by Annie O'Neil
And then, of course, there was also her foster mother. The one who had taught her that she still had it in her to be brave. Face the maze of applications she needed to complete to get into medical school one day and, eventually, fulfil her dream of working as a pediatric physiotherapist.
Touch, she’d come to realize, was one of the most curative things of all.
Finn shifted around on the sofa and—Oh!
Her fingers wove together and she pressed her hands to her mouth to stem her own cry. He wore a prosthesis. She’d had no idea.
And from the looks of things, his leg was hurting. A man as strong and capably built as Finn would have to be in some serious pain to look the way he did now. Slightly ashen. Breath catching. Unaware of everything else around him.
Instinct took over.
Before she thought better of it, she was by his side.
“Please. Perhaps I can help massage...” The rest of her offer died on her lips as she saw equal hits of horror and anger flash across his gray eyes.
She stood, completely frozen, mesmerized by their near-mystical depths.
How had she never noticed them before? So...haunted. She wondered if her dark eyes looked the same.
“What are you doing here?” Finn hastily grabbed his prosthesis and strapped it back on, despite the redness she saw engulfing his knee.
“I was just—I...”
I wanted to help.
“Well?” Finn rose alongside her, the scent of cotton and forest hitting her senses as he did.
She was tall so it took a lot of height to make her feel small. If the irritation radiating from him wasn’t making her feel as if she’d invaded an incredibly private moment, she could almost imagine herself feeling delicate in his presence.
Delicate?
What was that about?
Finn scanned her uniform for her employee badge, though she was sure he already knew her name. It was his signature on the forms requesting her as Adao’s physio.
She sucked in a breath. This was about Adao, not about Finn. Although...
Not your business. You have your secrets. He has his.
“Sorry. Please. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“No.” Finn stared at her for a moment then swiped at the air between them, causing her to flinch. “What do you need?”
“I-I was here to help with Adao,” she stammered. “I thought perhaps I could help settle him in.”
“What?” Finn bridled. “You think I’m not up to being my patient’s welcoming committee?”
She tilted her head to the side and pinched her lower lip with her teeth. Was he hoping for an honest answer? Or was this the famous British sense of humor at play?
Her silence seemed to give him the “No” he was expecting. His swift change of expression told her he was already dismissing her.
So much for trying to go the extra mile! She was about to tell him Adao was her patient too when, mercifully, Finn’s phone buzzed and those penetrating, moonstone-colored eyes of his relaxed their spotlight grip on her.
He was as chatty on the phone as he was with her. A few responses of “Yeah. Yeah. Got it...” later and he was beckoning her to join him.
Okay.
He swiftly crossed to the bank of elevators—so quickly it was difficult to see how he hid the pain—and punched the illuminated button as he pulled his key card out of his pocket. Only staff were allowed up onto the roof and the magnetic key cards were the only way of taking the elevator up there. “Adao’s ten minutes out. You done any helicopter arrivals before?”
She shook her head. Not here anyway. She’d seen more than her fair share before she’d left Zemara, but usually those helicopters had been filled with rebels wielding machine guns. Not charity workers with patients about to undergo life-altering surgery.
“Right.” Finn pulled a crumpled bit of notepaper out of his pocket. “Adao’s seven years old, suffering from—”
“Multiple injuries as a result of a landmine explosion,” Naomi cut in. She’d read the case. Memorized it. It had all but scored itself straight into her heart if the truth be told, but that wasn’t what this showdown was about. She kept on talking as the elevator doors opened and the hit of wintry air all but took her breath away. “Adao’s injuries include loss of his right arm. Efforts have been made to keep infection to a minimum, but our goal is to ensure he retains as much use of his shoulder as possible so that any use of a pros—’ She stopped, her eyes clashing with Finn’s—Mr. Morgan’s—as he wheeled on her.
“Fine. Good. I see you’re up on the case. How’s about we have a bit of quiet time before the chaos begins, yeah?”
Naomi nodded and looked away, forcing herself to focus on the crisp, starlit sky above them.
No problem.
She’d obviously seen far more than Finn—Mr. Morgan—had wanted her to. An incredibly private moment for a man who clearly didn’t do vulnerability.
Vulnerability and strength were two of the reasons she’d chosen to work at Hope. Most of the children here were going through something frightening. Loss of a limb. Surgery. Illnesses that meant they would be facing a future that would present hurdle after hurdle. And despite all the pain and all the suffering, the bulk of the children confronted their futures with a courage that amazed her on a daily basis. If she could be a part of making their future something to actually look forward to, then she was going to give it her all.
She tipped her head up and let the wind skid across her features as she sought out the Milky Way. The night was so clear she spotted it almost instantly. She was constantly amazed by the band of light made up of so many stars, so faraway, they were indistinguishable to the naked eye. In Zemara, they called the spiral galaxy they were such a small part of the Path of Spirits. This was where her family must be now...far above her...looking down...
A rippling of goose-pimples shot across her arms, but it wasn’t the cold that had instigated them.
