SAM LOVED EARLY-MORNING SHIFTS. The wards were quiet, lacking the buzz and bustle that seemed to build up during the day, and many of the children were still asleep.
Those who were awake were usually chatty. Kayla, her diabetes now stabilised with the knowledge and drugs she’d need to keep it that way, was due to go to the wards, where she’d spend a day with one of her parents and a specialised nurse to run through the pin-prick blood test she’d need to do several times a day with her special device, and practise using the syringe with which she’d be injecting her insulin.
Sam sat with her for a few minutes, talking to her about what lay ahead, reassuring her that she’d soon be able to manage it all without stress, telling stories of six-year-olds she’d seen who had been doing their own injections for a year.
Then on to Grant, who was due to be brought out of his coma today. So much rested on this, although evidence of mild brain damage might not be noticeable for some time.
But the shock for the child, waking to find so much plaster on his body, one leg suspended above the bed by a sling around his ankle, his other leg held together with an external frame, would be the most immediate problem.
‘How do I explain it all to him?’ his mother, who was sitting by the bed, asked.
Sam smiled at her. ‘With any luck he’ll find it exciting—something to tell all the kids at school. But he’ll be woozy for a day or two, so don’t get alarmed. As far as all our tests show, there was no substantial damage to his brain, just some slight swelling, which has gone down now.’
She waved her hand towards the sling.
‘Boredom’s going to be the main thing—he’s not going to be able to move around much for a while. Does he have some kind of device with games on that he can use while lying in bed?’
His mother gave a huff of rueful laughter.
‘He has some hand-held thing he plays with all the time. In fact, I feel so guilty because that’s why he was out on his bike. I told him if he didn’t put the silly device away and get out in the fresh air, I’d confiscate it for good.’
‘You can’t blame yourself,’ Sam told her, knowing it would do no good at all. How often had she told herself she wasn’t to blame for Nick’s death when she knew full well it was the argument that had caused it.
It wasn’t rational, she knew that, but it lingered anyway, as this would with Grant’s mother...
Abby was sufficiently recovered to be transferred to a ward, and Sam was writing up the protocols for it when a shiver down her spine told Andy had just walked into the room.
‘You’re early,’ she said, not turning to look at him in case her too-ready blush gave her away.
‘Wanted to see Abby before she left us,’ he said, going to stand by the bed and taking Abby’s hand.
‘Happy to be getting out of here, Abs?’ he said, and the girl smiled radiantly at him.
‘But I’ll miss you all,’ she said, the words belying the smile. ‘You’ve all been so kind, especially you, Dr Wilkie!’
Now she was blushing, and Sam bumped Andy’s arm as they left the room.
‘Do all the teenage girls fall for you, Dr Wilkie?’
‘Behave yourself,’ Andy said sternly, but the twinkle in his eyes told her how hard this ‘just colleagues thing’ could prove to be.
‘Why are you here early?’ Sam asked, as they stood outside the door, the file in Sam’s hands between them so it could look like a normal colleague conversation.
‘Paperwork,’ he said briefly, but she knew it was more than that.
He’d wanted to see her just as much as she’d wanted to see him, and how they were both going to get through their shifts when the air between them was so charged it was a wonder the lights weren’t flickering.
‘Go do your paperwork!’ Sam said, needing to get away from him so she could sort out what was going on in her head and her body.
He left, but it didn’t help much.
How hadn’t she felt this charge last night, when they’d been so serious and adult about not committing too much? How stupid had that been? Surely if they’d gone to bed last night, she’d have been satisfied enough not to want to rip his clothes off in the hospital corridor this morning.
Focus!
She forced Andy from her mind and concentrated on the patients, possibly a little too hard because one mother asked her if everything was all right in the panicky voice parents got when a doctor was looking worried.
‘She’s fine,’ Sam said. ‘I was just wondering if she was ready to go to a children’s ward today or to leave it until tomorrow.’
‘It would suit me better tomorrow,’ the mother told her, ‘so I can bring in some everyday clothes for her. I noticed when someone showed me the ward she’ll be going to that the children were in day clothes, not pyjamas.’
‘Then tomorrow it is,’ Sam said. ‘And you’re right, she’ll feel more at ease if she’s wearing day clothes like the others.’
It was a nothing conversation, but it brought Sam’s mind back into balance. This was work, and her mind was now firmly fixed on it, and would remain there for the rest of the shift.
Which, as it turned out, was a nightmare.
A call from the ED with a third measles case, this time a boy of eleven. Sam went straight down and although the boy wasn’t particularly sick, she knew he could deteriorate. Plus the fact that they could isolate him best in the PICU meant she had a new patient.
Peter Collins—a nice-looking kid—was obviously unhappy about being in hospital.
‘But I’m not that sick!’ he complained to Sam, when she visited him on his arrival in the PICU.
‘We don’t want you spreading the disease any further,’ Sam told him, as she read through the information the ED had collected on him.
‘It says here he has had all his immunisations,’ she said, turning to Mrs Collins who was telling Peter to behave himself. ‘Did they include measles?’
