Perfect Chance
Take a chance on love… Mary Newman - her life was safe, predictable and reasonably happy. Until the day he walked in! Chance Armstrong - he had no respect for rules and regulations and cozy life-styles.But he was offering Mary the perfect chance for a lot of excitement, and she was tempted - oh, so tempted… . Until Chance offered the most tempting challenge of all… . He asked Mary to marry him!
Читать Perfect Chance онлайн беплатно
Table of Contents
“G-goodbye!”
Another pause, as Chance scrutinized her face. Then he straightened and demanded, “Why?” He seemed so angry.
Mary’s eyes rounded and then she looked down at her tangled fingers. “Oooh…I’m…sooo…busy.” This was too hard. It was a fine, brave attempt, but she just couldn’t come out and say that she’d heard he was a womanizer and a cheat.
“You’re not that busy,” he said in a low, clipped voice. “Why are you running away from me? You were just fine when I left you last night.”
Another, more poised woman might have said, So I’ve changed my mind. You’re not my type. Get lost, soldier. Mary’s head ducked farther down and she muttered at her fingers, “I don’t want to be one of your conquests!”
AMANDA CARPENTER was raised in South Bend, Indiana, but lived for many years in England. She started writing because she felt a need to communicate with people from other walks of life. She wrote her first romance novel when she was nineteen and has been translated into many languages. Although she has many interests, including music and art, writing is her greatest love.
MARY paused to lean against the counter of the nurses’ station as she surveyed the emergency room in the Newman wing at Memorial Hospital.
It was July 4th, the busiest day of the year.
It was midafternoon and she was already tired, having been on shift since eleven the night before. She rubbed at the back of her neck and thought longingly of the shower she would have when she got home.
Then a fresh influx of people rushed in. Urgent words swirled around and she snatched at a few of them: a boating accident, seven injured, two badly. She darted around a small group of young men who were soaking wet, caught a powerful whiff of beer from them, and rushed toward one of the more serious cases.
A dark-haired girl, maybe six or seven, was being cradled in the arms of an adult. Mary checked her over quickly. The girl had a compound fracture, there was an expertly applied tourniquet above the knee, and she was unconscious. The poor little thing. Her pulse was fluttering and too rapid, her skin ashen under her tan, and she was covered in a cold sweat.
“She’s in shock.” The deep, gravelly voice sounded overhead.
“I see that. Bring her this way.” Mary ran with him over to a cubicle. A sobbing woman tried to follow but was diverted from the front desk by Sandy, who needed her to fill out forms. With relief, Mary heard Sandy’s soothing voice assuring the woman that her daughter was going to be fine.
The man laid the little girl carefully on the gurney, and whipped around to the nearby cabinet. He and Mary collided as they both reached for a blanket at the same time. She whoofed at the impact; it was like running into a brick wall. He snapped, “Why don’t you go find a doctor?”
Oh, not again! The top of her head seemed to ignite like a torch. “I am a doctor!”
Some people laughed; some people apologized. This one gave her a hard, narrow-eyed stare and muttered grimly, “You’d better be.”
She yanked the blanket out of his hands and shook it over the child. “Get out of my way.”
He backed up rapidly. As she prepared an IV, Mary called out sharply, “Julie, I need you.”
The nurse came at a run, and together they got the girl stabilized, bandaged and ready for X rays. Mary glanced around for the father. There he was, leaning against the wall, watching everything with hawklike intensity. Overlong blond hair fell into sharp hazel eyes, and his tanned, chiseled face was thoughtful. He’s awfully calm, she thought, and she glared at him. No parent should be that calm when his daughter’s facing surgery. I’m a doctor and I’m not that calm. What’s the matter with him?
She tried to gentle her voice. “What’s your daughter’s name?”
His attention shifted to her and his eyebrows rose slowly. “Erin Morley. But she’s not my daughter. Her mother’s out in the lobby.”
“Oh.” Mary paused. Well, he’s still to calm. She asked, “Would you go get her mother? I need to know if Erin is allergic to anything.”
“I asked on the way to the hospital. She’s not allergic to any medications.”
At that moment the mother walked into the cubicle and went to lean against the man, her face streaked and traumatized. The man patted her back soothingly as she confirmed what he’d told Mary, and with the little girl admitted to the hospital, Julie wheeled her gurney to X ray while Mary moved to another patient.
Victor, the other doctor on duty, was still with the other seriously injured patient, a man with a head wound. She passed the cubicle where he was working, sleek dark head bent and handsome features absorbed in his task. He glanced up and nodded to her. She waved back and attended to others from the boating accident, all minor injuries now, listening sympathetically to compulsive telling and retelling of the story.