Guilt had a lot to answer for. Here she was at one end of the galaxy while her family were...only heaven knew where. It wasn’t fair.
“Look.” Finn’s rich voice broke through the thick silence. “Over there.”
She turned and followed the line of his arm and saw the helicopter emerging from the darkness.
CHAPTER THREE
NAOMI’S EYES WERE trained on the helicopter but all Finn could focus on was her.
Why had he snapped at her like he had?
It wasn’t her fault she’d seen him in the lounge...without his leg...exposed as the embittered man he’d become ever since the future he’d thought he’d have had literally been torn away from him.
It also wasn’t her fault that every time he saw her his senses shot to high alert. There was no way he was going to put a name to what he felt each time their paths crossed, but his body was miles ahead of him on that front.
A white-hot, solitary flame had lit that very first staff meeting when they’d all gathered together in the hospital’s huge atrium and he’d first seen her. Even at—what had she been? Fifty meters from him? Twenty? Whatever. The impact had been sharp, forceful, and, if today was anything to go by, unabating.
From the response his body had had to her, she may as well have sashayed up to him in a curve-hugging negligee and wrapped him round one of her long, elegant fingers.
Not that he’d thought about her naked.
Okay, fine. Of course he had.
But it had just been the once, and the woman had all but floated out of the hospital’s therapy pool in a scarlet swimsuit that had made him jealous of the droplets of water cascading down her body.
What else was he meant to do?
Treat her with respect, you numpty.
Everything about her commanded a civility he could tap into for the rest of his colleagues, but Naomi? Whatever it was he felt around
her it meant he simply wasn’t able to extend it to her. Not in the manners department anyway.
Naomi’s entire essence sang of grace and an innate sensitivity to both her patients and her environment. Her movements were always smooth. Fluid. Her voice was carefully modulated, lightly accented, but he didn’t know from where. He’d thought of asking once or twice, but that would’ve verged on curious and with half the hospital staff staggering around the hospital with love arrows embedded in their hearts...bah. Whatever. He should just stuff his hormones in the bin and have done with them.
And yet...even now, with her head tipped back as it was, the wind shifting along that exquisitely long neck of hers, there was something almost regal about Naomi’s presence. Not haughty or standoffish, more...wise.
Where he shot from the hip, she always took a moment before responding to his sharp comments and brusque reactions to her.
She wasn’t to know his brush-offs were the age-old battle of desire versus pragmatism.
Where he felt big and lunky, she was lithe and adroit.
Long-limbed. Sure-footed. High, proud cheekbones. Skin the shade of... He didn’t know to describe it. A rich, warmly colored brown? Whatever shade it was, it was beautiful. The perfect complement to her full, plump mouth. Not that he was staring at it. Much.
There was something fiercely loyal shining in those dark eyes of hers. He saw it whenever she was with a patient. But he could also see it now as she trained her eyes on the sky above. For whom or what it shone, he would never know, because he didn’t do personal. Didn’t do intimate. Not anymore.
As if feeling his gaze on her, she turned and met his eyes.
“Is there anywhere we’re meant to stand when they land, Mr. Morgan?”
Finn scowled. Why’d she have to catch him mooning over her? And what was with this Mr. Morgan business? Made him sound like a grumpy old man.
Humph.
Maybe that was the point she was making.
“It’s Finn,” he said. “Over there.” He pointed toward the covered doorway where a porter was wheeling a gurney into place then turned his focus on to the approaching helicopter...willing the beats and syncopation of the blades cutting through the thin, wintry air to knock some sense back into him.
Bah.
He hadn’t been mooning. It had simply been a while. Once he’d cut ties with his past, he’d thought that part of him had all but died.
He should be relieved his body was still capable of responding to a woman like a red-blooded male. So many of the soldiers he’d met during his stint in hospital...hell...he didn’t wish their futures on his worst enemies.
All these thoughts and the raft of others that inevitably followed in their wake fell to the wayside as the helicopter hovered above them for a moment before executing a perfect landing.
And then they all fell to what they did best, caring for their patient.
* * *
There were too many people in Adao’s room. It was easy enough to see from the growing panic in his wide, dark eyes as they darted from person to medical contraption to yet another person.
When they landed on her, all she could see was fear.
He was strapped to the gurney, completely surrounded by medical staff from the charity and the hospital all exchanging stats and information at a rate of knots that would have been impossible for him to comprehend.
Short, sharp counts dictated the swift shift from the gurney to the hospital bed and yet another stream of instructions flowed over him as they hooked him up to fresh IVs and peeled out another ream of information as they pressed monitors to his skinny, bare, little-boy chest. And when he called out for his parents it was all she could do not to tear her heart from her own chest.
“It’s too much!”
The room fell silent as all eyes turned to Naomi.
“I beg your pardon?”
Finn hadn’t moved a muscle, but his voice may as well have been a drill boring straight into her chest for the pain it caused.