Mrs Collins nodded. ‘I’m sure they did—we had to show the papers to his kindy—but I don’t know what happened to them after that. It was years ago.’
‘Well, it might explain why he’s not as badly affected as the other two,’ Sam said. ‘But we’re trying to track the source. Did Peter go to the show that was on here not long ago?’
Mrs Collins nodded. ‘We all went. It was just after Peter’s birthday and some of the family had given him money to go on all the rides.’
‘Can you remember what rides you went on?’ Sam asked her patient, then had to listen to how rad the dodgem cars were and why he hadn’t gone on the Ferris Wheel—far too high and he’d have been sick—but had loved the ghost train, and the hall of mirrors, but mostly he’d been on the dodgems.
Sam shook her head.
The other two children were surely too young to have been on dodgem cars but at least the authorities now had someone they could track through the fair.
She left Peter and his mother and sat down at the main desk to get on to the details of the contact they now had at infectious diseases control.
‘We’ll send someone to talk to Peter and his mother,’ the voice promised. ‘It will give us two visits to compare—we haven’t liked to disturb Rosa’s family at this time. And we’ll have to publicise this now. Be ready for a few journalists, TV cameras, et cetera.’
‘My boss can do that,’ Sam said firmly, and the woman laughed.
‘If you can get Andy Wilkie to front the cameras, you’re a better woman than I am,’ she said.
* * *
‘No way—no, never!’ Andy told Sam very firmly when she came to his office at the end of her shift to tell him journalists would be on their way.
‘But why not?’ Sam asked, frowning at him, the spark that had flared between them earlier tamped down now under the pressure of work.
‘I just don’t do it!’ he said bluntly. ‘This i
s a small regional hospital, and once the press latch onto someone they can use as an “expert” or “hospital spokesperson—”’ he put the words in inverted commas with his fingers ‘—they never let him or her go.’
He paused then spread out his hands.
‘Have you ever done it? They put powder all over your face and shine bright lights into your eyes so you look like a startled rabbit. Only in my case I look like a very tall, gangly, startled rabbit. Never! The Administrator can do it. He can get all the info he needs off the computer, and he’ll handle the press far better than I would.’
But still Sam frowned, apparently not at all placated by his flood of words.
‘What?’ he asked, and now she smiled.
‘You must have done it at some time,’ she pointed out, ‘to know you look like a very tall, startled rabbit.’
‘I did it when Nick died,’ he said, voice flat and cold, obviously still distressed by the memory. ‘I was there at the hospital that day. Some people knew I was his friend and sicced a reporter onto me.’
Holy cow! What had he done, blurting that out?
He didn’t need to see Sam’s stricken face to realise that, just like that, he’d spread all the horror of the past on his desk in front of her—in front of them both—because she’d know immediately why he’d been at the hospital that day. He’d been there to yell at her!
‘Shit!’ he said, and buried his face in his hands. ‘I’m sorry, Sam, so sorry.’
But sorry was too late. She’d been transported as rapidly as he had back to that dreadful day, and now the tentative attraction that had flared between them, piping hot only a few hours earlier, had vanished beneath the weight of old, and very cold, memories.
‘I understand,’ she finally said, in a voice devoid of feeling. ‘I’m sure they’ll find someone else to do it.’ And with that she was gone.
This relationship was never going to work.
No matter how he felt about Sam, the past would always be there, hovering in the background, ready to leap out and bite them at the most unexpected moments.
* * *
Sam left work feeling unsettled and anxious. She’d thrust Andy back into those memories with her teasing him about being on TV, but did that mean...
You are over Nick, she told herself firmly. You won’t ever forget him, the great times with Nick and the love she’d had for him, but it was time to move on.
And given the effect Andy was having on her, surely he was the man to move on with?
For now, at least.
Although those last two words made her stomach ache. If she wanted even just for now, she somehow had to show Andy that everything was all right between them.
Somehow...
* * *
Tom Carey was the first man she’d seen in a suit since her arrival—very smooth and efficient, rattling off numbers she really didn’t understand, or want to learn about.
But she’d already spotted the car she wanted, a vivid yellow, compact four-wheel drive tucked into a back corner of the showroom.
‘But will you need a four-wheel drive? Wouldn’t a nice sedan—a small one—suit you better?’
‘Not if I’m going to explore the places around Port on my days off,’ she told him, pleased the name the locals used had come easily to her lips. ‘I saw from up on the lighthouse hill that the country begins quickly on the outskirts of town, and while I don’t intend to do any dangerous off-road driving, I’ll be more comfortable in something that doesn’t hate country roads.’
Tom took her across to look at the interior of the car, though she assured him she didn’t need to see the engine as she had no idea what it was supposed to look like.
‘Want to take it for a spin?’ Tom asked, and she smiled and nodded.
It was a glorious car to drive, not too high off the ground but high enough to see over many of the cars around her.
