good hairdresser and beautician that might fit us in this morning?"

"Wait, no." But Sandra's words were drowned out by the taxi driver's laugh and reply.

They changed course and stopped outside Hair, Nails & Face, a small salon down a narrow side street where the taxi driver's niece worked.

"Come on, dear." Mrs. Knight stepped out and beckoned Sandra to follow. "We'll see you back at the hotel later, John," she said to her husband. "Stay off the sauce. I don't want to have to prop you up on a pillar during the wedding."

Sandra nearly choked on her laugh and tried to keep a straight face. It was obvious who wore the trousers in this relationship. Colonel Knight frowned but nodded.

Mrs. Knight bustled into the salon and booked them both to have their hair and makeup done. "We just have time before the service."

Sandra drew in a calming breath and released it slowly. She normally wore little makeup and had her hair trimmed occasionally, but all this expensive primping and pampering seemed like a waste of money. Yet if spending a few hours in a salon allowed her to get to know Mrs. Knight better, then maybe it was worth the cost.

• • •

George sat in the hotel bar eating a sandwich, positioned at a table with a view of the elevator. He'd spent most of the night at the hospital with Celia. He'd seen a different side of her last night, a more vulnerable, emotional side that she normally hid behind her bright, confident facade.

The prospect of losing her father obviously terrified her. He'd realized that losing her mother at thirteen must have also had a profound effect on her. A few years ago when that happened, he probably hadn't been as sympathetic and understanding as he should.

In the early hours of the morning, he'd tried to make up for that by providing a strong shoulder for Celia to cry on, and reassurance when it was clear Uncle Harold was stabilized—thanks to Sandra's quick action.

A jolt of feeling shot through him as he remembered bursting into Harold's room to find Sandra administering CPR. She'd handled the situation calmly and professionally, and been there when she was needed to save his uncle's life, been there when he hadn't.

The odds were that without Sandra's intervention, Harold would not be in recovery but in the mortuary.

When Celia thanked him for all he'd done for her father, George made sure she understood that it was Sandra who'd made the difference, not him.

He finished his sandwich and brushed his hands together to knock off the crumbs, then checked his watch. Sandra should come down at any moment, so he rose and headed out to the foyer. She would be on time. In his experience, Sandra was always reliable.

The elevator doors swished open and she stepped out. George's pace faltered and he paused, a pulse of heat racing along his nerves. He'd admired her dedication in college and thought she was pretty in an understated way, but over the last few days his admiration for her had grown. And now...

His heart raced as his gaze skimmed her curves. Her glossy dark hair fell loose over her shoulders while a red dress clung to her slender form from her neck to just below her knees. The only skin on display was her shapely calves clad in nylons, yet the modest dress was far more tantalizing than the short skirts and low tops many women wore.

There was something demure and secretive about Sandra that would make the pleasure of winning her trust so much more satisfying.

She wasn't wearing her glasses and those large hazel eyes of hers drew his attention. She really was much prettier than he'd realized while they were at college.

Her gaze skated over him but instead of smiling in recognition and moving towards him, she didn't react. Frowning, she walked forward and bumped into a table. A man nearby jumped to assist. He grasped her elbow, lowering his head with a smile as he talked to her while someone else hastened to grab the wobbling vase of flowers about to topple.

Her rescuer's arm crept around her waist and he tried to guide her to a chair. It seemed another man had noticed how pretty she was as well. George snapped out of his daze and strode across the room.

"It's all right. She's with me." He moved in front of the man who was pawing her and cut him off, sliding his own arm around Sandra's waist. She squinted up at him, looking disoriented. Was she sick?

"What's the matter, love? Do you want to sit down?"

"Oh, George. Thank goodness it's you. When that man caught my elbow, I thought he was you to start with. Then he wouldn't let go."

Protective feelings welled in George's chest. He wrapped his arms around her and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. Holding her close, he whispered, "If you're not well, you don't have to come to the wedding."

"I'm fine." She fumbled in her handbag and took out her glasses, then slipped them on. "That's better." Her breath rushed out on a sigh. "Your mother suggested I go without my glasses this afternoon, but I really am as blind as a bat. I'll have to wear them to the wedding. I hope you don't mind."

"Why would I mind?" What on earth had his mother said to her? As he examined her face, he noticed she was wearing more makeup than usual, and she didn't smell of the light floral perfume she normally used. A stronger, sweeter smell rose from her hair.

"Did Mum take you to a beauty salon?"

"Yes. We visited Harold this morning and afterwards she wanted me to have my hair and makeup done for the wedding. She was so insistent, it was difficult to say no."

George knew, only too well, that when his mother set her mind on something it was near impossible to go against her.

"You look beautiful." And she did. The makeup was light and natural, a shimmer of dusky brown on her eyelids, a stroke of pink on her cheeks, and shiny lip gloss that made her full lips very inviting.

He sucked in a breath and stepped back. In the last couple of weeks, Sandra had worked her way under his skin. While he'd kept vigil over Harold with Celia, it was Sandra who'd filled his thoughts.

He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. Her eyebrows rose and he simply smiled. George had always believed that when he met the right woman he would know it—and Sandra was the one. Now he had to decide what to do about it.

# Chapter Five

After the wedding ceremony, they headed for the reception. Colonel and Mrs. Knight stepped out of the taxi, then George climbed out and offered Sandra his hand. Elegantly dressed wedding guests swarmed past her as she gazed up at the grand facade of the exclusive five-star hotel where the reception was taking place.

It hadn't occurred to Sandra that being married in a cathedral was unusual until they'd arrived there for the service. The roads approaching Saint Mary's Cathedral had been cordoned off to traffic while the nineteenth-century edifice had barriers erected around the entrance to keep the photographers and spectators back.

George had calmly informed her that his friend Robert was actually Sir Robert Mackenzie, who had recently inherited a huge swath of the Scottish Highlands and a castle. Yet he wasn't the one the paparazzi were gathered at the barriers to photograph. His stunning redheaded bride, Lady Moira Graham, was a well-known socialite and the daughter of the Earl of Belford.

Cameras had flashed at Sandra and George as they'd followed his parents into the cathedral. Sandra would have bought a new dress if she'd known what a prestigious social event this would be. She was grateful Mrs. Knight had dragged her to the beauty parlor, although she was fairly certain that her face would _not_ appear in the newspapers.

She slipped her hand through George's offered arm and joined the slow-moving trail of well-dressed people waiting to go in the hotel entrance to find their seats for the reception.

Once they entered, George pulled Sandra aside. "I want to find a pay phone to call the hospital and check up on Harold. Do you mind waiting with me for a few minutes?"

"Of course not. I'd love to have an update on him."

They located a phone booth tucked away in a corridor that led to the bathrooms. Sandra leaned against the wall while George pumped in some coins and dialed the hospital. She listened while he spoke to the matron in charge of the ward.

George released a satisfied sigh as he hung up the receiver. "He's off oxygen and sitting up. They don't think it was a heart attack, but he definitely suffered cardiac arrest following ventricular fibrillation."

"I suppose that's a relief, although they need to do more tests." It was often difficult to know what caused an arrhythmia, but if Harold suffered angina, it was likely he had some degree of coronary heart disease. This was something a cardiologist needed to investigate.

They rejoined the throng of people in the hotel foyer and made their way into a huge ballroom decorated with alternating banners of black and gold and blue and yellow, the coats of arms of the Grahams and the Mackenzies. Plaid napkins and chair sashes provided bright splashes of color against the starched linen tablecloths.

The main wedding party was already seated at the head table while other guests found their places at the round tables positioned along the edge of a central dance floor.

A concierge at the door asked for their names and directed them to their table halfway down the room. George's parents were already seated, Mrs. Knight deep in conversation with a woman of her own age wearing a bright cerise dress and matching hat covered in feathers.

"George, darling. Sandra, dear." Mrs. Knight beckoned them vigorously. "Did you check up on Harold? How is he?"

"Improving." George stood aside to let Sandra take her seat first.

"John, you move. I want Sandra to sit beside me." Mrs. Knight shooed her husband a few seats to her right.

"Thank you, Colonel Knight," Sandra said softly as they passed. He nodded in acknowledgment.

She and George sat between his parents. Mrs. Knight immediately laid her hand on Sandra's arm and drew her into the conversation with the feathered-hat lady. "This is my son's girlfriend, Sandra. She's a doctor like George." She then went on to describe in melodramatic terms the drama of the previous night, making Sandra sound like a movie heroine who'd risked her life to save Harold.

A couple of times Sandra tried to butt in to add a touch of realism and play down her actions, but once Mrs. Knight got going, there was no stopping her. In the end, Sandra simply smiled and nodded at the oohs and ahhs as everyone around the table became enthralled with the story.

Embarrassed to be the center of attention, particularly when she didn't deserve this much praise for doing what any responsible doctor would do, she cast George a sheepish glance. He had the side of his hand pressed to his mouth to stifle a grin, his eyes crinkled with mirth.

Leaning her head towards him, she whispered, "Can't you say something to stop her?"

"When she's having so much fun?"

Sandra chuckled and poked him in the side with her elbow. "You're enjoying this."

"Whatever gave you that idea?" He grinned, all white teeth and twinkling brown eyes. Her heart danced and soared. This was a side of George she'd never seen before. He was normally so serious and disciplined, so like her, she realized. He'd let his guard down today and so had she.

Because she'd been bruised too many times at school by fake friends and bullies, she'd erected defenses that few people ever earned the right to breach. But George had sneaked in and taken up residence in her heart.

The sumptuous dinner was followed by wedding speeches. Robert Mackenzie was handsome in a dark jacket and his Mackenzie plaid kilt of green and blue; his bride, Lady Moira, was a stunning petite redhead in an ivory taffeta dress with a tiara nestled in the folds of her hair. One of Moira's brothers, Lord Alex Graham, was the best man. He gave an amusing speech that had the whole room laughing as he related some of the things he remembered Robert doing at school.

Moira's father, the Earl of Belford, was a politician. Like all politicians he spoke for too long, but Sandra didn't mind how long the speeches lasted. Underneath the tablecloth, away from prying eyes, George held her hand. Every time he leaned close to whisper something in her ear, his warm breath sent tingles racing across her skin.

After the speeches, the bride and groom wandered between the tables, chatting with friends and relatives, thanking people for their gifts. They stopped for a few minutes at the Knights's table and Robert introduced Sandra to Moira.

Then Lord Alex Graham made a beeline for George. He had the same dark red hair as Moira, and looked to be about thirty. He held out his hand as George rose to talk to him. "How are you? I haven't seen you since I left school."

"I'm very well. I hear you joined the navy."

"And you followed Colonel Knight into the army."

The two men chatted about what they'd been doing, then Alex moved on to speak to a few other people before returning to his seat.

Once the meal was finished and the dishes cleared away, the lights dimmed. A band in the gallery struck up, playing a mixture of contemporary and classical tunes.

When a slow song started, George stood, a smile on his lips and a question in his eyes. "Will you dance with me?"

"I'd love to." Sandra slipped her fingers into his, and rose. He led her to the dance floor where the older guests were trying to waltz to the modern tune. Circling his arms around her waist, he drew her close.

She leaned a cheek on his chest and closed her eyes, the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear both exciting and reassuring. George was an enigma. He _was_ the man she'd thought him to be, strong, self-confident, and driven. But he had a softer side that she hadn't seen before this trip. Both sides of him fascinated and attracted her.

As the solid masculine length of his body moved against her and his hand traveled in lazy circles on her back, a languid heat flowed along Sandra's veins. Dancing in George's arms was the fantasy she'd imagined so many nights as she fell asleep, a fantasy she had never believed would come true. But her imaginings had never felt this good.

She breathed in the enticing smell of him and released her breath on a satisfied sigh.

He angled down his head and whispered, "All right?" His mouth brushed her ear, drawing a tiny gasp of longing from her lips. Last night's kiss seemed like a dream now. She hoped he would give her another to refresh her memory.

The usual fuzzy feeling filled her brain so she could barely think, but for once she didn't mind.

None of her previous boyfriends had filled her with this sizzling heat that made her wish she and George were pressed together somewhere private.

His lips brushed her temple and his fingertips sank into her hair and caressed her neck, sending a cascade of sensation down her spine.

He'd pretended this wasn't a proper date, but unless he was a very good actor, he hadn't been honest. He must have feelings for her or why would he behave this way?

And she most definitely had feelings for him—she'd fallen in love. Or maybe she'd already been in love with him but hadn't admitted it to herself?

Although falling in love with an army doctor who would be away most of the time was not part of her life plan, Cupid apparently didn't care about plans.

• • •

Cheery Christmas music played while colorful strings of foil decorations made the white and stainless steel hospital cafeteria a little less utilitarian than usual.

The nurses sitting at the next table to George wore scrub tops decorated with Christmas cartoon characters. "Going anywhere nice for Christmas, Captain Knight," a pretty nurse with short blonde hair asked. She cast him a flirty sideways glance and the others giggled.

"I'm spending Christmas with my girlfriend at her parents' place." He gave a perfunctory smile and turned his attention back to the important sheet of paper in his hand, hoping they left him alone. He didn't want Sandra to find him chatting with four pretty nurses just before he announced he was going away.

He stirred his coffee and reread the letter containing his new orders, a buzz of suppressed excitement running along his nerves. He'd been waiting to be re-posted, eager to discover the location. Where the army sent him was an indication of how they viewed his potential, and his next posting suggested they were planning to fast-track him to promotion.

Instead of the normal deployment to Northern Ireland that he'd expected, he was being sent on three months of Arctic warfare training in Norway with a joint forces team of medics under the command of the Royal Marines. They were going to practice setting up a field hospital in inhospitable and challenging conditions.

The opportunity for this new experience and the confirmation that the army saw him as a high flyer pleased him, but he was not quite as thrilled as he would have been a few weeks ago, before he started dating Sandra.

Since the trip to Scotland they'd grown closer, meeting regularly for meal breaks during their shifts. When they both had the time off, they went out on dates. He'd taken her to the new James Bond movie, and to a nice Italian restaurant. A couple of nights she'd cooked for him at her small studio apartment, and she'd also come for Sunday lunch at his parents' house.

He sipped his coffee and tapped the folded letter on the white Formica table. Things were going well between them, but Sandra would not be happy that after Christmas he'd disappear off to Norway for three months.

His gaze rose to the swinging doors that led to the cafeteria as Sandra pushed them open. His gut instinct told him she was right for him and he didn't want to lose her.

She wove her way between the tables, a shy smile on her face as she glanced at him. Her hair was up and her glasses disguised her pretty face. In her white coat and flat black shoes, she moved across the room unobtrusively, not a single person glancing up to watch her pass. But George had seen behind that disguise to the beautiful woman beneath. She couldn't hide from him anymore.

A tight, almost painful sensation clutched his heart as he rose to meet her. He didn't want to be parted from her for three months. Not when they had only just found each other. When he'd made his plans to marry a sensible woman who would deal with his absences without a fuss, it hadn't occurred to him that _he_ might not want to be away from _her_. George put his arms around Sandra and kissed her for rather longer than he meant to.

The nurses at the next table giggled and Sandra's cheeks were flushed when she pulled away. She cast an embarrassed glance over her shoulder and dropped into a chair with her back to the other women.

"Don't take any notice of them," he whispered, catching hold of her hand across the table.

She lowered her lashes, color staining her cheeks.

