Miracle Twins for the Midwife
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Louisa Heaton
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CHAPTER ONE
DR HENRY LOCKE would have preferred to stay at home. He liked it there. Home was his refuge. His quiet place. His books were there. His piano. His bed. The apartment was high enough that he wasn’t too bothered by traffic noise, but if he was at home whilst rush hour was going on he simply put on some classical music to help drown out the frantic sounds of horns and sirens down on the streets below.
But it was New Year’s Eve, and his brother Hugh was over visiting from England, and he’d turned up at Henry’s door, insisting that they help to bring in the New Year.
‘We’re going out! Put on your glad rags, brother dear, we’re about to paint the town red, white and blue.’
He’d tried to protest, but Hugh had been having none of it.
‘You think I can go out drinking on my own, knowing you’re sat at home with your head between the pages of a book? Come on! You’re not at the hospital tonight, you’ve got a rare evening off, so we’re going to enjoy it.’
They’d started the evening at an Irish pub called Shamrocks where, to Henry’s surprise, Hugh seemed to actually know some of the regulars. It turned out they’d been at university together and so, whilst his brother had knocked back pint after pint, Henry had nursed a glass of wine and smiled and chatted, all the time wishing he was back home in bed, catching up on some much-needed sleep.
Work had been heavy of late. A lot of difficult deliveries, a lot of emergencies. Every time he thought he could finally get some rest in an on-call room his phone would chime and he would get called back to the ward. It didn’t help that they were down on staff numbers. Covid had caused a few of the staff to quit. Others had simply migrated to other hospitals.
Ideally, they needed at least one more OBGYN attending, one more registrar, and a couple of certified nurse-midwives. They had agency staff, but that was never the same. All those changing faces, and having to teach new people almost every day, it seemed. HR had just informed them, though, that they’d employed a couple of new people, so that would be good. They needed regulars. They needed people to stay. Then maybe the rest of them could relax a bit more.
That was one of the reasons he hadn’t wanted to go out tonight. It was his one night off, his first in God only knew how long, and he didn’t want to waste it by spending it doing something he disliked.
And now he was being dragged towards a club that had bass music thumping out so loud he could almost feel his teeth vibrating. It was the sort of thing he hated.
Why, oh, why couldn’t Hugh have just suggested a movie instead?
He eyed the exterior of Liquid Nights. A burly doorman stood by the door, checking IDs and occasionally letting people in by unhooking a red rope between two metal poles.
‘This looks great!’ Hugh said, dragging Henry over to the queue. ‘I bet there are lots of lovely ladies inside, just desperate to be blown away by our charming English ways.’
Henry doubted it. Though his own English accent was popular with his patients and his friends, he doubted that Hugh, who was almost struggling to stand upright after his alcohol consumption, would find a lady who might succumb to his drunken charms. But who knew? It was New Year’s Eve and maybe his brother might manage to persuade some lovely local to let him kiss her as the New Year rang in?
Henry checked his phone. Eleven thirty-two p.m. He’d make this his last port of call, then once the New Year was here, convince his brother that it was time for him to go home. He didn’t want to be a party-pooper but, as Hugh said, this was his only night off and he’d planned on sleeping.
They slowly made it to the front of the queue and entered the club. Instantly Henry was plunged into a dark, humid and extremely loud room. Hugh turned to him, grinning madly, trying to say something, but Henry didn’t catch a word of it. He tried shouting into Hugh’s ear that he needed him to repeat it, but it was almost impossible to be heard. Clearly all you could do in this place was drink and dance, as most of the clientele seemed to be doing.
Everyone was up close, bodies writhing and bopping to the music, hands in the air. He smelt sweat and alcohol and the choking smoke of dry ice. As Hugh went in one direction, towards a trio of ladies who appeared to be celebrating a bachelorette evening, Henry headed towards the bar to get himself a drink.
It took some time. There were huge crowds surrounding the bar and his excuse me and sorry were lost in the noise of the music vibrating from overly large speakers.
Eventually he made it to the bar and waved a note at the barman to catch his attention, successfully managing to order a white wine by pointing at the bottle after the barman had trouble hearing his order.
