Her New Year Baby Surprise

by Sue MacKay

  ‘For that I’ll work twice as hard this morning.’ And keep as far from Nixon as possible.

  ‘You will take it slowly, and you won’t go rushing around like a mad thing.’ Steph got all serious. ‘You sure you’re ready to come back? I’m not only talking the physical effort.’

  ‘Best you don’t give me babies for a few days. There’s no guarantee I won’t have a crying fit with these hormones swirling around my system. Every time I think they’re on their way out they give me a right old beating up.’

  ‘I’m putting you on triage. You can’t get into too much mischief there. No heavy lifting or pushing wheelchairs either.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’ Emma saluted. It was good to be away from those blasted walls in her apartment she’d been all but climbing with frustration. She was probably pushing herself too hard. It was Wednesday, five days since the birth, but she had to get out of the house.

  She scanned the department for a certain person, while her ears did an imitation of radar shields trying to hear his low, gravelly voice.

  ‘Hi, Emma. Surely you’re not back to fighting fit yet?’ one of the younger nurses asked.

  ‘No plans on doing anything crazy strenuous but otherwise feeling A-okay, thanks.’ Not spilling the beans about the head stuff.

  ‘Hard to believe you’ve had a baby,’ another nurse said. ‘Look at you, all slim and attractive again. Make that still.’

  Okay, getting embarrassing now. ‘Cheers. Thanks for the vote of confidence. Can we get on with something, like work?’ Emma looked over at the white board where patients were written up when they were brought through. ‘Not a lot going on yet.’ Getting busy fast had been the plan.

  ‘Listen up, everyone.’ Nixon strode out of his office, his mouth tight, eyes serious. ‘There’s been an accident north of Wanaka involving a campervan and car. The first patients will be here in less than thirty.’

  ‘How many are we expecting?’ Emma asked.

  ‘Two from the car in critical condition. One’s on the way in the helicopter, the other by ambulance. The reports coming in on the remaining casualties suggest arm fractures for two plus a suspected skull fracture.’ Nixon seemed to be talking directly to her.

  Seemed to be, because his gaze had reached her and stopped. But she was probably wrong. He had no reason to seek her out. She was glad that the confusion between them had gone, replaced with calm and, yes, damn it, that irritating caution. Caution she now believed hid past hurts. Emma focused on the scant details he was providing and ignored the fluttering in her belly. They had to work together.

  But did he have to look so delectable with that stubble on his chin? Those broad shoulders filled out his scrubs in a way she’d not noticed before. Emma shivered as need clogged her veins. She’d been fooling herself to think this desire for sex with Nixon was going to disappear in a haze of reality. She wanted him. All of him. That was her new reality.

  ‘Emma.’ Her new reality spoke directly to her. ‘Welcome back. Sure you’re up to this?’

  ‘Better than going bonkers at home.’ She glanced around the department. Her world might be topsy-turvy right now, but here at work she knew who she was, and what was expected of her. And damn it all, she was more than happy to see Nixon despite the misunderstanding that kept arising between them.

  ‘Don’t overdo it, all right?’ Nixon stood close, his steady gaze locked on her.

  Closing her eyes, she drew in a long, slow, man-scent-laden breath. How had she not been aware of this before? Nixon had become more attractive and sexy and exciting in the time since she’d gone into labour. The tension gripping her eased off, replaced with a different kind of tightness. Sexy and inappropriate in the middle of an emergency department.

  Looking around, she found something innocuous to say to quieten her body. ‘I think Abbie’s bringing Grace in today for you all to meet her. As long as she’s not grizzly, which she hardly ever is.’

  ‘I can’t wait.’ Steph smiled as she picked up a folder. ‘We had a collection and put a basket of baby things together for them.’

  The buzzer announced the arrival of their first critical patient, giving Emma an excuse to look away from those watchful faces so she could exhale and quickly swipe at a couple of tears.

  ‘Emma, you’re with me and Nixon until you’re needed in triage. You can roll bandages.’ Steph winked before handing out jobs to everyone.

  Brushing her hands down the front of her top, Emma said, ‘Right, let’s get this show on the road.’

