Darlene Graham - The Pull Of The Moon

“Fathers are important.” “Fathers are important.” Matt spoke simply. “And I think my baby deserves a good one.” Olivia’s smile softened. “I agree, Mr. Creed. But I’m afraid that with my daughter, there is little either of us can do to change her mind.” Matt leaned forward on the couch. “Oh, there’s plenty I can do,” he said. “I can take her to court and sue for joint custody” Olivia answered quickly. “Nasty legal proceedings will solve nothing. Besides, you have no claim to the baby. Danni would have to name you as the father for you to have any legal standing.” There was silence for a few seconds, then Matt spoke. “Your daughter didn’t tell you?” Olivia looked confused. “Mrs. Goodlove, your daughter and I are married.” “THE PULL OF THE MOON is a tender, memorable story of a remarkable man and a dedicated woman, who, through loving each other, heal the wounds upon their souls. It is a page-turning, feel-good book from beginning to end.” —Sharon Sala, award-winning author of Reunion Letter to Reader Dear Reader, I worked as a labor and delivery nurse for many years and allays wanted to write a story about a dedicated, funny, sawy, but lonely obstetrician who yearns for a love of her own. Dr. Danni Goodlove began forming in my mind all those years ago. But it wasn’t until I met the firefighters/rescuers after the bombing of the Alfred P. Murrah building in Oklahoma City (I was privileged to work as a volunteer at the site during the rescue effort) that I found the hero who would be Danni’s match. I hope my portrayal of Matthew Creed does justice to the tireless and truly heroic men and women who gave their all during that terrible time. To my own son Damon, a television reporter who was one of the first to arrive at the scene, and to everyone who suffered in the wake of that heinous crime, I hope that the references in this book provide only consolation and validation. Though deeply emotional issues are woven into this story, it is a joyous account Because it shows one woman’s journey as she chooses change and growth, finds true love and receives the family of her dreams. I enjoy hearing from my readers. You can write to me at P.O. Box 720224, Norman, Oklahoma 73070. Darlene Graham Title Page The Pull of the Moon Darlene Graham www.millsandboon.co.uk Dedication To Ray and Tonie Lueb. Thank you for answering God’s call to become loving parents. CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN CHAPTER ELEVEN CHAPTER TWELVE CHAPTER THIRTEEN CHAPTER FOURTEEN CHAPTER FIFTEEN CHAPTER SIXTEEN CHAPTER SEVENTEEN CHAPTER EIGHTEEN CHAPTER NINETEEN CHAPTER TWENTY CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE EPILOGUE Copyright

“Fathers are important.”

Matt spoke simply. “And I think my baby deserves a good one.”

Olivia’s smile softened. “I agree, Mr. Creed. But I’m afraid that with my daughter, there is little either of us can do to change her mind.”

Matt leaned forward on the couch. “Oh, there’s plenty I can do,” he said. “I can take her to court and sue for joint custody”

Olivia answered quickly. “Nasty legal proceedings will solve nothing. Besides, you have no claim to the baby. Danni would have to name you as the father for you to have any legal standing.”

There was silence for a few seconds, then Matt spoke. “Your daughter didn’t tell you?”

Olivia looked confused.

“Mrs. Goodlove, your daughter and I are married.”

“THE PULL OF THE MOON is a tender, memorable story of a remarkable man and a dedicated woman, who, through loving each other, heal the wounds upon their souls. It is a page-turning, feel-good book from beginning to end.”

—Sharon Sala, award-winning author of Reunion

Dear Reader,

I worked as a labor and delivery nurse for many years and allays wanted to write a story about a dedicated, funny, sawy, but lonely obstetrician who yearns for a love of her own. Dr. Danni Goodlove began forming in my mind all those years ago.

But it wasn’t until I met the firefighters/rescuers after the bombing of the Alfred P. Murrah building in Oklahoma City (I was privileged to work as a volunteer at the site during the rescue effort) that I found the hero who would be Danni’s match.

I hope my portrayal of Matthew Creed does justice to the tireless and truly heroic men and women who gave their all during that terrible time. To my own son Damon, a television reporter who was one of the first to arrive at the scene, and to everyone who suffered in the wake of that heinous crime, I hope that the references in this book provide only consolation and validation.

Though deeply emotional issues are woven into this story, it is a joyous account Because it shows one woman’s journey as she chooses change and growth, finds true love and receives the family of her dreams.

I enjoy hearing from my readers. You can write to me at

P.O. Box 720224, Norman, Oklahoma 73070.

Darlene Graham

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Ray and Tonie Lueb.

Thank you for answering God’s call

to become loving parents.

CHAPTER ONE

THE FULL MOON WAS THE trouble, and everybody knew it.

As Dr. Danielle Goodlove shoved her long, thick hair under a disposable cap and began the routine surgical scrub, she thought how ironic it was that all the simpering romantics out there in TV- and movie-land considered the moon a symbol of romance.

Romance. Ha!

In obstetrics everybody knew that all hell broke loose when Old Man Moon turned his fat face on the unsuspecting earth. Why did stuff like this—an emergency C-section with a life in the balance—always seem to happen when the moon was full?

