Their Miracle Baby Read online

  Welcome to Penhally Bay!

  Nestled on the rugged Cornish coast is the picturesque town of Penhally. With sandy beaches, breathtaking landscapes and a warm, bustling community—it is the lucky tourist who stumbles upon this little haven.

  But now Mills & Boon® Medical™ Romance is giving readers the unique opportunity to visit this fictional coastal town through our brand-new twelve-book continuity… You are welcomed to a town where the fishing boats bob up and down in the bay, surfers wait expectantly for the waves, friendly faces line the cobbled streets and romance flutters on the Cornish sea breeze…

  We introduce you to Penhally Bay Surgery, where you can meet the team led by caring and commanding Dr Nick Tremayne. Each book will bring you an emotional, tempting romance—from Mediterranean heroes to a sheikh with a guarded heart. There’s royal scandal that leads to marriage for a baby’s sake, and handsome playboys are tamed by their blushing brides! Top-notch city surgeons win adoring smiles from the community, and little miracle babies will warm your hearts. But that’s not all…

  With Penhally Bay you get double the reading pleasure… as each book also follows the life of damaged hero Dr Nick Tremayne. His story will pierce your heart—a tale of lost love and the torment of forbidden romance. Dr Nick’s unquestionable, unrelenting skill would leave any patient happy in the knowledge that she’s in safe hands, and is a testament to the ability and dedication of all the staff at Penhally Bay Surgery. Come in and meet them for yourself…

  THEIR MIRACLE BABY

  AND

  MAKING MEMORIES

  Caroline Anderson

  www.millsandboon.co.uk

  THEIR MIRACLE BABY

  CHAPTER ONE

  ‘DADDY!’

  ‘Hello, pickle!’ Mike scooped Sophie up into his arms and whirled her round, their laughter ringing round the yard and echoing off the old stone walls of the barn, bringing a lump to her throat.

  These two adored each other, and now both their faces were lit up with a joy so infectious Fran couldn’t help but smile.

  ‘How’s my favourite girl today?’ he asked, hugging her tight and looking down into her beaming face.

  ‘I’m fine—Daddy, where’s Fran? I’ve got something really special to show her—Fran! Look!’ she yelled, catching sight of her and waving madly.

  She wriggled out of his arms, running across and throwing herself at Fran. She caught her little stepdaughter, hugging her close and laughing, kissing her bright, rosy cheek and holding out her hand for the little box Sophie was thrusting at her eagerly.

  ‘It’s a model—I made it at school!’ she confided in a stage whisper. ‘It’s Daddy milking a cow—see, here’s Amber, and this is Daddy, and this is the cluster…’

  ‘I’m going to give it to him for his birthday,’ she went on, still whispering loud enough to wake the dead. ‘We’ve got to wrap it. Have you got paper?’

  Fran smiled and put the lid back on the box. ‘I’m sure we’ve got paper,’ she whispered back. ‘It’s lovely. Well done, darling. I’m sure he’ll be really pleased.’

  A flicker of doubt passed over Sophie’s earnest little face. ‘Do you think so? Amber was really hard to make.’

  ‘I’m sure, but you’ve done it beautifully. He’ll be so pleased. He loves everything you make for him. It makes him feel really special.’

  Sophie brightened, her confidence restored, and whirling round she ran back to her beloved father and grabbed his hand. ‘I want to go and see the cows—Oh, Brodie!’ she said, breaking away again and dropping to her knees to cuddle the delighted collie who was lying on her back, grinning hideously and wagging her tail fit to break it. ‘Hello, Brodie,’ she crooned, bending right down and letting the dog wash her face with meticulous attention.

  ‘Sophie, you mustn’t let her do that!’ Kirsten protested, but Sophie ignored her mother, laughing and hugging the dog while Brodie licked and licked and licked for England.

  ‘Yeah, not your face, it’s not a good idea,’ Mike chipped in, backing Kirsten up simply because he just did. It was one of the many things Fran loved about him, the way he defended Sophie’s mother’s decisions to their daughter

  The fact that Brodie washed his face whenever it was in reach was neither here nor there! Now he held out his hand to Sophie and pulled her to her feet—and out of range of Brodie’s tongue—with a grin.

