His Runaway Nurse

by Meredith Webber

  ‘Sit there beside her. I’ll send someone in with a cup of tea for you. Or would you prefer coffee?’

  Majella stared blankly at him, unable to compute his words and make sense of the simple offer.

  ‘Tea, I think,’ Flynn said, touching her on the shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. ‘We found the boys,’ he reminded her. ‘And we’ll get Gracie better.’

  She looked into his eyes and saw the promise repeated there—the promise and something else. Something that looked a lot like love…

  Shaking the fanciful notion away, she slipped into the chair Flynn had offered her and slid her hand through the cot to rest on Grace’s leg.

  ‘I have to go and phone the pathology service to make sure they rush the tests through,’ Flynn said, reluctant to leave them but knowing he had to push the lab for results. ‘But I’ll be back. If it is meningococcal I’ll need blood from you, Helen and Sophie for testing, to make sure you’re not carrying the virus. Then you’ll all need vaccinations.’

  ‘You’ve been close to Grace, too,’ Majella reminded him and he nodded but as he walked away he realised he’d been too close to Grace—not from the point of view of infection but because of how her illness was affecting him.

  Majella was waiting anxiously when he returned, her car keys dangling from her fingers.

  ‘My car—it’s the only one we brought to Parragulla. A courier delivered all the products. Your car’s still at the show-ground.’ She offered him the keys. ‘Would you mind taking mine back down and giving Helen the keys—letting her know what’s happened?’

  He checked the latest obs on Grace, then the drip feed and the catheter site and finally, when he could find no further excuse to linger, he took the keys and left the room, jiggling them in his hand.

  Remote door opener? he wondered as he walked down the front steps. He looked more closely at the keys, sorting through them for the car key, seeing the identifying tab on the key ring, a plastic disc containing a photo. He’d had one made for his mother for Christmas, back when he’d been in high school—a photo of himself and his two sisters embedded in some type of plastic.

  Thinking it might be a baby photo of Grace, he looked at it, and saw the blond man smiling at him.

  Jeff?

  It had to be.

  A vague nausea churned in Flynn’s stomach. Had he been subconsciously believing Majella hadn’t cared for her dead husband, that the fact that she carried this constant memory of the man was so upsetting?

  Or was it jealousy, pure and simple? An emotion he’d never thought to feel.

  He found the car key, clicked open the doors, and drove down to town, returning the vehicle to the parking space outside the cabin and locking it, before walking back up to the marquees to give the keys to Helen.

  Not looking at the photo!

  Majella sat at Grace’s bedside, willing the little girl to get better, but she was so unresponsive Majella had to fear the worst, although when Flynn returned he assured her this was normal and that Grace’s body needed all its energy to fight off the virus.

  Flynn sat with her whenever he could, made her eat and drink, told her stories about his days at university and reminded her of happy times they’d had together. Helen came mid-afternoon and later Sophie, but it was the times when Flynn was with her that Majella felt most at ease, not entirely because of his professional expertise.

  Sophie arrived again at eight, announcing she was the first shift of the night, but her cheerfulness turned to tears when she saw how quietly Grace lay, and Majella had to comfort and reassure her young friend—then talk about the ball the following evening, diverting Sophie’s mind successfully from Grace for a little while.

  At midnight Helen arrived, handing the car keys to Sophie and telling her to drive carefully and make sure she got some sleep, and with Helen there, Majella felt secure enough to sleep herself, curled up on the folding bed a nurse had set up beside the cot.

  She sensed more than heard a noise, and opened her eyes to see Flynn in quiet conversation with Helen at the door of Grace’s room. Again car keys were exchanged, Flynn assuring Helen he could get a lift down to the showground to collect his car later.

  Majella’s first thought was for Grace, but a glance showed she seemed to be sleeping peacefully. Her second thought, inappropriately enough, was how much of a mess she must look. But apparently Flynn didn’t notice, for he came and sat on the edge of the little bed and took her hand.

  ‘Did you three have a roster of some kind worked out?’ she asked him, so pleased to have him close she could have hugged him.