Correction: two lives.

She nudged the knee handle to cut the water off, raised her dripping hands, and headed toward delivery room one.

A woman’s scream from within caused Danni to break into a trot. She knocked the heavy door open with her bottom and yelled: “Fetal heart rate?”

A nurse turned up the volume on a state-of-theart monitor and called back, “Sixties!” as the ominously slow beeps filled the otherwise-silent room.

Another nurse rushed forward to dry Danni’s hands with a sterile towel while a third nurse came at her with a surgical gown mittened over fists. The circulating nurse filled Danni in on the case, her words fast and low. “It’s a bad deal. The whole family was in the fire. Couple of toddlers. Mom’s water ruptured at the scene—”

“When?” Danni interrupted.

The nurse glanced at the large clock on the tiled wall.

“Just before midnight—about thirty minutes ago. We’ve got a prolapsed cord and fetal distress.”

“I hear it,” Danni said. The beeps got slower.

The nurse with the towel finished the drying and dodged aside so the other could thrust the gown onto Danni’s outstretched arms. The circulator continued to talk rapidly as she reached up and pushed Danni’s glasses firmly onto the bridge of her nose.

“Mom ran into the trailer when they realized the toddlers were missing. A fireman pulled her back out, then went in for the kids himself. The dad’s drunk, started the fire with a cigarette. The cops have him. She’s about thirty-four weeks. No prenatal care. You’re flying blind.”

Danni nodded while she jammed her hands into the sterile gloves held open before her. Then she stepped up to the surgery table.

The patient was no longer screaming. She now lay gravely silent with eyes closed, her skin pale and smudged beneath pathetically singed eyebrows and hair. She cracked her eyes open as Danni adjusted the paper drapes. When she saw Danni she tried to talk through the anesthesia mask, then reached sooty fingers from under the drape and grabbed for Danni’s arm. The circulator caught the woman’s hand before she could contaminate Danni’s sterile gown.

“Don’t worry,” Danni said and leaned over to look directly in the patient’s eyes as they grew heavy with the anesthetic. “We’ll get your baby out in time.”

She opened her gloved palm for the scalpel and peered over her mask at the anesthetist. He adjusted the nitrous oxide and nodded.

“Let’s go.” Danni flipped the knife into position and cut.

Dr. Danni Goodlove prided herself on her head-spinning, machinelike speed in emergencies. The C-section team at Tulsa’s Holy Cross Hospital—one of the best in the city—had scrambled to meet her exacting standard: six minutes from decision, to incision, to squalling baby.

In this business, sometimes you had to hurt the patient in order to help them. Sometimes they cried out. Danni might have let that affect her work, but she didn’t. While still in her teens she had learned to ignore her emotions and focus on her goal. She’d acquired that skill the hard way—in a tragedy she didn’t like to think about—but on a night like this she was grateful for it.

Because on a night like this—when the moon was full—Danni couldn’t help thinking of Lisa.

On a night like this, Lisa and her baby had died.

But tonight’s baby was lifted out, free of the strangling cord, squirming under the Ohio warmer a mere ninety seconds after Danni’s first swift, sure cut.

Danni hadn’t even broken a sweat, but the rest of the team released a collectively held breath when they heard the first weak cries from the corner where a pediatric team labored over the tiny patient. Danni tried to ignore the palpable relief all around her. She never allowed herself to get emotional during a delivery, but tonight she was feeling the tiniest twinge of—something—as the infant’s crying picked up steam.

Then the bang of the operating-room door startled them all.

A perky young ward clerk, breathless from her sprint down the hall, held a paper mask to her face, her eyes huge above it. “Dr. Danni!” she huffed. “Dr. Stone’s having a fit down in the E.R. He said to close this case fast and get down there stat. A ton of OB’s have flooded in.”

“The moon,” a nurse behind Danni moaned.

The girl spread a palm over her chest as if to calm herself, then noticed the baby. “That baby made it?”

One of the pediatric nurses called out, “He’s perfect!” above the infant’s wailing.

“You know,” the transfixed young woman said, nodding at the unconscious mother, “that fireman that got injured saving her?”

The team, busy with their tasks, didn’t acknowledge the question.

“Well,” she announced with an air of importance, “Cooper said he looks just like Tom Selleck.”

Danni gave the girl a cutting glance over her mask, then said, “Go tell Stone to cool his jets. I’ll be there in a couple of minutes.”

ONCE SHE GOT DOWN to the E.R., Danni took a second to look in the exam room where two toddler-size bodies lay side by side on two gurneys. The bustling E.R. teams obstructed her view, but she knew it was bad. The teams were too controlled, too quiet. It was the deafening silence of hopelessness. What would she tell the mother?

A commotion behind her caused her to turn.

Some nurses and an orderly had stopped the gurney they’d been pushing and struggled with the huge man on it. He was wearing a bloodstained T-shirt, and a fresh dressing and ice packs swaddled one arm. His turnout pants and fire boots told Danni he must be the fireman the ward clerk had been talking about upstairs. He was fighting to sit up and pushed the burly orderly back with one hand while he jerked the oxygen mask off his face with the other.