The woman who’d made him laugh...
Abby.
Not that he was about to wonder why on earth she was here, acknowledge her in any way, or let her presence interfere with his focus on his work, but...in the split second before he shut it down, Noah was aware of a beat of something like dismay. Embarrassment, even, because he hadn’t yet followed up after that accident to give her those insurance company details or check that she hadn’t shown any symptoms of injury later.
There was nothing he could do about that right now, however, so Noah had to dismiss it as completely irrelevant. He had a microphone, as well as the magnifying lens and the camera that would transmit the close-up images to the screens, built into his headset. There were plenty of people other than Abby who would be listening to everything he said and Noah enjoyed both teaching and explaining what he was doing for the non-surgeons in his audience.
‘This thirty-eight-year-old gentleman had an altercation with machinery approximately two hours ago. We know there were no cutting blades involved or any belts or chains, no exposure to extreme heat, cold or chemicals, and the extrication was time-consuming but fortunately without major blood loss so our patient is haemodynamically stable.
‘We now have to convert a dirty and contaminated wound into a clean surgical field. We’re doing this, firstly, by using a solution of saline, iodopovidone and hydrogen peroxide. I’m also a fan of rigorous scrubbing with a brush, keeping in mind that our aim is to get the wounds clean with the least possible amount of tissue damage.’
He had registrars and nurses helping with this decontamination and Noah realised he hadn’t quite shut down that awareness of that particular member of his audience. That would change very soon, however. He was not only extremely well practised in a focus on his work that shut out anything else in the world, he had used it as his personal salvation for years. Nothing was about to undermine that ability.
‘The second step of creating our clean surgical field is a meticulous and thorough debridement of any non-viable tissue, foreign bodies, shredded tendon pieces or avulsed nerve and also any bone pieces that don’t have an attachment to tendon or muscle. Have a look at the way the fingers are lying, here.’ He touched the tips of the fingers, which were lying flat. ‘You can see from the disruption to the cascade position of progressively more flexion in the fingers that we’re dealing with some damage to the flexor tendons.’
This was it. He was well into the zone of being unaware of anything irrelevant. He was still capable of keeping his audience informed at every step, however, no matter how long the surgery was going to take.
‘The fractures of the index and small fingers are so comminuted I’m going to use mini-external fixators. These will be removed in about six weeks...’
‘The best way to achieve a precise reduction of the fracture in this finger is a low-profile ladder plate...’
‘The thumb is our main concern, here. The primary aim for the treatment of any hand injuries is for our patient to end up with a functioning hand and, as I’m sure you all know, the opposition and pincer mechanism and the sensation for grasping are the most important aspects for useful function. Fortunately, our man is not diabetic and is a non-smoker, which is to his advantage as far as healing is concerned.’
The thumb was, unfortunately, the most seriously injured part of this hand and could well need further surgery, including tendon transfers. The blood vessel and nerve repairs were also more challenging and Noah was happy to work alongside the specialists that were already a part of St John’s surgical staff.
After a long, tiring stint in Theatre, he had a lot of people to thank. He knew they would be playing catch-up with their own workload for the rest of the day, having taken the time to assist with this emergency surgery.
For his own part, Noah stayed in Theatre to supervise the splinting of Steve’s hand and arm. He knew the gallery was emptying above them but he could sense how slow it was, with people wanting to chat as they filed out of the tiered seating towards the doors. He wanted to look up. Now that the surgery was completed, the questions were filtering back into his mind.
Why was Abby here?
How, exactly, had she managed to use those stairs to get into a front row seat?
He got the answer to that question as he followed his patient’s bed out of the double doors towards Recovery. Stripping off his gloves and mask to ball them up in one hand, a sideways glance showed Abby being lowered into her wheelchair from the arms of a young man. As she positioned her feet on the footplate and unlocked her brakes, the man who had been carrying her stepped aside and she looked up—straight towards Noah.
No...make that glaring, rather than looking, but she broke the eye contact almost instantly. Her chin rose and she swivelled her chair and took off. The determined push of her hands as eloquent as any signal of dismissal.
Noah could feel a bit of an internal cringe going on.
‘Who’s that?’ he asked his registrar. ‘In the wheelchair?’
‘Abby Phillips. One of the therapists in the hand clinic. Don’t be fooled—that chair doesn’t stop her doing anything. She’s one of the best.’
Noah simply gave a single nod to acknowledge the information. Or maybe it was his agreement that she could probably do anything she chose to do. He didn’t say anything because he was thinking too hard. As a specialist hand therapist, Abby was going to be an important part of the team of people he would be working with. It was all very well to repair hands with clever surgery but it was the aftercare and especially the therapy his patients received that could determine the success of their outcomes.
He could very well be working closely with Abby before long and he would undoubtedly need to speak to her, probably in the very near future, so it was unfortunate that she was clearly not going to be happy to see him again. His potential excuse of having mislaid that piece of paper with her phone number on it was not going to cut the mustard, was it?
Maybe some flowers would help?