How did anybody enjoy this?
Looking out over the thick undulating crowds on the dance floor, he thought he spotted Hugh, propping up a wall and trying to charm an amused brunette who was wearing a tiara with pink chicken feathers on it and a pink sash saying Bride-to-Be.
Seriously, Hugh? You aren’t going to get anywhere chatting up the bride!
He turned back to accept his glass, and was just about to move away and head for a corner as far away from the speakers as he could get when he felt someone stumble over his feet and splash his chest and trousers with a drink from a cocktail glass.
His first reaction was to steady her by catching her arm with his, and then he looked down at his shirt to check the damage.
I should have known better than to wear a white shirt.
A red stain was soaking through across his chest.
Her mouth moved. She said something he couldn’t quite catch.
He saw a mass of blonde curls as the woman dipped into her handbag to grab at a handkerchief, and then she began dabbing at his shirt, pressing the material against him here, then there, then lower. Then she paused, bit her lip and looked up at him, and he was suddenly hit by a bolt of something as she looked uncertainly into his eyes.
Her lips moved again, forming words he still couldn’t hear because of the damned music, and then she nodded downwards. Towards his trousers.
Still shocked by his startling reaction to this woman, he quickly gathered himself and looked down as well. And, yes, there was a small twist of lemon peel stuck to his crotch. He picked it off, and then didn’t know what to do with it. Just throw it away?
It was as if his brain wasn’t quite working properly, because the woman standing before him was stunning. Which couldn’t be, because he’d had strong words with himself about reacting to beautiful women just lately, and he’d sworn to himself that getting involved was strictly off the menu! There was to be no falling for anyone, no getting romantically attached, no acting on lust, no noticing women, period! The only women he interacted with were his patients, and his relationship with them was strictly professional anyway.
Henry and romantic entanglements never worked. They always ended badly. He wasn’t very good at romance and he struggled with dealing with other people’s emotions. So this sort of thing was not meant to happen!
He stood there, kind of dumbstruck, one hand holding his glass of white wine, the other holding the lemon twist. He opened his mouth to speak, to ask if she was all right, but she just shook her head and pointed at her ear. She couldn’t hear him either, damn it!
Henry put down his glass, and the lemon twist, on the bar. He wanted to be able to apologise. Wanted to buy her a new drink in case it was his fault that hers had spilt. But this music was far too loud.
He pointed to a door marked Exit and she nodded.
He hadn’t realised how hot and stifling it had been inside until the welcome cool breeze of outdoors washed over him as they stepped outside. The doorman moved aside to let them pass and they took a few steps to one side of the door.
‘I’m sorry about that,’ he said. ‘You must let me buy you another drink. Or at least pay.’
He began to rummage in his pockets for his wallet, but she reached out and placed a hand on his arm, stopping him.
‘No, thanks. I didn’t want to be here anyway, so you’ve helped me escape.’
He smiled. ‘You too? I thought I was the only one who didn’t want to be here.’
‘Clubs not your thing?’ she asked, smiling up at him.
She wasn’t that much smaller than him. He was just over six feet tall. She seemed to be about five ten. Maybe a little less if you took away the huge amount of blonde curls.
‘No, I’m afraid not.’
‘Nor mine.’
He nodded in acknowledgement. Glad to be able to talk, rather than shout to be heard. She intrigued him, this woman. He’d never seen her before—but then why would he? His whole life seemed to revolve around the hospital lately, and if you weren’t a patient, or a member of staff, then it was sometimes easy to forget that there was a whole wide world out there, full of people and places yet to be met or explored.
‘You’re... English?’ she asked, her head cocked to one side.
‘Yes. Oxford born and bred. Henry—Henry Locke.’
He held out his hand and she reached for it. As he clasped his hand around hers he felt a surge of something undefinable rush through him, so when she let go he placed both hands back inside his trouser pockets, so that he didn’t do it again. She made him nervous. She made him consider breaking his promise to himself. He could still feel the imprint of her hand, even though he wasn’t touching her any more.
He rocked back and forth on his feet. Kept glancing away, almost as if he were looking for his escape route. And yet...he knew he didn’t want to go. Something about her made him want to stay. For just a few moments longer.