George couldn't resist lifting her knuckles to his lips and pressing a kiss there.

While she was working, Sandra came across as confident and capable, but underneath, he'd discovered, she was anything but confident. The way she'd kept to herself in college now made sense. Somebody in the past had knocked her self-esteem.

The thought of her being hurt made him long to pull her onto his lap and cuddle her, but she'd probably pull away if he tried that here. He suppressed a smile at the thought. His Sandra was a shy little thing when others were around. It was only when they were alone together that her passionate nature emerged.

In a few short weeks she had worked her way into his heart, and he didn't want to lose her. It would most likely be impossible to phone home when he was out in the snowy wilds of Norway. A man and woman needed a strong, trusting relationship to weather such a separation.

The thought sobered him and his humor faded. "I've received my orders." It was best for her to read the details herself, so he pushed the folded sheet of paper across the table.

With a questioning glance, she picked up the letter and examined it.

"You mentioned Northern Ireland?"

"I was wrong. This is better for my career. This shows they've recognized my potential."

"I'm pleased then. Well done." Sandra reached across the table and squeezed his arm, but her voice was flat and her cheeks pale.

He'd known she wouldn't complain, but he also knew her well enough to recognize that the dialogue inside her head was very different from what came out of her mouth. She was upset, and it twisted his heart.

"I know three months sounds like a long time, love, but I _will_ be back."

She smiled, a strange forced expression that didn't touch her eyes. The ache in George's heart expanded to fill his chest. The last thing in the world he wanted to do was hurt her, yet he couldn't avoid it.

She passed back the letter and he gripped her hand in both of his. "It'll be difficult to stay in contact while I'm away, but I'll try. Please write to me. The army is usually pretty good at delivering mail."

Nodding, she pressed her lips together as if trying not to cry. "It's all right. I know the army is your life."

George winced. She was right. Yet he didn't want to lose Sandra. Having an army career didn't mean he couldn't have a wife and children. Other men managed it; surely he could as well. The trouble was that in the three months he was away, Sandra would talk herself into believing he didn't care. By the time he came back, she'd have fortified the wall around herself and shut him out so he couldn't hurt her again.

He had to find a way to prove he loved her and persuade her to wait for him.

# Chapter Six

Sandra should have known her relationship with George was too good to be true. For the last few weeks she'd enjoyed being half of a couple, laughing, confiding in him, and sharing things she would normally do alone. Even the simplest tasks were more fun when done with George.

She'd made the mistake of starting to depend on him. Yet she'd always known he would be posted overseas and go away, so she couldn't complain.

It was her fault she'd let herself get in too deep.

She quashed her morose thoughts and concentrated on the patient notes she was supposed to be reading. She hated how her personal issues were starting to intrude on her work. It was unprofessional.

Directing her attention to the young mother sitting in front of her, she smiled to reassure the woman. "You have hypothyroidism. This means your thyroid gland is not producing enough thyroxine. That's why you're feeling so tired. The good news is that the treatment is simple. We'll prescribe tablets to replace the thyroxine your body isn't producing."

The woman let out a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Doctor. I've been so worn out and run-down, my husband had to take time off work to look after our baby."

"It'll take a few months to get the dosage right, but you should start to feel better straight away."

"Why did my thyroid gland go wrong?"

Sandra reexamined the blood test results that gave the level of thyroid-stimulating hormone present in the patient's blood. The levels were very high, indicating she was producing hardly any thyroxine at all. "It's difficult to be sure, but I suspect a virus attacked your thyroid gland."

"I didn't know viruses could do that."

"Every organ in the body is susceptible to virus attack."

"Even the heart?" The woman pressed a hand to her chest.

"That's unusual, but it does happen on rare occasions. Don't worry, though. The virus that affected your thyroid gland won't attack your heart." Sandra stood and ushered the woman towards the door. "Make an appointment with your GP for a follow-up appointment next week."

As she closed the door behind the last patient of her morning clinic, she laid a hand over her own aching heart. The most deadly virus of all was love. It attacked the heart _and_ the mind.

She slumped down in her chair and stared at the desk clock. In two minutes she was due to meet George in the cafeteria for lunch. Normally she looked forward to this precious time with him. She'd been eager to take him home to meet her parents as well. He was supposed to stay with them over Christmas.

But what was the point if immediately after Christmas he was going to Norway?

In the four days since she found out, a sense of gloom had closed around her. She was used to being alone and normally content with her own company, but he'd taken over her heart and soul. She was going to miss him so much that even the thought of being without him brought tears to her eyes—and he hadn't even left yet.

The second hand clicked relentlessly around the clock face, the minutes slipping away. George would be waiting at their usual table, his newspaper spread in front of him. Yet she didn't move to join him. Instead, a cold certainty settled inside her.

They'd only had a few weeks together. Their fledgling relationship wasn't strong enough to survive three months apart. George's world was about to change and become far more exciting. He'd be too busy to think of her. Even if he did come back to her after Norway, how long would they have together before he was sent to some other far-flung part of the world?

What was the point of a relationship if they rarely saw each other? And this wasn't just for a year or even two. This was for the rest of his working life. At the whim of the army, George could be sent anywhere in the world. It was only a matter of time before they sent him to a war zone.

The thought of him wounded on a stretcher with guns banging all around terrified her. She plucked a tissue from the box on her table and dabbed at her eyes. Endless years of loneliness and worry stretched ahead of her. She couldn't do this.

It was better to suffer the pain of losing him once, now, before she got in even deeper.

The clock kept up its relentless ticking. She was twenty minutes late to meet him now. He would know she wasn't coming.

A brisk knock on the door made her jump and jerked her out of her melancholy thoughts. She hastily dried her eyes before answering. "Come in."

The door opened and George appeared, his white coat unbuttoned to reveal the green army trousers and sweater she'd started to resent.

"What happened? Are you all right?" He paused just inside the room, frowning.

"I've been thinking about you going away and the future." Sandra fisted the tissue, gathering her strength. "I don't think I can cope with this type of relationship. I'm sorry."

The color drained from his cheeks and he became very still, staring at her until she had to avert her eyes.

"You're breaking up with me?"

"Yes," she whispered, closing her eyes, barely able to wrap her mind around the idea. Pain swelled in her chest and she struggled to draw breath. Tears ran down her cheeks. She loved him so much that she had to do this. It was a matter of self-preservation. "I can't face the heartache of you being away."

"It's only for three months." His voice was hollow with shock and disbelief. "Sandra, love, the time will pass before you know it." He dropped down on the other chair, grabbed her, and pulled her onto his lap. His arms closed around her as he gathered her close. Beneath the ribbed woolen army sweater, his heart beat unevenly against her palm.

"Don't do this, Sandra." His lips pressed kisses to her face and neck. "I don't want to lose you."

"How do you know you'll still want me in three months, anyway?"

"I love you." He lifted her chin and kissed her lips. The long, slow kiss filled her with a sensual heat that burned away the pain.

"You do?" George was kind and affectionate, but he'd never said he loved her before. She'd thought she was the one who cared most in this relationship.

"Of course."

"I didn't realize."

"Isn't it obvious? I adore you, darling."

He kissed her again as if to reinforce his declaration.

He loved her! He would come home to her. Sandra curled against him and pressed her face into his neck, breathing in the spicy smell of him, relishing the slight roughness of his jaw and the strong grip of his hands.

She buzzed with relief and pleasure, but as she relaxed and enjoyed his kisses, a tiny niggle of worry returned.

"I know the trip to Norway is only three months, but that's just the start. You'll be sent away again, won't you?"

"There are home postings as well. That's what I've been doing here in London the last three months. And soldiers take their wives on some of the overseas stints." He stroked back the loose hair that had come free from her pins during their kisses. "If we love each other, we'll work it out."

But was love enough?

• • •

"Merry Christmas, Mum. I'll see you in a few days." George hugged his mother and kissed her cheek, then turned and shook his father's hand. "Merry Christmas, sir."

To everyone else, George probably appeared the same as usual. Inside he was anything but normal. A week ago when Sandra suggested they break up, she'd given him the shock of his life. His absolute confidence that he was on the right path had been shaken. If his army career meant losing Sandra, he would have to seriously rethink his priorities.

For the moment, she had accepted things as they were, but he hoped he had a home posting when he returned from Norway. He wanted to spend more time with her and make sure she understood how important she was to him.

His mother threw her arms around Sandra and kissed her on both cheeks. "It was lovely to see you again, dear. Have a wonderful Christmas with your parents."

"Thank you, Mrs. Knight. I love going home, especially at this time of year."

Sandra traveled back to Hampshire to see her parents every couple of weeks, but this would be the first time George met them.

"Take my car." His father passed over the keys to his Bentley Continental. "It'll be a lot safer in the bad weather than your little sports car. My Bentley is built like a tank."

George might have refused; he loved driving his Triumph. But he had to think about Sandra's safety. However careful he was, he could not predict what other drivers would do, especially in slippery winter conditions.

"Thanks, Dad." He pocketed the keys and picked up the two suitcases.

Once they were ensconced in the luxurious deep leather seats, they set off, waving good-bye to his parents. The Bentley purred as they headed along the A3 away from London.

Sandra stared out the window, seemingly lost in thought. In the past, her silence hadn't worried George. Now every time she was quiet, he wondered what was going through her mind.

"Penny for your thoughts."

"Just looking forward to seeing Mum and Dad." She fell back into her thoughtful silence.

He'd dated many women over the years, but he'd never felt this way before. He wanted to make Sandra happy, wanted her to relax and smile more, but achieving that was not easy.

The diamond bracelet he'd bought her for Christmas cost a small fortune. The jewels sparkled around her slender wrist, and she obviously loved the gift, but she wasn't the type of woman who craved expensive presents.

He didn't know her well enough to understand how to please her, and it worried him that sometimes she still retreated behind the protective wall she built around herself and shut him out. He hoped that sharing her family Christmas in her childhood home would help them grow closer.

The Bentley whizzed along the M3 motorway and he reached across the gearshift console and touched his fingers to the back of her hand.

"Love you," he said.

"Love you, too." She gave him a warm, drowsy smile, and his heart clenched with affection.

"So who's coming to your parents' place for lunch?"

"My aunt and uncle and cousin and his family. Grandma and Granddad will come over in the evening for a cold turkey supper. We can't fit everyone around the dinner table at lunchtime. The house is rather small, I'm afraid. Not like your mum and dad's place."

"I'm sure it's lovely." Sandra obviously loved her childhood home, and he was eager to see where she'd grown up.

An hour later as they drove along the narrow country lanes surrounded by woodland and heath land, snow started to fall. Dense flurries of tiny snowflakes gusted across the road, reducing the visibility.

"You need to turn right in a moment." Sandra leaned forward and peered through the slashing windshield wipers. "There, opposite the red post box."

He swung the Bentley into a narrow lane and the vehicle bumped along. After half a mile, lights shone between the tree trunks. A moment later they came upon a tiny thatched cottage nestled in a clearing in the forest.

"It looks like something out of a fairy tale," he said.

Sandra laughed. "It's called Pine Cone Cottage."

He pulled up beside a Land Rover with the Forestry Commission logo on the side.

Before George had time to get out and play the gentleman, Sandra was already pushing open the car door. She jumped out and dashed towards the cottage. Christmas lights twinkled around the porch, a holly wreath covered in red berries on the front door. A woman who looked like an older version of Sandra stepped out of the house. They threw their arms around each other, then a man joined them and took his turn for a cuddle.

George got out slowly, giving her time to greet her parents before he intruded. A black Labrador waddled up, tail wagging, and George patted him. Then he took the bags from the backseat of the car and wandered up behind Sandra.

"Mum, Dad, this is George, Captain Knight." Sandra put her arm around him and grinned.

"Good to meet you, son." Mr. Fisher held out his hand and George shook it. His skin felt thick like tough, worn leather.

"Sandra mentioned you work in the forest, sir?"

"Call me Dave. We don't stand on ceremony here. Yes, I'm a warden for the Forestry Commission."

George tried to shake Mrs. Fisher's hand, but she pulled him down so she could hug him and kiss his cheek. "It's so nice to meet you, George. Sandra told us all about you the last time she visited. We're delighted you could make it. I hope your parents didn't mind parting with you on Christmas Day."

George loved his parents and he'd always thought his family was close, but his relationship with them was nothing like the one Sandra obviously had with her parents.

"My mother has a full day planned. They like to go out for dinner on Christmas Day." His mother was a social maven, and surrounded herself with friends. Christmases with his parents had never been traditional family affairs. He had a feeling he was about to experience a very different sort of Christmas with the Fishers.

# Chapter Seven

"Your young man seems very nice." Sandra's mother handed her a dripping plate to dry.

She wrapped the dish towel around it and wiped off the suds. "I think so."

"He's kind, too, offering to give Grandma and Granddad a ride home in his car."

Her grandfather was besotted with the silver Bentley. After supper, George had gone out in the dark with a flashlight and let him sit in the driver's seat and start the engine.

Sandra had worried what George would think of her home and family. They were so different from his own, but he fit right in. He seemed genuinely interested in the local area and the history of their cottage. And he'd quickly learned to duck beneath the low doorways, even though he was used to the high ceilings of his parents' grand house.

Sandra slid the last dry plate into the rack on the old wooden dresser in the kitchen and hung the wet dish towel on the rail over the hot Aga. "I'll run upstairs and use the bathroom before the boys get home." Her father had accompanied George to take her grandparents home, and the men should be back at any moment.

"Good idea, love. I'll let Milton out before bed and follow you up."

Hearing his name, the old black Labrador lumbered out of his bed and stared expectantly at the back door.

"Thank you for all your help in the kitchen. It's been a wonderful day." Her mother's arms came around her.

Sandra leaned her head on her mum's shoulder, soaking up the warmth and love. She adored her parents and her home. This was the only place she felt truly relaxed. Her mum and dad were always here for her, loving, supportive, and nonjudgmental, no matter what happened.

Even so, it had taken a long time to admit to them that she was bullied at school. She'd been so ashamed that she'd suffered in silence. Her mother made her promise that in the future she would never suffer alone. If she needed help, she would come to them.

Now she was old enough to imagine having her own children, she hoped to treat them with the same love and understanding.

Sandra picked up George's bag from the corner of the sitting room, ran upstairs, and set it on the end of her bed. The house wasn't big enough to have a spare bedroom, so George was to stay in her room while she used the sofa in the sitting room. Of course, he'd flatly refused to turn her out of her room and said _he'd_ sleep downstairs.

Grabbing her sleeping bag and pillow, she ran down to the sitting room and laid them out on the sofa in front of the glowing embers of the fire. It was cozy sleeping here. "Good night, Mum," she shouted as she slid into the padded bag, drew up her knees, and leaned against the pillow. George could not sleep on the sofa if she was already here!

Her mother popped her head around the door and smiled. "Good night, love. See you in the morning."

As Sandra listened to her mother's soft tread on the stairs, the Bentley engine sounded outside. She braced herself for a disagreement with George over the sleeping arrangements. He had a habit of thinking he was always right.

The sound of male laughter brought a smile to her lips. George and her father had made friends over lunch discussing the universal male-bonding subject of soccer. Then George really won her dad's approval by asking about woodland management and the wildlife of the New Forest. This was not only her father's job, but his lifetime passion. He'd even written books on the subject.

