Tom's voice was very quiet. 'You must have been very much in love with him.'
'Of course I was.' Emma looked up but ignored what looked like sympathy in Tom's eyes. 'I don't sleep with someone I'm not in love with, Tom.'
He looked away. Emma could see a muscle twitching in his jaw and it seemed like Tom was coming to terms with something he didn't like. Or maybe he was letting go of the prejudice he'd been holding against her. For a second Emma stared at his profile. He had a strong face, this man. Almost rugged. You'd never guess the kindness he was capable of. Unless you saw that smile. There was no hint of that smile on Tom's face as he turned back to her. Emma had never seen him look this serious.
'Are you still in love with Simon, Emma?'
Emma drew in a deep breath. What if she said no? If she confessed that it was' getting harder by the day to even remember what Simon looked like?
There had been moments—ever since she had first seen Tom during the nightmare of her rescue—that Emma had thought Tom might be attracted to her, but what if she was wrong? He already seemed to have reservations about the way she'd handled the moral issue of Mickey's father and whether he should have been told about his baby. What would Tom think if she admitted she had come to find Simon but now felt attracted to someone else? Not much, probably.
If nothing else, after all he'd done for her and Mickey, Emma owed Tom her honesty.
'I thought I was,' she admitted quietly. 'For a very long time I felt betrayed and angry but after last year I wasn't so sure.'
'What happened to change things?'
'Simon went to London. He went to find me at the hospital where we'd met.'
'He went all the way to London to find you?'
'It sounded like it. 1 heard through a friend who'd heard from someone else. It sounded like Simon was now separated from his wife and had come to try and find me.'
'Did no one tell him where you were?'
Emma shrugged. 'The story was a little garbled by the time I heard it. Someone my friend knew had been in the pub with a group of theatre staff and it had just been an item of gossip. I didn't pay that much attention to it at first but then I started thinking that maybe I'd been wrong.'
'Not telling him about Mickey?'
'Yes. And maybe by walking out on him like that. If he's divorced now, maybe the marriage hadn't been very happy in the first place. That might have been why he didn't think I needed to know about it.'
'Hmm.' Clearly, Tom didn't agree. He gave his head a small shake as though he wanted to change the subject. And he did.
'Were your parents supportive?' he asked.
'Very. They did their best and it was a wonderful start. Especially when Mickey was born and we found out that he wasn't quite perfect. I don't think I could have coped very well with that on my own. Everybody was supportive, really. It's just a quiet little village but it has its advantages and it's not very far from the kind of medical treatment and schooling that Mickey needs.'
'So you'll go back there?'
'I don't know.' Emma sighed and picked up her coffee, which was cooling rapidly. 'I set out on this trip with grand ideas about starting a whole new life that was more exciting than the old one.'
'You couldn't have got off to a more exciting start, that's for sure.'
'Mmm.' Emma didn't want to go there again. The accident haunted her enough as it was. 'It wasn't a very good omen, was it? Maybe I'm not supposed to find Simon.'
Or maybe she had been supposed to meet Tom. Life had a funny way of turning corners rather abruptly sometimes.
Tom was giving her a strange look. 'Are you having doubts that you want to find him?'
Emma's heart picked up speed. There was no mistaking the undertone in the look she was receiving.
'I...I'm not so sure any more.'
'Why not?'
'I feel confused,' Emma admitted. 'I'm not sure how I feel about Simon any more because...'
'Because you know that I'm very attracted to you?' Tom asked quietly.
Emma's mouth was dry. 'No. It's because I.. .feel the same way about you.'
Oh, God! Why on earth had she confessed that?
She stared at Tom with something like horror. His hand moved as though he was about to take Emma's. Then it stopped.
'This is complicated, isn't it?'
Emma had to nod.
'It's not a path either of us should be going down until things are less complicated.'
Emma thought of Mickey tucked up and hopefully asleep down the hallway. He'd had enough trauma in the last week without making life any more difficult for the moment. She nodded again.