‘I’m Natalie.’
He smiled. It suited her. ‘Pleased to meet you, Natalie.’
‘You too. I hope I haven’t ruined your shirt.’
‘Oh, this old thing? Don’t worry about it.’
‘You must let me pay for the dry cleaning.’
‘Nonsense.’
Behind them there was a blast of noise as the club door opened and out came Hugh with his arm draped around the neck of a hen. He waved at Henry and staggered over.
‘Hey, this is Brandy! She and I are going to have a party of our own. You okay to get home, brother dear?’
Henry nodded. ‘Fine.’
Hugh blearily peered at Natalie. ‘Who’s this? Have you pulled?’
Henry looked at Natalie, mortified. ‘Please let me apologise for my crass brother. Alcohol appears to have shut down the politeness centre of his brain.’
She laughed—a beautiful sound. ‘That’s okay. If you can’t drink tonight, when can you?’
Hugh and his new lady-friend headed off down the street. Henry felt his cheeks flaming with embarrassment. His little brother always had been the most exuberant member of the family.
‘Sorry about that.’
‘It’s okay.’
They both watched his brother and his temporary companion disappear around a corner.
Natalie shivered.
‘Are you cold? Here, let me...’ He shrugged off his suit jacket and draped it around her shoulders.
‘Thanks.’ She snuggled into it.
He felt that he should leave. It didn’t matter about the jacket; she could keep it. His brain was screaming at him. Walk away whilst you can! Save yourself!
But he found himself staring at her instead. Entranced by her soft blonde curls, and the way shadows contoured her face. The small uptilt to her nose...the soft-looking plumpness to her lips. She wore a dress with thin straps, the colour of midnight and sparkling with sequins, and her feet were in strappy heels. Painted toenails. An ankle bracelet. A small, dainty tattoo on the side of her left foot that he couldn’t quite make out.
And then he realised that maybe all the staring was going to creep her out.
‘Are you...um...going to make any New Year resolutions?’ It was the only question his befuddled brain could conjure up, inoperative as it was in its current confused state.
She nodded. ‘Yes. I’m going to start afresh. Not let the past hold me back. I’m going to put everything into my new job and make new friends. Be a good neighbour. Stay away from guys. You?’
‘Ah...um...yes. Same. Stay single. Not let my past hold me back, but learn from it...you know, that kind of thing...’
He kept staring into her face. She had the most exquisite eyes and wondered what colour they were. Blue? Green? It was hard to tell at night. But they were bright, and intelligent, and yet also somehow haunted. It was that shadow, that darkness, that intrigued him. It was as if she was trying to mask something—but then perhaps that was the past she’d talked about? Henry knew all about painful pasts. And the yearning to escape them.
‘Ten! Nine! Eight!’
They both heard the countdown begin inside the club.
Henry looked nervously at Natalie. Clearly they were about to ring in the New Year together. Two complete strangers.
‘Seven! Six! Five!’
His mind raced. What was the etiquette here? They’d just met, and the standard practice as the New Year was rung in was to cheer and celebrate with those close to you with a hug and a kiss. But they’d both admitted that neither of them wanted to get into anything, so...
If he were to kiss Natalie, how should he do it? On the cheek? On the lips?
He stared at her mouth, torn with indecision.
‘Four! Three! Two!’
He looked at her eyes, as if seeking direction. Or maybe just permission. He really wanted to kiss her, despite his rules—because, hey, it was just one kiss, right? It wasn’t going to lead to anything. He’d kiss her, wish her a Happy New Year and then leave. He’d be enigmatic. She’d go on with her life and tell her friends about the mysterious stranger she’d once kissed at midnight and he kind of liked that image. Kind of liked being a character in her story, even if it was for the briefest association she’d ever had in her life. It didn’t matter that he’d never see her again. Did it?
‘One! Happy New Year!’
The roar of voices from inside the club, the cheering and the whistles being blown, caused them both to laugh at how silly it all was. She looked up at him shyly, almost coquettishly, and he knew she wouldn’t mind if he gave her a brief kiss.