  He smiled and nodded, and she gripped his fingers tightly.

  ‘Thank you!’ she managed, her voice husky with exhaustion. ‘It wasn’t until I was drifting off to sleep that I realised independence isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.’

  ‘Then you’ll marry me?’ he teased, putting his arm around her shoulders and drawing her body to rest against his.

  She leant against him, then found a tired smile.

  ‘Ask me when it’s for love, not for a house,’ she told him, brushing a kiss against his ear lobe. ‘But even independent women need friends.’

  He tightened his arm around her shoulders, kissed her cheek, then stood up to take Grace’s chart off the bottom of the cot and read the notes that had been made throughout the night.

  ‘She’s stable—which is a bland term that merely means her condition hasn’t worsened during the night,’ he said, not returning to the bed but settling in one of the two chairs by the cot. ‘With meningococcal, which the lab’s confirmed by email, it’s mostly a matter of wait and see.’

  He looked anxiously at Majella.

  ‘Which means you have to take care of yourself so you can be there for her when she’s getting better—that’s when she’s likely to be fractious and upset.’

  So businesslike—doctoral—Majella thought, wanting, contrarily, for it to be the other Flynn, the one who’d held her in his arms and kissed the breath out of her, warming her body with urges she’d never felt before. The one who’d made love to her with such savage tenderness even with her baby sick her body reacted to his presence.

  She ran her hands through her tousled hair and looked down at the grubby, rumpled clothes she’d put on the previous morning, probably still redolent of Grace’s vomit, and realised it wasn’t very likely he’d want to come within two feet of her, let alone hold her in his arms.

  ‘Can you stay a little while?’ she asked him. ‘Long enough for me to have a shower? Helen brought some clothes…’

  Had she sounded so uncertain that he stood up, came around the cot and, grasping one of her hands, pulled her to her feet? Then he took her in his arms, tousled hair, grubby clothes, baby sick and all, and held her close.

  ‘Don’t you know I’d stay for ever if I could?’ he murmured, pressing kisses on her hair, her cheek, her nose. ‘I can’t, of course, I have to go to work later, and have other stuff happening today, but I’ll be here for you when I can, and just a phone call away when I can’t be with you.’

  He didn’t kiss her lips and fire the urges, but just being in his arms was bliss enough. Majella leant against him, feeding off his strength, wondering again about the independence thing.

  A cough made them realise the nurse on duty had returned to take Grace’s thirty-minute obs.

  Majella broke away, feeling the heat of embarrassment, not desire. She grabbed the little overnight bag Helen had brought up, and hurried out of the room. She’d found a bathroom during the night and seen the shower stall, and now, as she stood under the steaming water, she felt confidence return.

  As soon as Grace was better, and Grace would get better—they’d find a house to call their own. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t Parragulla House—it wasn’t the house that made a home.

  Refusing to think of any alternative, she dried herself and dressed, smoothing moisturiser into her skin and brushing the knots out of her hair before pulling it back, f
astening it with an elastic band and securing it in a knot on top of her head.

  ‘For someone who’s only had a couple of hours’ sleep, you don’t look too bad,’ she told herself, then felt a pang of guilt that she could be thinking of her appearance while Gracie was so ill.

  ‘I do prefer it down,’ Flynn said, when she walked back into the room, but the admiration in his eyes both belied the words and restored her confidence, which had begun to waver on the short walk from the bathroom to the cot.

  ‘But you’re a beautiful woman either way,’ he added, almost to himself, before asking what she’d like for breakfast. ‘You have to eat, Majella.’

  Bossy Flynn again.

  She settled on tea and toast, although when the tray arrived, it had fresh croissants instead of toast, and tiny pots of different jams to spread on them.

  Flynn took the tray and set it on a table, then made her sit while he poured her tea and broke the croissants into moist, flaky pieces, spreading them with butter and jam, popping the first one into her mouth, his fingers brushing against her lips.