  ‘Come on, scamp, say goodbye to your mum and then let’s go and see the cows. I’m sure they’ve missed you.’

  Missed the treats, no doubt, because the six-year-old always seemed to have her little pockets bulging with pellets of feed, and she’d happily give it to them despite the cows’ slippery noses and rough, rasping tongues. Nothing fazed her, and she was deliriously happy trailing round after her father and ‘helping’ him.

  ‘Fran?’ Sophie said, holding out her hand expectantly after they’d waved Kirsten off, but she shook her head. This was their time, precious and special to both of them, and she wouldn’t intrude.

  ‘I’ve got to make supper,’ she said with a smile. ‘You go with your father and say goodnight to the cows. I’ll see you both soon.’ And with a little wave she watched them head off towards the field where the cows were grazing, Mike shortening his stride to accommodate his little sprite, Sophie skipping and dancing beside him, chattering nineteen to the dozen while her pale blonde bunches bobbed and curled and flicked around her head.

  They went round the corner out of sight, Brodie at their heels, and with a soft sigh Fran went back inside, the little cardboard box containing Mike’s present in her hand. She opened the lid and stared down at the little lumps of modelling clay so carefully and lovingly squashed into shape,

  If only it could happen to them.

  They’d come so close—twice now.

  It often happened, she’d been told. Miscarriages were common, and her first, three years ago—well, that had just been one of those things, they’d said. It probably wouldn’t happen again.

  And it hadn’t, of course, because she hadn’t conceived again, and so they’d undergone endless intrusive and humiliating tests, all of which had proved nothing except that there wasn’t any obvious reason why they hadn’t had a baby yet.

  So they’d gone through the difficult and challenging process of a cycle of IVF, and she’d become pregnant, and then, just like before, she’d lost it.

  Not unusual, they were told again, especially with IVF, possibly because the embryos weren’t always as perfect as they might be with a normally conceived embryo, and this, it seemed, was probably what had happened to theirs.

  All very logical, but she didn’t feel logical about it, because there was nothing wrong with either of them, they just hadn’t managed to make a healthy baby yet, and it was tearing her apart.

  Looking on the bright side, they hadn’t made an unhealthy one either, so if that was why the embryos had both failed, maybe it was for the best.

  Small consolation.

  Whatever the reason, she’d lost the embryos, and she wasn’t sure she had the strength to go through it again. If she had another miscarriage…

  And, anyway, they still had Sophie coming to visit them

  To want a child of their own who would come home from school bubbling with excitement and giving them some little blob of modelling clay to treasure?

  She dragged in a breath, pressing her fist against the little knot of pain in her chest. Not now. She couldn’t think about it now. Blinking hard, she put the little box in a safe place, opened the fridge and started pulling things out.

  Supper. Practicalities. Forget the rest.

  Just like the funny, amazing little present, she had to put her feelings in a box and put the lid on and put them all away.


  It was the only way to survive.

  They were sitting at the kitchen table.

  Mike had finished milking on Saturday morning and he was hurrying back to join them for breakfast. Glancing through the window, expecting to see them cooking, he was surprised to see them seated side by side, Sophie’s untamed blonde curls close to Fran’s sleek, dark hair, and he could hear them laughing.

  They were busy wrapping something that could well have been the little box Sophie had been brandishing yesterday so, instead of kicking off his boots and going in, Mike opened the door a crack to give them warning and said, ‘Just going over to the shop to make sure everything’s OK. Anything you need?’

  ‘Daddy, go away, you can’t see!’ Sophie shrieked, plastering herself over the table.

  ‘I’m not looking, I’ve got my eyes shut,’ he said,

  ‘Bacon?’ she said, a smile in her voice. ‘I thought we could have a nice cooked breakfast if you’ve finished milking.’

  ‘OK. I’ll be five minutes.’ That should give them long enough to wrap whatever it was, he thought with the smile still tugging at his mouth.

  ‘Fine.’

  He went out, leaving Brodie behind to fuss over Sophie, and had a quick chat to his sister-in-law, Sarah, in the farm shop. She was just about to open up, and she threw him a smile as he went in.