He smiled and took a tentative step forward, bent his head low and moved in to give her a peck on the cheek. It seemed gentlemanly. Not too forward. Not too brash. Not assuming that she wanted more.
But the skin on her cheek was baby-soft, her hair smelled like flowers, and after he’d pressed his lips to her cheekbone, still with his hands in his pockets, he suddenly lingered, his senses going crazy at her scent, her softness.
She turned to look at him with questions in her eyes. Her face so close to his. She looked down at his mouth, then back up to his eyes again. Uncertain? Hopeful? Wanting?
‘I...’
His throat had stopped working. The words couldn’t be formed. His breath was gone from his lungs. His senses were all in complete disarray as she reached up to cradle his face and brought his lips back to hers.
He closed his eyes and kissed her.
The sun, already high in the sky, was streaming through his bedroom window when Henry awoke the next morning. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear the sleep from his eyes, his body deliciously content.
And then he remembered.
Turning his head, he saw a mass of blonde curls on the pillow next to him. Natalie was lying on her front, facing away from him, her delicious hair splayed all over his white pillowcase, her bare arms cradling the pillow. The smooth sweep of her back, bare down to the crease of her bottom, where a bedsheet covered her modesty, was marked by a small array of silver scars.
He swallowed hard. As mind-blowing as it had been last night, this was not the way he’d hoped to ring in the New Year—by breaking the only vow he’d made for himself!
Not a great start, was it?
Sighing, and rubbing his hand over his face, he turned the other way and picked up his phone to check the time. He couldn’t remember setting the alarm. He and Natalie had stumbled into his apartment, frantically removing his shirt and her dress, and they’d practically fallen into bed, unable to tear their hands away from each other long enough to be able to set an alarm.
Nine thirty-four a.m.
He immediately sat up straight, his mind roaring into action. He had a scheduled C-section at midday. Once he’d showered and cycled to work that would leave him cutting it fine, that was for sure.
Henry glanced down at the still-sleeping Natalie. Should he wake her? What would he say? He really didn’t want to have that awkward conversation over breakfast, promising to call her when he knew that he wouldn’t. If he was going to start this year afresh, he had to forget about this little setback and start anew today.
He pushed aside the sheet, grabbed jersey boxer shorts, trousers and a shirt, and headed into the bathroom. He’d wash, shower, brush his teeth... And then apologise for leaving her, explain that he was running late for work, and hopefully avoid the conversation that he just knew she’d want to have.
Would she see him again? Would he call her? They should do this again sometime.
No.
No. No. No.
He couldn’t afford to do any of that. No matter how amazing last night had been.
Flashes of it coalesced in his brain. Their frantic kisses...her hot breath against his neck. The feel of her as he plunged deep inside and the way she’d arched her back as she gasped...
His body stirred in response, so he turned the shower setting to Cold and stepped into the chilly spray, gasping himself and holding his breath as the icy water ran down his body.
What am I doing?
He quickly washed his hair and then stood for a few moments with his head under the spray, trying to gather his thoughts and empty his brain of last night. Okay, so he’d messed up at the first hurdle, but he was a man who believed in second chances, so he had to give himself that opportunity.
Turning off the water, he rubbed his hair with a towel, then dried off his body before getting dressed.
Would she be awake when he went out? Would he have to turn away so she could get dressed? Would he have to have that awful conversation with her whilst his back was turned?
It didn’t seem right, but he had to do it. He was a gentleman above all things and she deserved the truth. This couldn’t be anything more. They’d had one great night and that was all. It ended here. Memories would have to be enough.
Resting his hand on the door, he took a few moments to breathe deeply, then grasped the handle and stepped out. ‘Are you awake? We need to—’
The bed was empty, save for crumpled sheets and askew pillows. He noticed that her midnight-blue sequined dress was gone from the floor and—he padded into the hallway—yes, her high heels were gone, too.
‘Natalie?’
There were no signs of her.
She had left. Just like that.
‘Maybe she didn’t want to have that conversation either,’ he mused aloud, not sure whether to be elated or disappointed by her disappearance.
As the elevator took her down to the ground floor Natalie struggled to slip her feet back into her vertiginous heels. The bell pinged, the doors slid open, and an elderly couple came in just as she was pulling the hem of her short dress down to cover more of her thighs.
