The Pregnant Police Surgeon Read online

  “You know that I want to make love to you, Imogen. Tell me you feel the same.”

  There was a pain around her heart and tears welled up in her eyes. In different circumstances she would have melted at his touch, told him joyously that she did feel the same, but how could she?

  Unaware of the pain inside her, he tightened his arms and, holding her against the hard wall of his chest, he kissed her yearning mouth.

  “Don’t, Blair,” she begged.

  “What is it?” he asked slowly. “I thought…”

  She took his hand and drew him to the sofa.

  “I have something to tell you,” she said in a low voice. “I’m pregnant.”

  Dear Reader,

  If we haven’t met before between the pages of one of my books, “Welcome,” and if we have, “Hello, again.”

  The Pregnant Police Surgeon is about one of the dilemmas that today’s modern woman has to cope with. As the story progresses, my heroine, Imogen, finds herself holding down not one, but two very important jobs in health care, while at the same time facing up to the fact that she is single and pregnant.

  Bright and brave, she is ready to accept the challenge, but life is never as simple as we would like it to be, and falling in love not something as easily arranged or avoided as a visit to the orthodontist, though often more painful.

  I hope you will enjoy finding out what happens as Imogen discovers, like the rest of us, that pain and pleasure often go hand in hand.

  Happy reading!

  Abigail Gordon

  The Pregnant Police Surgeon

  Abigail Gordon

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ONE

  BLAIR NESBITT was met by a fresh spring dawn as he came out of the police station, and as he stepped into it there was a thoughtful expression on his face.

  It had been a strange night. They usually were when he was called out by the forces of law and order to fulfil his role of police surgeon.

  He sometimes wondered why he did it. There was enough trauma in the life of a GP without burdening himself with more, but for some reason he never considered opting out.

  Maybe it was because of what had happened to his elder brother, Barney, all those years ago when he’d been slung into a police cell because they’d thought he’d been drunk and it had been a diabetic coma.

  He had been drinking and the smell of it on his breath had made the constabulary think that alcohol had been the cause. The police surgeon who’d been sent for had been zealous and very thorough and had probably saved his life by his expertise and quick thinking.

  It had been a long time ago and now, with the diabetes strictly under control, his brother was happily married with two teenage girls. Barney had probably forgotten the incident, but he hadn’t.

  Every time he was called out to someone in the cells he was acutely aware that, no matter what they’d done, incarcerated behind that locked door they were at risk if anything went wrong with their physical well-being.

  Tonight had been one of those peculiar nights when the circumstances that had brought him to the city’s largest police station had been odd to say the least.

  He’d been called out because a domestic dispute had resulted in an enraged ex-husband being arrested on an assault charge against his ex-wife’s new partner, and no sooner had the man been put into a cell than he’d started having convulsions.

  By the time that Blair had got there he’d been told by the desk sergeant that the man had come out of the fit and that they’d troubled him unnecessarily.

  ‘Why would that be?’ he asked, having no intention of accepting that as a reason for not seeing the patient.

  The desk sergeant was showing signs of embarrassment as he explained, ‘After I’d sent for you, Dr Nesbitt, we had a breakdown in communications. I was called away and one of the other officers, thinking that I hadn’t been in touch, called your place. Obviously you weren’t there as you were already on your way here. So he got in touch with someone else on the police surgeon rota and she’s in there with him now.’

  He would settle for that, he thought. Just as long as there was a doctor at the scene. But it was a pity they’d got him out of bed for nothing.

  ‘Who did he send for?’ he asked casually. ‘I don’t recall any women on the list.’

  The sergeant consulted paperwork in front of him and said, ‘Dr Rossiter. Imogen Rossiter.’

  ‘And who might she be, I wonder?’ he said in some surprise. ‘New on the list and a woman! That makes a refreshing change.’

  Footsteps had been approaching from the rear. They weren’t the heavy pacing of policeman’s feet and the voice that went with them was sweeter and more melodious than those of any of the sergeant’s colleagues.

  But it was cool, too, as the woman who was now facing them said, ‘You sound surprised to find a woman GP here at this hour, although it’s obviously nothing new for you to be here. Might I ask who you are?’

  She was small, curvy, raven-haired, with bright hazel eyes in a face that was one of the most captivating he’d ever seen. His surprise at meeting her under such circumstances was increasing by the minute.

  His smile when it flashed out had been known to make susceptible members of the opposite sex go weak at the knees, but it seemed that was not to be the case with Dr Imogen Rossiter.

  ‘I’m Blair Nesbitt,’ he said easily. ‘GP and police surgeon when I am needed.’

  ‘So where were you tonight when you were needed?’ the captivating one asked in the same cool tone.

  ‘Where I usually am at that time of night. Asleep in my bed…and the moment I was called out I set off for this place. But the sergeant here and his staff got things a bit mixed up. You were called out, too, and as you beat me to it you obviously live nearer than I do.’

  He quirked a quizzical eyebrow. ‘Does that answer your question?’

