The M.D. Next Door. GINA WILKINS

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       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      Dear Reader,

      I was recently asked if I have a recurring “theme” in my writing. So many of my books are set in series about close-knit families. The question made me ponder what family means to me. Security? Companionship? Validation? The theme I finally selected was “Sanctuary.” Family, to me, is a safe place to take refuge from an unpredictable, sometimes scary world. A place to find reassurance and acceptance—not idyllic or conflict-free, but filled with love. I’ve been blessed that this has always been my experience with family—the one I was born into, the one I married into, and the one my husband and I created together during the past thirty plus years.

      In this new series, DOCTORS IN THE FAMILY, you’ll meet three siblings who all happen to be doctors, but who face many of the same family issues as those in any profession. Too many responsibilities, too little time, worrisome illnesses, loss of loved ones, step-parenting and adapting to the inevitable changes that come with passing time. And always love. I hope you enjoy reading about Meagan, Mitch and Madison—and the families they encounter in their stories!

      Visit me any time at ginawilkins.com.

       Gina Wilkins

      For my wonderful family, near and far.

      Chapter One

      Dressed in a long-sleeved purple T-shirt and comfortable black yoga pants, Meagan Baker reclined in a padded chaise lounge. She had a white cashmere shawl draped over her shoulders, cold soda by her hand, good book in her lap. The chair was one of several arranged in a companionable grouping on the rock patio surrounding her smallish, in-ground pool, which sparkled in the afternoon sun. A spreading oak tree canopied with early spring leaves shaded her chair. Birds played among the branches, singing cheerily. A pleasant, floral-fragrant breeze brushed her cheeks and rustled the new leaves above her, harmonizing sweetly with the birdsongs.

      Glumly, she studied her feet clad in flirty purple ballet flats. Most people would think she was crazy for wishing she were in an operating room in scrubs, paper gown, cap and mask, and arch-supporting shoes.

      “Can I get you anything else, sweetie?” She forced a smile as she looked up at her mother, who hovered nearby. “I’m fine, thanks. You should go home and take care of Meemaw.”

      “You’re sure?” Her mom, LaDonna Baker, looked torn between caring for her convalescing daughter and returning home to tend to her own ailing mother, who lived with her. “I could warm a pot of soup before I go.”

      “I can warm my own soup. You’ve filled my fridge and freezer with meals I can pop into the microwave. I won’t go hungry.” Meagan hated the feeling that she was adding to her mother’s already sizeable load of responsibilities. As the eldest of three children and a surgeon by trade, Meagan was much more accustomed to being a caretaker than having one.

      Only a couple of days out of the hospital after undergoing emergency surgery, she still felt annoyingly weak and achy. She had pain pills if she needed them, but she limited herself to over-the-counter meds as much as possible. Having declined an invitation to recuperate at her mother’s house, Meagan preferred to keep her head clear. She lived alone, but she had promised her concerned family she would keep a cell phone always close at hand. Her mother and two physician siblings all lived within a ten-minute drive, so she had no fears about being on her own.

      “Go home, Mom,” she repeated gently. “You’ve been here most of the day. I know you have things to do at home.”

      Torn by her responsibilities, her mother finally, reluctantly left, though she made Meagan promise to call if she needed anything. Anything at all.

      Alone at last, Meagan rested her head against the back of her chair and closed her eyes. She hadn’t wanted to display her weakness in front of her worried mother, but now she could relax and moan, unheard by anyone but herself. She remembered patients complaining they felt as though they’d been hit by a truck; she now knew exactly what they meant. Every inch of her seemed to ache or throb, not just the healing incision in her abdomen. She’d always tried to be sympathetic to her patients’ discomfort, but she thought she’d be even more so now that she’d actually experienced post-surgical pain, herself.

      As much as she appreciated her mother’s loving care, it felt good to be alone for a while and outside in the fresh air. Ever since she’d been hospitalized six days ago for emergency surgery to repair an ovarian torsion, she’d been pent up and poked at and hovered over and treated like a …well, like a patient. She had quickly realized that she much preferred being the doctor.

      She rested a hand lightly on the incision site, from force of habit, feeling for excessive heat or swelling. Despite her discomfort, she was healing just fine. She wished fleetingly that the surgery could have been performed laparoscopically, which would have resulted in a much shorter recovery period, but her condition had been too severe. Her left ovary had been twisted to the point of necrosis, and the surgeon had been unable to salvage it.

      She might have saved the ovary if she’d caught the condition earlier, Meagan thought regretfully. She had mistaken the symptomatic pain for her usual menstrual cramping, popping OTC pain relievers and staying too busy taking care of other people to pay attention to her own well-being—a common failing among physicians. Only when she’d been incapacitated by sudden, severe pain, nausea and fever had she sought emergency care. She’d been rushed into an O.R. by a surgeon she worked with and trusted implicitly. If anyone could have salvaged the ovary, it would have been Meilin Liu, but no such luck.

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