Runaway Sister

She thought she'd left her troubles behind…until they follow her to paradise.

As a nurse midwife, Samantha Roberts's ear is finely tuned to the subtle changes in a newborn's cry that could signal trouble. But there's one voice she'd gladly tune out altogether, if she could.

It's humiliating enough the whole hospital knows the doctor who strung her along for four years recently dumped her. The last thing she needs is a lecture from Adam Shaw—as if his area of expertise is relationships rather than obstetrics.

Eager to escape the hospital's gossip mill—and the disturbing emotions Adam tends to bring out in her—Samantha jumps at the chance to pick up the strands of her life by tending to a pregnant woman's needs on the gorgeous Greek isle of Corfu.

She's looking forward to a few weeks of sun-drenched bliss—until she finds out why this dream job landed in her lap. And the handsome, knee-weakening reason shows up on Corfu.

This Retro Romance reprint was originally published in 1985 by Mills & Boon.

Runaway Sister

Ann Jennings

Chapter One

The bright lights of the delivery room shone down on the three figures, each absorbed in her allotted task. Two midwives and a woman in the last stages of labor.

“There now, Mrs. Smith, the worst part is over, that wasn't too bad at all, now was it?” Samantha raised her shapely head with her fine golden hair pulled back severely into a tight bun beneath the theatre cap, and smiled a brief but encouraging smile at the woman in labor.

“Now don't push again until I tell you,” she said, gently cradling the baby's head in her strong, slender hands as she quickly and expertly ran her fingers round the neck to make sure the umbilical cord was not twisted around the fetal head. The Spencer Wells forceps were to hand and she was ready to hasten the delivery if need be, but all was well.

She smiled across at the trainee midwife, Nurse Wellow. It was the girl's first delivery, and excitement was shining from her eyes as she assisted at the miracle of birth.

“All right, you can push now, whenever you're ready, Mrs. Smith,” Samantha continued in her warm calm voice, the tone of her voice imparting confidence and courage to the mother. “One last push and your baby will be out in the big wide world!”

Mrs. Smith groaned as she gathered together her reserves of strength, beads of perspiration standing out on her brow as Samantha repeated encouragingly, “Just one last push.”

The baby's head turned as the shoulders slipped out one after the other and in a moment the baby was born, slithering safely into Samantha's capable hands.

“Is the baby all right?” came an anxious voice.

“Yes,” she smiled gently. Every mother asked that question immediately after her baby was born. How she hated it when all was not well, but this time she could say it quite happily and truthfully, as she wiped the baby's eyes and made sure his airway was clear, “You have a lovely baby boy, and he looks perfect to me.”

As soon as the cord had ceased pulsating she clamped it and divided it with sterile scissors, then wrapping the baby tenderly in a cot blanket she passed him to his eager mother, while he announced his arrival to the world at large with an earsplitting wail.

With trembling fingers Mrs. Smith held her newborn son close to her, gazing down into his puckered red face with a mixture of pride and wonder.

Samantha stood beside her, sharing in her moment of pride and wonderment. She had delivered hundreds of babies, but when all went well it was always exciting, always inspiring, that moment of new life.

Today, however, her pleasure was tinged with bitterness; try as she might she could not prevent her personal problems from intruding. Watching the Smith boy's downy head instinctively nuzzling for his mother's breast, she wondered if she would ever know the joy of motherhood.

It was something she had never questioned before. During all the past four years since she had been engaged to Steve, she had always comfortably assumed that as soon as he had his consultant job they would be married, and she would be able to leave midwifery and start a family of her own.

Now everything was different. Steve had announced to her the previous night, completely out of the blue, that he intended to marry another girl—someone she knew vaguely, another doctor he had met while he had been doing a research project.

It had transpired that they had been having an affair for months, and all the time he had still been engaged to Samantha.
What a fool I've been!
reflected Samantha bitterly. Four years she had waited for Steve, four years of being faithful, of always submerging her own needs and wishes to fit in with him. He had always put off marriage, saying that he wanted to be settled and financially secure before he took the plunge. Well, now he was settling down, he'd got his consultant job, but he had chosen to settle down with someone else.
Four wasted years,
she meditated with increasing bitterness.

“Sister, I think the third stage is about to start,” the young trainee midwife had her hand on Mrs. Smith's abdomen, “there's just been another fairly strong contraction.”

