by Ann Mcintosh
‘And I’m not?’ Sam queried with a smile.
Apart from a youngish man, sleeping like the dead on a most uncomfortable-looking couch, the staffroom was empty—but it was only six in the morning and he’d probably been on duty all night.
The showers were easy to find, but the cubicles were small, so Sam set her backpack down in the adjoining changing room, removed the sleeping bag—why on earth had she not thrown it away?—and dug into her pack for the meagre selection of new clothes she’d bought at Bangkok airport.
Four bras, four pairs of knickers, three pairs of socks and a new pair of sneakers, which had cost more than double all her other purchases put together. She found her toiletries, too, deodorant, toothpaste and brush, a wide-toothed comb that could handle her unruly locks, and a couple of strong hair clips she hoped could hold those locks in place.
Next, she removed a plastic-wrapped bundle and took out her stethoscope, watch and tiny torch.
A cupboard on one side of the changing room yielded sets of scrubs stacked under small, medium and large labels. Sam selected a large, which would swim on her small frame but experience told her she needed them for her height, though she’d also need something to use as a belt to hold up the trousers.
And finally, leaving everything she wanted to wear on the small bench in the cubicle, she stripped off and stepped under the water, cold at first but then so deliciously warm she could have stayed there for hours.
Unfortunately, the time she’d spent with her mother in the small hospital near the Thai-Cambodian border—three weeks that had become seven when the typhoon had taken out the access road—had taught her the importance of clean water. She used soap from the dispenser on the wall to wash her hair and then the rest of her body, sluicing away the stiffness of thirty hours’, mostly uncomfortable, travel, and whatever foreign microbes she might have been carrying.
Once clean she roughly towelled her hair as dry as she could get it, used another towel on her body, then dressed in new underwear and the scrub suit—way too big but still better than a medium that would have her ankles and wrists sticking out.
She dragged the comb through her hair, taming it sufficiently to pull it up onto the top of her head and secure it with a couple of clips. Somewhere there’d be a supply of bandanas—one to cover her hair and another she could possibly use as a belt—but in the meantime, with a white coat purloined from the cupboard—she felt presentable enough to find a café or canteen and have breakfast before fronting up for work.
In the outer passage, she found a row of lockers and spotted an empty one with a key in the door. She dumped her gear into it, locked it and pocketed the key. Now to find the canteen and some much-needed food.
Excitement at being back at work and back at home—back where she belonged, even if was a new hospital in a new city—made her want to skip along the corridor, but hunger was gnawing at her stomach. She’d been travelling for hours and she knew she had to eat before starting work as a senior PICU physician.
* * *
Andy looked up from the meal he was eating, unsure whether it was dinner or breakfast—just that he’d needed it after a more than hectic night on call for the PICU. The little boy with the burns to the soles of his feet had reacted badly to the pain relief they’d given him in the Emergency Department and had had to be stabilised before they could turn their attention to his injuries.
Redheaded little boy...
Andy smiled to himself. He’d once heard a statistic about children with self-inflicted burns that suggested nearly all of them were redheaded boys, and since he’d heard it he’d been surprised by how often it had turned out to be true.
Just then, he noticed another redhead who entered the canteen. She was anything but a boy, and he felt an all-too-familiar jolt in his chest.
He’d known she was coming, of course—how could he not? As head of the PICU he’d read her résumé and been present at her interview. But the interview itself had been by a very static-filled radio link-up to some obscure place on the Thai border with Cambodia, and he hadn’t seen her.
Not physically at least.
But in his mind’s eye, she’d been as clear as day—a tall, redheaded woman who strode through life towards whatever it could throw at her, prepared to meet and beat any challenge.
Except that the last time he’d seen her she’d been in a hospital bed, the scattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks standing out against sheet-white skin, fury flashing in her pale green eyes as she’d told him to get out and never come back...
‘Now!’ she’d added in a strangled voice, and he’d left—walked away, his heart heavy with the loss of his best friend and aching for the woman on the bed who had looked so lost and vulnerable. Sorrow, anger and grief had churned inside him—fear for her, too—and words he should never have said had come out of his mouth. But now his head had told him just how stupid he had been, virtually accusing her of Nick’s death, adding to her pain, while his heart?
Who knew where his heart had been back then...?
Life had thrown plenty at her since then, yet here she was—shoulders back, head held high, walking into the place as if she owned it.
Hiding the butterflies in her stomach—surely she’d worked in enough places to no longer have that uneasy feeling when she entered somewhere new—Sam crossed the canteen towards the self-serve shelves. She slotted onto the end of a small queue of people either coming off duty and needing food because they’d been too busy to eat all night or going on duty but needing sustenance before they tackled a new day.
She grabbed a packet of sandwiches and a bottle of some greeny-yellow juice and headed for the checkout, suddenly aware of a prickly feeling on her skin, as though someone was watching her.