'You won't really know what you want to do until you've had the chance to talk to Simon again, will you?'
'I guess not.' Emma wished she could deny her confusion. She could see that Tom wasn't happy. 'I'm sorry, Tom. This changes things, doesn't it?'
'What things?'
'You won't want me living here.'
'Why not?' Tom looked thoughtful. 'I think it'll actually be a lot easier now that I know I'm not imagining some one-sided attraction here. We don't have to act on it.'
'No.' Strange how disappointing it could be to be doing the right thing.
'The important person in all this is Mickey.'
'You mean he needs his father?'
'Not necessarily. But his happiness really depends on his mother's happiness. You're going to have to do what's right for you.' Tom stood up. 'And I'm not going to complicate that any further for you.'
'You're sure you're OK with us staying here?'
'Yes.' Tom smiled at Emma. A real smile. 'We're friends, aren't we?'
'Absolutely.'
'That's not going to change. No matter what else happens.'
He must have been mad.
Had he really believed that knowing the attraction was mutual would make things easier?
That knowledge had created a whole new dimension to every moment of his time with Emma. Even the moments he wasn't with her. It was a little easier at work because the knowledge stayed quietly in the background. An occasional thought that could be pleasurable, like knowing there would be a hot meal and good company waiting when he got home or a little anxious thought, like wondering how Mickey was going in the physiotherapy session Phoebe had organized, or whether he liked the specialist day care centre the first time he went and whether Emma was coping with her first shift in the emergency department. Thinking about them didn't interfere with how well he did his job, it just seemed to add colour to his life.
At home, it was a different story. Everything had taken on a new significance. Every conversation. Every moment of eye contact. Every accidental or unavoidable touch, like when Emma passed him a cup of coffee or Tom picked Mickey up and then transferred him to his mother's arms. At home, the knowledge was like a living entity—hungry to feed its own growth with any morsels, even as small as a direct look or a peal of laughter.
The day Phoebe had taken Emma shopping after her insurance payment had come through had been a moment of truth. She had purchased jeans and a soft sweater that went perfectly with denim, pale, cream wool clinging to parts of her body that Tom had not realised were quite so stunning. Yes... Just being in the same room with Emma now was enough to feed his growing feelings and knowing that it wasn't one-sided seemed to have granted licence for fantasy. Private moments when he thought about what could be.
Something else was growing at the same time, however. Something far less pleasant. At first it was just part of the knowledge. Simon was Mickey's father. Emma would be doing the right thing in finding him and telling him about his son. Both Simon and Mickey had rights here that couldn't be ignored. So did Emma. She had to find out what she wanted. What was best for her.
Tom had no illusions that things could be a lot worse for him than living with the frustration of unexplored attraction. It was quite possible, given their living arrangements, that the spark between himself and Emma could be fanned into the beginnings of a r
eal relationship, but Tom wasn't about to start something that could be killed in its infancy.
It would be unfair on everybody involved if Emma discovered she was still in love with Simon and the surgeon was willing to make them into a family. He himself would suffer a hell of a lot more than he did at present. Simon could well be adversely influenced if he knew that Emma had been seeing someone else while awaiting his return. He might reject Emma and his son, and where would that leave any of them?
A lot less than happy, that's what. And more than anything Tom wanted Emma to be happy. He didn't seem to be able to control moments of fantasy that included Emma rejecting Simon and wanting to be with him more than anybody else in the world but, for the moment, the realm of fantasy was where they had to stay.
Until the job that came nearly two weeks after that revealing conversation with Emma. When life had settled into a remarkably pleasant routine and Emma was loving her part-time work at the hospital and Mickey's balance was improving enough for Phoebe to present him with a pint-sized pair of crutches to try.
