He'd hoped the kiss would say the things he didn't understand well enough to put into words, but all it did was make matters worse. It numbed his brain and made his blood run hot, and tempted him into reading things into the way Sally kissed him back.
'Should we tell her brothers? Send them to the rescue before he steals her virtue?'
The voice broke into his benumbed brain but it took a second longer for the words to make sense.
He lifted his head but kept Sally clamped against him. No way she was going to escape until more had been said.
One way or another!
He turned to Sam's brothers, who were lounging up against the fence at the other end of the pool.
'Could you two cut the comedy routine or find someone else to bother?'
'We were sent to find you,' Sean, or Pete, said virtuously.
'Your parents are leaving.' The second twin expanded on the statement. 'Wanted to let you know the lovely Jocelyn was giving them a lift back to your place, and to say goodbye.'
My parents are leaving?' Why was he having so much trouble with simple conversations? 'But they can't go yet. The bride and groom—'
'Are long gone,' the twins chorused.
'Oh!'
Grant felt small hands pushing at his chest and realised Sally was trying to escape his hold.
'You go!' she whispered urgently. 'You have to do the right thing by your parents.'
'But I want you to meet them—them to meet you,' he said. 'And we have to talk.'
She'd finally managed to detach herself and now, as he looked down into her face, he saw her smile and felt his heart stop beating for a moment.
.'Not tonight,' she said gently. 'Not like this.'
She lifted her hands and tried to smooth down the hair he'd been ruffling, then touched lips that even in the moonlight he could see looked slightly swollen—well kissed.
But he had to talk to her.
'Stay here,' he ordered, and raced towards the house. He'd see his parents off, explain he wouldn't be long, then say what had to be said to Sally.
'She left as soon as you dashed off,' one of the twins told him when he hurried back to the pool only five minutes later. 'Said something about study, or being on call, or some other excuse women seem obliged to offer.'
'Know so much about women, do you?' Grant snarled at the unfortunate young man, then he walked back through the house and out the front door. Which is when he realised she couldn't have left. He'd been standing in the drive, saying farewell to his parents. She'd have had to have walked past him and she certainly hadn't done that.
But another search of the house failed to find her and, seething with frustration, he finally gave up.
What he should do was drive straight to the house behind the mango trees and demand she listen to what he had to say.
Only his parents were waiting for him, expecting a post-mortem of the wedding, wanting to chat about his new job and life in Brisbane.
And he wasn't entirely certain what it was he wanted to say to Sally Cochrane anyway.
Or how to put it into words.
Sally knew it had been cowardly to run away. And as for jumping the side fence and going down the lane to get out to the main street, that had been downright deceitful!
But Grant Hudson, and his kisses, had filled her with so many contradictory feelings she needed time to work things out. Time to decide what to do about this attraction that was obviously not as one-sided as she'd been telling herself it was.
But her mind wouldn't work. Wouldn't even focus on the books she knew she had to read.
In the end, she gave up, and went over to the hospital. She'd do a ward round then go to the library. Maybe a change of scene would help her concentration.
Grant, who'd spent Sunday showing his parents around the parts he knew of Brisbane, was tense and anxious by the time he arrived at the hospital early on Monday morning.
Darned woman, running off like that! He'd...
What?
Tell her off? Yell at her?
Well, that would be one way to relieve a little of the frustration he was feeling.
Kissing her might be another, a seditious voice whispered in his head, and he groaned aloud, wondering if he'd ever feel 'normal' again.
'Heavy night?' An orderly passing must have heard the sound and had turned sympathetically towards him.
'You don't know the half of it, mate,' Grant told him, then he strode along the corridor, telling himself he'd better put Sally Cochrane right out of his mind and concentrate on work.
He checked the computer, noted which A and E patients had been admitted to Neurology's care over the weekend. Nothing flagged as urgent. Next he checked on the status of the previous week's accident victims, bringing up a computerised version of their charts to ensure there were no signs of deterioration in their status.
With nothing urgent calling him immediately to the wards, he'd tackle bookwork first. He had a pile of reports to check and sign, then the agenda for the surgical specialists' meeting to consider, a paper he should have posted last week to complete, and a pile of memos from Miss Flintock so high they could have replaced the confetti at the wedding.
But Sally hovered at the edges of his mind, distracting him, making each task a little more difficult.
He turned to the day's list, then to the staff. Thanks to the avoidance tactics he'd put into place earlier, he was operating this morning with Jerry and Andy, while Sally, Daniel and an intern were on this afternoon for small procedures.
Now the mixed changing-room business was ruining his private life!
He was brooding over this when the phone rang.
'Flo here, Dr Hudson. I've already spoken to the ward but wanted to let you know the morning's schedule will be put back by a couple of hours.'
'Why?' he demanded, knowing a morning change meant that whoever was last in line would be lopped off the list and have to wait for another day.
'Because your theatre has been in use since two this morning. Dr Denton thinks he'll be finished within the hour but then the cleaning staff have to get in.'
Grant tapped his computer screen to life and scrolled back through the messages. When a neuro case was brought into A and E it was automatically recorded on the computerised list which came through to him each morning.