Noah stepped into the specialised recovery area to help settle his patient for the intensive monitoring he would need as the anaesthetic wore off completely. Steve’s wife would be able to come in soon and Noah could give them both the good news that he hadn’t had to amputate any of his fingers but also a warning that only time would tell how well the thumb would be able to heal.
A last thought about Abby slipped into his head before he refocused to check the limb baselines on Steve’s hand. Flowers were inappropriate because, even with his briefest acquaintance of Abby Phillips, Noah could be quite certain that she wasn’t the kind of woman who might be impressed by tokens like flowers or chocolate as a form of apology. She was...different and he would have to come up with something a lot more original if he wanted to make amends.
* * *
This was good.
Exactly what Abby had needed.
She could feel perspiration trickling down between her shoulder blades, the muscles in her arms were screaming a protest and she was gasping for breath but Abby wasn’t about to slow down—especially when her peripheral vision showed how quickly her opponents were closing in on her.
The effort it took to propel a wheelchair with one hand while dribbling a basketball with the other was huge. Which was why this activity was what Abby had needed so badly after her work day. The shock of discovering that the man who had rear-ended her car was the rock star specialist surgeon that they had been so delighted to have attracted to St John’s had been overwhelming.
No. It had been crushing, that’s what. And it had had nothing to do with his profession. The crushing had been gradual but relentless over the last few days, being added to bit by bit each time she checked her phone and with each extra day that had gone by without Noah calling her. Had she really thought she’d been attracted enough to the man to believe she might look back on that encounter and tell her future children that it h
ad definitely been a case of love at first sight?
At least the aftermath of the final blow to that cringeworthy notion—that he’d never intended to call her at all—had been firmly dispatched by the physical exertion and need for absolute focus on this fast-moving game of wheelchair basketball.
Needing a bit more speed and a change of direction, Abby put the ball on her lap. She could now use both hands to manoeuvre the chair for two pushes before she had to dribble the ball again, pass it to another member of her team or attempt to shoot a goal. She could feel the rise of tension around her and the increase in decibels from encouragement being yelled. Someone grabbing the push ring of her sports chair’s steeply cambered wheel prompted a split-second decision and Abby took the ball in both hands, before she could be pulled off her line, aimed for the hoop and put every ounce of her remaining energy into trying to score a goal.
The cheer from the team’s substitutes on the side of the court was the best sound Abby had heard all day. She’d done it. Scored a goal from outside the semi-circle around the opposing team’s basket, which made it a three-point goal. It meant, that in the last seconds of the fourth and final ten-minute session of the match, she had taken her team to a win.
‘Way to go, Abby!’
There was a lot of shouting and cheering from the audience in this gymnasium as well, but there was one voice she could recognise amongst them. Lisa had come with Abby to watch the match tonight. As soon as Abby had showered and changed she was going to drive Lisa back to her house, stopping to pick up a takeout meal on the way. A once-a-week, easy meal together for the sisters had become a family tradition ever since Abby had moved out of the house she’d shared with Lisa after their grandmother’s death. They took turns with whose house they went to. They also took turns to choose which variety of food.
‘It’s my turn to choose,’ Lisa announced as Abby came out of the changing rooms, still combing her loose hair with her fingers to help it dry. ‘I’m craving Thai food. Or possibly pizza.’
‘I think you’ll find it’s my turn,’ Abby countered. ‘And I want fish and chips.’
Lisa laughed. ‘No, you don’t. What you really want is just the chips and mushy peas and gravy.’
Abby nodded. ‘This is true but I deserve it. Apart from winning this game, my day kind of sucked.’
‘Oh? How come?’
‘It’s a long story and I need food. Possibly wine. It’s Friday night, after all.’
‘I guess that swings the vote to fish and chips. There’s a wine shop right beside the chippie.’ But Lisa looked thoughtful. ‘There’s a pizza place there as well and we do need to get extra food. I just got a text from Hugh to say he’d invited someone home for a drink after work and they’re still there. You don’t mind that it’s not just us, do you?’
‘Of course not. But let’s go. I’m starving.’
‘Where’s your sports chair?’
‘Coach is bringing it.’ Abby led the way to her car. ‘If you can open the hatch, that would help. I’ll get myself sorted.’
She was in the driver’s seat with her folded wheelchair stowed when the team coach came out with the angled sports wheelchair. He lifted it into the back hatch of her car.
‘That was an awesome game, Abby. I still wish you’d think about trying out for the Paralympic team.’
Abby shook her head. They’d had this conversation before—privately. ‘You know how important my job is to me and I just don’t have the time for the extra training or travel.’
She had to have the conversation all over again with Lisa as they headed home and explain that, as much as she loved her sport, she loved her work even more and she wasn’t going to jeopardise either her position in such a great clinic or the progression of her skills. It was almost turning into an argument by the time she pushed herself up the ramp that Lisa and Hugh had installed by the front steps of their gorgeous old country house.
‘But surely you could do both?’
‘I don’t want to do both.’
‘Hey...’ Hugh came out of the kitchen to meet them. He took the pizza boxes off Abby’s lap. ‘What are you two arguing about?’