Any job that meant the transfer of a patient to Emergency at a time when Emma was on duty was welcome so initially it was a disappointment to be rerouted on their return from the nasty accident on an isolated stretch of mountain road. The driver of the van had a serious spinal injury and the SERT crew was instructed to deliver him directly to the specialist spinal unit on the outskirts of the city.
Tom had not been to Coronation Hospital for a long time and the opportunity it represented might not have occurred to him if he hadn't spotted someone he knew in the team of medical staff waiting on the outskirts of the helipad to meet them. Megan was a nurse he had dated briefly a few years ago and they had parted very amicably when she'd set out for an overseas adventure. Not that he had time to give more than nod a greeting at first. Handing over their patient was the first priority and the medical director of the unit was among the waiting team.
'This is Bruce Robinson,' Tom told him. 'Forty-six years old. High-speed MVA and he was carrying timber in the back of his van. A fairly hefty beam went through the back of his seat and he has a crush injury between about C6 and T2.'
The doctor leading the team nodded briskly as he walked behind the stretcher beside Tom. The information had already been relayed by radio but the walk into the hospital was the ideal time to review the case so far.
'When we arrived he already had significant paresis and paraesthesia,' Tom continued. 'GCS was 15 but breathing was diaphragmatic, BP was 90 on 50 and he was bradycardic at a rate of 54.'
It became quieter as they got further away from the helicopter, whose rotors were still slowing, and the doctor moved to intercept the stretcher as it passed through the doors of the spinal hospital.
'Hi, Bruce,' he said. 'I'm Patrick Miller. We're going to check you over carefully and see if we can find out exactly what the damage is and the best way to treat it. How are you feeling at the moment?'
'Cold,' the man said miserably. His face was pinched by the collar protecting his neck and his forehead covered by the straps securing his head to the backboard. 'I can't move my legs and I've got pins and needles in both hands.'
Patrick put a sympathetic hand on his patient's shoulder. 'How's the pain?'
'Pretty bad.'
'We'll do something about that in a minute.'
Tom filled the doctor in on the drugs they had administered so far as they sped towards the assessment area. His use of morphine had been judicious due to the potential respiratory complications in a patient with a high spinal injury.
The procession slowed a little as they rounded a corner. Megan was holding a nearly depleted bag of IV fluid aloft and Josh had to steady the portable oxygen cylinder hanging from the head end of the stretcher. Tom put the brakes on and fell behind just a little as Bruce was wheeled through another set of double doors.
That was when he saw the gallery of photographs on the corridor wall. Mugshots of the consultants that cared for the patients admitted to this specialist hospital. Patrick Miller's was first, of course, and there was a surprising number of others, but Tom couldn't resist keeping his pace slow enough to scan the names at the bottom of the pictures.
And there he was. Simon Flinders. Neurosurgeon.
The impression only lasted a split second before Tom let the double doors swing shut and cut it from view but it stayed in his mind with astonishing clarity as he waited in the assessment area. It would be a while before he and Josh could return to the helicopter. Unless there was an urgent summons, Bruce would not be moved from their stretcher and backboard until all the initial examinations and X-rays had been completed and he and his partner could well be needed to assist with logrolling Bruce during the first procedures.
There were a few minutes of nothing to do, however, as the first X-rays were taken and pain relief topped up for Bruce. Tom found himself unable to shift that photograph from his mind. Even as a male, he had to admit that Simon Flinders was exceptionally good-looking with abundant, wavy, sun-streaked hair and a charming, boyish grin.
That picture must stand out for anybody walking down that corridor because Simon was the only member of the elite medical staff who didn't look suitably serious. With a smile like that, he was probably as popular with the staff as he was with patients and their families—especially if he was as good at his job as Emma believed. No wonder she had fallen for him.
Presumably, Mr Flinders spent a significant portion of his working time at this hospital. Tom assumed he would have a private practice as well and he had to spend a lot of time at the main city hospital to have an office there, but the staff at Coronation Hospital would probably know him as well as anyone. And the staff here included someone Tom considered to be a friend. Megan would know about Simon, even if she hadn't had much personal contact with him.