'Dr Denton's operating? There's nothing in the morning notices about a neuro case in Theatre.'
Having a neuro case in Theatre explained why it was their operating schedule in jeopardy. Daniel would be using what the team considered 'their' theatre.
There was a pause and he guessed Flo was rummaging through her own paperwork. After all, she wasn't on duty twenty-four hours a day so she would also have to rely on someone else's information to keep her files in order.
'Here it is,' she finally said. 'Two patients. Climbers. Injured when a rope gave way. They were airlifted in and Dr Denton was on call. Apparently Dr Cochrane was at the hospital when the call for the helicopter went out so she waited and she's assisting. The first patient is in Recovery, or may be on the way to the ICU by now, the second should come out of Theatre soon.'
'Well, the airlift explains why they're not on the list,' he said to Flo, while his mind puzzled over what Sally had been doing at the hospital. 'They'd have been stabilised in the air and gone straight to Theatre.'
Which didn't solve his other problem of surgical delays.
'Is there no other theatre available?' he asked, although he knew the answer.
Heard it in her chuckle.
'But if you can go through your list and shift one person out, I can give you an hour's overtime for staff at the end of the afternoon shift, so you'll only be one patient behind.'
Grant thanked her and accepted the compromise. Drew the list closer and began to study it, thinking of the hours for each procedure, and who could reasonably wait for another day. Phoned the ward to alert them, then, as he heard Miss Flintock come into the outer-office, he called her in to ask
her to contact the patient who'd be 'bumped'.
He checked the time. Although this morning's ward round wasn't a student round, with both Daniel and Sally in Theatre, he'd have to take it. But if he hurried...
It was ridiculous to want to check on what was happening in Theatre, especially when even poking his head in the door meant changing into pyjamas, slippers, cap and mask.
But at least he wouldn't have to scrub, he consoled himself as he hastily shed his clothes.
From the instructions Daniel was giving—no wonder he irritated the other surgeons—Sally must be closing. Grant stood and watched, sensing the weariness in her body, imagining he could see the tired droop of her shoulders even through the enveloping gown.
'All but done,' she murmured, and, perhaps sensing his presence, she turned.
Not that he could see much of her face. The combination of mask, protective glasses and cap all but covered it.
'We've mucked up the schedule, haven't we?' she said apologetically to him, and he wanted to go to her, take her in his arms, tell her schedules didn't matter and how much it hurt him to see her tired like this.
But Daniel, after delivering final advice to Sally, was walking towards him, which was just as well as Sally would probably have laughed at his urge to protect and cherish her.
Sally concentrated fiercely on the final stage of the operation. Behind her back she could hear Daniel explaining to Grant how they'd operated on the first climber but had thought this one was less severely injured.
'Then his intercranial pressure shot right up,' Daniel was saying. 'Fortunately, while Sally and I were grabbing a bite in the canteen before heading home.'
There was a murmur of another voice, Grant's voice, but she couldn't catch the words, so she securely taped the tube they'd left in place to drain any further fluid away and packed dressings around it to protect it.
Her mind drifted to Saturday night. To a kiss that had changed the balance between them, and had made it impossible to keep classifying what she felt as a one-sided attraction, and 'that night' as an aberration never to be repeated.
And better not remembered!
She'd have to face her boss some time, but the all-night operating session had given her a reprieve. Today, she was going home to catch up on some sleep.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
And if Monday was a bad day, with delayed operations and overtime, Tuesday was worse. Complications in post-op patients forced a rethink of Wednesday's schedules when patients had to be readmitted to Theatre. Then Daniel called in to ask for compassionate leave. His wife had finally delivered an ultimatum to him and he needed time to try to fix his marriage.
By Friday, Sally was wondering why she'd taken on such a demanding specialty, thoughts of Grant and whatever lay between them a long way down the list of her worries. Getting some sleep came at the top, study came next, although even that no longer seemed so important.
True, her body still reacted to seeing Grant as they whisked in or out of the ward or passed in the theatre corridor, and especially during the student rounds when she had time to study his profile and muse on eyes as blue as the sky she rarely saw these days. But why this should be so, and whether anything would come of it, were questions she was too tired to consider.
Especially when she was sitting in her underwear, alone in the changing room, stripped of theatre gear, showered and dried, and now trying to summon up sufficient energy to pull on the rest of her clothes and drive home.
'Ha! At last I've found you. Hasn't it been a dreadful week? Are you OK? I know you've borne the brunt of it, and it will have thrown your study schedule all out.' Grant sat down beside her but, perhaps mindful of the fact that anyone could walk in, kept a good six inches between their bodies. 'Daniel should be back next week if you want a few days off yourself. Heaven knows, you deserve them.'
The words rushed at her, bringing with them a wave of dejection that the talk was all of work.
Which was how she really wanted things to be, she reminded herself, no longer listening to explanations of who could work what hours to allow her time off.
'Are you listening?' he demanded, and she turned to look at him, look into his eyes.
