‘Not this week,’ Charlotte moaned. The last thing she needed was a cold or worse—she had just way too much on. Glimpsing her week ahead, it seemed was insurmountable. She was tempted to just head to home and bed and pull the sheets over her heads till the whole blessed thing was over.
If she still had a home, that was!
Muddy and grubby, dressed in faded jodhpurs and a jumper full of holes, to Bailey she was beautiful.
‘Dar-dot!’ Banging his spoon in delight as she came in, he struggled to get her attention.
‘Oh, hi, Bailey…’ Charlotte gave Bailey a distracted smile, and watching her turn her back on a little guy who loved her, just putting a slice of bread into the toaster and watching it rather than talking to him, was, for Hamish, the hardest part.
Seeing Bailey whining and miserable, already way too used to her usually lavish attention, Hamish could see in his hurt face that he was completely unable fathom what he’d done wrong, wondering why she wasn’t coming over to the highchair and pinching one of his toast soldiers as she usually did, why she wasn’t begging his dad to turn to the horoscope page in the newspaper. And when she continued to stare at the blessed toaster Hamish was sorely tempted to get up and tap her on the shoulder and tell her exactly what he thought of her behaviour!
But what would be the point?
Sure, he might guilt her into feigning a few more kisses for Bailey, then he’d have to sit back and watch as his little heart was broken all over again.
‘Come on, Bailey.’ Hamish turned the highchair round more to face him. ‘Let’s finish your breakfast.’
‘Thanks for settling Fitz last night.’ Yawning, she looked over. ‘I got stuck at work.’
Funny that Belinda had called him last night from a casual evening shift in A and E out of sheer boredom because the place had been unusually empty!
‘I thought things were quiet there last night…’ he started, then stopped himself. What was the point? ‘How was your ride?’
‘Great…’ Charlotte answered, and he watched in silence as she buttered her toast then came over to the table where he was frowning, seriously wondering now if everything she had ever said had been a lie.
He’d seen her nearly fall from the kitchen window, had looked up as he’d finished slicing up Bailey’s toast and with heart in mouth had seen Fitz start to panic as Charlotte had briefly lost control. Seeing her shift in the saddle and that brief struggle to right herself, his first instinct had been to rush out…
Not that she’d have appreciated his concern, Hamish thought darkly.
‘Dar-dot!’ As a last resort Bailey held out a half-chewed toast soldier towards her, but she barely looked up. He just didn’t get her—fifteen minutes ago she’d been with Fitz, gently walking him back, showering him with the hugs and kisses, yet now here she sat, snubbing the innocent victim in this grown-up mess, and Hamish knew for his son’s sake he had to step in—had to try to and wean Bailey off her, before his beloved Dar-dot disappeared forever!
‘It’s Alicia’s birthday today.’
‘Alicia.’ Charlotte frowned.
She cared more about her bloody animals than humans, Hamish thought savagely, or, at least, as long as they were alive! ‘My niece,’ he said tightly. ‘Anyway, Belinda’s going to pick Bailey up from crèche and have him over for a birthday tea, so you don’t have to worry about collecting him or anything.’
‘Fine.’ She put down the slice of toast that she’d barely nibbled the edges of and refilled her glass of orange juice which she’d downed in one. ‘You know, I’m not really that hungry. I think I’ll go and have my shower. You get dressed, young man.’ She smiled over at Bailey who, starved of attention from her, promptly melted. ‘I’ll be down in a bit to take you in.’
‘No need,’ Hamish said, unclipping Hamish and picking him up from his highchair. ‘I’m starting a bit later this morning—I’ll take him in with me.’
‘Fine.’ Charlotte gave a tight smile.
‘Good.’ Hamish didn’t even attempt one back, just headed upstairs and dressed Bailey, taking an inordinate amount of time to do so, waiting till she was in the shower before driving to work and taking Bailey into crèche.
‘Hamish!’ Lucy stopped talking to whoever it was she was talking to and, a plastic bag in her hand, made her way over. ‘The musical potty I was telling you about. I was just about to leave it for you.’
