THE MAVERICK DOCTOR AND MISS PRIM/ABOUT THAT NIGHT...

by Scarlet Wilson

  Tuna and pineapple pizza was an acquired taste. Isabel had sworn by spinach and anchovies. Even the thought sent a horrible tremor down her spine and made a smile dance across her face.

  Sometimes the memories were good. Sometimes the memories were fun.

  The typical teenage fights over clothes and boys had almost been blotted from her mind. The competition between them in medical school continued to hover around her. Isabel always had to be first to see their exam results. To see if she’d beaten Callie. But it had been a pretty even split. Both of them had excelled in different areas. Callie in planning, anatomy and biochemistry and Isabel in epidemiology, diagnostics and patient care. If things had gone to plan, they could have been a dynamite team.

  Callie leaned back in her chair, her appetite leaving her abruptly. It always happened like this.

  She was fine, she was focused. Then it would hit her again—what she’d lost. Just tumbling out of nowhere, like a granite rock permanently pressing on her chest.

  The grief counselor had told her she’d get over it. It would just take time. But every year—particularly if there was an event that Isabel had especially enjoyed—it just seemed to shadow her all the more.

  She turned her head to the right. The pile of paperwork about the type C containment building. The place that was currently having power issues. Would Isabel really have handled all this better? Would Isabel have been better organized than she was?

  Would she handle Sawyer better than she was?

  Her leg started to itch again and her hand automatically went to her scrub trousers and started scratching. She didn’t have time for this. She didn’t have time to be morose. She had a containment facility to sort out and there was no time like the present. Why should city hall officials get to sleep when she couldn’t? She took a bite of her pizza and lifted the phone.

  * * *

  The children were as settled as they could be. The parents had been calmed, and in the end Dan had decided to give Ben some sedation too. Nothing about this situation was ideal and the little guy had become hysterical when he’d realized there was a machine breathing for his brother.

  Sawyer breathed a sigh of relief. His too-big scrub trousers seemed to have given up trying to stay in place, partly due to the missing elastic at the waist and partly due to being weighed down by the phone in his pocket.

  What time was it in Atlanta? He looked at his watch and tried to count it out. But what did it matter? Violet had been trying to phone him for hours. Whether he liked it or not, it was time to call her back.

  He lifted his hand. Then pressed it down again on the desk.

  He couldn’t remember the last time his hand had shaken like that.

  Come on. This was easy. It was one phone call.

  So, how come the voices in his head had to will him on?

  He took another breath and lifted his hand again, trying to ignore the shake. His fingers slipped and he missed the buttons.

  Darn it. What kind of a fool was he?

  Three-year-old kids could dial a phone—why couldn’t he?

  Concentrate. Get this over with. It would only be a few minutes out of his life.

  The first time would be the worst. Once he’d done it, the heavy weight pressing on his chest might finally lift and let him breathe again.

  Stop thinking about it, you moron—just dial!

  He pressed the buttons on the phone, praying it might automatically jump to voicemail.

  He didn’t even hear the first ring. “DPA. Can I help you?”

  “Violet Connelly, please.”

  There was a few moments’ silence as the call was connected. He resisted the huge temptation to hang up and hide.

  Hang up and go and find a beer.

  “Violet Connelly.”

  He could almost picture her in his mind, doing ten things at once with the phone perched between her shoulder and her ear. Even at this time in the morning she’d be multi-tasking.

  “Hello?”

  Patience had never been her strong suit.

  “Hey, Violet.” His voice cracked.

  There was a loud crash. All he could imagine was that her chair had just landed on the floor. “Sawyer? Sawyer?”

  He cringed, guilt flooding through him. The concern and anxiety in her voice was crystal clear. He should have texted her hours ago. Why hadn’t he? Ten seconds. That’s all it would have taken.

  Scrub that. He should have phoned her six years ago. Not just send the odd random text from an occasional phone.

  “Yeah, it’s Sawyer.”

  Some not very ladylike words spilled down the phone. The concern had quickly been replaced by anger. “‘Hey, Violet’? Is that the best you can do? Six years, Matt. Six years!”

  “I know. I’m sorry but—”

  “You’re sorry? You’re sorry? You’ve got to be joking. I’ve been trying to phone you for hours. Hours. You logged that call here hours ago, Matt. You must have known I would hear about it straight away. I’ve been trying to contact you ever since. I’ve been frantic.”

  “Violet, please—”

  “Please? Please?” It was obvious she wasn’t going to let him speak. Six years of worry and pent-up frustration were erupting all over him. “How do you think I feel? How do think it felt to know that after six years you phone the DPA and ask to speak to Callum Ferguson? Callum Ferguson? You must have known I would be here. You must have known the news would spread like wildfire. I don’t care that it’s about a smallpox outbreak. I don’t care that it’s the scariest outbreak we’ve ever dealt with. I want you to stop for five minutes and think about what that felt like for me.”

  Wow.

  One thing was for sure, she’d been waiting to say that for a long time.

  If Violet could see him now she would see that for the first time in years he was hanging his head in shame. “Give me a break, sis.”