The sitting room door opened and George halted. A smile pulled at his lips. "I knew you'd have laid claim to the sofa, but I refuse to take your bed. Go upstairs, sweetheart."

"You're our guest. It's not right that you have to make do."

He wandered closer and sat down on the end of the sofa, rubbing her feet through the sleeping bag. "I'll be more than happy down here."

"This couch is too short for you. Your feet will stick off the end. It's long enough for me, though." Sandra wiggled down in her warm bag to demonstrate that she could lie flat in comfort.

George chuckled. "I'm about to spend time sleeping in a tent on frozen ground in subzero temperatures. This is luxury compared to that."

Sandra's cheerful mood plummeted. Why had he mentioned his impending departure? She'd managed to put it out of her mind today.

He must have noticed the change in her expression as he grimaced. "Me and my big mouth. Sorry." He moved along the sofa until he was perched on the edge by her ribs. He touched her cheek and stroked aside her hair. "I'm going to miss you more than I ever thought possible."

A terrible sense of loss flooded Sandra, and it took a few moments to swallow back her feelings so she could speak. "I'll miss you, too."

"Where's my bag?" George glanced at the place he'd put it earlier.

"Upstairs in my bedroom."

"I'm going to fetch it. Be back in a moment."

He rose and headed out the door, leaving Sandra a little hurt by the way he'd suddenly changed the subject.

She heard the water run in the bathroom. A few minutes later he returned, now barefoot, clad in pajamas and a thick jersey. He dumped his bag on an armchair, then pulled out a wrapped Christmas gift.

Sandra sat up again, giving him room to perch on the cushions beside her.

"For you." He held out the present.

She took it tentatively. "George, you've already given me this lovely bracelet." She skimmed her fingertips along the string of gold and diamonds around her wrist. "I adore it so much that I'm wearing it to bed."

"I'm pleased." He dropped a kiss on the end of her nose. "I like buying you things. I wanted to give you something else as well."

The present was about six inches tall and squashy. Forehead creased in curiosity, she unpeeled the tape and opened the top of the package. Two round pink ears popped out.

She cast George a disbelieving glance and pushed the paper down. The cute face of a pink bear appeared. She pulled the soft toy free from the wrapping to reveal a teddy, a red heart on its belly with the words I Love You emblazoned across it.

"Oh, George, this is so sweet. I love it." Cuddling the teddy between them, she wrapped her arm around George and kissed him. This was not the sort of present she'd expected him to buy. The thought of him shopping for such a thing made her smile.

"The heart is a little pocket. Look inside." George pulled back to give her room.

"What have you put in here? A piece of Christmas candy?" Sandra dug her fingers in the small heart-shaped pocket and felt something hard and circular. She grasped it and pulled out a gold ring. The flashing lights on the Christmas tree filled the large diamond with glowing spots of color.

Sandra's breath stalled and time stood still. Then she gasped in air, her mind racing through a maze of confused thoughts. Was this an engagement ring? It looked like one, but he hadn't asked her to marry him. It couldn't be an engagement ring. They'd only been a couple for six weeks.

George gently extracted the ring from her clumsy fingers, then took her left hand and pushed the gold band onto her ring finger.

"Sandra Fisher, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

She blinked at him, taking in the smooth planes of his cheeks, his straight dark brows, the smile that curved his chiseled lips and lit his brown eyes. It was as if she saw him for the first time, this gorgeous man she had admired from afar all through college, this man she now loved. He really wanted to marry her?

"Yes." The word slipped out between her lips, barely a whisper. She loved George so much that if being his wife meant only seeing him when he was home on leave, she would rather have him part-time than not at all.

"Oh, darling, I'm so pleased." He pulled her close, kissing her face and neck. "I wasn't certain you'd say yes after the other day. I've been worried I might lose you."

"You won't lose me. I love you more than anything else in the world." Sandra pulled him down onto the sofa at her side. The feel of his body against her shot sizzling heat along her nerves to tangle in her belly. She wanted him so desperately before he went away. She wanted to feel his skin against hers and his hands caressing her.

"It looks like you'll be sleeping on the sofa after all," she whispered and he chuckled.

• • •

In the early hours of the morning, George woke when Dave Fisher's old black Labrador barked. He shifted under the unzipped sleeping bag, the warm weight of Sandra cuddled in his arms. In the lights of the Christmas tree, he gazed at her sleeping face, so relaxed and happy, her mouth curved in a smile.

Now he knew what it took to make her happy: love, family, and a cozy home in the country.

He pressed his lips to her forehead, her eyelids, and her lips. She stirred and her eyelashes fluttered.

"George, what's happening?"

"Nothing. Go back to sleep, love."

She snuggled closer, burrowing her face against his chest. He cradled her head and closed his eyes, reveling in the feel of her in his arms. She'd dropped all her barriers and trusted him. This was the most precious gift she could have given him for Christmas.

When she accepted his ring, the tight knot of foreboding he'd lived with this past week had loosened. But that discomfort had been replaced by another sharper pain. It was going to hurt like hell to leave her. And when he came back from Norway, after a few weeks' leave, he could easily be sent away again. He might be posted overseas for longer than three months next time.

How were they going to cope with the separations?

"George," she mumbled. Her lips grazed a trail of fire across his naked chest. "Love you."

"I love you, too, darling. So much." He scattered kisses over her hair and face, relishing the feel of her skin against his, storing the sensation away to keep him warm on the lonely nights ahead.

She was so dear to him. He wanted to make her happy, yet his path in life was bound to bring her sadness and make her lonely. Not only would they be apart, but when they had a family, she'd have to manage alone while he was away.

If he couldn't be with her all the time, he'd at least make sure she had the best of life, a lovely home in the country and children to bring her joy. Then maybe she wouldn't miss him so much.

For the briefest moment, he wondered if he should have walked away when she wanted to break up with him. If he really loved her, letting her go would have been the kindest thing to do. But he wouldn't give her up. She was going to be his wife.

• • •

Sandra gripped George's hand as they walked into Paddington railway station. Today was the day he would join the Royal Marines at Plymouth in the South West.

A sense of loss hovered like a cold mist, ready to close in. She glanced up at the station clock. Only twenty minutes until she lost him.

"Just need to buy a ticket." He gripped her fingers tightly as they made their way through the crowd, neither one of them wanting to let go. The last twenty-four hours in her studio apartment, they'd been together constantly—in bed, cuddled on the sofa, always touching, both aware they were running out of time. That twenty-four hours would have to last them for the next three months.

When George released her hand to dig out his wallet at the ticket office, she leaned against his side, her palm on his back, feeling the flex of his lean muscles beneath the army uniform. He was wearing a camouflage jacket and pants today, a different uniform from his usual one. This was the sort of apparel that combat soldiers wore. The thought chilled her.

He might not be going to a war zone, but the icy wilds of Norway held their own dangers.

"Sixteen minutes until the train leaves. There's something I want to do first." George picked up his bag, looped his arm around her waist, and steered her towards a photo booth.

"I'd like a picture of us together."

"Great idea. I want one, too." Anything to keep him with her for a few more minutes.

He sat on the stool inside the booth, and she pulled off her glasses and perched on his lap. The curtain gave them a few moments' privacy in the busy station. She gripped his face between her hands and stole more kisses as he fumbled to push the coins in the slot.

They followed the instructions and smiled, cheeks pressed together as the machine flashed, recording their images.

George glanced at his watch. "Hope the photos don't take long to process or I'm out of time."

A couple of minutes later, the strip of four images dropped into the basket on the outside of the machine. George held them up and grinned. "We'll have two each. Any preference?"

Sandra didn't mind. George looked handsome in all of them. He pulled a Swiss Army penknife from his pocket, folded out a small pair of scissors, and cut the strip neatly across the middle, handing her the top two pictures. She tucked them into her handbag.

He checked his watch again. "Now I need to dash."

Holding hands, they dodged through the crowd of people, heading for his platform. When they reached the train, he opened a door, stowed his bag in the luggage rack, and stepped back out. Sandra took off her glasses and stuffed them in her coat pocket so they didn't get in the way.

George opened his arms and she fell into his embrace, pressing her body to his, trying to memorize the feel of him to keep her warm on the lonely nights ahead.

"I don't want you to go." She'd promised herself she wouldn't say this. When you loved someone, you had to give them freedom to live their own life. This noble theory sounded fine in her head, but her heart didn't agree.

"I don't want to be away from you for three months." Sincerity rang in his tone and the sadness in his eyes confirmed his words. But despite his feelings, he intended to leave. The army was more important to him than she was. The thought burned up her throat and into her mouth but she wouldn't accuse him of that and spoil their last few minutes together. If she wanted to be with George, she must accept that she'd always come in second to the army.

"I love you, Sandra. Remember that when you don't hear from me for weeks."

She nodded and pressed her face against his neck, sure that if she tried to speak she would burst into tears.

"Kiss me," he whispered, his hand cradling the back of her head.

Tears in her eyes, she turned her face up to him and savored the long, luscious kiss that she'd grown so used to in the last few weeks. George was vital to her existence. How would she survive without him?

A guard strode along the platform, closing the open train doors. Then a whistle blew.

"Must go." George pressed one last kiss to her lips, jumped aboard, and slammed the door. He pushed down the window and stretched out his hand. She reached for him. Their fingertips brushed together as the train moved off, carrying him out of reach.

Sandra lifted a hand, lips pressed tight against the trembling in her chest, and watched as the train slid away towards the South West. George leaned out the window, waving back until she lost sight of him.

Long after the train disappeared from view, she stood on the empty platform staring along the deserted rails. Engines ticked, whistles blew, voices shouted, every sound distant and muffled, as if from another life.

Eventually Sandra pulled her gaze away from the last spot she'd seen him. Dazed and numb, she pushed through the crowd to the taxi line, mumbled the hospital address, and climbed in a black cab.

The cold chill of loss swamped her. It took all her energy to breathe and stay upright in her seat when she wanted to collapse in a sobbing heap. She dug a tissue from her pocket and pressed it to her eyes. How would she cope with the clinic she was supposed to run in an hour? She had no idea. And now that George was gone, she didn't really care.

# Chapter Eight

George gripped the railing around the deck of the Royal Navy frigate and scanned the spectacular view of the Norwegian coast. The cold stung his cheeks but the rest of him was warm, covered in layers of thermals beneath his army uniform.

It hadn't occurred to him that since this training exercise was run by the Royal Marines, they might sail to Norway.

He snapped photos of sheer cliffs covered in snow and topped with clouds, and narrow inlets that led to fjords. Then they passed a picturesque small town of colored wooden houses clustered together on a flat coastal area.

In the arctic circle, he'd expected it to be dark all the time during the winter, but even this far north there were about five hours of daylight. The darkness wasn't as dark as at home, the sun hanging just below the horizon, giving the scenery a blue glow. He wished Sandra were here to share this with him. One day he'd bring her on a cruise up the Norwegian coast so she could see where he'd been.

Most of the time his days were busy and his mind occupied, but every night as he lay in the dark, he relived memories of his time with Sandra, a dull ache of longing gripping his heart.

He missed her badly, but he was still enjoying the training exercise. He'd undergone two weeks' induction in how to cope with arctic conditions and been briefed on the schedule of training exercises. Then they'd boarded the ship at the naval dockyard in Plymouth and started the four-day journey to the Bardufoss training base in northern Norway.

He was one of two army doctors on the exercise. There were also two from the RAF, and the rest of the medics were all navy. Surgeon Commander Graham had given the medical staff a few hours off to enjoy the spectacle of the Norwegian coastline while it was light, but as they approached Bardufoss, it was time to return to duty and prepare to disembark.

"I suggest we report back." George had no authority over the other young doctors who were enjoying the scenery with him, but he'd discovered at college that he was a natural leader. Others looked to him for direction, and he was not one for false modesty. He intended to pursue leadership at every opportunity and make sure his superiors recognized his potential.

Four hours later they had disembarked, and the equipment they'd brought to build the field hospital had been unloaded onto military vehicles fitted with caterpillar tracks to traverse the snowy terrain.

George rubbed his gloved hands together against the cold as he huddled out of the bitter wind with the other military medics, waiting for a final briefing. Nearby, shouting sailors unloaded vehicles and equipment for the Royal Marines.

Surgeon Commander Graham strode up and pointed at an all-terrain vehicle. "Right. You'll travel in the Viking. We have a forty-five-minute drive. Remember the safety procedures and don't take unnecessary risks. It looks bad if we have to ship the doctors home injured." He gave a wry grin and everyone laughed.

As the surgeon commander walked to the cab of the vehicle, he slapped George on the back. "I didn't expect to see you again so soon after the wedding. I hope you're ready for some hard work."

"Yes, sir."

"Good. I'm putting you in command of some of the hospital setup work tomorrow. I'll brief you in the morning."

"Thank you, sir."

As George settled in the troop carrier and braced for an uncomfortable journey, a young sailor climbed on the back of the vehicle and handed a few letters to the nearest man. "This mail arrived ahead of you."

The man holding the letters leafed through them. "Knight," he said, handing over an envelope. George took it, his heart leaping at the sight of Sandra's writing. He'd sent her two letters while he was in Plymouth, and written one during the voyage up here, sharing the wonderful views he'd seen, and handed it in to be mailed when they arrived in Norway.

He was about to open his letter when he was passed two more, both from Sandra.

"Dr. Popular," someone said. "Who're they from?"

"My fiancée." George couldn't help grinning as he said that word. He loved the thought of his ring on Sandra's finger, and the fact she was at home thinking of him. Although he was enjoying this new experience, he couldn't wait to see her again. He planned to write to her about all the interesting things he did. It made sense that if she knew how he spent his time, she would feel more a part of his life, even though they weren't together.

As the vehicle set off, the others laughed and teased him about his love letters, but he simply smiled. They were only jealous.

• • •

As the train rattled along, Sandra huddled into her seat and reread her latest letter from George. She'd received eight in the six weeks he'd been away, far more than she'd expected. Each one ran to at least four pages, detailing what he was doing, the weather conditions, the exercises, and the medical emergencies he'd had to deal with.

He described the field hospital as a tented complex with wooden pallets underfoot to keep them off the frozen ground. Working there sounded primitive, but also challenging and exciting.

George excelled at letter writing, just like he excelled at everything else. Her thoughts slipped back to their last twenty-four hours together when they'd rarely left her bed. She snuggled in her coat, a sigh of longing whispering across her lips. Those memories of their passionate interlude were her most treasured ones.

Although the memories summoned another less welcome thought as well—her period was late.

The train brakes squealed, jolting Sandra from her musings. She glanced up to see where they were, and grabbed her backpack off the seat before heading for the door. When the train stopped, she stepped out at Southampton station and slung her bag over her shoulder.

Her mind churned as she strolled along the quiet platform. She couldn't be pregnant. They'd taken precautions. Well, mostly they had. The first time, in the sleeping bag on the sofa on Christmas night, had not been planned. Neither of them was prepared. When George slipped his ring on her finger, passion took over and their good sense got lost in the heat.

Surely she wasn't unlucky enough to be pregnant after one lapse? Yet as she tried to convince herself that fate wouldn't be that unkind, she knew it was possible.

Her footsteps echoed in the empty station ticket hall. At midday, the morning rush hour was over and the afternoon one hadn't started. She walked out the exit, ignored the line of taxicabs with their drivers dozing or reading newspapers across their steering wheels, and headed to the bus stop.