‘Thanks!’ Hamish actually managed a smile, though it was more a wry one at Charlotte than at the woman standing in front of him. ‘That’s really nice of you.’
‘Actually, I was hoping to catch you.’ Despite a lot of foundation, there was a blush creeping up her cheeks. ‘Look, I know you’re on your own. I am, too. I was thinking we should get together sometimes…’
‘Yeah,’ Hamish said carefully, ‘I was thinking I should have a few of Bailey’s little friends over one weekend.’
‘I wasn’t talking about the kids!’
And maybe he should be feeling flattered, Hamish thought as he made his way back to the department, but all he felt was…
Tired.
Sitting at the nurses’ station, he flicked through the internal post, and now that Charlotte wouldn’t be doing it for him, he had a quick flick through the internally advertised vacancies. Helen chatted on, but he wasn’t even pretending to listen.
God, did everyone think it was that easy? He could almost hear their thought processes, had seen the eyebrows raised when Charlotte had moved in. Oh, well, it’s been eighteen months now, it’s probably about time he started to move on…
But it wasn’t about sex.
Or finding a wife or a mother for Bailey.
And it definitely wasn’t loneliness or boredom—he’d give his back teeth even to glimpse the luxury of those two.
It was about missing Emma and now missing Charlotte.
Missing two beautiful women who had at different times and stages graced his life and trying to work his way through it.
Maybe he should try and date his way through his misery, Hamish mused, take up every one of those thinly veiled offers and try screwing his way out of this hell—after all, it seemed to work for Charlotte!
The ringing of the emergency phone snapped him out of his misery, and for once he beat Helen to answering it, listening to the details from the ambulance control as Helen hovered close by.
‘Snakebite.’ Hamish said grimly, hanging up the receiver and pressing the bell on the desk that alerted all resus staff to make their way over. ‘Definite snake-bite to the leg in a twelve-year-old boy. Collapsed, hypotensive, he’ll be here in ten!’
For a twelve-year-old, Jordan Reece was a rather big boy and although being overweight wasn’t considered healthy—it was one of the factors that might just his life. Venomous snakes were found in Victoria, especially in rural areas, and the hot, dry weather was doing its part in bringing them out. Jordan had been bitten on the calf by an unknown breed of snake while messing around at playtime in the sheds at the back of his school, but prompt attention of friends in alerting the teachers and immediate first aid applied by the school nurse had been invaluable.
A pressure bandage had been applied and his limb immobilised, but even with the correct first aid treatment for a snakebite, by the time he was in the helicopter and on his way to hospital he had collapsed, arriving in Emergency with ominous signs—dangerously low blood pressure and convulsing.
‘Right.’ Hamish never missed a beat—ordering bloods, fluids and drugs, then deciding to anaesthetise and intubate as the team worked hard to stabilise this desperately ill child.
‘Sounds like a brown snake,’ the paramedic called out as Hamish swabbed the wound on Jordan’s leg. The venom detection kit was needed to confirm the breed of snake that had struck. ‘One of the kids got a pretty good look at him and knows the breeds.’
‘Not enough to go on.’ Hamish shook his head. The VDK kit wasn’t used to determine whether or not anti-venom was required but to confirm
the type that was needed. Giving antivenom was a medical decision based on the presentation of the victim and in this case the half-hour wait for the VDK test to come back was just too long. The administration of both brown and tiger snake antivenom, was the choice Hamish made—first pre-medicating Jordan to reduce the risk of anaphylactic reaction, before commencing the infusion of the vital antivenom.
‘What’s the bed status like in ICU?’ It was the first time Hamish had spoken for half an hour without giving an order, but slowly things were starting to calm down, at least for young Jordan. For the staff, the drama wasn’t anywhere near over—especially when the anaesthetist gave his familiar wry smile with his single word anwswer.
‘Guess!’
‘What were they thinking?’ Helen droned on as Hamish sat stuck on hold on the phone. ‘Or did you even stop to think?’
‘Oh, so it’s my fault.’ Hamish whistled through his teeth. ‘The fact there isn’t a single ICU bed in the state for a twelve-year-old is solely down to me?’
