Miraculously her hair was still tidy, but she ran her hand over it critically anyway. Drenching it in conditioner had rescued it and restored the shine, and the mangled ends had been chopped off on Friday, which had made a huge difference. It wasn’t great, but at least it didn’t look like last year’s haystack any longer.
Good enough, she thought critically, and if it wasn’t, maybe he’d have someone else from the department. Probably a blonde, not a mousy brunette like her. There were plenty to choose from.
‘If I get lucky,’ she said with very little hope.
She blew herself a kiss, because like little Adam she needed courage, too, then forced a grin and marched up to Matt’s door. Her knuckles had scarcely grazed it when it swung inwards, and there he was, the man himself, right in front of her, propped up on the edge of Matt’s desk, and the things his long legs were doing to a pair of faded, worn denim jeans should have been outlawed. She dragged her eyes upwards and stopped in her tracks.
Grief.
She swallowed and tried to remember what she was supposed to be saying and doing, but her mind had inconveniently emptied itself of anything intelligent or relevant and she simply stood there and stared.
Lord, he was gorgeous. So different in real life—what a cliché, but he was, he really was. Bigger, tougher, more vital, with his chin roughened by stubble and his hair rumpled, a soft mid-brown touched with gold, and his eyes like a wild storm tracking over her, their expression crackling with curiosity and something else, something that drained her of common sense, riveting her to the spot until Tom rescued her.
‘Meg, I was just coming to find you,’ he said, and, taking her arm, he removed her from the doorway and closed the door behind her. ‘Meet an old friend of mine. Ben, this is Sister Megan Fraser, known to all as Meg. Meg, this is—’
The man stuck his hand out. ‘Ben Maguire,’ he said unnecessarily, and she found her hand enveloped in a firm, brisk handshake that sent shock waves through her system. Still, at least it freed her from her trance, and she conjured up a smile.
‘Hi. Good to meet you.’ She floundered for something intelligent to say and came up with nothing, so she just smiled again and went for autopilot. ‘I gather we’re stuck with each other for the week.’
One eyebrow arched above a stormy grey eye, and his mouth twitched.
‘I’m sure we’ll both survive,’ he said drily.
And she thought, So much for my navigation system!
She groaned and shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it to come out like that. I was just—’
‘Press-ganged, I believe is the expression,’ Tom put in with a grin. Well, at least he hadn’t said star-struck, which was nearer to the humiliating truth! But then he went on, ‘Poor Meg. She knew nothing about this until Thursday. We set her up while she was sprawled topless on the sand in Crete.’
Ben’s eyes dropped automatically to the level of her chest, and Meg felt her temper fray. Star struck be damned. He was just a man like all the rest. Lifting her hand to the level of her breasts, she raised it slowly until it was just below her eyes, dragging his eyes up with it.
‘Thank you,’ she said curtly.
A decent man would have been ashamed. Not Ben Maguire. He just studied her in silence for a second, then his mouth quirked.
‘My pleasure,’ he murmured.
‘Ben, behave,’ Tom said easily.
‘Sorry. I wouldn’t like to embarrass her,’ Ben replied, his eyes still locked with Meg’s, and she raised an incredulous eyebrow. His lips twitched again, and she felt hers firm into a tight line. Tom just snorted.
‘No chance. She’s made of sterner stuff than that. You wait till you see her deal with the drunks on a Friday night. Our Meg doesn’t embarrass easily.’
That’s all you know, she thought, and contemplated killing him, but she was saved the effort. His bleep squawked, and with a muttered oath he excused himself. ‘Back in a moment, just got to sort something out. I won’t be long. Entertain yourselves—I’m sure you’ll find something to talk about for a minute or two.’
Yeah, Meg thought, starting with that smart remark and moving on swiftly to some ground rules!
She wasn’t wrong. Ben propped himself back on the edge of the desk, folded his arms and gave her a crooked, questioning smile. ‘So, were you? Topless?’
She was going to deny it, which was only the truth, but then perversely pride came to her rescue. There was no way she was going to admit to the sexiest man she’d met in ages—no, make that a lifetime—that she’d been the only one on the beach under fifty with a top on! And so she avoided the issue.