Taking a seat in the old cement bus shelter, she twisted her engagement ring around her finger. Her sensible side dreaded the possibility she was pregnant. How would she finish her rotation through the medical specialties and find a good place in general practice if she had a baby to look after?

Despite her concerns, her heart hummed with suppressed excitement as images of a tiny boy who looked like George flitted through her mind.

She wanted his baby very much, only not yet. It would mess up her career plans, and she'd worked so hard to get where she was. But how wonderful it would be to have George's baby, a darling little boy or girl. Her heart contracted on a burst of longing and she pressed a hand over her abdomen, desperately hoping a new life was growing inside.

The bus arrived and the doors hissed open. Sandra climbed on, paid, and took a seat, hugging her backpack on her lap. The vehicle pulled away and she stared at the houses and small stores outside. A pharmacy sign caught her eye and she sucked in a breath.

She needed to buy a pregnancy test kit so she could find out for sure, and tell George. That thought brought a nervous lump to her throat. He probably wanted children sometime, but the first one might arrive a little quicker than he'd expected.

Sandra chuckled. Make that a lot quicker. Her humor faded and she rubbed a hand over her face as the bus turned along the road to the supermarket where she was to meet her mum.

Jumping out, Sandra headed for the nearest pharmacy. She pressed her lips together as she pushed open the door, her pulse increasing as she walked up and down the aisles searching for what she wanted.

She grabbed one of the small boxes, looking both ways to make sure nobody was watching. After paying, she stuffed the test deep in the bottom of her backpack.

She found her mother's car, just as the older woman approached.

"Darling, it's lovely to see you. Did you have a good trip?"

"Hello, Mum." She hugged her mother, holding on for a little longer than usual, needing the reassurance.

"Is everything all right?" Of course her mum immediately noticed she wasn't herself.

"Yes, fine."

Sandra helped empty the shopping cart into the back of the car, then they set off for home.

As her mother drove out of Southampton and into the forest, she cast Sandra a curious sideways glance. "You're very quiet, love. Are you sure everything's fine? There's not a problem between you and George, is there?"

Sandra had planned to do the pregnancy test before she mentioned anything to her mother. After all, there was no point in worrying her needlessly, but the words just burst out. "I might be pregnant."

Her mother's eyes widened. "You're not sure?"

Sandra felt the box in the bottom of her backpack digging into her thigh. "I'll do a test when we get home."

"Well, let's not worry until we know for certain." She reached across the hand brake and squeezed Sandra's arm. "Either way, things will be fine. If you're pregnant, you'll just have to get married as soon as George comes back."

Sandra nodded. She and George hadn't discussed wedding plans. They'd had so little time together before he went away.

The familiar sandy heath glowed with yellow gorse bushes, welcoming her home. New Forest ponies grazed in groups, the mares with heavy round bellies, soon to foal. Blue and yellow crocuses, and white snowdrops filled the gardens of the tiny cottages along the road. Bright new leaves sprouted on the deciduous trees while the dark green pines kept their needles all year.

The car turned down the lane to their house and butterflies bumped around in Sandra's stomach. As her mother pulled up outside Pine Cone Cottage, there was no sign of her father's Land Rover, thank goodness. She knew he'd support her if she were pregnant, but he might not be happy about it.

They carried the shopping bags into the kitchen, then her mother started to put things away in cupboards. "Right, you go and do the deed. I'll put the kettle on." Her mother glanced at her, eyebrows raised.

Sandra dug the box out of the bottom of her backpack, her heart pounding as if she'd just run a race. "Okay."

"It'll be all right, darling. Whatever the result, things will work out." Her mother put an arm around her shoulders. "Off you go."

A few minutes later, Sandra sat on the edge of the tub in the bathroom, holding the wand from the test kit. Her gaze glued to her watch, she waited for the minutes to pass at a snail's pace.

She felt numb, frozen in suspended animation as if the world had stopped. So much hung on this result. It might be a turning point in her life, or her career, at least. Did she want the result to be negative or positive?

Her mind summoned the image of a newborn baby cuddled in her arms, a tiny boy with George's dark hair and eyes.

Sandra sucked in a breath and raised the wand. _Positive_. She blinked, hanging on to her emotions as she checked the leaflet to make sure she hadn't made a mistake. Definitely positive.

Joy burst through her and she jumped up, fired with energy and excitement. "Yes." She grinned at herself in the mirror. This overwhelming happiness took her by surprise.

She yanked open the bathroom door, clattered down the stairs, and burst into the kitchen, the wand still in her hand. "It's positive, Mum. I'm pregnant."

She threw her arms around her mother and then danced around the kitchen with their black Labrador, Milton, jumping at her feet.

"I gather you're pleased." Her mother held her at arm's length, a smile on her face.

"I had no idea how much I wanted a baby until I took that test."

"Then I'm very pleased for you, sweetie." Her mother hugged her again and Sandra grinned over her shoulder. She couldn't seem to stop.

"We'd better start planning the wedding for the end of March when George comes home. Shall we see the vicar while you're here? I'll call him and arrange a meeting after church on Sunday."

The ecstatic swirl of emotions calmed and Sandra could finally think straight again. She had never expected to feel this way about having a baby. She placed a hand on her abdomen and imagined the tiny speck of life growing inside. She was going to have George's child. Images of the two of them together with a little boy scrolled through her mind. Suddenly her career didn't seem as important. She could always pick it up again at a later date.

# Chapter Nine

George reached the top of the hill and stared through his goggles at the snowy vista spread before him like something off a Christmas card. Pine trees poked up through the thick white drifts, while smoke spiraled from the chimneys of a cluster of painted wooden cottages in the valley below.

A group of marines along with three doctors and two medical technicians had been skiing across country for the last three days. It had taken George a few hours to get used to skiing with a medical pack on his back that raised his center of gravity and threw him off-balance. And the weight of his pack was nothing compared to the heavy backpacks the marines carried.

George had learned to ski at his friend Robert's Scottish estate during school vacations, and honed his skill at winter resorts all over Europe. He liked to think he was fairly competent on skis. The other doctors and medics in the group were all managing except for one navy doctor who wasn't coping well. He lacked confidence, and he wouldn't like this next downhill run. It was the steepest yet.

Glancing over his shoulder, George waited for the others to sidestep their skis up the steep hill and catch up.

As always when he relaxed, his thoughts turned to Sandra. About now, she'd be coming to the end of her morning clinic. He remembered sitting at the table in the cafeteria, waiting for her, his pleasure as she walked in and smiled at him.

A burst of longing tightened his chest and he had to consciously suck in a breath. He touched the pocket where he kept her picture. It was only two weeks until he went home, two weeks until he saw her face and held her in his arms. He couldn't wait.

The sergeant in charge of the exercise pushed up his goggles and muttered something uncomplimentary about useless doctors, snapping George's thoughts back to the present.

As a noncombatant, George's rank did not give him the right to issue orders to anyone except other medics. It meant that on exercises like this, he was under the command of a soldier of lesser rank. But he was not going to ignore a direct insult to the medical professionals who chose to serve their country. "I know you commandos think you're invincible, but one day you might end up on my operating table. I suggest you bear that in mind, Sergeant."

"I didn't mean you," the man snapped. "I meant him." The sergeant cast a withering glance down the hill and bellowed, "Keep up, Lieutenant Bennett. We're falling behind schedule." The navy doctor was last again, his clothes and medical backpack covered in snow from where he'd fallen so many times. He should never have been sent on this training exercise.

As the poor man neared the crest of the hill, George sidestepped down a couple of feet, stretched out a hand, and hauled the exhausted lieutenant to the top. Bennett leaned against a tree, breathing heavily.

"We're three klicks from the pickup point." The sergeant pointed his ski pole at a helicopter waiting in the valley below. "It's all downhill from here and we need to make up time. So no dawdling." He pushed off, quickly picking up speed down the steep incline.

George shook his head. In his opinion, the sergeant should make sure everyone reached the bottom safely, especially when he knew he had a weak skier on the exercise.

The marines all slid over the edge and followed. The other medics waited for a few minutes, but George signaled for them to go. There was no point in all of them incurring the sergeant's wrath.

Bennett blew out a breath and sagged beneath the weight of his pack. "Thanks for waiting, Knight. This is pure torture."

"It's tough if you're not a strong skier."

"You can say that again. I hate skiing. I hate snow." Bennett laughed, but it wasn't a happy sound.

"Don't follow their tracks." George raised a ski pole and indicated a gentler incline. It was a longer route down, but slower and safer. "See the natural terracing between those rocks. You can maintain more control. The only steep section is the last hundred yards."

"Great. Thanks. I'll go that way. The sarge can shout at me all he likes. I don't care as long as I get back in one piece."

George chuckled and slapped him on the back. "I'll follow you down."

Bennett pushed off, wobbly and uncertain, frequently slipping over as he turned. A couple of times, George pulled up at his side and helped him to his feet. In the distance, he could see the rest of the group gathered at the pickup point, waiting.

Bennett pulled up at the top of the final steep slope and dropped down in the snow, resting back on his pack, gasping. "Just need a few minutes to catch my breath."

George leaned on his ski poles, surveying the fall line. The tracks the others had made scored the pristine white snow, the narrow route bordered by icy rocks on one side and a dense stand of pine trees on the other.

After about ten minutes, Bennett stood with a sigh. "Can't put this off forever."

The sergeant was gesturing furiously at them to hurry up.

"Rocks on the left, trees on the right," George said, making certain the man was clear where the danger lay. It should be obvious, but the navy doctor was so exhausted he probably wasn't thinking clearly.

Bennett pushed off, zigzagging to and fro down the narrow, steep incline. George followed, checking his speed, watching with an impending sense of disaster as Bennett lost control, smacking into a huge bank of snow beneath the pine trees.

George shot over, unclipped his ski bindings, upended his skis so they didn't slide away, and dug through the loose snow to find Bennett.

The man had hit a tree. He was unconscious, his nose bloody, his goggles smashed.

"Hell." George was wary of moving him in case he'd injured his neck. He dug away the snow so he could assess the man's condition. Taking off his backpack, he pulled out some surgical scissors and snipped the elastic on the cracked plastic goggles. The doctor's face was cut and bruised, with a nasty bump forming on his forehead.

"Bennett, can you hear me? James Bennett. James." The man was out cold. George felt for a pulse and found it strong. The movement of his chest showed he was breathing. He backed out of the snowy hollow to signal to the others, and discovered they were already sidestepping up the hill on their skis and not far away.

George waded through the snow back to Bennett and finished digging him out, revealing his feet. One ski had come off, and George released the other. Miraculously, he didn't appear to have broken any limbs. But he was still unconscious, and that was worrisome.

The sergeant crawled into the snow hole and pulled up his goggles, his face a pale, tense mask of concern. He was right to look worried. To lose one of his doctors to needless injury during a training exercise showed poor leadership.

"How badly hurt is he?"

"We won't know until we get him back to the field hospital."

"Good thing you were with him, sir." A note of respect had crept into his voice.

George pressed his lips together and didn't answer; he might say something he'd regret. After all, he was still on the bottom rung of the ladder in the Royal Army Medical Corps. But not for long. One day he'd be in a position to make sure this sort of interdisciplinary nonsense was not tolerated.

Two medical technicians arrived with a stretcher from the helicopter. They fitted a neck brace in case Bennett had spinal injuries, then strapped him on the stretcher and carried him down. George climbed in the helicopter with his patient, checking his pulse and breathing again, keeping him under observation.

The helicopter took off, the engine roaring, the floor vibrating. George hung on to his seat as they angled around and headed back, taking a few minutes to travel the twenty miles it had taken them three days to walk.

As they landed, Bennett opened his eyes and blinked, obviously disoriented. George kneeled at his side. "You lost consciousness. We're back at the field hospital. We'll have you inside in a few minutes."

Surgeon Commander Graham joined them as George watched the medics transfer Bennett to a bed in the field hospital tent.

"What happened?"

"He hit a tree, sir." Later, over a glass of whiskey, he'd explain the accident in more detail. "Vitals are normal and I don't think he has any broken bones. He was unconscious for nearly thirty minutes, but I can't see any evidence of major head trauma."

"I'll take a look." Alex Graham was a neurosurgeon, so George stepped back and gave him room to examine Bennett's head and neck.

Later, when Bennett was pronounced comfortable and recovering, Alex beckoned George into the small tent that served as his office. He grabbed a sheaf of letters from his desk, sorted through them, and handed a bunch to George. "You've got more mail than the rest of the team put together. I gather you have an eager girlfriend at home."

"She's my fiancée, actually. You met her at Rob's wedding."

"I remember. The girl with the glasses. Congratulations on your engagement."

George leafed through the letters, checking the postmarks. He hadn't received any for a couple of weeks, and it looked as though they'd been held up somewhere.

He went to the mess tent and poured himself a cup of coffee from the machine, grabbed a bar of chocolate, and sat down in one of the folding canvas chairs to enjoy catching up with what Sandra had been doing.

He opened the oldest letter first and unfolded the pages.

My darling George. I have some exciting news, or at least I hope you'll be as excited about it as I am. I'm pregnant!

The rest of the words blurred as the cup of hot coffee slipped from George's fingers and splashed on his leg.

He bolted upright in his seat, gripped the letter in both hands, and reread the first paragraph to be certain he hadn't imagined it. _Sandra was pregnant_.

Shock wiped his mind for a moment, then thoughts of Sandra raced back, her lying in his arms, her slender body and flat abdomen. Now his baby was growing inside her.

He pressed a hand over his mouth, his emotions swinging all over the place, a flash of excitement followed by a burn of regret. This was going to interfere with her career, and he knew how important that was to her. It was his fault for being so impulsive and letting passion run away with him after he gave her the engagement ring.

Yet she didn't sound upset. Pulse racing, George leaned back in the chair and read the whole letter. Then he ripped open another and another, devouring Sandra's words as she described her visit to the doctor, her parents' reaction, and her growing excitement at the prospect of becoming a mother.

Sandra didn't once mention her career. All she wrote about was the baby, and her mother's plans for them to marry at the local church when he returned home. George's tension gradually eased and a smile stretched his lips until he was grinning like an idiot. He was going to be a husband and a father!

The thought tingled through him, lighting him up inside as though the sun had risen just for him. He had always planned to have children sometime. Now it was a reality. Images raced through his mind—Sandra cradling a newborn baby to her breast, a toddler holding his hand, a little boy kicking a ball around with him, a little boy on a bicycle. But the baby might be a girl, of course, a little girl with Sandra's hazel eyes.

He dug in his pocket and pulled out the photograph of them together from the station photo booth, now crumpled and stained. That photograph had gone everywhere with him, even on the grueling cross-country ski.

In a few weeks this beautiful woman would become his wife. Everything was happening so fast, but this was a good thing. He would never again have to worry she might leave him.

• • •

A herd of lazy New Forest ponies wandered onto the road and stopped, tails swishing at flies. Tiny newborn foals hugged their mother's sides, long legged and gangly. George eased off the accelerator of his sports car. The vehicle drifted to a halt on the quiet strip of asphalt dissecting the colorful heath.

It was unseasonably warm for the end of March, and he'd lowered the convertible's top to let in the sun. A bee buzzed past his ear as the ponies stared at him with their large brown eyes. The lush green English countryside seemed like a dream after spending so long in cold, snowy conditions.

Another car approached from the opposite direction and prompted the ponies to amble away among the bushes.