‘Well, all the meetings you went to, all the hours and hours this department had to go without a consultant while you were up in Admin, supposedly working out this blessed “transition phase”. Did you not even once stop to think where we were going to be putting all the extra patients we would be getting?’
Probably not, Hamish was tempted to answer—tempted to remind her he’d been at Emma’s funeral a couple of weeks before the details of the ICU transition phase had been decided, tempted to say it but not wanting to pull out the sympathy card.
And more than a little bit angry with himself because, like it or not, Helen was just a little bit right.
Not that he’d tell her that now, though!
He adored Helen, considered her way more than a long-time colleague, but when she had a bee in her bonnet she was possibly the most irritating person he had met—and she had a full hive in there now! ‘There are more than a ninety new beds in the hospital,’ Hamish hissed, ‘and there are two more new wards opening next month. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m trying to find this child an ICU bed—preferably somewhere within the state.’
‘But, that’s exactly my point—there are only two new adult ICU beds and one more paediatric.’
‘And another three opening next week.’ Hamish gritted his teeth and willed the bed manager to answer his page and sort this blessed mess out, knowing that if he lost it now, he would explode. The hell of working with, living with and trying to avoid Charlotte and keep an even state of mind was proving an impossible feat!
‘Oh, well, that’s good news.’ Helen’s voice dripped with sarcasm. ‘But it does nothing for this child here now with a snakebite.’ And though he knew from experience that Helen was always especially anxious where very sick children were concerned, that this was just her way of letting off a bit of steam as to all the changes she had been forced to endure, Hamish could have cheerfully strangled her as she twittered on. ‘All this phasing in and phasing out—I’ll tell you who’s fazed!’
‘Thank you very much!’ Hanging up the phone, he turned to Helen and fixed her with a steely stare. ‘There’s a bed coming up at City Hospital—their transfer team is out on a retrieval right now so I’m going in the helicopter with him.’ Helen opened her mouth to speak but she rather rapidly changed her mind, something in Hamish’s stance, his voice telling her she’d pushed him just a touch a too far. ‘And, yes, that means I’ll need a nurse and, yes, I know it will mess up your roster, and that we’ll have to arrange cover from the wards or, worse still, the agency, which will mess up your budget, and that then she’ll no doubt have not a shred of experience in emergency. I know all that so you don’t have to tell me—now, can you, please, just arrange an experienced nurse escort?’
‘Of course.’ Helen flushed, pouncing on Charlotte as she walked past the nurses’ station. ‘Charlotte, do you fancy having a quick ride with Hamish?’
And if it had been last week, Hamish knew the answer she’d have come up with, could almost hear her peal of laughter as she offered a saucy reply. But maybe the weekend had had more of an effect on her than he’d given her credit for, because all Charlotte did was give a weary nod. ‘Where to?’
‘City Hospital. I’m arranging the transport now—do you want to tell his parents and then start getting him ready?’
‘Sure.’ Charlotte nodded. ‘I’ll just nip to the loo first.’
‘I’ll talk to the parents.’ Hamish raked a hand through his hair and blew out a breath, and for the first time since Sunday his eyes met Charlotte’s. Knowing what he was thinking, she shook her head.
‘I think his mum’s too upset to come with us—but it’s your call.’
‘I’ll tell them to make their own way,’ Hamish agreed. ‘If they leave now, they might even beat us there.’
The helicopter ride there wasn’t in the least uncomfortable. Hamish was so focused on Jordan, Charlotte could have been naked beside him and he’d hardly have noticed. But by the time they’d handed him over to the experienced team on ICU, by the time they’d been informed that the helicopter crew were heading back to base for refuelling and a staff changeover, the thought of two hours stuck in the back of an ambulance with Charlotte was the last thing on Hamish’s wish list.
Charlotte’s, too, it would seem.
Sitting back on the empty stretcher, she didn’t even attempt conversation, just stared out the tinted windows with a drink bottle pressed to her face as Hamish considered asking the driver to speed things along and turn on the sirens.
