From Rivals to I Do : A Collection of Various Enemies-to-Lovers Romance Novels

Prologue

It’s been a slow, droll, lull of a shift at Our Lady of Peace hospital in Amarillo, Texas—two days before Christmas in fact, and I feel like death warmed over. I’ve been working doubles for two weeks without a day to myself, and though my feet hurt, and my legs feel weak, I carry on like usual.

I mean, any human being stuck in my position would be exhausted too, so what’s the use in whining about it?

It’s okay though, I need the money. My husband, Doctor Joseph Middleton, and I not only work at the same hospital, but we own a little farm together. I love all the animals with everything I have. They’re like my little babies now that Sparrow and Joe Junior have left the nest, making the place not feel so. . . well. . . empty. The only problem is that nothing in life is free, and the upkeep on the place is expensive enough. But with inflation and the bank increasing our mortgage. . . even between the two of us, it’s been hard to keep afloat.

So, I suppose it’s a blessing that I am getting all these extra hours anyway, though it’s not so great for everyone else.

It’s flu season here at the hospital, and thanks to the tourists enjoying the warmer weather from up north—and just the time of year in general—it’s been making its icky rounds and spreading through the nursing staff like a California wildfire. But call it good diet and exercise or just dumb luck, but I’m one of the few who haven’t caught it yet while everyone else is calling out, leaving us incredibly understaffed.

As the night wanes on, however, it’s beginning to feel much different than the normal fatigue I’ve been experiencing. In fact, each step feels heavier than the next, as if my feet have concrete blocks tied to them. I’m dragging them along behind me as I’m finally able to reach the nurse’s desk and take a seat for a moment to get some paperwork done.

“Jesus Darla, you look awful,” Penelope says, and as I look up at her from my desk chair, I can feel warmth gathering in my face and settling in my cheeks and eye sockets.

“I’m just tired, it’ll pass,” I reply as I wave her off. Even though my head is beginning to pound, I take the clipboard in my hand and enter the information on my patient’s sheet into the computer. Another set of twins to begin adding to the maternity ward rounds. . . One’s being sent off to the NICU. . .

“Look a lot more than tired,” Penelope says, her face ticked into a worried half-smile. “Let me take your temp.”

“Penny, I don’t got time for that.” I sigh as I look at my watch, standing up quickly. Apparently, it’s far too fast because the next thing I remember is waking up in a hospital bed down in the emergency room. The headache I’d had from earlier was much worse as I lay there shivering under a stack of blankets.

“Ah, glad to see you’re awake,” Doctor Lee says, a troubled look on his face as he shuts off his flashlight. “I was starting to get worried there.”

“What happened?” I ask with a groan.

“Well, you took a pretty nasty fall upstairs on the labor ward,” Doctor Lee replies. “You gave Penny quite the scare.”

“I’m fine,” I insist, and I go to sit up. Immediately, I regret it, the pounding in my head roaring as pain shoots to my eyebrow. I put my hand to my forehead, realizing that there’s a bandage there, and when I gently press it I let out a gentle hiss as it’s tender to the touch.

“Actually, no, you’re not,” Doctor Lee says as he helps me lay back down. “You have the flu.”

“You’ve got to be kidding,” I whine as I heave a heavy sigh.

“It was bound to happen sooner or later with as rampant as it’s been around here, Darla,” Doctor Lee says with a shrug. “The bigger deal here is that I’m now also a bit worried about a concussion to be honest.”

“Well, that would explain the tenderness,” I reply, frowning. Of course, I’d have to be the one to beef it on the ward like a fool, I think to myself. Now all the girls are going to be yucking it up about it later. Well, whoever can even make it in. . . “But if I can just rest awhile, I think I’ll be good to go back up there.”

“Oh no, you are not going back on the ward,” Doctor Lee replies.

“Really?” I ask, my heart hopping into my throat.

“Yes, really,” Doctor Lee replied with a smile. “But don’t worry, I already talked to Doctor Proctor; I told him what happened, and we’ve called Jennifer in from ICU to fill your spot.”

“Wait, you’re sending me home?” I ask.

“If you’re worried about a hit to your attendance, trust me, you’ve got enough sick days.”

Yeah. . . but not paid ones at the moment. A big emphasis on the ‘not being paid for it’ part.

“But—”

“No buts, Darla,” Doctor Lee replies with a shake of his finger. “You’ve got to go home. You’re contagious and have a head injury. We can’t have you getting the pregnant women or babies sick, you know that.”

If Doctor Proctor were right in front of me, I knew I might be able to weasel my way into staying with some acetaminophen and an ice pack. But not with Doctor Lee. It isn’t that Doctor Proctor is a bad guy, but he lived to work and expected that from everyone else. He’s very much a pick yourself up by your bootstraps, dust yourself off, and keep going type of man.

Doctor Lee, however, is his bipolar opposite when it comes to personality and care for the workers. If you were sick or hurt, he’d find a way to get you out of there the best he could. Whether it was by sending you home early, or sometimes, letting you sleep it off in the resting area we have for the doctors and nurses to use on break.

Normally, being sent home would be fine. . . but we are really depending on the extra money. Instantly, I am worried about Joseph getting frustrated, but he’s a reasonable man, and I know that I’m projecting my own insecurities onto him.

“I’ll have Tabby come along with your discharge papers,” Doctor Lee says after giving me a good look over. “I suggest calling Joe and trying to get a ride. . . your pupil dilation is alright, but I’d rather be safe. I tried calling already, but I didn’t get an answer.”