‘Is it relevant?’ she retorted, and he chuckled.
‘Not to the programme, no,’ he agreed. ‘But if I’m going to get to know you…’
His unspoken words hung in the air between them, and Meg found her breath catching as she waited for him to finish the sentence. He didn’t, though. Storm-grey gaze still tangling with hers, he lifted one shoulder and smiled. His shrug was Gallic and expressive and deeply sexy, and completely trashed her defences.
She yanked in a deep breath and straightened her shoulders like a prim little miss. ‘I don’t think you need to get to know me that well,’ she said, sounding like an old maid and silently cursing Tom for causing such havoc. Dammit, she wasn’t going to fall under this man’s spell! She wouldn’t! But the silence stretched out between them, humming with tension, and she was wondering what on earth she could say to him next when there was a tap at the door and Sophie appeared with Adam in her arms, sobbing uncontrollably.
‘I’m really, really sorry, Meg, but the plaster technician’s been called up to the ward and Angie’s with Tom and I haven’t been trained to apply casts,’ she said, as Adam, catching sight of Meg, lunged out of Sophie’s arms and threw himself at her.
She fielded him with all the ease of long practice and settled the fractious youngster on her hip, his broken arm carefully cradled between them. ‘What’s all this, eh? Great big tears! Never mind. Shall we go and get a smart new cast on your arm and then everybody can write on it and draw some new pictures for you—OK?’
Adam hiccuped and cuddled into her, his screams subsiding to a whimper, and she turned to Ben. ‘I’m sorry about this,’ she said, not at all sorry with this instant escape route from a conversation that had been moving altogether too fast downhill. ‘It’s his second cast and he’s really not keen. I won’t be long.’
He shrugged away from the desk. ‘Why don’t I come with you? I can see the department and get the feel for how you work. Adam won’t mind a spectator, will you, mate?’
Damn. Still, he had a point, and she couldn’t just leave him there.
Only a week, she told herself. It’s only a week.
‘OK.’
She didn’t wait for his reaction, just headed for the door. He was supposed to be shadowing her. Fine. Let him shadow her, but right now she had a job to do, and Adam came first. If he wanted to watch, he could follow her. That’s what shadows did best.
CHAPTER TWO
HE FOLLOWED her.
Ben knew Meg was reluctant, that she’d wanted to get away, but he wasn’t prepared to let her slip off that easily. She was gorgeous—fascinating, sexy, and she blushed! Hell, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen a woman blush about something so simple, and that trick with the hand—that was clever.
And sexy as hell.
And she never had answered the question…
Core business, he told himself, and studied her critically as they walked along the corridor.
She was short—not too short, but a good eight inches or so shorter than him, and he could have tucked her easily under his chin. Resisting the urge to try, he’d taken the firm, capable hand she’d offered him, looked into her challenging blue eyes and been lost.
The camera would love her. The camera, the public—she’d be a real hit. He could just picture it, he thought, assessing her now with the child on her hip.
Florence Nightingale with sex appeal. Brilliant.
And she’d been coerced into it. Funny, that—and he knew just how she felt. Although if he had to do it, and Pete had made it very clear that he did, then working with Meg would at least make it bearable.
Well, in one way, at least. In another way it was going to be hard. Very hard. Permanently hard. Thank God his tatty old jeans were tight enough to keep his reaction under control, and his rebelliously untucked shirt was long enough to conceal any give-away bulges.
He sighed quietly and ran his eyes over her again. Soft, womanly curves, not fat but not in the slightest bit boyish. Oh, no. This one was all woman, and a woman, he sensed, with personality to burn.
He wondered if she had been topless on the beach. So what? He usually thought nothing of it. Everyone did it these days, it was nothing remarkable.
But the very thought of Meg on a beach wearing nothing but a slick of oil and a pair of skimpy briefs had been enough to bring him to his knees, and he’d still been struggling with the image when the door had opened and a saint in the guise of a young staff nurse had rescued him before he’d embarrassed himself.