She glanced around at what appeared to be a typical crowd in any hospital canteen at change of shifts, with subdued conversation and exhaustion leaking into the air. Sam paid her bill and headed for an empty table she’d spotted on the far side of the room. She had an hour before she was due to report to the head of department, but she’d eat then go on up to the ward, explain who she was and familiarise herself with the place—once she’d found a belt.
‘You’ve gone all out to impress your new colleagues in that outfit,’ a voice said above her head, and as her heart registered just who the voice belonged to, Andy Wilkie lowered his tall, solid frame into the chair opposite her.
‘Andy?’
Damn her voice! The word came out as a pathetic squeak!
‘What are you doing here?’
Much better—practically a demand...
‘Did you not do any research on the place before you applied for a job?’
Andy’s expressive eyebrows lifted above blue, blue eyes.
Sardonically?
Damn the man!
‘I saw the ad online in an internet café in Bangkok. I’d just got off a flight from London and knew my stay with Mum would only be a few weeks, so I shot off an application and résumé while I was there. But I didn’t have time to look into either the hospital or the staffing side of things.’
She hoped she sounded more composed than she felt, because the realisation that she’d be working with Andy had caused panic and despair to swell inside her.
The same Andy who’d blamed her for his best friend’s death...
Which she probably had been...
But that was her guilt to cope with, her memories to haunt her, and right now she had to make some rational explanation about why this had come as a total shock. This was the start of a whole new life for her—she had to put the past behind her and start afresh.
She slammed the door closed on those painful memories, and remembered instead the good times when she, Nick and Andy had been friends—good friends who had laughed together. Although she’d seen less of Andy after she’d married Nick...
But right
now she had to explain. Preferably without sounding as if she was making excuses.
‘I was spending a few weeks working in a small hospital—more a clinic, really—near the Thai border with Cambodia when the phone interview was set up. Actually, the interview on my side was mostly static. Were you one of the voices on the phone?’
‘Of course!’ he replied, no glimmer of expression on his face. ‘I am, after all, the department head.’
Her boss!
Andy had employed her in spite of what had happened between them in the past?
‘But you must have known it was me. After all, you had my application and résumé,’ she said, trying to ease the tension in her body, praying it wasn’t revealed in her voice. ‘You gave me the job.’
He half smiled, and while her heart skipped a beat at the sign of this softening on his part, his voice was still cool and unemotional as he said, ‘You were by far the best applicant. Anyone who’s done eighteen months in the PICU in the biggest children’s hospital in London has had more experience than all the other applicants put together.’
Sam closed her eyes, just briefly, stilling the confusion inside her.
She could do this.
She could work with Andy.
Actually, she doubted there were many better than Andy to work with. He’d headed east to America after Nick’s death, while she’d fled west, first to Perth on the other side of the country and then London—the other side of the world—before spending three weeks that had grown to nearly seven with her mother in the tiny medical outpost on the Thai-Cambodian border.
Of course she could do it!
Play it cool!
‘I’m sorry about the scrubs, but we had a typhoon a month ago just when I was due to leave, and the road to the nearest town was washed away. I finally got out, and onto a flight from Bangkok last night, changed flights in Sydney, and came straight from the local airport.’
‘With no clothes?’
He sounded so disbelieving she had to smile.
‘I could hardly take my winter clothes to Thailand, but I did buy some new undies at the airport in Bangkok,’ she assured him, ‘and as today was to be an orientation day, I’m hoping I’ll have some time later to get out and buy something new. I’ll need to book into a hotel, too, until I find somewhere to stay.’
He shook his head—disbelief at her story clear in his eyes.
‘I’d have been here a month ago if it hadn’t been for the typhoon. Plenty of time to have found things to wear and a place to live!’ she said, cross with herself for the defensive justification.
‘Well, eat up and we’ll do the business side of things, and then I’ll show you around the hospital. Just get some clothes, but don’t bother with a hotel. I can give you a bed at my apartment for a night or two.’
He flung the words at her so casually—coolly—she didn’t have a clue how to take them.
Simple politeness?
Or exasperation that she was so disorganised?
‘You don’t have to do that. I’ll be fine in a hotel,’ she told him, not adding that she’d also be far more comfortable away from him.
Staying with Andy? The very thought had tension tightening her nerves...
He studied her, eyes revealing nothing, although the words, when they came, were cold—their meaning clear.
‘You are the widow of my best friend, of course you should stay with me, Sam.’
The best friend you think I killed, Sam thought as she drained the rest of her juice to help swallow the dry piece of sandwich.
But given that, could she really stay with him, even for a few days while she found somewhere else to live?
Although the offer might just be a peace offering. And it wasn’t going to be for ever, she might have found somewhere else to stay by tomorrow...
And they had been friends.
* * *
And just what were you thinking? Andy asked himself. Inviting her to stay like that?
Especially as just seeing her again had stirred up so much consternation in his gut.