‘I love it,’ she told Tom, then realised that probably wasn’t a good bargaining point, but it already had its price written on the back window, and with new cars she wouldn’t have a lot of bargaining power, but she tried anyway.
‘Can I get the window tinting included in the price?’ she asked, and Tom agreed without any argument so she guessed the company allowed for that in its profit margin.
Fifteen minutes of paperwork later, the car insured and registered, she drove out of the dealership filled with the joy and pride of ownership.
Remembering the uneasiness between her and Andy before she’d left the hospital, she drove to the shopping centre and picked up all she’d need to cook a decent meal for the two of them, deciding on roast lamb because she knew people living alone rarely bothered with a roast dinner.
The residual chill she’d felt in Andy’s office remained with her, but it hadn’t completely doused the heat that had flared between them earlier, and if she wanted to retrieve that—wanted to be with Andy, even just for now—she had to make things right between them again.
Rod had given her a remote to access the garage and she drove in proudly, finding the double space for Unit One and parking her car beside what was presumably Rod’s.
Would Andy guess it was hers when he drove in past it?
She smiled at the thought then bundled her groceries out of the car and up in the elevator to Andy’s floor, pleased she still had his keys.
But even as she marinated the roast in rosemary and lemon, and prepared the vegetables so everything was ready to go into the oven when he returned home, misgivings swirled in her stomach and she was tempted to open the bottle of quality shiraz she’d bought and have a drink to settle her nerves.
Better to go downstairs for a shower and change of clothes, she decided, but as she reached the elevator, it stopped and Andy stepped out.
He took her in his arms and held her close.
‘I was so sure I’d ruined everything, bringing up the past like that. I just didn’t realise what I was saying. I was so adamant about not appearing on television again I wasn’t thinking.’
He nuzzled his lips against her neck, then kissed her lips, the kiss deepening as the charge she’d felt this morning returned.
‘I was just going down for a shower,’ she murmured weakly.
‘I need one too,’ he told her, so somehow it was inevitable they both ended up in his shower, exploring each other with touch and kisses, less frantic this time, prolonging their pleasure until satisfaction could wait no longer, and they joined beneath the running water, gloriously slick, and cool, intensifying the experience.
‘Well, that’s going to make dinner a little late,’ she said, smiling at him as she towelled her hair dry, marvelling at the sight of him naked, his body lithe yet muscular from his swimming and surfing. ‘And I need to get clean clothes from my room but don’t want to go down there wrapped in a towel.’
He slipped out of the bathroom, returning with a T-shirt with a large dog on the front of it and a pair of his boxers.
‘They’ve an elastic waist so should stay up on you, although maybe not for long,’ he teased, his blue eyes glinting with mischief.
But Sam had a dinner to prepare, so she put on the offered clothes and headed for the kitchen, turned on the oven, and when it had heated put the meat and vegetables into it.
‘And wine, too?’ Andy said, when he returned, similarly attired in a baggy shirt and boxers, explaining when she raised her eyebrows, ‘I thought it’d be nice to match.’
He opened the wine and poured two glasses, kissing her lightly on the lips as he handed one to her.
‘Let’s sit outside,’ she said, and headed for the balcony, quite sure where kisses would lead if they stayed in the kitchen.
‘I didn’t think you’d come,’ he said, as they raised their glasses in a toast. ‘But you’ll be pleased to know I did the interview. I decided I’d let Nick’s death colour my life f
or far too long. I knew I’d hurt you when I brought the whole darned thing up again this morning, so I did my powdered, startled rabbit thing not long after you left. If you want to see it, we’ll probably catch it on the late local news.’
She smiled at him.
‘If we happen to be around to catch the late local news!’
Sam felt herself blush as she said it. That was surely flirting, and she’d never flirted much—certainly not with Nick, who could so easily take something the wrong way. But Andy winked at her, and she knew everything was going to be all right.
* * *
Andy looked out over the ocean, dark now as the moon hadn’t yet shown itself. He felt at peace, and knew it was to do with the woman sitting beside him.
Fate had brought this woman back into his life, and now she was here, with him—and even if it was just for now, he could be content with it—just for now, anyway...
He understood some of her reservations about relationships, he’d known Nick well enough to know he wouldn’t have wanted to work with him. With Nick, everything had to be a contest, with him as the winner, and throughout their friendship, from childhood on, Andy had been content with that.
Winning had never seemed important to him.
Being the best he could—that was something else—but coming second, or even thirty-first, had never bothered him.
And then there were the disasters of his own relationships, failures that had led him to wonder if they were worth the investment he’d put into them; that had led him to step back from too much commitment to anyone.
‘Want to share?’ Sam asked, and he was startled out of his thoughts.
‘Share what?’ he said, aware he certainly didn’t want to share those particular thoughts, especially not with Sam.
‘The myriad thoughts that were chasing across your face—and not all of them good, I suspect.’
He shrugged the words away. ‘Just random things floating past, nothing deep and meaningful,’ he said. ‘I suppose just sitting here with you is enough for me at the moment.’
One Night to Forever Family Page 11
