Pregnant Midwife On His Doorstep

by Marion Lennox

  She thought back to her own cramped room, her nursing accommodation. Yes, her family had hurt her, but still every spare inch was covered with memories, of friends as well as family. She hadn’t been able to stick things on the walls so she’d bought sheets of plaster board and propped them up so she had almost enough space to fit every face she wanted to remember.

  This chopping off of his past...it seemed almost like an amputation. She thought of patients she’d nursed in the past after losing limbs. Of phantom pain that stayed with them for ever.

  Oh, Josh...

  But where was he?

  She walked through to an empty kitchen thinking, had he gone to try and help the artists on the far side of the island? Surely not. She wasn’t even game to open a door to see what was happening.

  But she did head to the internal door leading to the garage—just to check—and drew in her breath as she saw the space where his truck should be.

  Oh, hell. More heroics?

  But even as she thought it, the remote-controlled door started swinging upwards and she had to retreat as a blast of wind almost knocked her back into the house.

  She waited, knowing he had to have time to drive in and close the door to give him a weather seal so he could get into the house. What she wanted, though, was to rush out and...

  And what? Yell, that’s what.

  He’d put himself in harm’s way. Without her.

  Josh.

  She hardly knew the man. What was she about, leaning against the wall, her body shaking as if she’d been in danger herself, all over again.

  The sounds of the wind blasting into the garage ceased. The truck door slammed and seconds later Josh opened the door into the house.

  He looked appalling. He was wearing the same pants and sweater he’d been wearing the night before but they were soaked and coated with debris. His deep black hair, wavy when she’d last seen it, was standing almost upright. His scar was almost disguised by grime.

  He’d opened the door with his left hand. His right was held tight against his sweater, and she could see bright crimson welling underneath.

  ‘What the hell have you been doing?’ Okay, that was not the way she’d been trained to react to injury. She should be calmly neutral, non-judgmental—whatever—but she was still shaking and her professional self had deserted her.

  ‘Being dumb,’ he told her, and then he grinned. ‘But wow it’s wild outside. There’s a massage place in town that advertises salt scrubs. They should ship clients over here right now.’

  His eyes were smiling, encouraging her to relax. Her voice had been shrill. Verging on hysterics? She took a deep breath and tried again.

  ‘So you thought you’d pop out and see what hundred-mile-an-hour wind feels like? Josh, what have you done to your hand?’

  ‘Cut it on tin,’ he said, ruefully, glancing down at his blood-soaked sweater. ‘I did it just then. A sheet of corrugated iron was trying to batter its way against the shutters on the windward side of this place. Left to its own devices, it might have pierced them.’ His smile appeared again, reassuring despite the filth of his face. ‘Nothing to worry about, Hannah.’

  ‘You went out in the truck—to remove tin?’

  ‘No.’ His smile faded. ‘I’m worried about Skye and Mick and the kids. The wind’s died a little since last night. I thought... I’d check.’

  She was watching his hand. The bleeding was sluggish. Instinctively she reached out and caught it.

  ‘Are you sure it’s only your hand?

  ‘I’m sure.’ He tried to pull back but she was having none of it. A gash was running from wrist down to his thumb. ‘It’s okay, Hannah,’ he said, gently as if she was the one who was hurt. ‘It’s just blood.’

  ‘Let’s get it cleaned up,’ she said, a bit unsteadily. ‘So, Mick and Skye...did you reach them?’

  ‘No,’ he said, gentleness gone. ‘The track’s washed out and I can’t see where to go. The first sandhill saw me bogged. It’s taken me half an hour to get back here.’

  Anger flooded in, fierce and strong. ‘You tried that on your own? You could have been killed.’

  ‘There’s a note on the fridge,’ he told her. ‘I figured the worst that could happen was that I’d be stuck in the truck until the storm petered out. Which it should do by late this afternoon, by the way. I was safe.’

  ‘Yeah, safe,’ she muttered. The cut looked jagged. Dirty. ‘This needs stitches.’