  Nixon stood in front of her, his eyes tracking her hands on their trip down her belly to her thighs. ‘About Sunday…’

  ‘I’m sorry. I was out of line.’ She waited for him to raise his head so she could eyeball him. But when he did she got sidetracked by the heat blazing out at her, and she forgot what she’d been going to say. ‘We work together, we don’t need to know the nitty-gritty about each other.’

  His eyes widened with relief. ‘You understand. That’s good. I’d hate anything to come between us that interfered with work.’

  Not what she’d meant at all. Her stomach clenched painfully around a lump of disappointment. ‘It won’t. I love my job and won’t put it in jeopardy over something you don’t want to talk about.’ So much for backing off. She was protecting herself, her feelings, her heart. ‘Here’s our first patient.’

  Soon she was in triage, time flying by in capsules of broken bones, fevers, chest pains, a probable concussion. Emma took readings and obs, made notes, reassured patients and sent them straight to ED or back to the waiting room according to the seriousness of their situation.

  Emma wanted work to be a distraction from everything going on in her head, and she got it. When knockoff time after only four hours rocked around she was shattered. ‘Hate to admit it,’ she told Nixon.

  His eyebrows rose in a quaint fashion. ‘There’s a surprise. Time you headed home to those walls you so want to destroy. Oh, what have we here?’ He inclined his head at Santa Claus being wheeled in.

  Emma chuckled. ‘Been climbing too many chimneys, Mr Rodgers?’ So much for going home. She wanted to help this man she’d known all her life if she could.

  ‘Get away with you, girl. My wooden horse fell over as I was handing out the presents at the primary school.’

  ‘So you were Santa at Rosie’s school today. Rosie was that excited this morning I couldn’t get her to eat any breakfast.’ Emma found scissors to cut the red pants away from what appeared to be a very swollen ankle. ‘Who’s taken your place on the sleigh?’ Disappointed kids were not an option.

  ‘One of the teachers made up some story about Santa’s helpers being busy so he’d do the job. The kids accepted that, probably thinking they’d miss out on their presents if they didn’t.’ No remorse showed in Mr Claus’s face, just amusement at what a silly old coot he’d been, and flicks of pain whenever he moved his ankle, which he did too often.

  ‘Are you always this restless?’ Emma asked.

  ‘Me? Restless? Like I’ve ants in me pants, that’s me. Been like this for a while now. Night time’s the worst. Wife keeps threatening to move me to the spare bedroom.’

  Nixon raised his head. ‘I’ll check a few things while we’ve got you here. Any numbness anywhere? Walking tall or stooped?’

  ‘No numbness, can’t always straighten fully first thing in the morning. Getting old, that’s all.’ Behind the smiley face worry flickered, disappeared fast.

  Was Nixon thinking Parkinson’s? Emma shuddered, mentally crossing her fingers for this lovely old man, and plumped the pillows ready for him once they got him onto the bed. ‘There you go, Mr Rodgers. Let’s get you up here so Dr Wright can examine you thoroughly.’

  ‘This is where I take over.’ Nixon placed a hand under his patient’s arm. ‘I’m not having Emma flinging you over her shoulder this morning. Can you call us an orderly, Emma? Santa needs to go to Radiology. I’ll give him the once-over while you’re doing that. And then it’s time you clocked
off.’

  ‘On it. You take it easy, Mr Rodgers.’ The brazenness was dipping rapidly, the man looking more and more like a wizened old guy. ‘Speaking of your wife, want me to call her and let her know how you’re filling your afternoon?’

  ‘No can do. She’s in Auckland visiting the grandkids and doing the Christmas shopping. Bet I’ll need a second job to cover that.’ His smile was wistful.

  ‘I can talk to her for you,’ Nixon added his piece. ‘Or you can if you’re feeling up to it.’

  ‘No, leave it for now. Get me sorted first.’

  Emma glanced at Nixon, saw her concern reflected in his thoughtful gaze. Something wasn’t sitting right, but if their patient didn’t want his wife to know he was here then there was nothing they could do about it.

  ‘Orderly,’ he murmured, a slight lift to those full lips. ‘Then home.’

  Flip, flop. Her stomach did its new dance routine as she hurried away. How could one man’s lips do this to her stomach? Lips she hadn’t kissed, or touched, or any damned thing. Lie down, hormones. You’re on the way out, remember?