  ‘Hiya. How are you? Looking forward to tomorrow?’

  ‘What—getting older, you mean? I can’t wait.’ He chuckled and picked out a packet of local dry-cured bacon. ‘I’ve been sent to fetch breakfast,’ he told her. ‘You OK here? Need anything?’

  ‘More blue cheese from the store, when you’ve got time. It’s gone really well this week and we’ve only got half a wheel left.’

  ‘I’ll drop it in later,’ he promised.

  ‘Oh, and eggs? We’ve had a run on them—must be all those desperate women in Penhally making you a birthday cake in the hope of tempting you away from Fran!’

  He chuckled again. ‘Hardly. But I’ll get Sophie on it right after breakfast. She likes collecting the eggs. We’ll do it in the next hour or so, OK?’

  ‘Fine. See you later.’

  He sauntered back, whistling cheerfully so they could hear him coming and get the present out of the way, and when he opened the door a crack and called through it,

  ‘We’re all finished. You can come in now,’ she said primly, and he tweaked one of her curls and hugged her against his side.

  ‘I’m glad to hear it. Give this to Fran, could you, sweetheart?’

  She skipped across the kitchen with the bacon in her hand. Fran turned and met his eyes over her head, and they shared a smile.

  ‘Here,’ Sophie announced, handing it over, then sat down on the floor next to Brodie and sang, ‘Bacon, bacon, bacon, we’re having bacon! Do you want some?’

  ‘Of course she does but she’s not allowed,’ Mike reminded her.

  ‘Not even just a teeny, tiny, weeny little bit?’

  ‘Not even a sniff.’

  ‘Oh. Never mind, Brodie,’ she said comfortingly, and cuddled the dog, who promptly rolled over and sprawled right in front of Fran.

  ‘Come on, guys, out of the way,’ she said patiently, and they decamped to the far end, Sophie propped up against the wall, Brodie propped up against her, both watching the bacon intently.

  ‘Time to wash your hands,’ Mike reminded her, washing his own and laying the table while Fran finished the cooking. He made a pot of coffee, poured some juice for Sophie and they settled down to eat.

  Well, he and Fran did. Sophie couldn’t even eat quietly, humming and jiggling while she ate, making appreciative noises and pretending that she wasn’t

  ‘Brodie, go and lie down,’ he said, and the dog, crestfallen, went and flopped apparently casually in a pool of sunshine and watched Sophie’s every move.

  Poor old thing. She adored Sophie, loving every moment of her visits, and she’d wander around like a lost soul after she’d gone, looking for her.

  She wasn’t allowed in the bedrooms but somehow, when Sophie was here, she seemed to find her way out of the kitchen door and up the stairs to the foot of her bed, and there she slept, one eye on the door and grinning manically every time they went in to tuck Sophie up, rolling onto her back and wiggling her tail, her melting amber eyes beseeching.

  And getting away with it, because Sophie adored her and he couldn’t see any harm in it, so they turned a blind eye, even to the point where they’d bathe Brodie before Sophie’s visits. She’d been in there last night, and Mike had no doubt she’d be in there tonight, but he didn’t care. Kirsten didn’t approve, but she’d made her choice and she’d chosen to leave, and he’d moved on.

  He’d met Fran four years ago when she’d come back to the village; they’d fallen in love on sight and were blissfully happy.

  Or they had been.

  If only they could crack this baby thing…

  He put their plates in the dishwasher, bent and kissed Fran on the forehead and ushered Sophie towards the door. ‘We’ve got to pick up eggs and take some cheese to the shop. Want to join us?’

  He loved his present.

  Sophie came creeping into their bedroom with the first rays of the sun, Brodie on her heels, and they ended up with her in the bed between them, with Brodie lying on Mike’s legs and Sophie snuggled under his arm, watching in a dreadful mixture of excitement and trepidation as he slowly, carefully peeled the wrapping paper off and opened the box.

  A frown creased his brow, and then a smile, and then a great big laugh as he hugged Sophie hard against his side and kissed her. ‘It’s me and Amber, isn’t it?’ he said, and Sophie turned to Fran with a huge grin before bouncing up and taking the models from Mike’s hands and showing him the intricacies of her design.