Guiltily Samantha tore her straying thoughts back to the delivery room. It was unforgivable of her; for the first time in her professional life she hadn't kept all her attention all of the time on the mother and baby. But then this was the first time she had been jilted, she couldn't help thinking miserably.

Determinedly putting all thoughts of Steve from her mind, she turned to Mrs. Smith and gently took the baby from her.

“The pediatrician will be along in a few moments,” she said, laying the baby carefully on his right side in the warm cot already prepared, “to check the baby's reflexes and generally make sure he's absolutely one hundred percent. In the meantime, let's help you to expel the placenta, shall we?”

The rest of the delivery went as smoothly as Samantha expected, and it was soon time for Mrs. Smith and her baby to be wheeled back to the ward.

“Shall I see you again?” asked Mrs. Smith as Samantha tucked her up carefully on the trolley that was to take her back to the ward.

“No, you'll be looked after by other people now,” Samantha replied. “My job is to help babies into the world, so I stay here in the delivery suite.”

“Do you mind if I ask you something?” asked Mrs. Smith shyly.

Samantha wondered what on earth was coming, but she answered, “No, of course not, what is it?”

“What's your name?” was the question. “Your first name?”

“It's Samantha,” replied Samantha slightly puzzled. “Why do you ask?”

“I want to call the baby after you,” said Mrs. Smith. “I don't think everything would have gone so smoothly if you hadn't been here.”

“You're very probably right,” came a deep voice from behind Samantha. “She's one of the best midwives here, if my memory serves me right. Although I must say,” this last remark was addressed directly to Samantha, “that I didn't expect to find you still here when I returned, I thought you would have been rearing a family of your own by now.”

Samantha colored uncomfortably. It was Adam Shaw, a consultant obstetrician and gynecologist, who had only just returned to the hospital after two years' sabbatical doing research in the United States. He had always had an unnerving effect on her for some reason she had never been able to fathom, although she suspected it was his innate masculinity that always seemed to exude like an aura around him. In the past she had invariably taken refuge from his disturbing presence, secure in the knowledge that she had a comfortable relationship with Steve.

Now, seeing him standing there with a challenging look in his eyes, she suddenly felt very vulnerable, and at the back of her mind she subconsciously knew it wasn't only because Steve had jilted her.

Ignoring his comment, she turned back to Mrs. Smith. “I'm very flattered that you want to call your baby after me,” she said gently, “but I'm afraid Samantha doesn't really suit a baby boy, does it?”

Mrs. Smith laughed, “No, but Sam does, and that's what he's going to be called—Sam. Yes, Sam,” she repeated, savoring the name.

“But what about your husband, he may not like the name Sam,” protested Samantha, feeling she had to stop Mrs. Smith from being too impulsive.

“Oh, Bill will agree to anything I want,” replied Mrs. Smith positively, “I know he will.”

“You can tell who wears the trousers in that household,” remarked Adam Shaw dryly as Mrs. Smith and her baby were wheeled away down the long hospital corridor towards the ward area.

“Yes,” replied Samantha shortly. She had no intention of staying to chat, she wanted to get away for a short break before she went off duty. Now that the delivery was over, she wanted to be alone. Since Steve had told her his news she hadn't really had the chance to sit quietly and reflect or to make plans for the future.

Adam Shaw, however, obviously had other ideas. “Why are you still here?” he asked. “I thought the most attractive midwife on the Unit would have been married by the time I returned. I thought you were engaged when I left.”

“Thanks for the compliment,” returned Samantha shortly, “if by attractive midwife you're referring to me. However, I should tell you I'm no longer engaged, because Steve is marrying someone else—someone obviously more attractive,” she couldn't resist adding bitterly.

“The man's a fool then, that's all I can say,” rejoined Adam Shaw. Samantha forced her lips into a brief polite smile and started to move away from him towards the changing room, but he blocked her way, a large immovable male presence that threatened her composure.

“I must say that somehow I always thought there wasn't an all-conquering passion between you two. I always suspected that perhaps you were taking the comfortable way out.”

Anger flared within Samantha, her blue eyes blazed with indignation as she at last raised them to look into his slaty grey ones. To add to her annoyance she could see amusement lurking in the depths of his eyes. What a nerve he had, taunting her about her relationship with Steve!