George drove on, excitement zipping along his nerves as he entered the village where Sandra lived. He'd flown back from Norway yesterday and landed at Royal Naval Air Station Yeovilton in Somerset, then caught a train to London, and spent the night at his parents' house. He'd wanted to come directly to Sandra's, but he had to break the news of the baby to his parents first. Sandra had told them about the wedding, but not the reason for the hurry.

He'd been concerned his mother might not take the news well. She was sensitive about her reputation and social standing. Her ecstatic response on discovering she would soon be a grandmother had been a relief.

At the sight of the red post box, George's heart leaped and pounded. He swung the Triumph down the narrow track to Sandra's home, weaving between the potholes.

He pulled up beside a small white car that must belong to Mrs. Fisher. Nestled in the woodland clearing, Pine Cone Cottage was surrounded with a carpet of yellow primroses. Pots overflowing with tulips and daffodils flanked the front door, and trailers of greenery covered with tiny pink flowers clad the wall and crept onto the thatched roof.

Even though he'd only visited once before, the cottage felt homey and welcoming. He could see why Sandra loved the place.

Tense with anticipation and a hint of trepidation, George consciously slowed his breathing to calm himself, before pushing open his door. The three months they'd been apart felt like a long time.

As he headed for the cottage, he patted the back pocket of his jeans that contained his wallet and the precious photos of Sandra. He loved her as much as the day he'd left, but how would she feel when she saw him again?

The front door burst open and Sandra dashed out. He barely had time to take in her long flowing hair, bright smile, and pretty hazel eyes glowing with excitement, before she jumped into his arms.

"Oh, George. I can't believe you're here."

Any doubts faded as he gathered her slender body in his arms and lifted her off the ground to kiss her. As their lips met, the months apart were forgotten as if they'd never happened. He met her grin with one of his own as he set her on her feet.

"Where are your glasses?"

"I'm wearing contact lenses. They've brought out new soft ones that are more comfortable."

"You look gorgeous, darling." He pulled her close and kissed her again, smiling against her lips. After a long, heated kiss, he eased back before things got out of control.

With a strange sense of wonder tingling through him, he spread his palm on her abdomen. "It's hard to believe our baby's in here." Although he was a doctor and knew how these things worked, it seemed like a miracle...a wonderful miracle.

"It's only thirteen weeks. I've not started to show yet."

"I'm looking forward to seeing you with a round belly." His protective feelings grew at the thought.

She laughed and laid her head on his chest, hugging him so tightly he could barely breathe.

"I'm glad we'll be married before the pregnancy shows."

He stroked back her hair and pressed his lips to the soft skin below her ear, inhaling her dusky floral fragrance. "I can't believe the wedding's in two weeks." Everything seemed to be happening so fast.

"Hello, George. Lovely to see you again."

George straightened as Mrs. Fisher came out. He'd been slightly worried about seeing Sandra's parents. After all, he'd gotten their daughter into trouble. Mrs. Fisher's smile as she hugged him was reassuring. "You're welcome to stay for as long as you like. Come on in. I'll make us all a cup of tea."

She stepped inside. Sandra linked her arm through his and he ducked under the low door frame as they followed.

"I've bought a double bed for my room," Sandra said. "Now I've finished my stint in general medicine in London, I'll stay here until after the wedding, and you can stay, too."

"Your parents don't mind me sleeping with you?"

"Mum said there's no point in trying to shut the stable door after the horse has bolted. Anyway, we'll be married in two weeks."

George paused in the hallway and drew her into his arms. Eyes closed, he pressed his lips to hers, a whirlwind of need racing through him. Being apart for so long had major drawbacks that he hadn't considered before he met Sandra. "What I really want to do right now is go upstairs and try out your new double bed," he whispered.

"Mmm." Sandra cuddled against him, her fingers slipping beneath his shirt.

At the top of his priority list was finding them a home of their own where they could have some privacy.

# Chapter Ten

"Come on. I want to show you the church where we're getting married." Sandra took the mug from George's hand and towed him out of the kitchen.

"Sandra, let the young man have a break. He's just driven down from London and he only arrived home from Norway yesterday." Her mother stood in the kitchen door with her hands on her hips.

Sandra loved her home and her parents, but she didn't want to be treated like a child. She was starting to realize that she and George needed their own place. Part of the reason she was eager to go out was so they could have privacy to smooch in the car.

"I'm fine, Mrs. Fisher. Thank you for the cup of tea." George smiled at her mother and followed Sandra outside.

As she settled in the passenger seat of his car, she folded her hands gently over her belly, already protective of this precious new life growing inside her.

George leaned closer and laid his palm over her hands. "I'm very happy about the baby and the wedding. You know that, don't you?" He punctuated his words with tiny kisses.

"In the next couple of weeks, I'll find a home for us. Eventually we'll buy our own place, but to start with we'll have to make do with army married quarters. Is that okay?"

She wrapped her arms around his neck, so relieved to have him back. "I don't care where I live as long as I'm with you." Life would be wonderful. She'd have a darling little baby, a gorgeous husband, and a home of their own.

George pulled away and they drove off, bumping down the driveway. "So where's this church, then?" he asked.

Sandra directed him into the village, past the doctor's surgery where she'd love to work, past the convenience store and the small school. On the other side of the village, Saint Cuthbert's Church stood in the middle of the ancient cemetery. They parked on the edge of the road near the tiny thatched kissing gate that led into the churchyard, and climbed out of the car.

"What a wonderful place. It looks ancient."

"It is. Some of the graves date back to the twelfth century."

A cracked flagstone path led to the heavy oak door. Primroses and buttercups were scattered across the green grass between the gravestones. Sandra clung to George's arm, her thoughts flying as she imagined walking along this path in two weeks beside her father, wearing her lovely lace wedding dress.

George twisted the iron door handle and the latch clanked open. "Gosh. They don't make doors like this anymore." He put a shoulder against the metal-studded oak and pushed. They walked through the medieval entrance porch. The familiar smell of seasoned oak, beeswax polish, and slightly musty fabric pervaded the air.

They were both quiet as they trod the worn red carpet past the font, where she hoped her baby would be baptized. When they reached the nave, they stopped at the head of the aisle.

A serene silence filled the sacred space. Sandra drew in a shuddering breath and released it slowly, letting go all the worries and uncertainties of the past few months. George was home and they would soon be married. Everything was working out perfectly.

"I haven't been in a country church like this since I was at school." George laid a hand on the carved oak leaves and acorns on the bench end of a pew. "There's a peaceful atmosphere in here that you don't find anywhere else."

"I knew you'd like Saint Cuthbert's." This church was part of Sandra's childhood. She'd hoped George would feel as comfortable here as she did.

"It's perfect, darling." He ran his fingertips across her cheek and smiled.

Holding hands, they walked down the aisle and stopped at the step before the altar. Huge fragrant displays of flowers stood on each side.

_Will you take George to be your husband? Will you love him, comfort him, honor and protect him, and forsaking all others, be faithful to him as long as you both shall live?_ The familiar words of the marriage ceremony echoed in her mind. "I do," she whispered.

Sunbeams burst through the stained glass window behind the altar, streaking a rainbow pattern across the carpet at their feet.

George lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her finger beside her engagement ring. "In two weeks you'll be Mrs. Knight. Then in another six months, we'll have our first child. I'm so happy we found each other, love."

"So am I." Sandra wrapped her arms around him and closed her eyes as his strong arms circled her. She was the luckiest woman in the world. Life was perfect and she couldn't be happier.

• • •

George hummed as he turned into his parents' drive. The last ten days with Sandra had been wonderful. They'd visited Southampton General Hospital, where she had a place for the next specialty in her rotation, and met the consultant pediatrician she'd work for. It turned out the man was an army reservist, so he and George had immediately got along.

They'd also supervised the final wedding preparations and George had dutifully tasted cake samples, nodded and smiled when he was shown photographs of floral table displays, and visited the country hotel where the wedding reception was to take place. Whatever Sandra chose was fine with him. He wanted her to enjoy their special day. If she was happy, he would be, too.

Tonight he was due to meet up with some of his old friends for a bachelor party before the big day tomorrow.

He parked beside his father's silver Bentley and cut the engine. With perfect timing, Robert Mackenzie and his new wife climbed out of a taxi outside and walked up the gravel drive towards him.

"Rob, good to see you." They shook hands, and George kissed Moira's cheek.

"So where are we going tonight?" George asked Rob as they headed for the front door. As best man, he'd been responsible for organizing the bachelor party.

Rob slapped him on the back with a laugh. "You'll have to wait to find out."

"I can't be too late getting home. It's a big day tomorrow and I don't want to oversleep."

Rob shook his head. "You don't change, do you? You know what they say about all work and no play. Just relax and enjoy yourself for once."

"Oh, I play, believe me. But I'd rather save the playtime for my honeymoon."

Moira smiled. "A man with his priorities right. Your fiancée is a lucky woman."

They headed towards the house and George put his key in the lock. Before he could turn it, his mother pulled the door open and ushered them inside.

"Robert, Moira, how lovely to see you again." She kissed them both on the cheek, then smiled at George, but there was something wrong. He could tell by her tense, almost agitated manner. Before he could ask what, the phone on the hall table trilled.

His mother glared as if it had bitten her.

"Aren't you going to answer that?" A hint of foreboding crept into George's tone.

With obvious reluctance, she picked up the handset. "Yes, he's arrived. I'll pass you over. Surgeon Commander Graham for you, George. This is the third time he's called, but he won't tell me why."

George glanced at Robert questioningly to see if he knew what his brother-in-law wanted, but his friend's only answer was a shrug.

"Hello. Nice to hear from you, Alex." He'd only said good-bye to him two weeks ago at RNAS Yeovilton when they'd returned from Norway. He hadn't expected to speak to him again so soon.

"Ah, George. Thank goodness I got hold of you. We have an emergency, and I need your help. I gather you're due to get married tomorrow, so I'm sorry to call you up at such short notice."

George frowned. Sandra would be disappointed if they had to postpone their honeymoon, and so would he. After three months apart and two weeks staying with her parents, he was looking forward to some time alone with her. "Can you give me more details?"

"This is still classified, although I doubt it will remain so for long. You've heard that the Argentines have occupied the Falkland Isles?"

"Yes. I think everyone has." The news had been emblazoned across the front pages of the newspapers. To start with he'd thought it was a bad April Fools' Day joke, but it turned out to be true. He'd been following the news reports with interest, a small part of him lamenting the fact that the British military operation was under navy command, so he wouldn't be called up to join the task force.

As far as he'd heard, the only Royal Army Medical Corps medics who were being mobilized were those attached to the parachute regiment who supported the commandos.

"We've requisitioned the P&O cruise liner _Canberra_ as a hospital ship. I joined her in Gibraltar as part of the advance team sent to plan the conversion. It's docked in Southampton now, undergoing the refit.

"My assistant has managed to break his leg in a car accident. I need to replace him quickly with someone I can trust. The powers that be have given me permission to call on you. I'm sorry. Your Easter leave is canceled. I need you down at Southampton docks as soon as you can get here."

"What?" It was rare for George to dither, but he did now. "You mean today?"

"Yes. They'll be working through the night to complete the _Canberra_ 's refit. We plan to sail early tomorrow."

George stared blankly at the floral wallpaper. Disappointment engulfed him as things raced through his mind—Sandra smiling and happy as she talked him through the wedding-day schedule, how she'd teased him about waiting to see her wedding dress, the beautiful flowers she'd chosen, the wedding rings carefully stowed in his suitcase. And the honeymoon in Italy they were both looking forward to.

Everything would have to be canceled.

He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. She was going to be devastated. Yet he had no choice. Alex's call was not a request, it was an order. "Yes, sir. Of course. I'll leave immediately." He glanced at his watch. "I should be with you by this evening."

"Good man. Pack for cold weather, thermals and camouflage, Wellington boots won't go amiss."

"Yes, sir. I'll see you later." George replaced the receiver, a terrible sense of powerlessness closing in on him. This was a side of the army he hadn't considered. He wanted to serve his country, and he wanted to lead men. But he didn't like his freedom curtailed, and right now, having his wedding day snatched away from him, that was how he felt.

He pivoted to find four faces staring at him. "You can't go today. You're getting married tomorrow." His mother wedged her hands on her hips and glared at him, her cheeks flushed. He'd never seen her so angry.

"I can't ignore a direct order."

"Your father will call someone, won't you, John." His mother turned her laser glare onto his father, who had wandered out of his study during the phone conversation.

"Yes. Poor show, the navy dropping you in it like this." His father huffed and puffed in his usual fashion.

"I could call Alex and try to get you off the hook," Robert offered tentatively. He winced in sympathy and Moira avoided George's gaze, obviously embarrassed that it was her brother who'd just wrecked his wedding.

For a moment, George was tempted to accept Robert's offer, not for himself, but to spare Sandra the disappointment of canceling the wedding. The thought of hurting her left him breathless and hollow, but even if Robert could talk Alex into choosing someone else, this would go down as a black mark on George's record. It might blight his career for the rest of his life. However inconvenient the timing, he'd joined the army to serve his country. He would not back out when he was needed.

"No." He fisted his hand against his thigh. "I have to go." And he had to leave soon.

Head hanging, he ran upstairs to his room and sat on the edge of his bed. Cradling the telephone from his nightstand in his hand, he dialed the Fishers's number. This would be the hardest call he'd ever had to make.

• • •

Sandra sat on the hard tiles of the kitchen floor, hugging her knees, the phone pressed to her ear. "Please be there for the wedding ceremony so we're married before you go away again. You can leave straight after that. You don't have to stay for the reception."

"I'm sorry, my darling. I know it's terrible timing, but I have to leave today."

Tears swam in her eyes as she hung on to her control by a thread. When her mum shouted that George was on the phone, she'd galloped downstairs, eager to talk to him. She'd thought he'd called to say he'd arrived home safely. Then he'd dropped his bombshell.

"There has to be a way around this. You can't miss our wedding after all the planning and expense. It's totally unreasonable of the army or navy or whoever is giving the orders to expect you to drop everything and dash off like this."

His breath rushed out on a frustrated sigh. "I know. I feel the same way. More than anything else in the world, I want to be there for our wedding tomorrow, but the ship sails in the morning."

"Can't they wait for you?" Even as the words left her lips, she knew they were unreasonable. A hospital ship bound for the South Atlantic was not going to delay sailing for one junior doctor.

"If it's Moira's brother giving the orders, can't you tell him you're getting married and ask him to find someone else for the job? Can't Robert or Moira talk to him? Isn't there a navy doctor who can go?"

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. It doesn't work like that." George sighed again. "Look, I'm really sorry. I have to go. I need to pack and get on the road. I promised Alex I'd be at Southampton docks tonight."

"You promised me you'd turn up at the church tomorrow and marry me." The moment the bitter words left her mouth, she wished she could take them back. It wasn't George's fault he'd been called up for this stupid war with Argentina over some island nobody had ever heard of. Who cared who ruled it? Except she'd read an article in the newspaper about the Falkland Islands residents wanting to remain British, and if there was one thing the British stood up for, it was democracy and freedom of choice.

George remained silent.

Her breath rushed out on a hopeless sigh of defeat. She couldn't stop him leaving and in her heart of hearts, she didn't want to. George was a man of principle and integrity and would never avoid doing his duty for his country. That was part of the reason she loved him.

