The Billionaire's Christmas Wish. Tina BeckettЧитать онлайн книгу.

       CHAPTER ONE

      “THEO—IVY IS asking for you.”

      Theo Hawkwood’s heart dropped into the acidic pool in his stomach as the nurse’s voice came through his cellphone.

      “Is she okay?”

      Of course she wasn’t. His daughter hadn’t been “okay” for months. Which was why she’d been moved to a room a short distance from his office.

      “There’s no change. I think she just wants to see you.”

      A familiar nagging ache went through his chest, filling the space his heart had just vacated. His wife’s sudden death four and a half years ago had left him with a hole in his life and an infant daughter to raise. And now Ivy was sick. Very sick. And no one could tell him why. If he lost her too...

       You won’t. You have one of the best diagnosticians in the world on the case.

      Except even she was stumped.

      “I’m on my way. Can you find Dr. Archer for me?”

      “She’s already there. She’s the one who asked me to call you.”

      Shoving his phone into the pocket of his jeans, he pushed away from the desk and the pile of requisitions he’d been studying. Once on his feet, he dragged a hand through his hair. It had been months. And still no definitive diagnosis. They knew what it wasn’t but not what it was that was making Ivy’s arms and legs grow weaker by the day. As unfair as it was, he’d been pinning all his hopes on Madison Archer, only to have them dashed time and time again.

      Striding across the bridge that joined his section of the hospital with the area that housed the family suites, he tried to avoid looking at the festive ribbons and lights that twinkled with the joy of the season. Joy? He just wasn’t feeling it. As much as he tried to put on a cheerful face for the sake of his daughter, the storms raging inside him were anything but cheerful. How long before Ivy noticed?

      Maybe she already had.

      He took his gaze from the decorations and fixed them straight ahead until he came to Ivy’s room. He didn’t bother knocking, just pushed quietly through the door then stopped in his tracks. Madison was seated on the side of his daughter’s bed, their heads close together, and they were...laughing.

      Had he ever actually heard Madison laugh?

      He didn’t think so. She was professional to a fault. He’d even overheard the word “Scrooge” attributed to her after she’d refused to give an opinion on the lights on the banister leading to the family suites. A quick glance from him had silenced the comment in mid-sentence.

      And now? The deep copper highlights of the diagnostician’s hair cascaded in waves that covered the side of her face so he couldn’t see her, but she was writing something in a small notebook. She giggled again. “Are you sure?”

      “Yes,” his daughter replied.

      Something in his gut gave a painful jerk.

      “What’s going on in here?”

      The second the gruff question came out of his mouth the laughter came to an abrupt halt, and Madison slammed the notebook shut.

      He wished he could take the words back. Wished he could take a whole lot of things back, but he couldn’t.

      Madison’s face came into view as she shook her hair back to peer up at him, her indrawn brows causing tiny puckers to form between them.

      Hell, he needed to get a grip. The nurse’s message a few moments earlier had made him think something was wrong, and he’d buzzed in here like some kind of hornet, looking for something or someone to strike.

      Only there was no one. Only some mystery illness that refused to poke its head out so it could be seen for what it was.

      A stealer of life. A stealer of joy.

      For Theo, the feeling of helplessness was the worst sensation in the world. Worse than the loss of his wife to a drunk driver over four years ago. At least that had been something concrete that he could understand. He’d known exactly where to place the blame that time. But this time there was nothing.

      “Are you okay?” Madison’s smile had morphed into professional concern, her fingers balancing her pen over the notebook. Scrooge? Hell, he was the Scrooge, not her.

      “I’m sorry. You called me down here, and I thought...” His voice trailed away and a lump formed in his throat when Ivy didn’t immediately jump off her bed and squeeze his legs in a tight hug, like she used to.

      She couldn’t. Ivy couldn’t even walk now.

      The diagnostician tucked the pen and book into the front pocket of her long gray tunic and then got up and stood in front of him. Those long legs of hers brought her almost to eye level. She still had to tilt her head a bit, but she didn’t have to crane her neck like Hope used to do.

      He swallowed and threw another log onto the fire of guilt.

      “Hey.” Her fingers landed on his arm with a quick squeeze that sent something skittering up his spine to his brain—a flash of something he had no intention of analyzing. “Don’t you quit on me.”

      She didn’t have to translate the meaning for him, and Theo was smart enough to nod at her subtle warning not to scare his daughter unnecessarily.

      But how about him? He was scared out of his mind right now.

      “No quitting involved.” His voice sounded a lot more sure than he felt. Even so, he softened his tone for the next part. “So I’ll ask again. What’s going on?”

      “We were just making some plans for... Christmas.”

      He blinked. There had been an awkward pause before she’d added that last word. And the way she’d blurted it out—like she couldn’t wait to fling it off her tongue—made him wonder.

      Was it because she wasn’t sure Ivy was even going to be around to celebrate the event, which was a short two weeks away? That thought sent icy perspiration prickling across his upper lip. “Plans for?”

      Ivy, who had been silent for the exchange, said, “For Sanna Claus. And your presents.”

      Her mispronunciation of good old Saint Nick’s name made him smile, relief making his shoulders slump. It had become a running joke between them, with him correcting her and Ivy persisting in leaving out the “t” sound with a nose crinkled in amusement.

      He glanced at his daughter and then at Madison. “The only present I need is for you to get better, sweetheart.”

      He put a wealth of meaning into those words and aimed them at the diagnostician.

      Uncertainty shimmered in the green depths of the other doctor’s eyes and his relief fled in an instant. Theo knew how she felt, though. Before he’d founded the hospital—back when he’d been a practicing surgeon—there’d been