“Alright,” I say, finding it curious he didn’t answer. But I just brushed it off.

“Penny left your purse on the tray there,” Doctor Lee says as he goes to leave the room. “Feel better, Darla.”

“Thanks, Doc,” I reply, and he gives me a smile and a little wave before heading back out into the atrium, slipping my folder into the stack for ‘discharges’ before grabbing another clipboard from intake and speed walking off.

“Shoot,” I say as I snatch my purse up off the table and begin fishing through it until I finally find my cell phone. “It’s two in the morning,” I mutter to myself as I scroll through my contacts, find Joe, and immediately dread hitting the call button, once again overcome with the worry that he will be upset—the threat of disappointment my daddy would have had carrying over into my adult life. He’s going to be so irritated. . . he’s finally got a day off tomorrow. . .

I sit and wait, listening to the trill of the phone as it rings, waiting on bated breath for him to answer. However, instead of being met by his rich, velvety voice, I’m met with his jovial voicemail message, and I quickly hang up.

Weird,I think to myself as I call again, only to get the same result. Did he turn his ringer off? I ask myself as I try again. Same thing. Voicemail. I mean, he might have the day off, but he’s the neurosurgeon on call. . . he’s got to have the thing turned on.

After Tabby comes in with Tylenol and my release forms, I slowly creep out into the hallway, my bag slung over my shoulder. I don’t want Doctor Lee to see me leaving without Joseph, so I peer through the glass, waiting until he ducks into another room to make my escape.

I’m confident that even though my head is thumping like a drum, I’ll be fine. My vision isn’t double or blurred so I scurry out to the parking lot and head home. A part of me is sure that Joseph is okay, but we are in our forties now—anything can happen, and it’s really bothering me that he’s still not picking up.

I spent the whole drive home trying not to panic, reminding myself he just had a physical, and they’d given him a clean bill of health. But my mind was being vicious to me, remembering how my daddy had gone, fast and without warning. So, as I pull into the driveway, all I can think of is whether or not he’s alright.

I rush out of the car and toward our big, beautiful home—a ranch house in the hills—that we’d bought years and years ago, and I quickly scuttle inside. Immediately, I’m hit by the scent of candles—warm apple pie to be exact, a scent that I buy in bulk whenever I can, my favorite.

It reminds me of being back home on the ranch with my folks in Kansas. The White Dahlia, named after my granny, memories of my mama in the kitchen making apple crisp and crumble. But Joseph has never been much of a candle burner himself. So, what’s he doing burning my stash?

“Honey?” I call out, and instead of an answer, I hear shuffling coming from the back hall leading to our room. “Honey, are you alright?” I ask, but still no answer, and my heart begins to pound as I get closer and closer to the doorway and hear muffled, almost urgent whispers.

“What in the world is going on?” The words spill out of my mouth as I bust open the door to our bedroom with a swift kick, and I feel like my whole body is on fire when I don’t find Joseph alone. Instead, there’s a young woman in lingerie, her derriere hanging out as she tries to climb out the window, my makeup clattering off the small dresser she’s standing on. “Hold it right there,” I snap, and the lace-clad lady of the night freezes in place at the sound of my voice.

“Darla, I can explain. . . ”

“Explain what? You in bed with this hussy?” I yell, and Joseph’s face goes from a pale peach to a bright red as she pulls herself out of the window, nearly slipping and falling to the floor as she struggles to get down, covering her heaving bosom with her arms.

“There’s no need for all that!” he yells as the woman cowers by the window, trying to bend down and gather up her clothes.

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” she sputters nervously. “He told me that he was separated and getting a divorce.”

“Oh, is that so?” I say as I cock one hip, all the fatigue and weariness completely dissipating as I cross my arms over my chest.

“Darla, I—”

“You what? What? Go on and try to make some sort of excuse now!” I holler, adrenaline blasting through my veins as his face falls. He looks down into his lap as his mistress hurried to get dressed.

“Don’t you worry, Joseph, I’ll give you exactly what you want,” I say as my voice begins to crack, and my eyes sting with tears. “Now, you take your harlot and get out of my house,” I say as I pick up his jeans near my feet and throw them at him hard, right in his face, before I turn on my heel and walk away.

I can hear arguing between the two of them as they hurry to get dressed, and I walk out into the living room, putting my head in my hands. Don’t you dare show any emotion, I beg my brain and body. Wait to cry until they leave. Don’t even give him the satisfaction of knowing that he’s got to you. It’s obvious he could give a lick about how you feel, bringing another woman into your bed. You hold your head high and make him think you don’t give a crap. He certainly didn’t.

She walks out first, sheepishly mouthing sorry to me, pumps in hand as she sneaks out the door. A few minutes later, Joseph follows with a couple of small suitcases in his hands. He stops and looks at me and shakes his head.

“You know, none of this would have happened if you were ever home,” he says, and immediately I feel rage creep through my veins. I have been working my tail off for us. For our home. For our farm. To keep the lives we’ve been living sustainable. . . and he dares to say something like that to me after I find him with some twenty-year-old filled with ten pounds of silicone?

I let out a guttural scream before picking up the vase on the coffee table and chucking it at him.

“Get out!” I scream as I finally break, tears streaming down my face as the vase shatters against the wall, missing him by inches.

“Are you crazy?” Joseph yells, and I feel a little smirk creep into the side of my mouth as I hear Patsy Cline play in my mind.

And I’m crazy for loving you. . .

“Don’t you ever come back here.”