"I'm sorry. I know this is difficult for you as well, darling." Sandra cupped her hand around the phone receiver as she spoke softly, wishing she could touch him and kiss him.

"I want to get married as much as you do," he said.

"I know." As silent tears overflowed her lashes, Sandra pulled her hair back from her damp face.

"We'll get married as soon as I come back."

_If you come back._ The thought burned through Sandra like a blowtorch, searing away her self-control, and a sob caught in her chest.

"Be careful," she stuttered between shuddering breaths.

"I love you, Sandra. I have your photo in my wallet, and I'll keep it with me all the time. I'll write if I get the chance, but if you don't hear from me it only means I haven't been able to send a letter home, okay?"

"Love you, too."

"Good-bye, darling."

"Good-bye." Sandra pressed her hand over her mouth as he put down the phone and the dial tone sounded in her ear.

All her worst fears about marrying an army officer were coming true, and they weren't even married yet.

# Chapter Eleven

Southampton docks were a hive of activity. Trucks carrying huge wooden crates of supplies backed up to the quayside, while bundles of long metal poles dangled from a crane as they were lifted onto the forward deck of the _Canberra_.

The majestic cruise liner rose over the busy quay like a benevolent queen, tolerating the attention of her minions as workmen in hard hats rushed around her decks, preparing the ship for her change of use. It was difficult to imagine how a luxury cruise liner could be transformed into a hospital ship in a few days.

Civilian dock workers and sailors hurried to and fro. The clank of metal, the roar of engines, and the shouting created a deafening cacophony.

George joined the stream of Royal Marine commandos and paratroopers walking up the gangway onto the ship. As he didn't know where to go, he wandered along the deck to take a look at the modifications being done.

"Hey, George."

He turned to find an army doctor who'd been a year ahead of him at Oxford. They shook hands with a sense of camaraderie. "What are you doing here, Chris?"

"I'm the medical officer attached to Two Para. What about you?"

"I'm not quite sure yet. All I know is I'll be assisting Surgeon Commander Graham."

"I gather he's the boss's right-hand man." Chris was obviously impressed.

George put down his suitcase and they leaned against the ship's rail, watching workmen climbing over the metal skeleton filling the _Canberra_ 's empty swimming pool.

"This is going to be the helicopter landing pad," Chris said. "They calculated that the metal structure and helicopter weigh about the same as the water the pool holds. Amazing, isn't it?"

"Shows how heavy water is." George watched for a few minutes, marveling that this would be finished in time to sail in the morning.

"Come on. I'll take you down to the CO's office. They'll tell you which room you're in."

Thirty minutes later, George had dropped off his suitcase and backpack in a nice port room with a balcony, and was heading along the corridor to Alex Graham's room. He knocked on the door.

Alex opened it and shook his hand. "Welcome aboard. Come and meet the rest of the medical team."

The group of doctors filled the room, sitting on chairs and the bed, some leaning against the wall. Alex introduced them one by one. George nodded in greeting and shook the hands of those nearest.

One man he recognized from school, and another had been at Sandhurst with him. Most were navy doctors, with a few from the Royal Army Medical Corp. A glass of whiskey was pressed into his hand, and he took a fortifying sip as he leaned a shoulder against the wall.

Tension thrummed through the room, a mixture of excitement and trepidation that momentarily eclipsed the clench of disappointment in George's gut over missing his wedding. He'd called Sandra from a pay phone before he boarded, and she was very upset. He felt terrible for letting her down.

"Well, we're all here now, gentlemen." Alex glanced around. The boss will be talking to us tomorrow once we're at sea. He's busy negotiating with the other senior officers this evening. We're having a little trouble with the commandos and the paras. They seem to think the medical staff is getting in their way."

A wry laugh ran through the room. "They won't think that when they end up in the field hospital," someone said.

"Quite. And it doesn't hurt to politely point that out if you have any trouble."

After the meeting, George went straight to bed, shattered by his sudden change of plans and dash to Southampton. A dream of Sandra standing at the altar in the church all alone, crying out his name, woke him in the middle of the night. He stared into the darkness, his heart pounding with distress. The faint hiss of the ocean, along with the hammering and drilling of the contractors who were working through the night, reminded him where he was.

He imagined Sandra curled up on her bed, disappointed and hurting. And he was the cause. He loved her and wanted to make her happy. So far he'd done a poor job of it. He thumped his pillow with frustration.

Early the next morning, the _Canberra_ sailed out of Southampton. Even though the ship's purpose was supposed to be a secret, a large crowd had gathered on the docks to see them off. The military bands of the Royal Marines and the paratroopers played them out with "Sailing" and "Land of Hope and Glory."

At two p.m., on the privacy of his room's balcony, George gripped the cold safety rail and stared at the choppy gray Atlantic Ocean. Right now he should be standing at Sandra's side in the pretty country church, pledging to love, honor, and protect her for the rest of his life. He remembered her joyful anticipation as they had stood before the altar on the day she showed him Saint Cuthbert's, and tears filled his eyes.

He folded his arms on the rail and rested his forehead on them. Now the frantic activity of the last twenty-four hours was over and the ship had sailed, he had time to think. The reality of his situation sank in. Not only had he let her down, her parents had paid for the wedding and would be out of pocket. He should have offered to reimburse them, but it hadn't occurred to him before he left.

When the wedding was reorganized, he'd pay. If the wedding took place at all. The _Canberra_ was heading to war. Not everyone on board would return home alive. The thought of Sandra left to cope without him as a single unwed mother was too awful to imagine.

The next few weeks were busy as the doctors all pitched in to convert the ship's nightclub into a ward, hanging camouflage netting to divide it into rooms, and setting up beds and medical equipment. He attended training lectures by the senior navy medics, and watched videos of the battlefield medical treatments pioneered by the Americans in the Vietnam War.

The doctors diplomatically kept out of the way during the commandos' and paras' endless training sessions. Every day they ran the quarter-mile route around the deck numerous times, carrying antitank guns and backpacks full of ammunition.

After a refueling stop in Sierra Leone, they arrived at Ascension Island, a huge pile of volcanic rock sticking up out of the blue waters of the South Atlantic. The ships of the British task force gathered there to exchange stores and men before heading to the total exclusion zone around the Falkland Islands.

Every day, George wrote a diary of his experiences, something to show Sandra when he returned home—if he returned home. He tried not to dwell on the danger he would face, but he was a realist. If the Argentine planes chose to attack the _Canberra_ , the ship, nicknamed the Great White Whale, was going to be difficult to miss.

• • •

Sandra strode along the corridor of the pediatric department at Southampton General Hospital, heading for the consulting room just outside the ward where she was due to take a clinic in five minutes.

Her pace slowed as she neared the open door of the patients' lounge. Instead of the usual happy music and chatter of cartoon characters, the now-familiar booms and gunfire emanated from the room.

She stepped into the doorway to find a group of parents huddled around the television screen, watching the latest report from the Falklands War, while their children played with toys on the floor.

Like a drug addict desperate for a fix, Sandra's gaze glued to the screen, scanning every shot of a ship's deck or the desolate, windswept land for a glimpse of George. She hadn't heard from him since he left ten weeks ago. The last time they'd spoken was when he called her just before he boarded the _Canberra_.

So far the _Canberra_ was safe, but she had no way of knowing if he was still on board. Some of the medics had set up a field hospital in Ajax Bay on the Falklands. At any time a missile could hit the old meat-packing warehouse the British soldiers had converted into a field hospital.

As she watched wobbly video footage of a missile blasting into the side of a British frigate and men being thrown off into the ocean, dread swelled like nausea in her chest until she could barely breathe.

Fear rode her day and night like a physical weight. She couldn't sleep for the terrible dreams of George floating facedown and lifeless in the freezing water, or trapped inside the wreckage of a sinking ship.

She tried to stay busy and keep her mind on work, but the traitorous thoughts plagued every spare moment. She could hardly think straight for worry. Her normal concentration had deserted her. Every prescription she wrote, she checked and double-checked to ensure she hadn't made a mistake with the dosage.

As the television reporter interviewed the commanding officer of the field hospital, Sandra stepped farther into the lounge and pressed a hand over her swelling abdomen, silently praying for a glimpse of her baby's daddy, safe and sound, but her prayers went unanswered.

The tiny flutters of her baby's movements brought a sad smile to her lips. George should be here to share these precious milestones, not halfway around the globe fighting a pointless war that should have been resolved through diplomacy.

Later Sandra trudged out of the hospital to the bus stop. Worry and the pregnancy were grinding her down.

At twenty-four weeks along, she was not large yet, but being pregnant made her so tired she fought to stay awake on the journey home. The bus headed out of Southampton and wound its way through the small towns and quaint villages of the New Forest until she reached her stop.

She climbed off and pressed a hand to the small of her back, stretching out the kinks. For some reason she was extra tired today, weary and listless. She felt hot as well, almost as if she had a temperature. She hadn't felt well for a few days, but blamed it on lack of sleep. Perhaps it was something more?

Her legs ached as she walked the mile along the edge of the road and up the track to Pine Cone Cottage. As she reached the front door, a sickening ache made her bend over and clutch her belly. A burst of warm fluid ran down her legs. For a moment she thought she'd wet herself, but she was certain she hadn't. The only other thing it could be was amniotic fluid. Had her water broken?

Fear sliced through her like a scalpel. She couldn't go into labor now. It was far too early. The baby wasn't viable until twenty-seven weeks. Bent double, clutching her baby bump, Sandra hammered on the door. The moment her mother pulled it open, she pushed past and dashed in to lie on the sofa with her legs propped up on the arm.

"Call the hospital, Mum. I'm leaking amniotic fluid."

Her mother's eyes widened in concern. "Are you sure that's what it is?"

"I think so."

Sandra laid her hand on her rounded belly and closed her eyes against the tears that threatened. Her baby would be fine. If she was admitted to the hospital on bed rest, they could maintain the pregnancy to twenty-seven weeks, and give her steroid injections to help the baby's lungs mature. Then he'd stand a good chance, even if he was premature.

Thoughts swirled in Sandra's mind and she closed her eyes, struggling to remain calm.

"I spoke to a midwife. We need to go straight to the hospital, love."

"Are they sending an ambulance?"

"It'll be quicker if I drive you. I'll run upstairs and grab your bag."

Sandra had already packed in preparation for her sudden dash to the hospital when she went into labor, but she hadn't expected that to be so soon.

A few minutes later, her mum returned and helped her stand. Another dribble of liquid ran down Sandra's legs and she swayed, hot and light-headed. "I don't feel well, Mum."

"Come on, love. Let's get you in the car. I've flattened the seat so you can lie down."

When Sandra was settled in the vehicle, her mother covered her with a blanket and they set off. Sandra's head pounded harder as the minutes passed, and she was sure she was still leaking amniotic fluid.

A terrible sense of foreboding filled her. She closed her eyes, trying to shut out the dark thoughts of loss that circled inside her head.

She wanted George. She needed him so much right then that the ache was almost too painful to bear. "George," she moaned as cramping pain gripped her belly, and she twisted in agony.

# Chapter Twelve

"Attack developing from the north. Take cover. Take cover." At the sound of the message on the public address system, everyone dropped to the deck. George followed suit, pressing his nose against the cold metal walkway of the Royal Navy frigate where he was collecting a casualty. He threw his arms over his head as the ship's antiaircraft guns thundered, the noise reverberating through the floor beneath him.

Once the all clear was sounded, he jumped up and grabbed the end of the stretcher he'd been carrying.

"Come on. Let's get the casualty in the helicopter before any more Argie fighter jets decide to join the party." Alex Graham led the way out of the door and onto the deck where the Wessex helicopter assigned to them for collecting the wounded was waiting.

They ducked to avoid the downdraft of the rotor blades and slid the injured man inside. The young sailor looked as though he was barely out of his teens. During one of the air raids, he'd slipped down some stairs, broken his leg, and banged his head.

The helicopter pilot and copilot glanced over their shoulders as Alex and George secured the stretcher and strapped themselves in. They plugged in their helmet radios so they could communicate, as the distinctive whine of the Wessex increased and it lifted from the ship's deck.

Alex leaned over the young patient, talking to him, even though he wouldn't be able to hear over the engine noise, trying to hold his attention to reassure him.

"Hostiles approaching from the west." The pilot's voice made George jerk his head up, but he couldn't see out from where he was. He listened to the frantic exchange between the pilots as they decided to set down on the nearest bit of land to get out of the air before they were shot down. A few moments later they landed. One of the pilots manned the machine gun in case they came under attack.

The side door was opened and George crouched in the chilly air, watching as three Argentine Mirages and a couple of Skyhawks fired on the frigate they'd just left. The ship returned fire, each flash followed by a boom a couple of seconds later, while glowing streamers of tracer fire peppered the air.

Two Exocet missiles streaked above the surface of the water and slammed into the ship's gray hull, bursting it open like overripe fruit. George gripped the doorsill, his breath shallow with shock. If this had happened ten minutes earlier, he'd still have been on that ship. The vessel listed like a drunk, a pall of oily black smoke rising into the air as its broken back twisted in the water.

Four British Sea Harriers raced across the sky, firing on the hostiles. A Skyhawk exploded and crashed into the water, trailing fire and smoke. The rest of the attackers hightailed it away.

"There could be survivors in the water. We need to get airborne," George said into his comms unit.

"Roger that." The pilot glanced over his shoulder.

George hung on as the Wessex rose into the air in a whirlwind of dirt and snow. The pilot angled the nose down and headed towards the foundering ship at top speed.

Men in Day-Glo emergency survival suits were dashing towards the frigate's bow as the stern sank. The ship had been ripped open as if a giant had punched a hole in the side, leaving the innards mangled and broken.

The helicopter swept low over the ocean to search for men who'd been thrown overboard. Two bright survival suits bobbed in the water.

The copilot came back and deployed the winch. "Two to bring up."

"I'll go." George grabbed the winch strop and put it around his body, then sat on the step as the helicopter hovered over the choppy ocean.

"Are you sure?" Alex shouted into his comms.

"Yes." Alex couldn't go. He was their only neurosurgeon, and they couldn't afford to risk a pilot.

"When you touch the water, you're going to get one hell of a kick from the static built up by the helicopter rotor blades. So be prepared." The copilot winched him out and he hung suspended in the air outside the door for a moment before he started dropping. The warm blast of the helicopter's exhaust hit him, then the chilly wind bit into his exposed skin.

"Hell," George muttered as the winch lowered him towards the churning surface of the water. Winchmen usually wore immersion clothing to protect them from the cold and he didn't have that. So he was going to get shocked _and_ frozen.

The electrical discharge jolted through him a second before the freezing water smacked him in the face. For a moment he couldn't breathe, the cold stealing his strength and his breath. Squinting and hyperventilating, he fought the rough waves to reach the drowning man. George grabbed him in a bear hug, hanging on with all his strength as the winch lifted them both back to the helicopter.

Alex took charge of the casualty and gave George a thumbs-up, indicating the man appeared to be unhurt.

Trembling with cold, George was lowered towards the freezing water again. The second man lay in the swell, blood streaming into the water from a head wound. As George tried to grasp him, the man struggled and thrashed around.

"It's okay. Hold still."