  ‘I’ll pull it together with Steri-Strips.’

  ‘It needs more than Steri-Strips.’ She was trying to lighten her voice, but the shake was still there. ‘So isn’t it lucky your first rescue was a nurse who has a nice line in needlework?’

  ‘Hannah...’ His good hand came up to grip her shoulder. ‘It’s okay. We’re safe.’

  ‘I know I’m safe,’ she retorted. ‘But for you to do such a stupid thing without me...’

  ‘I’d hardly take an eight-months pregnant—’

  ‘Nurse.’ She practically yelled. ‘Can you forget the eight-months-pregnant bit? I’m a nurse. Get into the kitchen and let me fix that hand.’

  ‘The dogs—’

  ‘Are fine. Safe, warm, happy. Thanks to you.’

  ‘I wish—’

  ‘Yeah, that Mick and Skye and the kids are the same. I get that. But you’ve done your best and there’s nothing more you can do until the storm eases.’ She hesitated. ‘You said...this afternoon...’

  ‘I still have satellite connection,’ he told her. ‘Amazingly the dish on the roof seems to be staying in place so I can see the forecast. The worst of the cyclone went through about three this morning but it’s slow in moving away. By this evening, though, it’ll still be windy but negotiable.’ He hesitated, then added...

  ‘Hannah, I’ve been onto the authorities. They know of your aunt’s death. They also know of my concerns about Skye and Mick. There’s nothing they can do, though. No helicopter or boat can get near the island in this weather. And... I checked on your aunt. I’ve laid her in her bed, covered her, done what I can.’

  It took only that. All this and he’d taken the time to give her aunt the decency of dignity in death. Had he known how much the thought of her aunt still slumped in her chair had been doing her head in?

  ‘I... Thank you.’ It had almost killed her to leave her aunt. That he’d done this in this storm...

  ‘I figured I had to check on her before I rang the authorities.’

  ‘In case I’d made a mistake?’

  ‘I know you well enough now to accept mistakes aren’t your style.’

  ‘Really?’ she said, and glanced down at her swollen midriff and winced. ‘If you want to believe that...’ She took a breath and managed a smile. ‘Okay, hold that thought. I don’t make mistakes and I’m a very good needlewoman. You have local anaesthetic in that amazing medical kit I saw last night? Everything I need? Then let’s get you cleaned up and sutured before I remember just how many mistakes I’ve made in the past and find myself suturing your hand to your left ear.’

  He sat at the kitchen table, his hand on a towel. Hannah sat beside him.

  She’d brought in a table lamp so she could see better. She had her instruments set out neatly beside her. The local anaesthetic had taken effect, her head was bent over her work and she was concentrating. Fiercely.

  It’d be unusual for midwives to suture, Josh knew, but suturing would have been part of her training. Sometimes in the pressure of emergency rooms, with multiple casualties, there was no choice but to hand the job of stitching to a competent nurse.

  And she was competent. There’d been no hesitation in the way she’d faced the task, neither had there been hesitation in her use of the anaesthetic. She’d double checked with him, but he had the feeling it was only a formality. Her care with cleaning, debriding and now stitching was as skilful as a
ny surgeon’s.

  He was no longer watching his hand, though. He was watching her. The copper curls wisping around her face. The smattering of freckles on her nose. The tip of her tongue emerging at the side of her mouth, a sure sign of concentration. Her fierce green eyes...

  A woman to be reckoned with.

  The unknown Ryan should have had his head read to abandon such a woman, he thought suddenly. What an idiot.

  He watched her face, her intentness, her total focus, and he thought...

  She was so alone. She needed...

  What he needed?

  What was he thinking? He dragged his thoughts back into line with a jerk. He was a loner. He’d made that decision and he had every intention of sticking to it. Just because one needy female had crashed into his life in a storm...

  Was she needy?

  Of course she was. She might come across as fierce and competent, but she could surely use his help.

  Maybe he could help her without getting involved himself?

  And that was a dumb thought, too. Why was she needy? She’d organised herself a job, accommodation, childcare. She had friends.