She looked as though she'd be more than happy to talk to him later. Her smile was warm as she dusted Tom's forearms and hands with talcum powder in preparation for logrolling Bruce.
'I'll be doing the counter-bracing,' Megan said. 'Tom, can you put yourself in the middle and take care of the abdominal section?'
'Sure.' Tom slid one arm under Bruce's thighs and placed his other arm across the top of his body to hold his waist.
'On the count of three,' a registrar instructed from where he held the head steady. 'One, two.. .three.'
Bruce was turned carefully and his spine was examined thoroughly. When the logroll was reversed, a full neurological examination was carried out and Tom couldn't help wondering if Simon Flinders was as good at what he did as Patrick Miller.
Probably better.
Tom's usual level of interest in watching the examination was tainted and his mind wandered as the discussion among the medical team became focused. Results were being collated and decisions made regarding surgery and the initiation of the high-dose methyl-prednisolol regime that could minimise ongoing damage to Bruce's spinal cord. The authority and skill of the senior staff was palpable. So was the desperation from their patient that something could be done to save him being paralysed for the rest of his life.
Someone capable of this level of medical care had to be far more impressive than a paramedic. Especially someone with the physical and probably financial assets a particular consultant surgeon was blessed with.
When the helicopter's gear was finally able to be collected, Tom was pleased to see Megan staying behind to help clear the assessment area.
'How are you, Megan?' Tom curled up the electrode wires from the life pack and tucked them into a side pocket of the carry case. 'I haven't seen you for years.'
'I'm great. And you?'
'Never better.' Which was perfectly true in some ways, Tom decided. Life felt completely different since Emma and Mickey had appeared. More important. More colourful. 'How was your time overseas?'
'Fabulous. I got married.'
'Wow! Good for you. Who's the lucky guy?' Tom was perfectly sincere but was also aware that he had no pang of r
egret for missing his opportunity with a woman he had liked very much. There was only one woman who held any interest for him now.
'His name's Bill. I met him in Scotland where he was driving a tour bus.'
'How long have you been back?'
'Over a year now.'
'You like working here?'
'Love it. I got really interested in working with spinal patients while I was in Scotland.'
'Hmm.' Tom nodded encouragingly. He took the oxygen cylinder from Josh and laid it on top of the mattress stretcher. 'I've been hearing a bit about the advances in laparoscopic surgery lately. You've got someone that specialises in it here, haven't you?'
'Simon Flinders? Yes. He's brilliant.'
'So I've heard.' It was a bit harder to sound casual now. 'Nice guy?'
'Depends who you're talking to.' Megan chuckled. 'The patients adore him.' She gave Tom a curious glance. ' Why do you ask?'
'I know someone who knows him. Or knew him, anyway.'
'Ah.' Megan's tone carried a wealth of understanding. 'Don't tell me—she's a nurse, right?'
The impression Tom was getting was not one he liked. 'So he's a bit of player?'
Megan grinned, cast a glance over her shoulder and then lowered her voice. 'He's not called Simon Fingers just because of his name or surgical skill.' Then she shrugged. 'Not that it's a problem for me. Or his patients.'
It was a problem for Tom, though. A reputation entrenched enough to give someone a sleazy nickname was a shock. It was not good enough for someone like Emma. Or for Mickey. This wasn't about personal jealousy. Tom's protective instincts had been roused from the first moment he'd caught a glimpse of Mickey and his mother.
The feeling that they might still need his protection was sharp enough to seem urgent.
By the time Tom had finished his conversation with Megan he was seriously concerned. Did Emma have any idea of what Simon was really like? If she was prepared to excuse him not mentioning the fact he had a wife, it was possible she would dismiss the kind of information Tom had just been made privy to. He wasn't about to say anything but he tucked the new knowledge away. Maybe the competition had just tipped a fraction in his favour.
A Father Beyond Compare Page 7