Numb and weak, George fumbled and grabbed the back of the sailor's life jacket. He had no strength to hold this man like he had the first, and they hadn't been prepared with the usual rescue equipment so he had to improvise. For a moment he couldn't think; then he had an idea. As the swell rose, the winch wire went slack enough that George managed to snag the winch hook through a nylon strap on the man's life jacket.

He gave a thumbs-up, and they were lifted safely to the Wessex.

"Well done, Doc." The Royal Marine copilot slapped him on the back.

Alex took over care of the second rescued man while George crouched in front of a heater, teeth chattering, as feeling returned to his fingers.

Fifteen minutes later, George stood beneath a hot shower in his room on the _Canberra_ , his wet clothes hanging out to dry on the cupboard doors. He had never been so relieved to get into the warmth in his life.

He closed his eyes and turned his face into the hot spray, Sandra filling his mind. He hadn't considered her when he'd gambled with his safety, but the consequences of a mistake now hit home.

It would be so easy to die out here. If something had gone wrong with the rescue and he'd been left in the freezing South Atlantic Ocean for ten or fifteen minutes, he might not be here now.

His brush with danger reminded him of his own mortality, and what was really important to him. He made a silent pledge that he _would_ return to the woman he loved.

• • •

Sandra sat in her hospital bed with her newborn girl in her arms. She only weighed about one and a half pounds but she looked like a perfect little doll, with tiny hands and feet, a smattering of dark hair, and a small button nose.

The color of her eyes would remain a mystery. Her baby girl hadn't opened them and never would. She'd been alive when she was born and lived for a few minutes, but at twenty-four weeks' gestation, her lungs were too immature to breathe. She'd never stood a chance.

A numb, empty sense of grief wiped away everything except the burning pain that filled Sandra's chest. Her mother sat mutely on the bedside chair, tears in her eyes, a hanky pressed to her nose. She didn't try to console Sandra and it was a good thing. There were no words that would help.

The door to the delivery room opened and a midwife came in, followed by a young female doctor. "Shall I take the baby now?" The kindly, middle-aged midwife spoke softly and held out her hands.

Sandra wanted to cling onto her baby girl, her little Victoria, for a few minutes longer. Once they took her baby from this room, she would have to face the reality that her dreams were over. Her baby was dead, her happy future gone.

Her breath trembled out as she examined her baby once more, trying to imprint every detail of her tiny face and body on her mind.

"In these circumstances, some mums like a photo." The young doctor held up a Polaroid camera.

"Yes," Sandra mumbled.

The doctor snapped a picture and they all waited in silence while the camera processed the print and pushed it out. The doctor waved the photograph to dry it, then held it up for Sandra to see the image of the precious little girl in her arms.

For the first time, tears filled her eyes. Somehow seeing the picture made it more real. She pressed her lips in a tight line, holding back her tears, and passed her baby girl to the midwife. The woman wrapped her in a pink blanket and quickly left the room.

"Do you know why she came early?" Sandra asked.

"It looks like the placenta was infected. We've sent a sample off for analysis, but my guess is Strep B. We don't see this very often. You were unlucky. I'm so sorry. It's probable that the baby contracted the infection as well. You might be affected, so we'll start you on antibiotics to be on the safe side." The doctor turned away to make a note on the clipboard hanging on the end of the bed.

Sandra slid down under the covers and curled on her side, pulling up her knees and closing her eyes. Questions raced through her mind. How had the placenta become infected? Why had it happened to her? She tried to think of anything she'd done to cause this and came up with nothing.

All the analyzing in the world was pointless, anyway. Nothing could bring her tiny Victoria back.

Right now she couldn't imagine ever going through this again. She would forget about having a family and dedicate herself to her career.

She didn't want a baby or a husband. She didn't want to love anybody. It hurt too much.

• • •

George stood on deck, his hands on the railing, and gazed at the welcome banners and Union Jacks waved by the cheering crowd as the _Canberra_ entered Southampton water. The tooting car horns and shouted greetings were almost drowned out by the engines of the helicopters circling overhead.

Small watercraft carrying well-wishers crowded around the ship. The cruise liner had to be escorted through the throng by the Harbor Police. Six army Lynx helicopters did a flyby, trailing red smoke, and the _Canberra_ 's horn honked in salute. Finally the pier where they were to dock came into view.

The ropes were dropped and secured to the dock while the military bands played and a flock of red, white, and blue balloons rose into the air. George scanned the upturned faces below, eager for a glimpse of Sandra. The _Canberra_ 's arrival time must have been well publicized. There were so many relatives and friends on the quayside waiting to greet their menfolk.

One of the commandos nearby whooped and pumped his fist in the air. "Look down there," he shouted. "That's my wife with our baby in her arms. I don't even know if it's a boy or a girl yet."

"Congratulations, mate." His comrades slapped him on the back and joked.

George returned to scanning the crowd, even more eager to identify Sandra. He did a quick mental calculation. She'd be twenty-seven weeks pregnant now. He couldn't imagine his slender Sandra with a baby bump. He rather liked the idea that she was carrying his child.

Alex came up beside him and rested a hand on his shoulder. "If you ever want to leave the army, we'll be more than happy to have you in the Royal Navy Medical Service, George." He gripped George's hand and shook it firmly. "It was a pleasure working with you."

"I learned a lot, sir. Thank you for giving me the chance to widen my experience." During the conflict, he'd treated medical emergencies that might have taken him years to encounter. He had no doubt that being part of the task force would boost his career.

After everything that had happened to him in the last thirteen weeks, the missed wedding seemed like a long time ago. He and Sandra could now reschedule the marriage, but they had the birth of their baby to look forward to first.

Before he left, he'd inquired about army married quarters so they'd have somewhere ready to move in to once they were wed. He was looking forward to sharing a home with his wife and baby.

The gangways were let down and troops started filing off, lugging suitcases and kitbags. The crowd on the quay jostled as relatives of the returning heroes rushed to welcome them home. Tough commandos with soppy smiles on their faces were photographed holding their babies, while children squealed with excitement as they greeted their daddies.

George joined the throng of people disembarking, still searching the crowd. Surely someone had come to meet him. Then he spied his mother in a pink dress, his father at her side. Was Sandra with them? He couldn't see her.

When his feet touched British soil, he was so relieved he could have kneeled and kissed the ground.

"George, darling. Over here." His mother waved, jewels sparkling on her fingers.

"Hello, Mum." He raised a hand, then threaded his way between the celebrating people. His mother rushed forward and threw her arms around him.

"Welcome home, darling." She stood back and examined him as if looking for damage. "We're so pleased to have you back safe and sound."

"Well done, George." His father shook his hand vigorously. "Good show."

"Thank you, sir."

George glanced around, his happiness fading. "Didn't Sandra come?"

"She wasn't able to." His mother's smile dropped, and she pursed her lips in a way that signaled trouble.

A flash of foreboding shot through George. "Is she ill?" He didn't believe she was at work. She'd have taken the time off.

His mother averted her gaze and turned away. "Come on. We'll talk in the car."

George's apprehension hardened to fear. "If there's something wrong with Sandra, please tell me."

"Come on, son." His father rested a hand on his shoulder and ushered him forward.

He picked up his suitcase and pushed through the crowd to the private officers' parking area near the dock. He tossed his case on the backseat of the Bentley and climbed in, surprised when his mother followed him into the back instead of sitting in the front.

"What's this all about?" He was really freaked now.

"There's no easy way to say this, so I'll just tell you. Sandra has lost the baby." His mother rested a hand on his arm and squeezed. "I'm so sorry, darling."

Shock wiped George's mind. For a moment he sat like a statue, as if the world had stopped. Then everything crashed back on him—a jumble of thoughts and emotions that filled his skull to bursting point.

He gripped the side of the seat as if he were falling. Gradually the swirling confusion focused down to a sharp pain that pierced his chest and radiated through his body. His baby was gone. And Sandra, poor Sandra, she'd had to deal with this on her own.

He swallowed hard against the tightness in his throat and pressed the side of his fist to his mouth. After a few minutes where he struggled against tears, he managed to speak. "When?" If it had happened early in the pregnancy, it wouldn't have been so traumatic for her.

"Three weeks ago."

"Lord, no." George closed his eyes. A few more weeks and the baby would have been viable and maybe survived, but at twenty-four weeks it wouldn't have stood a chance.

"We buried her last week," his mother said softly.

"Her?" He blinked against his watering eyes as he looked at his mum.

"Victoria."

George rested his elbows on his knees and dropped his head in his hands. _Victoria Knight._ He couldn't even imagine having a daughter. Whenever he thought of the children he'd have, they were always boys.

"I'm so sorry, darling. So sorry." His mother handed him a crumpled white envelope. He ripped it open and the diamond engagement ring he'd given Sandra fell out into his palm. He closed his fist around it, unable to process this as well.

"The baby's buried at the church where you were going to get married. Sandra took off her ring during the funeral and gave it to me."

"Why? What did she say?" George asked.

His mother shook her head, her lips pressed tight, tears in her eyes. "Nothing. I don't think she knew what she was doing. She was overwhelmed."

Sandra didn't want to marry him anymore? George stared at the gold band and its twinkling diamond, trying to get his head around this. But on top of his grief it was too much. He mentally stepped back and shut out the pain, a coping mechanism he'd developed when he had to deal with the terrible injuries he'd treated in the last few months.

"I want to see the grave." A sudden determination filled him. He had to see where his little girl was buried.

"We'll take you."

"No. I want to go alone. Can I borrow the car?"

His mother glanced at his father, who nodded. "Of course. We'll take the train back to London."

They drove for a short while and his father pulled up outside the railway station. After his parents climbed out, they told him to drive carefully. He barely heard them as he took the driver's seat and accelerated out into the flow of traffic.

The moment he reached a clear section of road he floored the gas, the powerful car leaping forward like a tiger let out of its cage. His heart pounded as he raced towards the New Forest, his emotions twirling inside him like a whirlwind, leaving him angry one moment and sad the next.

He slowed when he reached the narrow forest roads, his breath coming fast and shallow as he pulled up outside the church and locked the Bentley. He unlatched the thatched kissing gate that he'd thought so quaint, and headed around the church to the newest plots on the far side of the graveyard.

In the dappled shade of a gently swaying ash tree was a child-sized plot. The newly turned soil lay covered in withered wreaths of flowers. A polished granite headstone stood at one end, the inscription picked out in gold.

Victoria Knight.

Died June 18, 1982

With us for only a short while but always in our hearts.

George fell to his knees in the damp grass and rested a hand on top of the headstone. His daughter had come into this world and left it without him even knowing. He'd missed those few precious moments she was here, his only chance to ever see her and hold her. Hot, uncontrollable grief burst through him. He dropped his head in his hands and wept.

# Chapter Thirteen

Sandra sat on the swing seat in the back garden of Pine Cone Cottage with the precious photo of Victoria clutched in her hand. Streaks of sunshine patterned the grass, birds sang in the trees, and the fragrance of wallflowers and roses filled her nose. God was determined to cheer her up. But it was no good. The sick ache of loss obliterated all else.

Her only comfort was Miller, her father's black Labrador. He seemed to sense she needed him and had barely left her side since she came home from the hospital. He slept on her bed with her at night, and now he lay on the cushions at her side, his head resting on her knee.

She swung gently back and forth, staring disinterestedly at the colorful display of flowers in the mismatched ceramic pots that dotted the small garden. She didn't want to return to work. She didn't want to see anyone. She didn't even want to think.

Sandra glanced down at the photo of her tiny girl and fresh tears filled her eyes. She'd cried more in the last three weeks than she ever had before. It felt like the meaning of her life had been snatched away.

Without her baby, everything was pointless. Leaning her head back on the cushions, she closed her eyes and released a hopeless sigh.

The sound of voices came from inside the house. Her mother was talking to someone. Her mum had invited her grandparents and a few other people to visit, probably hoping to cheer Sandra up. The only one who'd helped a little was the vicar who'd said a prayer for Victoria. She didn't mind if he came again. But she didn't want to see anyone else.

A deep masculine voice answered her mother and recognition jolted Sandra. George was home safely. In the last three weeks she'd convinced herself she'd probably never see him again. Opening her eyes, she raised her head and focused on the back door.

"I'm so glad you're here," her mum said. "We don't know how to help her get over this loss. I've never seen her like this before."

"She's bound to need time to grieve." George was the voice of reason, as usual. Her mother had once said he had an old head on young shoulders, and she was right.

He strolled out of the back door and glanced around. Tall, lean, and handsome, he was a commanding presence in camouflage pants and an army sweater. His gaze found her and she averted her eyes, aware of him striding across the lawn towards her.

She was relieved he was home safely, but the passionate emotions that normally filled her at the sight of him barely struggled out of the mire of her grief. It wasn't his fault, but he hadn't been here when she'd needed him so desperately. She wasn't sure she could ever get over that.

"Hello, Sandra. I'm so sorry about our baby. I only found out when I docked this morning." George glanced at the dog taking up the two seats beside Sandra and pulled up a lawn chair to sit in front of her. He didn't try to kiss her or touch her. His mother had obviously given him the engagement ring.

"I'm glad you're back safely." If he'd returned before she lost her baby, she would have jumped into his arms and cuddled him, asked endless questions about what he'd done, and whether he'd been in danger. Now her grief smothered every thought and emotion, as if she had fallen into a trance.

The awkward silence stretched between them, the singing birds and rustling leaves filling the gap. "Do you want to tell me what happened?" he said softly.

Sandra shook her head.

"I visited Victoria's grave on the way here."

Sandra's gaze jumped to George's face, and she really looked at him for the first time. Was it her imagination, or were his eyes red?

He stretched out a hand to her. After a moment's hesitation she slipped her fingers into his, a sliver of awareness piercing her apathy.

"I'd like to know what happened. She was my daughter, too, and it might help you to share."

Sandra's throat tightened and she concentrated on breathing to hold back the tears. He was right. She thought about Victoria endlessly, but she hadn't talked about her with anyone.

In halting sentences, she explained the events of that awful day from the moment she realized she was feeling unwell, to the doctor's diagnosis of what had gone wrong.

George squeezed her hand to encourage her, his lips pressed in a thin line as he listened. When she'd finished, he cleared his throat. "I wish I'd been with you."

"So do I." Sandra pulled a tissue from the box on the table and wiped her nose. "I needed you so much."

"Oh, darling. I'd have been here if I could. You know that, don't you?"

"I don't know anything, George. I can't even think anymore."

He rose, pushed Miller to one side, and took the seat beside her. Then he lifted her onto his lap and wrapped her in his arms. Sandra curled against his strong chest, the tight fist of pain around her heart loosening a little. She held up the photograph of Victoria. He took it, staring at the image for long moments. "She was so tiny, so pretty, like you."

After a few minutes he passed it back, and Sandra tucked it in the pocket of her sundress.

"Thank you for showing me. When I visited her grave, I kept thinking that I'd missed my only chance to see her."

He rocked the seat slowly, back and forth, stroking her hair, his lips pressed against her temple. Gradually, she relaxed and her love for him rose up out of the dark fog of grief and soothed the pain.

"I know you can't imagine it now, but we'll have another baby, sweetheart," he said.

"We're not engaged anymore. I gave back the ring." Sandra pressed her face against his neck, wishing she hadn't done that. During the funeral, she was so hurt and bitter that George wasn't there, she had taken off the ring and given it to Mrs. Knight.

George pulled something out of his pocket. He lifted her left hand and slid the glittering diamond back in place on her ring finger. "There. Now we're engaged again. How about we rearrange the wedding for the end of August?"