‘Good morning,’ she said awkwardly.
The woman raised an eyebrow and said, ‘Happy New Year.’
Natalie smiled at them both, aware that the gentleman—the woman’s husband?—was looking at her with a smile on his face.
His wife swiped at his arm with her rolled-up newspaper. ‘George! Eyes front!’
He snapped to it and Natalie stood up straighter, diving into her handbag to grab her phone and check the time.
Nine forty-seven a.m.! Thirteen minutes to get to her first day at work in her new job! What would they say? And she still had to go home to get changed first. She couldn’t barrel up to the hospital dressed in this!
She closed her eyes, cringing at her own impulsive and ridiculous behaviour.
Why had she kissed him like that outside the club?
Why? Why did I go home with him? He could have been anyone! An axe murderer!
Though he hadn’t looked like one. He’d seemed quite respectable.
But wasn’t that what the neighbours always said when they were interviewed on the local news the morning after a newly discovered bloodbath?
He seemed so nice! Kept himself to himself. No trouble at all...
There were messages on her phone. Her mom and dad wishing her well at her new job. One from her best friend Gayle, who still lived back home in Montana.
New Year, new start! I have no doubt you’ll be a great success!
How to tell her she’d stumbled at the first hurdle? That she’d headed out for one drink to ring in the New Year and had ended up falling into the arms of a man and going home with him!
That wasn’t like her at all. Natalie didn’t take risks like that. She had sworn off men after Wade’s betrayal.
She blamed loneliness. It was a dangerous thing.
She’d moved away from all her family and friends. Leaving them behind in Montana to go and live and work in New York, after securing a post at Heartlands Hospital in Manhattan. Arriving barely a week ago in the Big Apple, she’d moved her few possessions into a tiny stamp-sized apartment and for the first couple of days had been afraid to go out into the streets.
She wasn’t used to a bustling big city. She had lived on a farm for most of her life, her surroundings mountains and plains. Back home she could sit with her thoughts in relative peace and quiet. Sit by a stream to think and listen to the birds. There were vast open swathes of ground filled with horses or cattle. Not this metropolis filled with soaring skyscrapers, bumper-to-bumper vehicles, horns blaring, and thousands of people all busy with someplace to go, who thought nothing of bumping into you and passing on by without even an apology.
So she’d stayed in her apartment, eating what little supplies she had brought with her, talking to no one except her family over the phone. She’d missed them terribly. Felt homesickness for the first time after leaving them all the day after Christmas.
But as New Year’s Eve had crept closer she’d felt a determination creep into her soul, telling her that hiding away in her apartment was not how she’d imagined her life in the big city. She’d come here determined to go out and claim what she wanted. So, set on ringing in the New Year, her new life and her new job, she’d headed for the first club she could find. Liquid Nights. And she’d made it in, struggled past all those happy people to get to the bar. Ordered her first ever Cosmopolitan, because she’d read about them once. And then, before she’d even taken a sip, she had managed to trip and spill it all over a guy’s shirt. A very nice man’s shirt.
She’d been mortified. Tried to apologise. But their voices couldn’t be heard.
As she’d seen his face in the flashes of the light in the club she’d thought, He has a kind face. The kindest face she’d seen since moving there. Dark short hair, slightly wavy. Dark-framed glasses. Strong, defined jaw. And he was tall. Over six feet, for sure.
He’d caught her arm as she tripped, steadied her, but he hadn’t gripped her hard. His touch had been gentle, steadying, and the second she’d got her footing he’d let go and smiled, despite the Cosmopolitan staining his perfectly white shirt.
He’d made her heart pound. That was for sure! He’d just seemed so...considerate. Gentlemanly. And then he’d tried to say something to her, but the music had been so loud it had been impossible to hear him. He’d been the first person to be kind to her here, and so when he’d indicated they head outside she’d agreed. Even though he was a stranger, she figured she’d be safe if they stayed by the doorman outside. She wouldn’t stray from there, she’d told herself. She wasn’t stupid.