“I didn't know you were an authority on passion as well as obstetrics and gynecology!” she flashed back. “If I know of anyone needing advice on that subject I shall refer them to you! In the meantime I would prefer it if you didn't make comments concerning my private affairs.”

“Nothing is private in a hospital,” he returned quickly, “you should know that, and I'm glad to see that I've provoked an angry response in you, instead of that whipped dog look you had in your eyes before.”

Samantha gasped at his effrontery. “You've got the most colossal cheek!” She almost spat the words at him, she was so angry by now. “Get out of my way!”

“Really, Sister Roberts,” his voice had a mocking tone to it, “is that the way to speak to a senior consultant?”

“I don't care what the hell you are—keep your nose out of my business, I can look after myself and I don't need your advice!” She started to push past him, but he grasped her wrist in a viselike grip, his fingers like a band of steel.

“Don't go wasting yourself on other junior doctors,” he said in a low voice.

Against her will Samantha felt her pulses quickening in a way they had not done for years as she felt the pressure of his strong fingers on her bare flesh. She felt angry with herself because she was unable to control her heartbeat as she reacted to the proximity of his sheer masculinity, and she felt angry with him for making her senses awaken, disturbing dormant sensations she had always thought she had well under control.

“Are you suggesting I reserve myself for consultants only?” she countered sarcastically. But as soon as she had uttered the words she knew she had made a mistake.

“I think that would be a very good idea,” he replied slowly, not disguising the raw sensuality in his voice. “I for one could show you some of that all-conquering passion that you've been missing out on!”

With difficulty Samantha tore her gaze from his; it was almost as if he were hypnotizing her. “Let me go!” she muttered angrily. “How dare you!”

Abruptly he let go of her wrist and she almost ran down the corridor towards the changing room. Once inside she slammed the door shut and leaned against it, her breath coming in ragged gasps. How could such a brief contact with a man she had not seen or even thought of for two years have such a tumultuous effect on her? she wondered in amazement. What was it about him? How could he say she had the look of a whipped dog? Had she really been so transparent?

She straightened her slim shoulders defiantly. No one, she resolved, no one in the whole wide world was going to even guess at how hurt she felt; she didn't want anyone feeling sorry for her. As she changed and showered ready to go off duty Samantha couldn't help her thoughts continually straying back to Adam Shaw and his words about all-conquering passion. Perhaps he was right after all. She and Steve had always had a comfortable relationship, they had somehow just drifted into an engagement, their relationship had been nice, steady, but certainly not all-conquering passion, as Adam Shaw had so bluntly put it. Samantha had always believed that such a thing only existed in romantic fiction, real life was much more down to earth. Now she began to wonder.

Perhaps Steve had found real passion and love, she thought, and suddenly for some strange reason she couldn't pinpoint, everything seemed to hurt less. She genuinely loved Steve, and if he had found a greater happiness with someone else, then she knew in her heart she couldn't begrudge it to him. She just wished that he could have been honest with her right from the beginning. Sighing, she threw her clothes into the dirty linen basket standing by the shower cubicle door.
Oh well, no use crying over spilt milk,
she thought philosophically,
I've got to pick up the threads of my life and start over again. One thing, though,
she resolved, shampooing her hair vigorously,
I'm going to keep out of the way of Adam Shaw—I don't like that man!

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of someone calling her name, and she turned off the shower for a moment so that she could hear. It was her friend Jennie.

“Is that you in there, Samantha?” came Jennie's voice.

“Yes,” she replied. “If you wait a moment I'll be finished and I'll come out and talk to you.”

“OK,” said Jennie, “don't rush, I've got plenty of time.”

When she had finished Samantha emerged from the cubicle, a towel wrapped round her head, hiding her long blonde hair, and another towel wrapped around her shapely body.

Jennie looked at her beauty reflectively, but without envy. She was small, inclined to overweight and had flaming-red hair, but if physically she was no beauty, she certainly made up for it in her character. It would have been difficult to have found someone nicer, sweeter, more tolerant, and more fun to be with. Which probably accounted for the fact that she was never short of boyfriends, much to the mystification of some of the good-looking, but rather shallow, nurses around. Samantha was never surprised, though, she knew her friend's true worth.