  ‘Look—see the cluster.’ She showed him, turning Amber over. ‘And you’ve got your hat on. It was meant to be red but I’d used up all the red making Amber and there wasn’t enough, so you had to have pink.’

  ‘Close enough,’ he said, but Fran could see his mouth twitching and she had to bite her lip to keep the bubble of laughter inside.

  ‘Do you like it?’ Sophie asked, bouncing on the spot, and he reached out and hugged her again, his eyes suspiciously bright.

  ‘I love it. Thank you, darling. It’s really nice.’

  ‘I was going to make Brodie too but Mrs Pearce said I

  His lips twitched again. ‘I’m sure she won’t mind waiting.’

  Sophie sat back on her heels. ‘So can I help you milk the cows today?’

  ‘I’m not doing it. My brother’s doing it so I can have a lie-in,’ he said, and Fran, glancing at the clock, stifled a sigh.

  It was only five-thirty. So much for his lie-in! And Sophie was looking crestfallen. ‘Does that mean I have to go back to bed?’ she asked. ‘Because I’m wide awake now.’

  Mike wasn’t. He looked exhausted, and without his usual alarm he might well have slept another couple of hours.

  ‘I tell you what,’ Fran said quickly. ‘Why don’t you and I go downstairs for a little while and see if we can find something to do while your daddy has a birthday lie-in, and then, when he’s up, maybe we can go to the beach?’

  ‘Brilliant! We can make sandcastles!’ Sophie shrieked, leaping up and down on the bed until his present nearly fell off the edge. He made a grab for it, and Fran threw back the bedclothes and got up, holding out her hand to Sophie.

  ‘Come on, you, I’ve got something I want us to do together.’

  Sophie slid over the bed, bouncing on her bottom until her skinny little legs hung off the side. ‘What?’ she asked.

  Fran bent over and whispered in her ear, ‘We’ve got to make his birthday cake.’

  Sophie’s eyes sparkled. ‘Can I help?’

  ‘Of course. I’ll need your help—lots of it.’

  She spun round, kissed Mike and pulled the bedclothes

  He winked at her, and Fran ushered her away, throwing him a smile
over her head as she closed the door.

  ‘Dog!’ he yelled, and she opened the door again, called Brodie and they went down to the kitchen and left him in peace.

  ‘How many eggs?’ Sophie asked, kneeling up on a chair at the table to help.

  ‘Three.’

  ‘Can I break them into the bowl?’

  ‘No—break them into this cup, and we can check they’re all right before we add them to the mixture, just in case.’

  ‘Just in case what?’

  Just in case she mashed the shell, Fran thought, but couldn’t dent her pride. ‘In case one’s a bit funny,’ she flannelled.

  ‘Funny?’ Sophie said, wrinkling her nose.

  ‘Sometimes they smell a bit fishy or they have bits in.’

  ‘And we don’t want a fishy, bitty cake,’ she said sagely, and Fran suppressed her smile.

  ‘We certainly don’t.’

  ‘Can I measure the flour and the sugar and the butter?’

  ‘Sure.’

  It took longer—much longer—and they didn’t use the mixer but a wooden spoon in a bowl, the way Fran’s grandmother had always done it, because that way Sophie could be more involved and Mike got a longer lie-in. They grated

  ‘An hour? Really? That’s ages! Can we make Daddy breakfast in bed?’

  ‘We can make him breakfast in bed if you like, but not yet. He’s tired, Sophie. He works very hard.’

  Too hard, for too long, and the strain was beginning to tell. And no matter how badly she wanted to crawl back into bed beside him and go back to sleep herself, for now she had to entertain his daughter and keep her out of his way so he could rest.

  ‘Want to help me make some things for the project I’m doing with my class?’ she suggested, and Sophie, bless her, responded with her usual boundless enthusiasm.

  If only Fran could say the same for herself…

  ‘Bye-bye, sweetheart. Love you.’

  ‘Don’t forget I’m coming next Sunday for tea ’cos I’m going on holiday the next week!’

  ‘I haven’t forgotten. You take care.’