‘Abby’s coach wants her to try out for the Paralympic team.’
‘Wow...’ Hugh turned to take the wrapped parcels of fish and chips from Lisa.
‘I’m not going to do it.’ Abby did not appreciate what felt like building pressure. Plus she was very hungry after all that exercise. Hangry, that’s what she was. She pushed ahead of both Hugh and Lisa to roll swiftly into the enormous kitchen of this old house, which was where they always ate.
And there, standing in front of an ancient Welsh dresser that had shelves laden with old blue and white china as well as random ornaments and photos, with a beer in his hand and looking quite at home was Noah Baxter.
‘Oh...no... Not you again...’
Hugh was right behind Abby. ‘You two know each other?’
Noah was looking as appalled as Abby’s tone had been. ‘Ah...we’ve met,’ he said cautiously.
‘Yeah...’ Abby’s breath came out in a huff that didn’t quite reach laughter. ‘You could say we bumped into each other the other day.’
She was still holding Noah’s gaze so she saw the flash that acknowledged the humour in her words. Not that he was about to laugh but she could remember exactly what it had sounded like when he had laughed the other day, as easily as she could remember how it had made his face light up. Unfortunately she could also remember just how attracted she had been at that point.
‘Oh...no...’ Lisa echoed Abby’s first reaction. ‘Don’t tell me it was that accident you had on the way to work?’
‘Yep.’ The only good thing about this incredibly awkward situation was that Abby hadn’t told her sister about that instant crush she had developed. Or admitted that she’d been obsessively checking her phone like some dreamy teenager ever since.
Hugh was the first one to actually laugh. ‘I had no idea,’ he said. ‘There I was just being welcoming to a new staff member that I’d only met this morning. But maybe this is a good thing. You can both kiss and make up before you have to work together.’
Abby had to avert her gaze swiftly. The very idea of kissing and making up was...oh, help...something she had no intention of thinking about right now, although she had a feeling it might very well come back to haunt her later.
Hugh put the food down on the big, wooden table and then shifted a chair out of the way for Abby. ‘Come and dig in,’ he said. ‘While it’s still hot. Abby, can I get you a glass of wine?’
‘What do mean, work together?’ At least Lisa had forgotten about the coach’s encouragement for Abby to take her sport to the next level. She was staring at Noah. ‘You were called in for a consult this morning, weren’t you? For that guy with the awful hand injuries?’
‘This is Noah Baxter,’ Hugh told his wife. ‘St John’s new specialist hand surgeon. We got so busy after that I never got a chance to tell you.’
‘Mmm.’ Abby took the glass of wine Hugh had poured for her. ‘The famous Mr Baxter. I couldn’t believe it was you when I saw you walk into Theatre.’
‘And I couldn’t believe it was you when I saw you in the front row of the gallery.’
‘You got to watch the surgery?’ Hugh sounded envious. ‘Lucky you.’
Noah was on the other side of the table now and this time he was the one to catch and hold her gaze. Neither of them responded to Hugh’s comment. Abby could feel the muscles around her eyes tightening.
You asked for my number... And then you didn’t call me...
I know... I’m sorry...it was unforgivable...
The silent exchange made a little shiver run down Abby’s spine. Who did that? How could you hear words that hadn’t even been spoken like that? Or had he said them out loud? No, she was sure he hadn’t—it was just a coincidence
that Hugh was giving Noah a sympathetic glance.
‘Don’t worry, mate. She’ll forgive you before too long. It’s not as if any real damage was done. It wasn’t worth even thinking about making an insurance claim.’
Abby wasn’t so sure about no damage having been done but she wasn’t thinking about her car.
Noah was making a face as he sat down opposite Abby. ‘I was trying to think up something I could put on Abby’s desk by way of another apology,’ he confessed. ‘But I didn’t think flowers or chocolates would cut the mustard.’
Abby sneaked a quick glance at him as he took a plate from Lisa. His assessment was correct. But how could he have been so sure that she wouldn’t have been impressed with flowers or chocolates? The same way that he could send such an eloquent message with a glance, perhaps?
‘The only thing I could think of,’ Noah continued, ‘was maybe a punching bag with a photo of my face on it.’
That did it. Or maybe it had been those first sips of her wine. Whatever it was, the antagonism in the room evaporated as Abby laughed and Noah grinned at her. Something else took the place of the angst and it was a little disturbing to realise that it was probably the flames of that crush flickering back into life. It was a feeling that got stronger as the group started to relax over their casual meal and Noah became less and less of a stranger. He was watching, fascinated, as Abby piled her plate with hot chips and lined up her small pots of mushy peas and gravy to dip them in.
‘I see you’re into healthy food, then?’
‘Says the man who’s stuffing his face with a pizza that has four different types of cheese on it. That’s a heart attack on a thin crust.’
‘I’ll burn it off. Not that I’ve found any good local running tracks yet.’
‘Where are you living?’ Lisa asked.
Saved by Their Miracle Baby Page 3