  *

  Nixon pumped his legs hard, the cycle eating up the forty-five kilometres out to Glenorchy. Sweat streamed off him, moulding his spandex shirt to his skin. Salt stung his eyes and plastered his hair to his scalp under the helmet. To his left, wavelets on Lake Wakatipu glittered in the late afternoon sun. High above, two paragliders winged their way over the water.

  Idyllic. That summed up Queenstown and its surroundings. Idyllic. The best move he’d ever made.

  A car sped past him, the wing mirror a whisker off his elbow. He raised his fist and vented uncharacteristically loudly and rudely. The driver couldn’t hear and he doubted there were people hiding in the bushes alongside the road to note his profanities.

  But damn, did cussing make him feel better. Lifted some of the weight bearing down on him from the moment Emma walked into the department that morning. He hadn’t slept a wink last night for thinking about that aborted conversation she’d tried to get started. Why would he consider telling her what made him tick when they wouldn’t be going anywhere with it? He’d got by for thirty-one years without discussing the day his family died, so what would be gained by opening that can of worms now? A sinking feeling was going on in his gut. Like if he didn’t open up his life would remain in this holding pattern. If ever there was a person he might be able to talk to, it was Emma. She’d understand what had driven him to withdraw from loving people. Wouldn’t she? She’d been to hell and back and was still a very loving woman.

  Pump, pump. He was pushing as hard as he’d ever done, needing his muscles to ache and his head to shut up. And Emma damned Hayes still managed to sneak in and wave at him. As if she were saying, ‘Don’t ignore me, I’m not going away.’

  Yeah, got that in spades. We work together, and we both need our jobs, love our work, won’t be moving out of the department any time soon. He had to find a way to stop thinking about her all the damned time.

  Push harder. The body wasn’t complaining enough yet.

  The first outlying houses in Glenorchy came into view as Nixon sped around a long, sweeping corner. He glanced at his watch, pride lifting his mood. Not bad.

  Then his phone chirped and dropped his mood back to ground zero.

  Ignore it.

  Except he was head of the emergency department. That wasn’t an option. He braked hard, the cycle sliding in the loose gravel on the edge of the road as he skidded to a stop.

  ‘Hello?’ If he sounded grumpy whoever was annoying him might go away.

  ‘Cameron here. Your Mr Rodgers’s ankle is all put back together with some shiny steel. Yanky’s paying him a visit tomorrow once he’s fully recovered from the surgery.’

  Yanky being the resident neurologist. ‘You agree with me?’

  ‘That our man might have Parkinson’s? Yep, afraid I do,’ Cameron confirmed.

  ‘That’d knock him off his sleigh if he hadn’t already come a cropper.’

  ‘Quite a character, isn’t he?’

  Nixon asked, ‘So what’s up?’ Cameron wouldn’t have phoned to talk about their patient unless it was urgent.

  ‘I’m knocking off. Feel up to a beer?’

  Nixon’s mouth watered instantly. He couldn’t think of anything better with all the fluid pouring off his body at the moment. ‘Could certainly use one. Only problem is, I’m out at Glenorchy—on the bike.’

  He hesitated. He didn’t often drop in for a beer with the guys, but cycling wasn’t banishing Emma from his head. ‘Where will you be?’

  ‘The Thirsty Pig.’

  ‘Put one up for me in forty-five. Pick an outside table. I won’t be smelling sweet.’ Nixon stuffed the phone back in its pouch and took off for his destination, eager to get back to town and that cold beer. Just what a bloke needed after a bit of exercise in this heat. And meeting up with the guys gave him a strange sense of belonging as he spun around the end of the road and aimed for Queenstown. Not strange, more like comfortable. A welcome distraction from Emma. Damned good, in fact. It had taken nearly a year, but finally he was getting to know his colleagues outside work, pushing aside the usual hesitation he had about getting too pally with people. Queenstown was working its magic, drawing him in and showing there was more to life than being a great specialist and an aloof relative or friend. Was it Queenstown’s magic or Emma’s?

  The front wheel wobbled dangerously and he fought to straighten it up without taking a dive onto the road. Pedalling hard didn’t stop other questions popping up. Had he learned to be reticent from Henry? That’d been nagging him for days.