Trailing Meg down the corridor now, he watched as she cradled the little boy against her chest and soothed him with her gentle, singsong voice, and he realised that she was a wonderful choice.
Thank God, she’ll carry the programme, he thought, so I won’t have to, and he was just beginning to think that it would all be fine when the child looked at him over her shoulder, his eyes huge and solemn and tear-stained, and he felt as if he’d been kicked in the solar plexus.
He’s just a child. There are millions of them in the world. Get over it, he told himself fiercely, and then Meg glanced back and gave him a curious look. She was saying something about the history of Adam’s fracture, telling him what she was going to do.
Nothing drastic, nothing radical—just a routine procedure on a little boy like any other, with huge wet eyes and a gut-wrenching wobble to his little rosebud mouth that could break a man’s heart. Telling himself he was being ridiculous, he forced his legs to carry on walking, catching up with her, opening the door for her while she carried Adam into the plaster room.
They’d lost Sophie en route, called away to another patient, and so it was just the three of them. No big deal. He only had to watch and talk to her while she did this simple procedure. How hard could it be?
Very, was the answer, and for reasons that caught him totally unawares. Nothing to do with the hospital and the dread that lurked in the pit of his stomach, or his unexpected and rather troubling reaction to Meg, and everything to do with those great wet eyes and a totally unexpected feeling of homesickness.
He wanted to help. Wanted to take the child into his arms and make him smile, and soothe his fears, but that was ridiculous. And it terrified him. He propped himself up against the wall of the plaster room and asked stupid questions instead, his arms firmly folded.
‘So where’s Mum?’
‘Gone for a cup of tea and a sit-down—she’s pregnant again and her blood pressure’s a bit high, so we told her to go and take it easy. We thought we could cope without her. Seems we were wrong. Adam, do you want to sing a song while we put your new cast on?’
Adam shook his head and buried his face in her shoulder. ‘Don’t want new cast,’ he mumbled tearfully. ‘Want old cast.’
‘You can keep it, Adam, you just can’t wear it any more, darling, because it’s too sloppy on your arm now. He had a backslab at first,’ she explained to Ben, ‘then the other cast, but once the swelling went down he could take his arm right out of it. It was quite a nasty fracture and it just needs another week or so of support, but it’ll have to be a new one.’
‘Want my old one,’ he sobbed, and Ben’s heart twisted all over again.
‘Why so attached?’ he asked, struggling for something sensible to say.
‘Because everybody’s drawn on it. He likes the pictures on the other one.’
Sucked in despite himself, he shrugged away from the wall. ‘May I see?’
‘Of course. It’s there.’
He picked it up, turned it in his hands, studied the colourful doodles and scrawls that covered the little green resin cast. So small. Such a tiny arm. ‘It’s a bit full,’ he said, hunkering down by Adam’s side. ‘You could have more pictures on the new one, then you’d have two. You could keep them both, then,’ he said.
Adam lifted his head and studied Ben dubiously with those huge eyes. ‘You draw pictures for me?’
‘Sure, if you want.’
He sniffed and rubbed his nose on his hand, and Meg found him a tissue and mopped him up.
‘So will you let me put the new cast on now?’ she asked, and he nodded, his lip wobbling again.
‘You’ll have to hold him,’ she said, and Ben jack-knifed up and backed away.
‘I can’t,’ he said flatly, but Meg tipped her head on one side and looked at him as if he’d lost his marbles.
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she said briskly. ‘You’re a doctor—of course you can hold him.’
And just like that, without warning, he found his arms full of small boy. Small, warm, wriggling boy, snuggling into his chest. He looked down and encountered wide, wet eyes and a doubtful mouth, and his heart twisted.
‘Well, hi, there,’ he said with a grin that he could feel was crooked. God, it had been so long…
‘Sit here,’ Meg instructed, indicating a chair at the end of the work table. He manoeuvred himself onto the chair with the warm little body on his lap, and Meg crouched down in front of him and smiled reassuringly at Adam.
‘Right, tiger, what colour would you like this time? You can have red, blue or green.’