  “Give you a break? Right now, I’d like to break every bone in your body.”

  Ouch. Harsh. And definitely not Violet’s normal response. During the biggest potential outbreak in years, she’d just found her lost brother. She must be stressed up to her eyeballs. The added fact that no one knew he was her brother couldn’t be helping—and she wasn’t finished yet.

  “Why haven’t you answered my texts? Why haven’t you answered my phone calls?” He could hear it now. The tiny waver in her voice. Violet never liked anyone to know when she was upset. He could almost picture the glimmer of tears in her eyes.

  He sighed. “I’ve been busy, sis. I’ve got some really sick kids here.” He leaned back against the wall, “Plus I’ve got an invasion of DPA faces that I’d hoped never to see again.”

  He stopped talking. He didn’t need to say any more. Violet knew exactly how he felt about all this. He’d never actually said the words to her, but his sister knew him better than anyone.

  “You can do this, Sawyer.” Her voice was almost a whisper. A cheerleading call for him. After all this time she was still trying to instill confidence and strength into him.

  She was the one person in the world who could chew him out one minute, then fight to the death for him a second later.

  Family. He’d almost forgotten what it felt like.

  “I’m just in the wrong place at the wrong time again, Violet. Story of my life.”

  Silence again. She realized the enormity of his words. The price he’d paid the last time had almost destroyed him.

  “Are you safe? Did you put yourself at risk before you realized what it was?”

  It was natural question—a sisterly question—but it still grated. Especially when he’d been part of the DPA. “I was in the same room as the kids, breathing the same air. I took precautions as soon as I had reason for concern, but they didn’t have the appropriate masks.
I had to send the other member of staff away—she’s pregnant.”

  He heard Violet’s sharp intake of breath. She knew exactly the impact that must have had on him.

  “So, for a couple of hours it was just me treating the kids. You know how it is, Violet. That’s the way it’s got to be. I’ve had my smallpox vaccination. Now I just need to wait.”

  “I don’t like this. I don’t like any of this. I’ve waited months to hear from you again—eight measly texts in six years—and now this? All I’ve ever wanted to know is that you were safe, Sawyer, but when I finally hear from you, you’re in the most dangerous place of all. It just doesn’t seem real.”

  Sawyer felt himself bristle. He didn’t want to get into this with Violet. He didn’t want to answer a million questions about where he’d been or what he’d been doing. That was a conversation for another day—and maybe not even then.

  And even though he could hear the note of desperation in her voice, he just couldn’t go there.

  “How’s Callum? Have you heard if he’s okay? I tried to call the hospital earlier, but they wouldn’t tell me anything.”

  There was hesitation at the other end. She was obviously trying to decide what to tell him. “He’s had a massive MI. They took him for angioplasty hours ago and apparently it went well.”

  There it was again. That tightening feeling around his chest. The way it always came when things were outside his control.

  He hated the fact that even though he was a doctor he couldn’t always help the people he loved.

  He changed the subject.

  “What do you know about Callie Turner? She seems a little out of her depth.”

  “You think?” Violet’s answer was snappy, verging on indignant. She was obviously suffering from the same lack of sleep that he was. He was forgetting what time it was. “Callie’s one of the best doctors I’ve worked with. She does everything to the letter. She’s very focused, very ordered. Don’t get in her way, Sawyer, she won’t like it.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know.” In a way he was surprised. Violet was always honest with him. She would tell him if she had any doubts about Callie. The fact that she hadn’t mentioned even one was interesting. He decided to take a new tack. “What about her scars?”

  “What scars? Callie has scars?”

  She sounded genuinely surprised. Didn’t the women in the DPA locker room look at each other? Maybe he should call them all on their observation skills.

  “Yeah. A big one, snaking right down her leg. She didn’t get it at work, then?”

  “How come you’ve seen Callie’s scars? Ah...the protective clothing. I get it. No, I had no idea Callie had a scar. She definitely didn’t get it at work. She’s never had any accidents here. It must be from years ago.”

  He leaned against the wall just outside the children’s room again. All of a sudden he was embarrassed. He hadn’t had a proper conversation with his sister in the last few years and he was asking her about other people? He should be ashamed of himself. He took a deep breath, “How are you, Violet? Are you okay?”

  “How do you think I am? The biggest potential outbreak in who knows how long and, oh, yeah, my brother’s in the middle of it. The DPA’s in an uproar. Some rooms are deathly silent and in others you can’t even hear yourself think. We’ve got another couple of outbreaks in other places but none like this.” She lowered her voice, as if she was hiding her conversation from someone near her. “What do you think? Do you really think it’s smallpox?”

  He blew a stream of air out through his lips. “That’s the million-dollar question. I’m sure it’s a pox—and it definitely isn’t chicken pox. But am I sure it’s smallpox?” He shook his head. “I just don’t know, sis. That’s for the lab rats to tell us.”

  He heard her laugh at his affectionate name for his friends who worked down in the labs. “By the way, Frank says hello. He also cursed a little. He was just about to start his vacation when your lab samples arrived. He says you owe him and his wife a trip to Hawaii.”