  Who didn’t care for her as they should. She was a woman who deserved to be cared for.

  She was tying off the last of the sutures now, and the compulsion to put his hand on those bright curls, to feel them slip through his fingers, was almost overwhelming.

  No!

  He was tired, he decided. His normal defences were down and, besides, he didn’t even know this woman.

  Why did it feel like he did?

  Why did it feel like he wanted...?

  He couldn’t want.

  ‘Right.’ She popped a dressing over the stitches and beamed her satisfaction. ‘It’s a beautiful job if I say so myself. But now, Josh O’Connor, it’s time for bed.’

  It was so much what he was thinking that he blinked, but her smile wasn’t the least bit sexy. It wasn’t the least bit...inappropriate. She was smiling kindly, like she’d just patched up a kid with a scraped knee and was telling said kid what to do next. Bed meant just that. Bed.

  ‘Shower first,’ she told him. ‘But keep that hand dry. Use a surgical glove and hold it out of the water. Then hit your bed and stay there until you’ve hit the other side of exhaustion.’

  ‘I’m not—’

  ‘Exhausted? Pull the other leg, Josh O’Connor. I’ll wake you if I need you. I promise that, and I keep my promises, unlike some martyr doctors I could mention.’

  ‘I didn’t promise.’

  ‘I believe you did,’ she said serenely, and stood and started clearing the table. ‘So what are you waiting for? Go.’

  What was he waiting for? He stood, and for a moment the world rocked a little. He was exhausted, he conceded. But still...

  Did he want to go to bed and leave this woman?

  ‘Go,’ she said, putting her hands on her hips and fixing him with a glare fierce enough to skewer. ‘You’re wasting time.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ he said weakly.

  He looked at those fierce eyes, those dimples, those gorgeous freckles and he didn’t want to go at all.

  But as the lady said, he was wasting time. It hurt but she was right. He took a deep breath, snagged a surgical glove from the box on the table—and went.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  HE WOKE TO the smell of cooking.

  Someone...something?...was licking his face.

  Ugh.

  He fought his way to consciousness and shoved. Dudley fell to the floor, rolled, found his feet, put his forefeet back on the bed and started licking again.

  ‘Dudley!’ The stern female voice had Dudley glance around briefly, but the dog’s tail wagged, with every sign of continuing his display of slavish devotion.

  Then Dudley saw the plate on the bedside table and launched himself at that.

  But Hannah was fast. She grabbed the dog’s collar and was hauling him back before he’d even had time to investigate.

  Not that there was anything to investigate. Pre-sleep, when Josh had emerged from the shower, there’d been tea and toast beside his bed. He’d eaten them with gratitude but had slipped into sleep almost before he’d known it. Now all that was left on the plate was crumbs, and Dudley practically drooped with disappointment.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Hannah said regretfully. ‘The catch couldn’t have engaged when I—’

  ‘Sneaked in with my tea and toast?’ he finished for her. ‘You’re forgiven. What’s the time now?’

  ‘Two p.m.’

  He glanced at the bedside table and almost yelped. He’d slept for hours.

  ‘It’s lunchtime if you want it,’ she told him. ‘Cornish pasties. They might not be Irish but I love ’em. That’s some food stockpile you have. Every ingredient I needed. Yay.’

  ‘You’ve been cooking,’ he said, fighting the feeling he’d woken in some parallel universe.

  ‘It’s what I do when I’m stressed,’ she told him. ‘And it works for Dudley as well. Maisie’s been deserted but I’ve promised her one—or even two—so that’s okay.’

  Parallel universe didn’t begin to describe the way he was feeling, he decided. He swung back the covers and then thought...hell, he was only wearing boxers. For some stupid reason he was blushing like a girl.

  But Hannah wasn’t reacting like a blushing girl.

  ‘Hey, nice pecs,’ she said, matter-of-factly. ‘How’s the hand?’

  ‘Fine,’ he told her.