  ‘Er…yes. I suppose so.’

  ‘And now I’ve got a question for you.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Are you by any chance related to Brian Rossiter, the chief constable?’

  ‘He’s my father.’

  The sergeant was observing her with respectful surprise as he exclaimed, ‘You never said!’

  She shrugged.

  ‘Why should I? I’m not my father’s keeper, nor is he mine. I’m in medicine and he’s in law and order.’

  ‘You are involved in what your father does up to a point, though,’ Blair said in the same easy tone, pointing in the direction of the cells, ‘or you wouldn’t be doing this job.’

  ‘I’m doing it to keep the wolf from the door while I look round for a practice to join,’ she informed him.

  ‘Really? So you are a qualified GP?’

  ‘Yes, I am. Does that surprise you?’

  ‘No, not at all,’ he said smoothly. ‘Except…’

  Tossing her dark mop, she eyed him levelly. ‘Except that I don’t look old enough, you were about to say?’

  Blair found himself smiling. This one was something else. The interesting face went with a riveting personality if the way she was pinning him down was anything to go by.

  ‘Yes. I was, as a matter of fact, but obviously I was wrong.’

  ‘Everybody thinks that. Even my father, who is well aware of my age, thinks I’m too young.’

  ‘What for exactly?’

  ‘Oh, a lot of things. One of them being that he thinks I should still
be living at home instead of doing my own thing.’

  ‘I do hope that this prolonged conversation means that the man in the cells is out of danger,’ he said equably. ‘I’d hate to think that while we are chatting he was having another fit or something.’

  ‘Of course he’s all right,’ she said swiftly. ‘I wouldn’t have left him otherwise. The poor guy had suffered a grand mal seizure and when he came round he was sleepy and disorientated, but not so much that I didn’t get the idea that he was more sinned against than sinning on the domestic scene.

  ‘He’s in a natural sleep now and should wake up none the worse. He was on the bed in the cell when he had the fit, so didn’t injure himself in any way. If you do have any more problems, either send for me again or have him admitted to hospital,’ she told the sergeant, ‘but at the moment he’s all right. Apparently he’s had epilepsy for some time and due to the upset hadn’t taken his medication.’

  Turning back to Blair, Imogen said, ‘I’ll say goodnight, Dr Nesbitt. If you hear of any vacancies for GPs in local practices I’d be obliged if you’d let me know.’ And with a swing of slender hips inside a bright red skirt that was topped by a navy blazer she picked up her bag and prepared to leave.

  Blair was about to do the same when the phone on the desk rang. As the sergeant listened to what was being said at the other end he motioned for them to stay.

  ‘There’s been an accident upstairs in the staff canteen,’ he said. ‘Pan of hot fat dropped and two people with burns. Can one of you take a look at them as you’re already on the premises?’

  The two doctors eyed each other and Blair said, ‘I’ll deal with it if you like, so that you can get off home.’

  ‘I’m in no rush. I’ll come with you,’ she said.

  The woman who’d been carrying the pan of oil had spilt it over her legs and feet and another canteen assistant who’d been passing at the time had received splashes on the arms.

  The most badly burnt of the two was crying out with pain when they arrived in the dining area of the police station and they were told that an ambulance had been sent for.

  Imogen fell to her knees beside the injured woman and held her hand, while Blair reached into his case for non-stick dressings to cover the affected areas until the emergency services arrived.

  The faces of the two doctors were grave as they observed the extent of the burns. The woman was in a state of shock, with lowered blood pressure and a rapid pulse. The other casualty was sitting white-faced and speechless with a tea-towel wrapped around her arm.

  Feet pounding up the stairs announced the arrival of the paramedics and as the two doctors handed the women into their care Imogen said, ‘We’d better watch that we don’t slip on any of the grease that’s all over the place, or one of us could be the next one bound for A and E.’

  At that moment, almost as if she’d wished it upon herself, her feet shot from under her and it was only Blair’s arms reaching out for her that kept her upright.

  As he looked down into a pair of wary hazel eyes he wanted to laugh. What did she think he was going to do? Turn what could have been a mishap into a provocative moment?

  It was five o’clock in the morning and the last thing on his mind was making something out of such a happening. Yet he had to admit that he was enjoying holding her close for a short time. In the stale confines of the police station she smelt fresh and clean.

  One of the canteen staff was hovering, ready to tackle the grease with a bucket and mop, and, still with his hand on her arm, he said, ‘Let’s go, shall we? I have a surgery at half past eight and I wouldn’t mind a couple of hours’ sleep first.’

  Imogen nodded.

  ‘Me, too, with regard to the sleep, but as I’m still here I might as well check on the epileptic guy again before I leave.’ She held out a small capable hand. ‘So, bye for now…until we meet again.’

  As he took her hand in his, Blair smiled.

  ‘I’ll shake on that…Dr Rossiter.’ And off he went into the breaking dawn.