She lifted her chin and met his steel-colored gaze. Yes, she was still smarting from his curt form of issuing orders.
“Not on that side.”
“Not too close.”
“Not too far.”
There didn’t seem to be a single thing she could do properly under his hawk-eyed gaze. But when it came to the child—this child—enough was enough.
“Please. Give the boy some peace. He’s known nothing but chaos. This place—this hospital—must bring him peace. Comfort. Not fear.”
Finn’s eyebrows lifted a notch. It was written all over his face. She’d overstepped the mark.
Just as she was about to run out of the room, find a computer and start composing her letter of resignation, he spoke.
“You heard Naomi.” He pointed at one nurse and one doctor, both of whom were on the overnight shift in Adao’s ward. “You two stay. The rest of you...” He made a shooing motion with his hands. “Out you go. And you...’ He pointed directly at Naomi. “You come with me.”
* * *
Finn’s eyes were glued to Naomi’s throat. The tiny pulse point, alive with a blaze of passion he’d not seen in her before.
Their paths had never really crossed in this way. Neither had their temperaments.
Fighting for a patient.
It showed her high-energy, positive approach to work was more than skin deep.
But what he wanted to get to was the why. Why this little boy? Why the specifics? Her slight accent intrigued him. Maybe it was from a French-speaking country? He wasn’t sure. Either way, there was something about Adao that had got under her skin and was making an emotional impact.
Problem Number One.
Finn flexed his fingers, hoping it would rid them of the urge to reach out and touch her throat, smooth his thumb across her pounding pulse point. From the meter or so he’d put between them, he could still tell her skin looked as soft as silk. But her spirit? Solid steel.
The combination pounded a double hit onto his senses. Primal. Cerebral.
Problem Number Two.
He bashed the primal response into submission and channeled his thoughts into figuring out what made her tick.
Work.
That much was obvious. Not that he kept tabs on the woman, but he’d only ever seen her in work clothes. Never did she shift to casual or night-out-on-the-town outfits as loads of other doctors did when they threw their scrubs in for washing. Then again...he wasn’t exactly a social butterfly either.
She was top of her game. No one came more highly recommended in her field of pediatric physio than she did.
Snap. He was up there in the top-rated limb specialists.
She was opinionated.
Snap again.
Fair dos to the woman, she hadn’t blinked once when he’d all but marched her to an empty room a few doors down from Adao’s and wheeled on her.
He counted to ten in time with her heartbeat before he’d steadied his own enough to speak.
“So.” He crossed his arms and tipped his head toward Adao’s room. “What was that all about?”
She gave her head a quick shake as if she didn’t understand.
He waited. His failsafe technique.
Far more effective than saying the myriad of things he could have:
“There’s only one person in charge in that room and it’s me.”
Not his style.
“Since when is a physio a psychiatrist?”
Ditto. He wasn’t into tearing people down, but he did like explanations for outbursts.
The seconds ticked past.
Naomi threw a quick look over her shoulder, stuffed her hands in the pockets of her Hope Hospital hoodie then said, “Okay. Fine. I just feel for the little man, you know?”
He loved the way she said “feel”—even
if it was a verb he didn’t include in his own vocabulary. She said it as if the word had heft. Gravitas, even. As if it meant something.
What a thing to have all that emotion churning round in your chest. Way too much extra baggage to haul around the hospital if he wanted to do his job properly. If he professed to know one solitary thing about himself it was this: Finn Morgan did not do baggage.
Ha!
He coughed into his hand to hide a self-deprecating smirk.
If his ex-wife could read his thoughts, she would’ve pounced on them like a mouse on cheese.
One of the last things she’d said to him before he’d left his past where it belonged was that he was “Made of baggage.” And one day? “One day,” she’d said to him, “all of that baggage will tumble open and wreak havoc with the man you keep telling yourself you are.”
How about that for a “let’s keep it friendly” farewell.
On a good day he recalled her “prophesy” as tough love.
On bad days? On bad days he tried not to think of her at all.
He shifted his weight off his knee and brought his thoughts back to Adao and Naomi. “How do you ‘feel’ for him? Are you from Kambela?”
“No, I’m...” She started to say something then pressed her lips together and started again. “I know what it’s like to arrive somewhere new and feel...overwhelmed. Not know who to trust.”
“Oh, I see. So you’re the only one he can trust here, is that what you’re saying?”
Why was he being so confrontational? She was clearly doing what any employee of Hope Children’s Hospital should be doing: Holding the patient’s needs first and foremost in their mind. At all times.
Take it down a notch, man. She’s trying to do right by the kid.
He shrugged the tension out of his shoulders and adopted what he hoped was a less confrontational pose. “I see what you’re saying. The kid’s been through a lot. But the one person he’s got to trust is me.” He let it sink in a minute. He was the one who would be holding the scalpel tomorrow. He was the one who would be changing Adao’s life forever.
“You’re the one who will help him live. I’m the one who’s going to help him rebuild his life,” Naomi shot back.