"Are you sure you'll be here?"

"Yes." Alex had told him he'd have a home posting after his deployment to the South Atlantic. If the army didn't follow through with that, he'd hand in his resignation. He loved being an army doctor, but he wouldn't miss his wedding a second time.

"So how does August sound to you?"

Sandra cast her mind forward, and for the first time since she lost Victoria she found she _could_ imagine a future. A tiny ray of hope penetrated her thoughts as she imagined standing beside George in Saint Cuthbert's in her beautiful wedding dress with their family and friends looking on. If she concentrated on that and looked forward, not back, perhaps she could get through this terrible loss and move on.

"I love you." George touched a finger to her chin and eased up her face so he could see her. She managed a weak smile, and his eyes glowed with affection as he pressed his lips to hers.

Sandra put her arms around his neck and hung on as if he were a life preserver. "I love you, too."

"I can't promise I'll always be here, darling, but I can promise that you and any children we have will be the most important things in the world to me. I'll do my best to make you happy and keep you safe."

That was all she could ask of him. They'd had a tough start, but she knew wherever in the world he was posted, he'd always come back to her.

• • •

Sandra's father climbed out of the back of the silver Bentley and offered her his hand. Steadied by his grip, she lifted the long, lacy skirts of her wedding dress and stepped out into the brilliant August sunshine.

He smiled at her, a look full of love and relief. "You're a beautiful bride, Sandra. George is a lucky man."

"The most beautiful bride ever." Her mother hugged her tightly, then set about straightening her veil and smoothing out the back of her dress as a small group of villagers gathered to watch.

She knew her parents had been desperately worried about her after she lost Victoria. For a few weeks she'd almost given up the will to live.

Then George came home and took her in his arms. That afternoon in the quiet garden, locked in the loving support of his embrace, she realized she did have something to live for, and she turned a corner.

Her eyes still filled with tears when she thought of her baby, but she could now go for a few days without that happening.

George had suggested they get married somewhere else, obviously worried that Saint Cuthbert's Church held sad memories that would spoil their wedding day, but Sandra wanted Victoria close when she and George got married. It seemed right somehow. Their baby girl would not be part of the rest of their lives, but she could share this celebration of their love.

"Look, Auntie Sandra. Look at me." Her cousin's three-year-old daughter skipped around, clad in a yellow flower girl's dress with a matching bow in her dark hair. She held up a small posy of violets that were already wilting in the heat.

Sandra stooped and kissed the little girl's cheek. "You're such a pretty flower girl." One day she would have another child, a little girl or boy. She and George _would_ have a family. He'd promised her.

"Okay. Come here, poppet," Sandra's mother said. "You walk behind Auntie Sandra and be careful not to step on her dress."

Sandra slipped her hand in the crook of her father's arm and they passed through the kissing gate, and along the old flagstone path towards the church door. Her mother followed, supervising the excited three-year-old.

Memories of the funeral hovered on the edge of Sandra's thoughts as she entered the cool sanctity of the church. Then the organ started playing Mendelssohn's "Wedding March," and she caught sight of George standing near the altar. The sun slanted through the windows, bathing him in a pool of gold, gleaming off his dark hair and the newly minted South Atlantic medal on the front of his dress uniform.

He was tall and handsome, but so much more than that. Strong and considerate, he had encouraged her to continue her career without pushing too hard. He brought out the best in people and the army obviously saw that, too. They had promoted him to major when he returned from the Falklands.

She smiled at their friends and relatives as she progressed down the aisle, saving a special glance of appreciation for George's mother, who had turned out to be such a wonderful help and support.

But even as she acknowledged their guests, her gaze kept returning to George. He watched her approach, a warm smile stretching his lips and twinkling in his eyes.

Happiness and love swelled in her chest and she increased her pace, eager to reach him.

Her father kissed her cheek and her mother took her bouquet. They moved to their places in the front pew, while Sandra slipped her fingers into George's hand and stepped up to his side.

As the vicar uttered the words of the ceremony, she stared at the stained-glass window above the altar, jewel bright in the sunlight, and thanked God for giving her this wonderful man.

"With this ring, I thee wed. With my body, I thee worship." George slid a gold band on her finger. Then she spoke her words, pushed a ring on his finger, and the vicar pronounced them husband and wife.

George smiled. "Hello, Mrs. Knight," he said softly. He drew her close and pressed his lips to hers. Sandra closed her eyes and sank into the warmth and security of his embrace. This was where she belonged.

It had taken a heartbreaking loss to make her realize that whatever happened, she could survive if she had George in her life. Sometimes he would be away, but she must accept that. He was a patriot with a strong sense of duty and obligation. The army was his passion. But he would always come back to her and never let her down on purpose.

"I love you," she whispered, brushing a finger over his shiny medal, won for service to his country. "You're my own personal hero."

"Wherever I'm sent, you'll always be in my thoughts, darling. You're the most important person in the world to me. You're my anchor. You're what pulls me through when things get tough out there."

"When you're away, I'll always be with you in my heart," Sandra said. But she couldn't resist adding, "Just try to stay at home as much as possible."

George chuckled. "Being at home with you will always be my favorite posting." Then he kissed her again. The organ music rose into the rafters of the church and Sandra's heart soared, her spirit so light and joyous on this special day, the first day of the rest of their lives.

#  Epilogue

One year later

Exhausted and overjoyed, Sandra leaned back and cuddled her newborn boy in her arms. At eight pounds, he seemed so big compared to Victoria. With a tuft of dark hair and a healthy pink flush, he was perfect. His tiny hands curled into fists and he pressed his face against her chest.

George sat on the edge of the bed at her side and laid his large, tanned hand on his son's back. "He's so tiny."

"He didn't feel tiny when he was coming out." Sandra pulled a face.

George chuckled. "There were a couple of times you squeezed my fingers so hard I thought they might break." He slipped his arm around her shoulders and rested his cheek on her hair. "Can you believe we have a son?"

They both stared down at the precious boy in wondrous silence. Being a doctor, she normally had a scientific perspective, but this tiny replica of George seemed like a miracle.

Another miracle was that George had made it home in time for the birth. He'd promised he would but she hadn't dared depend on that. Yet he'd kept his word and managed to fly home just in time from Cyprus where he was on a tour of duty.

"So, what are we going to call him? Did you think about Conrad, after my grandfather?" George raised his eyebrows.

"He doesn't look like a Conrad to me."

"Well, what about your grandfather's name?"

"Finley." Sandra frowned as she gazed down at the wriggling pink angel in her arms. "He's not a Finley, either."

"How about we combine the two names and call him Conley."

Sandra laughed. "Why is this so difficult? Nothing seems right for him."

George tapped the plastic bracelet on the baby's wrist that gave his name and hospital number. "He can't remain Baby Knight for the rest of his life. How about Radley?"

"Are you a Radley, sweetie?" Sandra slipped the end of her finger in her baby boy's tiny hand and smiled as he gripped it.

"I think he likes that name," George said.

The midwife bustled in with a diaper in her hand and pushed a bassinet up to the side of the bed. "Time for Baby Knight to have some clothes on. There are four eager grandparents in the waiting room lining up to visit."

"We're going to call him Radley." Sandra's gaze rose to George, and he touched his fingers to her cheek. After sharing the experience of Radley's birth, there was a new tenderness between them, a deeper bond. Her heart danced at the love and approval in her husband's deep brown eyes.

He stood and lifted his son into his arms. "Hello, Radley Knight. Daddy's going to put your diaper on, and you need to be a good boy because I haven't done this before."

With infinite care, he laid his son in the bassinet. The midwife offered directions, and George fixed on the diaper as if he'd been doing it all his life, then gently eased the baby's sleep suit over his thin arms and legs. When her work was done, the midwife slipped out of the room.

Sitting on the side of the bed, George settled Radley in one arm and put his other around Sandra, holding them both close. "You two are the most important people in the world." He kissed his son's forehead and Sandra's lips. "We'll make sure our boy has only the best and grows up to be happy and successful."

"I know you'll be a wonderful father." She snuggled closer to her husband as her parents and the Knights came into the room, all talking at once in their excitement.

"Oh, he's beautiful. Can I hold him?"

The grandmothers took turns to coo over their new grandson, and finally Mrs. Knight passed Radley back to Sandra. "He is the most beautiful little boy," she said.

"Adorable," Sandra's mother agreed.

They were right. Sandra clasped her sweet angel close and kissed his downy head. Her little Radley was the most wonderful baby in the world.

She leaned against her darling husband's chest, a sigh of contentment slipping between her lips. She would never forget Victoria, but now that she had Radley, the baby-shaped hole in her heart was finally full of love again.
If you enjoyed The Army Doctor's Forever Baby, you might also enjoy these other books by Helen Scott Taylor

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### The Army Doctor's Baby (Army Doctor's Baby #1)

After his wife betrayed him, Major Radley Knight dedicated himself to becoming the best army doctor he could be, dedicated himself to saving soldiers' lives. When he returns on leave from Afghanistan he is ready for a break. Instead he finds himself helping a young mother and her newborn baby. He falls in love with Olivia and her sweet baby boy and longs to spend the rest of his life caring for them. But Olivia and her baby belong to Radley's brother.

Praise for The Army Doctor's Baby

"This is a sweet romance with a wonderful happily ever after. Highly recommend this read!" Luvbooks

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"I loved this sweet, tender romance about a woman in need of a father for her baby and the man who falls in love with her..." Ruth Glick

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"Loved the twists at the end of the book. Just the right amount of tension to keep me turning those pages! Totally recommend." Mary Leo

### The Army Doctor's Wedding (Army Doctor's Baby #2)

Major Cameron Knight thrives on the danger of front-line battlefield medicine. Throwing himself into saving the lives of injured servicemen keeps the demons from his past away. When he rescues charity worker, Alice Conway, and a tiny newborn baby, he longs for a second chance to do the right thing, even if it means marrying a woman he barely knows so they can take the orphan baby to England for surgery. The brave, beautiful young woman and the orphan baby steal his heart. He wants to make the marriage real, but being married to an army officer who's stationed overseas might do her more harm than good.

Praise for The Army Doctor's Wedding

"Grab a Kleenex because you are going to need it! This is one no romance lover should miss!" Teresa Hughes

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"The book starts out with lots of action and holds the reader's interest through to the end. It's a great read!" Sue E. Pennington

### The Army Doctor's Christmas Baby (Army Doctor's Baby #3)

After he loses his wife, army surgeon Colonel Sean Fabian protects his damaged heart by cutting women out of his life. He dedicates himself to his career and being a great dad to his twin babies. When he asks army nurse Kelly Grace to play nanny to his children over Christmas, he realizes how much he misses having a beautiful woman in his life and in his arms. Caring for Sean's adorable twin babies is Kelly's dream come true. She falls in love with the sweet little girls and their daddy, but she's hiding a devastating event from the past. If she can't trust Sean with her secret, how can she ever expect him to trust her with his bruised heart?

Praise for The Army Doctor's Christmas Baby

"...if you want to experience the true essence of Christmas, with the love and understanding that only being with family over the holidays can satisfy, you'll definitely want to experience _The Army Doctor's Christmas Baby_." F Barnett

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" _The Army Doctor's Christmas Baby_ is a sweet, heart warming story that will put a smile on your face." Ruth Glick

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"Like all of Helen Taylor's Army Doctor books, this one is a feel-good read, that keeps you smiling all the way." Nancy Radke

### The Army Doctor's New Year's Baby (Army Doctor's Baby #4)

Dr. Daniel Fabian's jet-setting lifestyle as a cosmetic surgeon to the rich and famous left him empty inside. In his quest for fulfillment he followed his brother into the army, to use his medical skills to help soldiers injured in combat. He dedicated himself to his work and cut women out of his life for twelve months. But his commanding officer's beautiful sister Megan Mackenzie is too much of a distraction for him to ignore. Amid the dangerous beauty of the Scottish Highlands, Megan rescues Daniel and shows him he's been searching in the wrong place for fulfillment. His destiny lies in her arms.

Praise for The Army Doctor's New Year's Baby

"The story is a sweet romance with a good dose of sensual tension which I enjoyed tremendously." Reader Forever

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"This is a book I'd recommend to all romance lovers!" L Bird

### The Army Doctor's Valentine's Baby (Army Doctor's Baby #5)

The chemistry between Captain Naomi Gray and her commanding officer, Colonel Duncan Mackenzie, sizzles, but her past means she has no use for relationships or family, and he won't date women under his command. During a week at Duncan's Scottish castle, caring for a tiny newborn baby, they fight their attraction. Can a sweet newborn who needs a mother and father bring them together?

Praise for The Army Doctor's Valentine's Baby

"This story was just perfect." Mary B

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"If you haven't read this series yet then you are missing out!" Teresa Hughes

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"My first book by this author and my first read of the series, it was so good I am going back to read the first four." Taina Boricua

### The Army Doctor's Honeymoon Baby (Army Doctor's Baby #6)

Army doctor, Major Blair Mackenzie, has loved his childhood friend, Lorna Bell, for as long as he can remember. After she turned down his marriage proposal, he resigned himself to being just her friend and protecting her from danger in the African refugee camp where they both work. Lorna depends on Blair and has done all her life—he's her rock, her best friend, and the only man she has ever loved. When they are captured by rebel soldiers, she finally admits her feelings. But to let him into her heart means revealing a secret about their families she has hidden for ten years, a secret that might turn him against her forever.

Praise for The Army Doctor's Honeymoon Baby

"As usual with this author, she delivers unforgettable characters, great suspense and emotion, lovely descriptions, and a good dose of humor and sensual tension." Reader Forever

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"Another great book, from this amazing author." Marinesgirl77

# About the Author

Helen Scott Taylor won the American Title IV contest in 2008. Her winning book, _The Magic Knot_ , was published in 2009 to critical acclaim, received a starred review from _Booklist_ , and was a _Booklist_ top-ten romance for 2009. Since then she has published other novels, novellas, and short stories in both the UK and USA.

Helen lives in South West England near Plymouth in Devon between the windswept expanse of Dartmoor and the rocky Atlantic coast. As well as her wonderful long-suffering husband, she shares her home with a Westie and an aristocratic chocolate-shaded-silver burmilla cat who rules the household with a velvet paw. She believes that deep within everyone, there's a little magic.

Find Helen at:

www.HelenScottTaylor.com

www.twitter.com/helenscotttaylo

www.facebook.com/helenscotttaylor

www.facebook.com/HelenScottTaylorAuthor

# Also by Helen Scott Taylor

Paranormal/Fantasy Romance

The Magic Knot

The Phoenix Charm

The Ruby Kiss

Dreamy Kisses: Paranormal Romance Box Set

The Feast of Beauty

Warriors of Ra

A Clockwork Fairytale

Ice Gods Christmas

Cursed Kiss

• • •

Contemporary Romance

The Army Doctor's Baby

The Army Doctor's Wedding

The Army Doctor's Christmas Baby

The Army Doctor's New Year's Baby

The Army Doctor's Valentine's Baby

The Army Doctor's Honeymoon Baby

Love is All Around: Contemporary Romance Box Set

Unbreak My Heart

Oceans Between Us

Finally Home

A Family for Christmas

A Family Forever

A Christmas Family Wish

Italian Family Christmas

Moments of Gold

Flowers on the Water

• • •

Young Adult

Wildwood