  ‘Liar. Use some paracetamol. The pasties will be done in five minutes.’ She hesitated and her smile faded. ‘Josh, the wind seems to be dying. I don’t know how to work your internet to find out if it’ll rise again but I thought—’

  ‘I might be able to get across to Skye and Mick’s.’

  ‘I thought we might be able to get across to Skye and Mick’s,’ she said severely. ‘There’s no I in Rescue.’

  ‘Team talking?’ he said, and found himself grinning. She was so sure. So brave. Here she was, eight months pregnant, hauled from a sinking car and yet ready to head out into danger again. ‘There’s no I in Sense either. The I has to stay home and guard the dogs.’

  ‘The dogs are doing fine without me, and they’ll be even better after Cornish pasties. That’s a great little courtyard you have, by the way. Though it’s a bit small. As the only place they can safely relieve themselves, by the time this wind eases you might find your grass with a hundred burn patches.’

  ‘You’re changing the subject,’ he growled. ‘Hannah, you’re not coming with me.’

  ‘It’s windy but not dangerously so,’ she said serenely. ‘The island’s not so big that if we get bogged I can’t walk home. There’s no bridge between here and Mick’s. Plus...’ Her voice faltered a little. ‘Josh, this storm has been terrifying and their side of the island would have borne the brunt of it. If their house didn’t hold up I can’t think of anywhere safe they could have sheltered. I hope I’m wrong but...well, two medical professionals might be more use than one.’

  ‘Hannah—

  ‘Enough arguing,’ she said, as if the argument was indeed concluded. ‘Stop distracting me with those pecs, get yourself dressed and into my pasties and then we’ll go play Medics to the Rescue.’

  The pasties were amazing. He hadn’t tasted pasties like this since... When? Since he’d been a kid and his grandma had cooked for him. She’d let him help, he remembered, and weirdly that memory was all wrapped up in the way he was feeling now.

  His parents’ marriage had been stormy, to say the least. His grandmother’s house had been a sanctuary.

  This kitchen, with the warmth from the Aga oozing gentle heat, with the dogs nosing around...even Maisie had struggled in to investigate these glorious smells...with this woman wearing his ridiculous apron...

  Mostly with this wom
an, he thought, and had to give himself a fierce mental shake. She’s nothing to do with you, he told himself. She’s a woman you’re helping. Nothing more.

  A woman he was helping?

  She was giving leftovers to the dogs, washing oven trays, lifting another batch of pasties from the oven...

  He wasn’t helping her. She was bringing his kitchen to life.

  He blinked and tried to focus on his pastie, but the sight of Hannah...

  His apron was sitting over her baby bump, its slogan protruding like a neon sign. Caution: Extremely Hot.

  She was eight months pregnant, battered and bruised. A woman he’d rescued and who needed care. How could she be...hot?

  Ridiculous.

  ‘I’ve made a heap of pasties,’ she told him happily. ‘Mick and family may well need feeding.’

  ‘If they’re okay.’ He was struggling to focus on anything other than that crazy apron. And her smile.

  ‘As you say,’ she said, her smile slipping.

  ‘Plus they’re just as likely to be vegans.’

  ‘Vegans who’ve been blown to bits by a storm and haven’t eaten for a couple of days might well swallow their scruples,’ she retorted, but looked doubtfully at her pastie pile. ‘I can hardly scrape the meat out now.’

  He grinned at her look of dismay. She really was gorgeous.

  But she’d moved on. ‘Josh, the weather...’

  ‘I checked online while I was dressing,’ he told her. Man, these pasties were delicious. ‘The wind’s easing back a bit. The cyclone’s moved out to sea but the edges threaten to blast in again tonight. Not as bad as before, but up to fifty or sixty knots. You’re right in thinking we have a window. Maybe three or four hours. The truck’s solid. Over and back, collect the Fordes and bring them back again.

  ‘We?’ she said, cautiously.

  ‘We,’ he agreed. ‘As long as you’re careful. And follow instructions. And don’t do anything that’ll put either you or your baby at risk.’