Even in baggy scrubs and her wet hair bunched somehow on the top of her head, she was still one of the most attractive women he’d ever met.
But she’d ended up with Nick—and, as far as Nick was concerned, she’d belonged to him. But could a woman as strong-willed and determined as Sam ever belong to anyone? Nick had certainly thought so, and somehow she’d made their marriage work. Though, knowing Nick, that wouldn’t have been easy...
Why was he thinking of the past when it was the immediate future he needed to solve?
It could be weeks before she found a place, months even, because the summer holiday season was approaching fast and accommodation owners made more money with short-term holiday rentals at this time of the year.
So why the hell had he suggested she stay with him, even for a couple of nights?
Exhaustion was the answer. He’d been operating the department without a first-class number two for nearly six months, the previous incumbent having left in a huff for not getting the top job. Others had filled in, of course, but none of them had wanted to take on too much responsibility for a job they’d never get.
But he’d asked her now and he had to live with her answer. Maybe she’d feel just as uncomfortable about the arrangement as he did and would find somewhere else really quickly.
But there was no time for conjecture, Sam was already on her feet, pushing back her chair, the far too big scrubs sliding down her legs to reveal a startling pair of lacy purple panties.
Scarlet with embarrassment, she grabbed the trousers and pulled them up, glaring at him as she muttered, ‘There was very little choice of underwear at Bangkok airport!’
‘Great colour!’ he said, mainly to see her blush deepen. ‘Pity you can’t wear them on the outside like a superhero.’
She looked seriously at him and he guessed she was wondering how things would be between them, working together in the PICU.
‘I’m no superhero,’ she said quietly. ‘But I’ve learned a lot and can do my job.’
And having put him right back in his place, she offered a small smile before adding, ‘But right now I need a bit of string or something to hold up these trousers.’
She marched ahead of him out of the canteen, one hand holding the errant scrub trousers tightly to her waist.
He followed close behind her, his head still asking why the hell he’d done this—chosen her for the job when he’d known it would mean the pair of them working closely together.
Yes, she’d been the best candidate and he had no doubt she’d be superb, but that strong niggle of attraction—he’d always hesitated to call it more—he’d felt from the first moment he and Nick had laid eyes on her, in the staff’s favourite bar across the road from their old hospital, had never really gone away.
He flinched with embarrassment as he remembered that night. He and Nick had done Rock, Paper, Scissors to see who’d ask her out and the rest, as the saying went, was history. Sam and Nick had been married within three months, and he’d managed to distance himself from the happy couple as much as possible. Nick had been his friend from childhood—no way could he be lusting after Nick’s wife...
‘Something to keep my trousers up,’ that same woman reminded him, bringing him out of the past and back to the present—and to the decision that as Nick’s widow Sam was even more unattainable.
‘There’ll be a bungy cord in the janitors’ room—everyone needs bungy cords.’
He ducked in front of her to lead the way, but as he passed, he couldn’t help wondering how she was feeling about this. She’d certainly been startled to see him, so obviously hadn’t had time to learn much about the new hospital or its PICU staffing.
He opened a door on the right and rummaged around through miscellaneous junk, finally finding not a bungy cord b
ut a ball of twine.
‘Put your hands out from your sides while I measure how much we’ll need,’ he said, stepping behind her and unrolling the twine, wrapping it around her waist—not easy when one hand still held tightly to the trousers—until his fingers met at the front.
‘Leave enough to tie a bow,’ she said, grabbing at the other side of the trousers before they slid down again. ‘I don’t want to be cutting myself out of it later.’
He didn’t answer—couldn’t. This was Sam, right here in front of him, more or less in his arms...
He’d denied this attraction, even to himself, for the three long years she and Nick had been married. He’d avoided her—avoided seeing her with Nick—and now she was here, and her closeness filled his senses. The smell of her seemed to invade his whole body.
It was hard to deny his attraction now, when she was so close.
So why the hell had he asked her to stay with him?
And why had she agreed? Especially given how much he must have hurt her with his accusation as she had lain in hospital...
Or had she agreed?
Not in as many words.
She just hadn’t outright refused.
There’d surely be a hotel available—could he find her one?
Or would that look churlish?
Yep!
And it wasn’t as if he’d asked her to live with him, He’d just offered her a bed until she found something else.
Soon, he hoped...
He pulled back, away from her, the twine ball clutched in his hands. He had to get a life, find a diversion, take out a woman, any woman—anything to keep Sam out of his system.
He found a knife and cut the length, then handed it to her to tie it around her own waist, easing further away from her, his mind churning with the knowledge that she still had such an effect on him.
* * *
Sam tied the twine around her waist then turned the top of the trousers over it so the tunic hung neatly over them—more or less. Fiddling, fiddling, giving herself time to get over the startling discovery that Andy’s arms around her—innocent as the movement had been—had brought heat to her cheeks and sent shivers down her spine.