  Majella felt her heart race at the touch and glanced guiltily towards Grace, lying white and still in the little cot, the rash startlingly red against her pale cheek now the fever had been reduced.

  ‘Doing normal things like eating isn’t hurting Grace,’ Flynn said, reading her thoughts—or part of them—with ease. Then his phone buzzed in his pocket and he had to leave, squeezing her fingers and dropping a kiss on her head before he departed.

  Majella picked up another piece of croissant, and chewed it thoughtfully. Of course it tasted the same as the one Flynn had fed her.

  And of course he wouldn’t be feeding her if they were married. It would be a matter of convenience, that’s all—a temporary arrangement…

  The thought made her heart ache.

  CHAPTER TEN

  GRACE was showing a definite improvement by late afternoon, so much so she ate a little stewed apple for her dinner then sat in the cot and played with Blinky, her toy koala, for a while.

  Helen had brought up a lot of her toys, but the hospital staff had rigged up her greatest delight, a mobile of weird and wonderful hospital equipment tied to surgical thread—aluminium and stainless-steel objects that glinted and danced and jingled in the light breeze coming through the window.

  It was out of reach but she’d worked out she could use Blinky to hit it, making the objects clang against each other.

  She was doing this when Sophie came in to show off her finery for the ball.

  ‘Oh, Sophie, you look beautiful,’ Majella said, taking in the carefully arranged blonde hair and the beautiful silvery blue dress.

  Sophie coloured and spun around.

  ‘Do you think so?’ she said, wanting praise yet embarrassed by it.

  ‘I do!’

  ‘Pretty Sophie,’ Grace offered, and though Sophie went to hug her, Majella held her back.

  ‘Keep clear. Although we’ve all had the meningococcal vaccine now so there’s no risk of infection, I’d stay clear of the lethal bear, which could be liberally smeared with stewed apple.’

  Sophie laughed and ignored the warning, bending to kiss her little niece, then Helen arrived, looking very glamorous in a beautifully cut black dress.

  ‘I hope you understand I have to go with Sophie,’ she whispered to Majella. ‘She’s had her heart set on going, but there’s no way she’d go on her own.’

  ‘Of course you have to go,’ Majella assured her, thinking rather wistfully of the dark red dress she’d bought especially for this ball. ‘And make sure you have fun—that’s an order.’

  She saw them go, then tucked a sleepy Grace beneath the sheet and light blanket, and was contemplating a long lonely night when footsteps she now recognised echoed down the corridor.

  Flynn, resplendent in a dinner suit and so handsome he took her breath away, entered the room.

  To see his patient, of course—going to the cot and again reading through the latest notes.

  ‘She’s definitely on the mend,’ he said to Majella, then he smiled, and looked even more devastating than he had when he’d walked in.

  ‘Off to the ball?’

  Good grief! What a lame thing to say! Talk about stating the obvious.

  ‘I have to give a speech,’ he explained, then must have read something in her face for he added, ‘Feeling a bit like Cinderella, are you?’

  ‘A bit,’ Majella admitted, ‘but there’ll be other balls and there’s no way I could enjoy myself, going off and leaving Gracie here.’

  Flynn nodded and touched her lightly on the shoulder.

  ‘I’ll call in later,’ he said, then he was gone.

  Majella dozed in the chair, the lack of sleep the previous night, catching up with her. Then once again footsteps, lightly tapping sandals, and a heavier tread but not Flynn’s, sounded in the corridor.

  Sophie floated in, her cheeks flushed with wonder.

  ‘This is Phil,’ she said, dragging a reluctant young man into the room. ‘He’s just come to say hello, and I’ve come to say it was the best night of my life. Mum danced with about a hundred different men, Flynn was there, looking so dishy I nearly forgot about Phil, but the blonde on his arm gave me a dirty look when I said hello, so I kept clear, and then Phil’s mate, Harry…’

  Majella had stopped listening.

  Flynn there with a blonde?

  Does Rosemary know? The young man had said—the one who’d talked about the heiress.