But what she saw there so confused her she looked away, which was when he reached out and drew her close, holding her tightly against his warm body, dropping kisses on her damp hair.
'I can't bear this,' he said. 'Can't bear seeing you working so hard, looking so tired, struggling to fit everything into your life.'
He spoke crossly, as if the dreadful week had been her fault.
'Well, don't blame me,' she muttered, and should have pulled away, but the warmth of his body was seeping into her cold one, and it made her feel...
Woozy?
She was trying to think of a better word to describe the comfort of it when he continued.
'It gives me a pain in the chest and I've made a fool of myself, going down to A and E for an ECG, where they found nothing at all wrong with my heart.'
The idea of him having an electrocardiogram was so preposterous Sally lifted her head off his shoulder and wriggled around so she could look at him again, but there was no hint of laughter in his blue eyes and his mouth looked grim.
Then as she watched, his lips moved, widening into a small, and somehow self-mocking, smile.
'But there is something wrong with my heart, Sally Cochrane. And you're to blame. Serves me right for getting involved with someone on the team.'
The admission, cryptic though it was, lifted some of Sally's weariness, enabling a couple of neurones to synapse.
'Was it because of Erica you made that stipulation? Did she hurt you so badly?'
She saw the frown pucker the skin between his dark eyebrows, and the blue eyes lose their shine.
Uh-oh. Wrong neurones!
'And who has been blabbing to you about Erica?'
Who? She didn't want to mention Paul or admit she'd listened to gossip.
'Tom mentioned something,' she said, aware it sounded lame.
'Oh, he did, did he?' Tom's brother muttered, then to Sally's astonishment he leant forward and kissed her gently on the lips.
'Erica is so far in the past she's nothing but an echo of a name,' he murmured, then he kissed her again. 'And it was something else that made me think...'
Sally was about to ask what something when he spoke again, and she guessed that subject was closed.
'It makes sense not to get involved, but did I take my own advice? Look at it from my viewpoint. I know the hours residents work, and how little time is left for study. To be distracting you from that, to kill your dreams of gaining your fellowship because I want to be with you—I can't be responsible for that, dear heart.'
She let him kiss her one more time—after all, it was very pleasant—before she asked the question.
'What makes you think I'd be so distracted?' She barely got the words out as the thought of no more kisses, just like that, made her want to cry.
'Wouldn't you be?' he murmured, tempting her lips again. 'I know I am. As well as needing an ECG, I've been wanting to take you off the operating schedule so you'll get some rest, and put my arm around you when you're looking tired, and carry you off to some quiet corner and kiss you at least a dozen times a day.'
'So what's the answer?' she demanded, totally confused by where this might be going. 'Do we pretend this never happened? Have one last smooch in the changing room and that's that?'
She thought for a minute then realised what she was feeling inside was no longer warm and woozy, but hot and angry.
'And why dump the onus on me? Why blame my dreams, my exams, my having to study, for not continuing to explore whatever it is between us?' She glared at him. Gold-flecked eyes indeed. What she needed was a couple of lasers to scorch right through him. 'It's an excuse, that's all, Grant Hudson. You were burnt once so now you don't want to take a risk. That's what all the talk of not getting involved within the team was about—self-protection for
you. Well that's OK with me, because I like my men strong, not gutless.'
She grabbed her street clothes from the locker and pulled them on hurriedly, knowing the skirt was askew but not caring, then, while the cause of all her troubles sat silently on the bench, she stormed out of the room.
Given how closely their small team were forced to work together, it was surprising how little Sally saw of Grant during the following week. A two-day heads-of-department meeting helped, and scheduling that had her working nights later in the week also made a difference.
Although if he continued to do that—or to get Daniel who drew up the rosters to do it—she'd have to complain. Working nights was usually better for studying, but as all the residents had study to do it wasn't fair she should be treated differently.
Late Saturday afternoon, she was in her study, refreshed from a good sleep and already stuck into the books. The gentle tap on the door was a new departure for her brothers, perhaps tired of being yelled at for interrupting her.
Grant stood there, looking doubtful, his hand still against the wooden jamb where he'd rapped his knuckles.
Only...
'Your brother said to go on in. Said you needed a distraction as you'd been working too hard.'
'Tom?'
The carbon copy nodded.
'Sam can do it, too,' he said. 'Uncanny, really, when friends we've known for years can't tell us apart.'
But Sally wasn't listening. She was on her feet, crossing the room heedless of the piles of books.
'Is something wrong? It wasn't a heart attack, was it? He's had pains in his chest. But he had an ECG—'
Tom caught her by the shoulders and squeezed his fingers reassuringly into her muscle.
'Hey! Calm down. There's nothing wrong.' Then he grinned and she saw similarities as well as differences. 'Apart from the fact that you ruined my honeymoon. I've been like a bear with a sore head, and poor Sam had the devil's own job getting me interested in anything.'
Sally shook her head.
'Either my brain's too numbed by study or you're not making much sense.'
He smiled again.
'It's a twin thing,' he explained, which didn't help at all. 'We've always had it. One of us gets hurt, the other one aches. One of us fell in love—'
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