‘B’ue.’
‘OK, blue it is. Can you remember what we do first?’
‘F’uffy stuff,’ Adam said, and Meg nodded and ruffled his hair.
‘Good man! Fluffy stuff first, all over your arm where the cast will go, then I’m going to wrap it all up in the wet bandage. And then, when it’s all dry and set, Ben can draw on it for you. Just remember, we mustn’t touch it until it sets, or we’ll stick to it, OK? So I’ll have gloves on, and you must keep very, very still for me so we don’t get in a mess.’
Adam nodded, his little head bobbling solemnly against Ben’s chest, and while Ben supported his elbow, Meg wrapped the little arm in wadding and then swathed it quickly in the wet cast bandage, her hands winding it deftly round and round over the wadding to make a firm support for the tiny arm.
‘Very neat. Anybody would think you’d done that before,’ he murmured, striving for a neutral topic, and she tipped her head back and grinned.
‘Once or twice. We have a team of technicians who normally do all this sort of thing,’ she told him as she smoothed and snipped, ‘but we can do the simple casts if we have to, and sometimes it’s better—keeps the number of people handling the child down to a minimum, which is good. Right, sport, all done, and we didn’t get any on us!’
A few minutes with the hair-dryer, and Meg sat back to admire her handiwork.
‘Good. That’s great. And now you’ll have two lots of pictures, won’t you?’ she said, smiling at the little boy.
Adam nodded slowly, his head resting against Ben’s chest and bringing back a surge of memories.
He shut them down.
‘So what are we going to draw on this one, Adam?’
‘Twain,’ Adam demanded, and Ben chuckled, the laughter hitching in his throat as the little boy looked up at him and grinned.
Hell, he’d missed those trusting smiles…
No. Draw a train, he told himself, and stick to the present.
Except, of course, he’d reckoned without Meg.
‘Tom told me you were at med school with him,’ she said conversationally a few minutes later as she waved Adam out of the door, cast duly decorated and Mum back in charge. ‘Bit of a career change, isn’t it?’
It was pointless denying it, s
o he simply nodded. ‘It was a long time ago.’
Lifetimes.
Straightening his shoulders, he looked past her to see a familiar vehicle coming into view in the car park. ‘Looks like the team are here,’ he said in relief, and set off to meet them.
Never had the cavalry been more welcome.
‘So, tell me, what’s he like?’
Meg patted the dog who’d come to greet her and sauntered across the grass towards her friend, sprawled in the shade under a huge copper beech. ‘Getting right to the point, aren’t you?’ she grinned. ‘Have you been in suspense, petal?’
‘As if you wouldn’t have been,’ Fliss said with a chuckle. ‘So? Come on, let’s hear all about it. How is he, up close and personal?’
Meg sighed and flopped down on the rug next to Fliss, the dog following suit. ‘Gorgeous,’ she said honestly. ‘I knew he would be, he’s a real heartbreaker, you can tell that from the programmes, but up close and personal—wow. Pity he’s a womanising bastard.’
‘He is?’
Meg rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, yes. He couldn’t take his eyes off my chest—and that was Tom’s fault, talking about me sunbathing topless in Crete.’
Fliss’s eyes widened. ‘He said what? I’ll kill him.’
‘Get in the queue,’ Meg advised her. ‘Believe me, it wasn’t the best start.’
‘How did he know you were?’
‘Were what? Topless? He didn’t. I didn’t! Of course I didn’t do it! You know I hate my chest. There’s no way I’m getting it out in public. And he ogled me.’
‘Tom?’ Fliss shrieked.
‘No, Ben,’ Meg said hastily before she had a divorce on her hands. ‘Tom wouldn’t do that, he doesn’t even know I’m a woman. Ben ogled. And grinned, dammit, with that sexy almost-grin. I could have slapped him.’
Fliss started to laugh, and Meg punched her arm lightly.
‘What? What?’
‘You. You’re so sarcastic about men all the time, so dismissive, and you’ve spent an hour or so with this guy and you’re in love!’
Holding Out For a Hero Page 2