  Presumably Rosemary was blonde, and Flynn didn’t have a string of women he was taking out…

  Sophie stayed a little longer then she and Phil departed, explaining that Helen had gone home to bed but would be back very early in the morning.

  Majella tried to sleep, but Sophie’s words kept running through her head, so when Flynn appeared, still in his dinner suit but with his bow-tie dangling untied around his neck, she couldn’t help but look for lipstick marks on his shirt, his cheek—his lips!

  ‘Pleasant evening?’

  Had he heard something in her voice that he stopped in mid-stride and looked at her?

  ‘Very,’ he said cautiously, continuing into the room to check on his sleeping patient.

  ‘Did Rosemary enjoy it?’

  Majella couldn’t believe she’d said the words, but jealousy had tightened every sinew in her body and she couldn’t have held them back for—well, for a million dollars.

  ‘Ah!’ Flynn said, coming to sit in the chair beside Majella’s and reaching out to take her hand. ‘It was an arrangement made a month or so ago. Rosemary is fairly new in town. She bought an old bank building with a very lucrative divorce settlement and has transformed the place, with bedrooms upstairs for B and B visitors and a great restaurant downstairs. Part of the yuppifying of Parragulla, I guess, but there are advantages in that we now have a couple of good restaurants in town.’

  ‘And Rosemary?’

  He knew exactly what she was asking, for he sighed, squeezed her fingers, then said, ‘She and I have been out a few times. Nothing serious.’

  ‘Does Rosemary know that?’ Majella muttered, then waited for Flynn to answer her.

  He didn’t, but Majella couldn’t let it alone.

  ‘And if I’d said yes to your offer of marriage?’ she asked, withdrawing her hand from his warm and tempting grasp. ‘What would you have told Rosemary? Just hang in there for a couple of weeks—or however long divorces take—and I’ll be free again? Or would you have kept dating her?’

  Flynn stood up, sighed and ran his hand through his hair, messing up the tidiness but making him look so sexily rumpled that Majella’s throat went dry and she wondered why she was baiting him.

  ‘Majella, none of this is important,’ he said, his barely controlled impatience biting into the words. ‘Of course I wouldn’t be seeing Rosemary if I was married to you, but you’ve not said one word in favour of that solution—you’re more worried about being manipulated by your grandfather, or l
osing the independence you’re so keen to achieve.’

  ‘It’s still not right,’ Majella muttered, although she knew full well she was being contrary. ‘Asking me to marry you and taking her to the ball!’

  ‘You’re talking nonsense because you’re tired,’ he snapped at her, then he walked away, out the door, his footsteps echoing again, but going in the wrong direction.

  Grace was well enough to leave hospital the following day, and with the festival packed away for another year, they piled into the car and drove away.

  Majella had tried to avoid Flynn since their confrontation in the early hours of that morning, although she had watched as he’d examined a lively, recovering Grace that morning, before discharging her.

  ‘Make sure she doesn’t overdo things for the next few days and if you’re at all worried give me a call.’

  He’d handed her a card, his fingers brushing against hers in the exchange.

  ‘Call me anyway?’ he’d added, the words not quite a plea but not as authoritative as Flynn’s words usually were.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ she’d said, and he’d scowled at her.

  ‘We have to talk some time, Majella,’ he’d said—stern and authoritative now. ‘You can’t just bury your head in the sand—the will has to be settled one way or another.’

  ‘That’s your job,’ she’d said, lifting Grace into her arms and holding her close, denying all the urges she still felt to live in Parragulla House and make it ring with laughter.

  There’s more, Flynn should have said, and told her about the chest, but there were dark circles under her eyes from her sleepless nights and worry over Grace, and she’d lost weight during her vigil so looked too frail to be shouldering more problems.

  The chest might not be a problem.

  But the letter…

  He said goodbye again, then, as he bent to kiss Grace’s curls, she said, ‘Man!’ and reached for him, so he took her in his arms, feeling the weight she’d lost in the fragility of her bones beneath her skin, feeling his heart squeeze with anxiety for her, although he knew she was getting better.