  As she drove back to the apartment in the city centre that was her pride and joy, Imogen was grimacing. The last thing she’d expected when she’d been called out had been meeting another police surgeon attending the same patient.

  Blair Nesbitt had seemed a bit wary of her at first, which had prompted her to come over all cocky, and now she was regretting it. As she was regretting having admitted kinship to the new chief constable.

  She could have prevaricated without telling an absolute lie, but instead, as usual, she’d gone rushing in head first and had admitted that she was related to the head of the county’s police force.

  Obviously being Brian Rossiter’s daughter wasn’t anything to be ashamed of, but it wasn’t anything she went around boasting about either. She valued her independence and had acquired the appointment as police surgeon on her own merits, hence the desk sergeant’s surprise when he’d discovered who she was.

  Her mother had died some years previously and her father had recently remarried. A happening that she’d been totally in favour of as for one thing it gave him less time to try to run her life, and for another she liked Celia, his new wife, and thought she would be good for him.

  Before she’d gone to work in the Midlands as a trainee GP Imogen had lived with him in the big house that went with his status in the county, but the moment he’d introduced Celia into his life she herself had been off to pastures new and when she’d returned she’d found herself an apartment in the city centre, almost on top of the police station. It was a haven filled with bright, modern furnishings and her favourite things from childhood.

  Where did he live? she wondered. She’d heard a powerful car drive off as she’d been coming from the cells but hadn’t had the chance to see what it looked like or in which direction it had been heading.

  ‘Bye for now,’ she’d said to him as he was leaving and had followed it up with a trite, ‘until we meet again,’ which must have made him think that she wanted to get to know him better.

  That was not the case at all. She’d recently had her fill of liaisons with attractive members of the opposite sex. Though, come to think of it, Sean Derwent hadn’t been in the same class as the Nesbitt guy, but he’d been presentable enough for her to think she’d been in love with him.

  However, sadly Sean was in the past. In every way but one, she told herself sombrely. She’d begged him not to go mountaineering on such dangerous terrain but he’d just laughed and gone anyway.

  Her worst fears had been realised with the news that the young geologist and his friend, Tom, had perished in bad weather conditions on Everest.

  After coping with the devastation of such sudden loss, she had been struggling to get on with life without him, but she wasn’t being very successful and for a very good reason. She was pregnant.

  She’d only slept with Sean once and they had taken precautions, but a faulty contraceptive had let them down and now here she was, having to face up to the fact that he wasn’t going to be around any more and she had the sole responsibility of the precious child that she was carrying.

  Even before he’d died she’d begun to accept that Sean wasn’t going to be the love of her life. He had been good fun, attractive, but there had always been an inclination there to put himself first and she had often wondered since how he would have coped with the thought of fatherhood.

  As for herself, after the first shock of finding that she was pregnant had subsided, she’d felt scared, excited and very protective of the child she was carrying inside her.

  But it hadn’t stopped her from feeling trapped, too. She adored children, had always longed for the brothers and sisters that her parents had never given her, but now that she was to have a child of her own there was the responsibility of it that was going to weigh her down if she wasn’t careful.

  At the present time she was just over two and a half months pregnant. Soon her condition would become evident. Her father would find out and as she was already a source of
irritation to him, it would only add fuel to the fire.

  In the meantime, she needed to find herself a niche in a local practice because the role of a penniless single mother did not appeal to her and it would appeal even less to the man who was in charge of the county’s constabulary.

  He’d worked his way through the ranks and was quick to remind anyone who might overlook the fact. Respectability was Brian Rossiter’s lifeblood. She’d often thought it was because he’d seen so much of what was not ‘respectable’ in his career that it meant so much to him.

  To find his only daughter in circumstances that didn’t meet his standards would bring about a situation that she didn’t yet want to contemplate. Though she would soon have no choice as her waistline thickened.

  The man she’d just met must be based somewhere not too far away if he was on call to the police station, she thought, channelling her thinking processes back to the night that was past. What sort of a set-up was he involved in? she wondered. Group practice? Solo concern? There weren’t many of those these days.

  He’d been quite something. Straight as a ramrod. Broad-shouldered, slim-hipped, with a thick fair thatch above eyes of darkest brown in a lived-in sort of face.

  Had he gone home to some young Nesbitts and a sleeping wife? Imogen sighed. It shouldn’t matter to her if he’d returned to his own personal harem! It was what was going on in her own life that she had to be concerned about, and it was all about responsibilities and reality.

  Weariness was upon her now, like an indefinable cloak, and as she put her key in the lock for once she was glad that an empty day loomed ahead.

  As Blair climbed the stairs to resume his broken sleep the closed door of Simon’s room was an indication that his young brother was at home and in bed. He smiled. He wasn’t the only one whose occupation took him into the city in the small hours of the night.

  Simon was employed as a chef in a late night restaurant and was rarely home before four a.m. He made up for it with a prolonged lie-in in the mornings, but it didn’t stop Blair from wishing that the twenty-two-year-old worked more sociable hours, both for his health’s sake and his safety.