  Focus, man. There’s a beer at the end of this. Think of nothing else.

  *

  ‘Get that down your throat.’ Cameron handed him a condensation-coated bottle moments after he leaned his bike against the outside wall and whipped off his helmet to join the surgeon and Yanky at an outdoor table.

  ‘That’s pure nectar,’ he said appreciatively after pouring a third of the liquid down his throat. ‘It’s hot out there.’

  ‘Only if you ride like a madman. Why do you do it?’ Cameron asked. ‘There’re lots of ways of keeping fit and having fun without going hell for leather on two skinny tyres that don’t look strong enough to hold your weight.’

  ‘He’s taken up kite flying,’ Yanky got in before Nixon could come up with an acerbic reply.

  The beer he’d been about to swallow snagged in the back of his throat. ‘I what?’

  ‘He what?’ Cameron also spluttered, but then he began laughing. ‘Kites? As in those things that are tied to string and lift off the ground only to crash back again, often getting broken in the process? I know I suggested tiddlywinks, but kites? For real?’

  Yanky had plenty more to offer. ‘There was a little girl attached to the other end of the string.’

  Think I can hear a phone call coming in. At the very least a text saying I’m urgently needed back at work, or any damned place but sitting here with these two comedians.

  ‘Knew there was a reason I didn’t do drinks with the guys.’

  ‘Can’t handle the pressure?’ Cameron gave him a shrewd nod. ‘Would that have been a little girl with dark curls and a stunning mother?’

  ‘Shut up, man.’

  Through a roar of laughter, Cameron said, ‘I like it when people take my advice.’ He drained his beer. ‘Your round.’

  ‘Your advice, your orders.’ Nixon stood up, debating whether to escape or buy some beers. The beer won out. He was parched. Also, if he left here then he’d just go home and for once his swanky house wasn’t at all appealing. It was empty, cold—lonely. Digging his wallet out, he headed inside to the bar.

  The guys weren’t done with him. The moment his backside hit the seat he got a grilling.

  ‘Emma Hayes, eh?’ was Cameron’s opening shot. The man sounded smug.

  ‘Been seeing her long?’ Yanky wasn’t any better.

  ‘I am not seeing her.’ Then
what the hell had he been doing following her down to the park after Abbie had told him where to find her? Taking her pulse to see if she was ready to return to work? If any pulse had needed reading then it would’ve been his. It had been out of kilter for days, starting when he took Emma home to the family farm out in Gibbston Valley. Or had it begun its crazy erratic beat earlier when he’d sat beside her hospital bed while she’d slept? Or back on the day she’d sobbed out her fears on his shoulder? The day he’d tried to pull away, and hadn’t quite managed.

  ‘Why ever not? Emma’s a great lady. A good match for you.’

  The beer soured in his mouth. Coming here was a bad idea. ‘I’m not a good match for her.’ He made to push up onto his feet.

  Cameron held up his hand. ‘Sorry, mate, just ribbing you. But for the record, I think you are. She’s got history that needs patience and caring and understanding.’

  ‘She does and all—from someone more settled than me.’

  ‘I hear her family didn’t run you off the property last week.’ That smirk didn’t suit Cameron. ‘That’s got to be a thumbs-up, if ever there was one.’

  Seemed nothing was private around this town. So he’d redirect the discussion, find out what he could. ‘You ever meet the ex?’ One thing he’d learned about this town was everyone knew everyone if they’d grown up here.

  ‘Stitched him back together once after a brawl he got into and lost.’

  ‘Hope you went easy on the pain relief.’

  ‘No comment. It was no surprise he died fighting. He was getting more and more out of control by the time Emma’s family ran him out of town. She did well getting away when she did.’

  Nixon’s heart died. Emma had been abused. He’d known that, but was Cameron intimating more had gone on? ‘Just as well the man is dead.’

  ‘I’ll drink to that.’ Yanky nodded. ‘Guess it’s my round.’

  He mightn’t like how the conversation had started, nor where it had gone, but Nixon was glad he’d joined these two. He was unused to letting his guard down, but they’d taken the choice out of his hands and he wasn’t offended or angry. It felt good to talk about Emma and learn she had so much support. Not that she’d ever ask for help from just anybody, but that it was there was good. The upside of smaller towns, he supposed.