‘Seems a shame to waste it.’ Smiling, but with her heart clearly not in it, looking and sounding nothing like the old Charlotte, she gestured to the empty stretcher, but Hamish soon realized that for once she wasn’t making a joke.
‘You don’t mind if I lie down?’
He didn’t bother answering and Charlotte didn’t bother waiting, just clipped herself onto the stretcher and pulled the blanket around her, closing her eyes and proceeding to sleep all the way to Camberfield as Hamish finally got the message.
He didn’t need to worry about avoiding her.
He’d already lost her.
CHAPTER NINE
‘NICE night?’ Trying for polite and holding a fretfully dozing Bailey, Hamish barely looked up as she clipped in wearing high heels and yet another very sexy skirt. Her face flushed, eyes glittering Charlotte jumped at the sound of Hamish’s voice, then, realising he was nursing Bailey, tiptoed to the sink so as not to wake him.
‘It was okay, I guess!’ Too parched to even get a glass, Charlotte held her hair back and gulped from the running tap. ‘Dancing’s thirsty work.’
‘It must be,’ Hamish said, as she rummaged through the cupboard and, locating a large glass, filled it up. ‘There’s some headache tablets in the cupboard,’ he added with a dry edge, ‘just in case you need them in the morning.’
‘I haven’t got a hangover.’ She actually sounded irritated. ‘I haven’t even had a drink.’ Collapsing on the sofa, she gave a low laugh. ‘I’m just exhausted, I guess.’
‘Tell me about it…’
They sat in almost amicable silence for about five seconds.
‘You know I won’t be around Thursday or Friday—I’m going to clear out Mum’s. So if you’re on call…’
‘We’ll manage fine,’ Hamish interrupted, and whether or not they would, he knew now that it wasn’t really her concern.
‘God, there’s just so much to do,’ Charlotte moaned. ‘I’ve decided that that must be why I’m so tired—I’m exhausted in advance, thinking of all I have to do.’
Was she really expecting him to offer to come and help? He couldn’t be positive, but he was sure she was fishing—even though yawning her head off and bemoaning her lot was a tactic he hadn’t seen her use yet!
‘Well, it’s lucky, then, that you’ve got Trevor and his wife helping.’
‘I guess,’ Charlotte said, and then cheered up a touch. ‘They’re brilliant—in fact, by the time I get up
there it will probably be half done. I’ll have the place blitzed and locked up!’
‘And you’ll be done!’ Hamish gave a tight smile.
‘Finally!’ Charlotte yawned then got up, filled her glass again and bade him goodnight, only remembering to tiptoe as far as the hallway, then clattering up the noisily up the stairs and waking up Bailey.
She didn’t seem to care about anything, Hamish thought savagely as a now thoroughly awake Bailey jumped off his knee and, seizing the moment, delighted at his sudden freedom, wandered around the room.
Pack up the family home and hand over the keys—done!
Squeeze out a quick tear for an old nag—then get over it.
Shag Hamish on Sunday—why not?
Then go out dressed to the nines with Cameron on Tuesday—sure!
‘Don’t touch!’ Hamish snapped to attention as Bailey’s two-year-old hands, like mini-radars, instantly located the forbidden fruits in the lounge room—only instead of the television remote it was one of Charlotte’s boxes he was familiarising himself with.
‘Give that to me!’ Hamish said in a loud whisper, attempting to wrestle a fistful of photos from Bailey’s tight grip without crumpling them up altogether, making a mental note to apologise in the morning and get them repaired if that were possible, but all mental notes were discarded as he stared down at the picture in his hand: a pretty little girl, maybe seven or eight years old, was smiling widely back at him, her eyes staring directly into the camera as she offered a wide, beautiful smile without even a hint of a crooked tooth, her perfect ears framing a perfect face.
Strange that such a pretty picture could stir up such anger, but it did.
She was really that manipulative—a minx just like her mother, Hamish thought, recalling how convincingly Charlotte had won over little Andy, recalling how easily she’d stared into his little face and had said exactly what he had needed to hear in an attempt to win him over…
The Single Dad's Marriage Wish (Bachelor Dads) Page 11