  Memories started to come flooding back into Sawyer’s mind. Memories he’d blocked out for a long time. He’d worked with Frank Palmer for six years. They were the same age and had got married around the same time. When Helen had died, he just hadn’t been able to stay in touch. Everything was a permanent reminder.

  Frank’s wife Lucy was a petite, gorgeous blonde who had probably had her suitcase packed with a different bikini for every day of their vacation. She would have been mad.

  Helen and Lucy had been good friends. They’d made plans together and enjoyed each other’s company. Lucy had been heartbroken when Helen had died.

  His heart gave a little squeeze. It wasn’t just his sister he hadn’t considered.

  He hadn’t considered other people. Other people who had been devastated by Helen’s death. He’d been too busy focusing on his own grief to allow anyone else’s to touch him.

  “Tell Frank I’m sorry—no, tell Lucy I’m sorry.” He hesitated for a second then asked, “Frank and Lucy—do they have any kids?”

  It had been another of Helen and Lucy’s grand plans, that they would all have kids at the same time. They’d always joked that their imaginary offspring could be prom king and queen together.

  He heard Violet take a deep breath and her voice had a new edge to it, a harsher edge. “You’ve been away too long, Sawyer. Frank and Lucy lost their daughter last year to stillbirth. It was an extremely traumatic time—Lucy nearly died and had to have a hysterectomy. They can’t have any more children.”

  He felt as if someone had just twisted a knife in his guts. For a few fleeting seconds he’d been jealous. Jealous that Frank still had Lucy. That he still had a future with his wife.

  Violet’s words sent chills across his body. It just showed you—you never knew. You never knew the minute when things could come crashing down all around you.

  And now he was feeling something else. Disgust with himself. He hadn’t been there to support his friends in their time of need. People who had reached out to him when he’d been at his lowest ebb.

  It didn’t matter that he’d walked away and ignored everyone. He could still remember every card, every phone call, every email, every handshake.

  Helen would have been livid with him. He could almost hear her reading him the Riot Act.

  Touching reality again was making him realize that her death hadn’t affected only him. It had affected everyone around them.

  Some of the contact tracers in the team could barely look at him today.

  And it wasn’t a reflection on them. It was a reflection on him.

  They had no idea how he would react to them. How he would react if they brought up the past and expressed their sympathies about Helen—even after all this time

  Violet cleared her throat at the end of the line and he snapped back to attention. “I take it you’re still flying under the radar in there? They haven’t made the connection between us?” he asked.

  “No. No one knows.” He heard her breathe a sigh of relief. “Or if anybody knows, they’re not saying anything. Evan Hunter’s walking around here like a bear with a sore head. I’ve spent the last few hours trying to avoid him. He didn’t take it well that you’re involved in this.”

  Sawyer couldn’t help the smile that automatically spread across his face. “He’ll get over it,” he murmured. He looked at his watch. “Hate to say it, sis, but I need to go. I might have a chance to get my head down for a couple of hours. One of the pediatricians has just arrived to share the responsibility of the kids. We’ve just had to intubate one of them. This might be the only chance I get to sleep in a while.”

  “Okay, Sawyer. Stay safe and keep an eye on Callie. She has lots of good qualities. And keep your phone switched on. If I call and you don’t answer...”

  “I get it, s
is. Keep your head down and stay out of Evan Hunter’s way. He’ll find something else to gripe about soon.”

  He stared at the phone as he heard her hang up, puzzled by her parting shot about Callie. It was almost like a little beacon, glowing orange in the dark sea. She knew exactly how to play him. Some things never changed.

  CHAPTER SIX

  VIOLET HAD ONLY just replaced the receiver when Evan Hunter came stomping across the room, shouting orders as he went. They might be an hour ahead of Chicago but hadn’t anyone told him it was six o’clock in the morning and most of the staff had been up all night?

  “Somebody get that man a coffee,” she grumbled as she slid her chair under the desk and pulled up the screen she’d been reviewing. It was a distribution model of the potential spread of the smallpox virus. They’d started working on this while they had still been trying to determine if the passengers on the plane had been exposed or not.

  “Violet! Violet!”

  Rats. It was almost as if he had an internal radar and could hear her thoughts.

  “What?” She turned to face him as he hovered above her, obviously irritated by her lack of instant response. “What’s happened?”

  “Where have you been? I’ve been looking for you?”

  Darn it. She’d only ducked out for five minutes to speak to Matt. How on earth could he have known that?

  There was only way to shut him up. “Ladies’ room.” She gave him a sarcastic smile. That was all the information he would need.

  He scowled at her. “I need you to get some background on Matt Sawyer for me. Find out where he’s been for the last six years. Find out how he managed to end up in an E.R. in Chicago.”

  She was stunned. It was the last thing she had been expecting. A few hours ago it had been a whole hullaballoo about a graph of the potential spread of smallpox. And, well, yes, she could almost understand it. That was just the kind of thing he wanted to appear instantly before his eyes. Stuff the grunt work. He practically expected people to work at the speed of light. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d told him in no uncertain terms that data needed to be checked and rechecked, assimilated and analyzed beyond any shadow of a doubt.