Outside in the cool air, she’d heard his voice. His accent. British! And had found her first impressions had been correct. He was a gentleman. And he was kind and thoughtful. And he’d listened to her talk. And then the countdown had begun, and he’d kissed her on the cheek, and she’d been so taken by him, so determined to accept who she was now, she’d taken his face in her hands and pressed her lips to his. Just to see. Just to see if kissing him would be as wonderful as she’d imagined it to be!
And it had been. The excitement and the joy and promise of the New Year being rung in had worked a little magic.
It was hard to describe, but if she had to, she would say it had been like two lonely souls finding each other. Finding hope. Delighting in the other. Needing more. Craving more. Neither of them willing to go home to spend the night alone.
Somehow they’d made it back to his place, and even before they’d walked through the door they’d been removing each other’s clothes.
Her need for him had been like a raging hunger. As if she’d been starved for too long and somehow believed that she could eat as much as she wanted at this buffet and the calories wouldn’t count. Because it was New Year’s. It was special. It was a night like no other. And somehow Henry—beautiful, handsome, body-like-a-Greek-god Henry—had understood her needs and her damaged body as no one had ever done before.
She’d believed sex had been great with Wade. Whenever they’d got together their lovemaking had been frantic and wild, and she’d believed it was exciting because they’d taken each other in small snatches of time, in places they ought not to have. A restaurant bathroom. Wade’s car. Once they’d even done it outside in the park!
Wade had been her mystery man, from out of town. He’d seemed knowledgeable and worldly and he had made her head spin. She’d not been able to get enough of him, and had wondered if everyone else’s relationship was like hers. Full of excitement and raw impulse and spontaneity.
Only now she could see all that for what it was. Wade had never taken her home to his place because he couldn’t. Their lovemaking had been illicit and thrilling because Wade had been hiding a massive secret. One she hadn’t known about.
She’d thought that his obvious desire for her meant that he loved her. That she was special because she aroused so much passion in him! She’d believed wholeheartedly that Wade would ask her to marry him.
Only he couldn’t do that either.
But Henry... Henry had taken her back to his place and he had shown her how a man should be with a woman. Their passion for each other had exploded, yes, but he’d also been able to tease her and slow everything down. He’d taken the time to make sure she was satisfied over and over again before taking his own pleasure, and every time she’d thought she was exhausted, and would no longer be able to reach those dizzying heights one more time, Henry had proved her wrong and taken her there, delighting in her every gasp and sigh. They’d laughed together. Giggled. Rested. Then begun all over again. And all her fears that he would see her scars and stop had faded away like magic.
She’d fallen asleep in his arms, sated and happy and strangely feeling completely safe, considering they barely knew one another.
She’d woken with a start to the sound of a door closing, blinking her eyes open and reminding her that she was somewhere strange and not in her own apartment. The events of last night had flooded back and she’d sat up, pulling the white sheets up to cover her naked chest.
Heart pounding, she’d leapt from the bed to look for her clothes. Her dress had been on the bedroom floor. Where was her underwear? Grasping the sheet to her, she’d frantically elevated pillows and checked bookshelves, and eventually spotted the black lace undies hanging off the corner of a large medical textbook. The title hadn’t registered. Her main thought had been getting dressed and getting out of there before the lovely Henry came out of the bathroom and asked to see her again.
Maybe.
Maybe he wouldn’t want to, but either way she hadn’t wanted to stay and have that conversation. This was not how she was supposed to have started her new life in the big city. And she’d had no idea of the time! The sun had been up, and she’d been able to hear the traffic down below. She had to start her new job today!
Why didn’t Henry have a clock anywhere? And where was her phone?
She’d grabbed her tiny clutch, found her heels in the hallway, where she’d kicked them off, and wrenched the door open. She’d paused briefly in her flight, wondering if she ought to leave a note.
But what would have been the point? Nothing can come of this. I’m staying single, like I promised myself, so I will just have to be a notch on this man’s bedpost. A pleasant interlude for two lonely people.
When the elevator doors pinged open on the lobby floor, she raced past the elderly couple and headed outside to get her bearings. She looked left, then right, raised her hand for a taxi and jumped into the back seat of the first one that came along.
‘Inwood, please.’
