She forced herself to meet his glinting green gaze, even though her cheeks felt as if someone had blowtorched them from the inside. ‘No complaints so far.’
‘Well, then…’ He started to unbutton his shirt. ‘Do you think we should leave a light on in case Mr Balaclava thinks about returning?’
Becky suppressed a gulp as he shrugged off his shirt, the smooth tanned muscles of his chest making her eyes widen to the size of dinner plates. She’d thought Ben was fit, but Jack had obviously been working out. His pectoral muscles looked as if he’d been bench-pressing an entire road train with a couple of Hummers thrown in for good measure.
‘I…I don’t know…’ Her gaze dipped to the flat plane of his stomach, the ripple of abdominal muscles making her instinctively suck in her tummy. She raised her eyes back to his with an effort. ‘What do you think?’
Jack glanced at his watch. ‘Lights or no lights, I think if we don’t get to sleep within the next twenty minutes it won’t be worth going to bed at all. I have a gym session at six a.m. and residents’ rounds at seven-thirty.’ He took off his shoes and socks and began to undo his belt when he suddenly thought better of it and let his hands fall away.
‘You must be so tired.’ She gave him an apologetic look, her hands twisting in front of her. ‘I shouldn’t have called you but you live the closest…’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ he said lying down on the sofa, his long trouser-clad legs hanging over the end. ‘As I said, Ben would lynch me if I didn’t stand in for him as honorary big brother.’
She gave him an imitation of a smile. This was probably not the time to tell him she had never quite seen him in a brotherly light. That one kiss twelve years ago had changed that—permanently.
‘Well, goodnight, then,’ she said, turning for the door.
‘Goodnight, Rebecca.’
She swung back round to face him. ‘Becky,’ she said insistently.
‘Mmm?’ Jack nestled into the pillow, his eyes closed. ‘You say something?’
She drew in a stiff breath. ‘I don’t like it when you call me Rebecca.’
He lifted his head off the pillow to look at her, his greener-than-green gaze meeting hers. ‘It is your name, isn’t it?’
‘That’s not the point,’ she said. ‘You only do it to annoy me. I know you do.’
He gave the pillow a soft thump and, settling back down, closed his eyes once more. ‘You’re imagining it. I have no intention of annoying you. I just don’t like abbreviated names.’
‘You abbreviate yours,’ she pointed out. ‘Jackson Colcannon is your full name.’
He opened one eye to look at her. ‘I hate the name Jackson. It always reminds me of one or both of my parents being angry with me.’
‘Now you know how I feel,’ she said. ‘No one ever called me by my full name unless they were cross with me, which means I can only assume from your persistence in calling me by it that you are always angry with me.’ She gave him a probing look. ‘Are you angry with me?’
Jack wasn’t sure how he should answer. Anger wasn’t exactly the primary emotion he felt when around her, although it was certainly way up there. She made him feel edgy and uncomfortable at times, as if she could see things in him he didn’t want her or anyone else to see. He assumed it was because she had known him so long, watching him reaching adulthood alongside her brother. But he wasn’t really angry with her, or at least not right now. If anything, he was angry at himself. He had no business thinking about her in any other way than as a surrogate sister. And right now, with her soft pouting mouth and fluffy blonde hair, she didn’t exactly look all that sisterly.
‘Can we just go to sleep?’ he asked, flinging a hand over his eyes.
Becky came over and pulled his hand away from his face. ‘Not until you promise.’
He eased his hand out of the warm curl of her small fingers and stuffed it down by his side, not trusting himself not to tug her down on top of him on the sofa. He could already smell her perfume on the pillow under his head, the exotic fragrance filling his nostrils until he could barely think.
‘Promise me, Jack,’ she insisted, her breath brushing over his face.
His eyes met hers in the soft light of the lamplight.
‘Becky, then.’ His voice, to his annoyance, came out on a croak. ‘There—I said it. Satisfied?’
Her soft mouth curved upwards in a smile. ‘You see? That didn’t hurt a bit, did it?’
He scowled at her as he thumped the pillow once more. ‘Will you, please, go to bed and let me sleep in peace?’
‘’Night, Jack.’ And on an impulse she couldn’t stop in time, she bent down and pressed a soft, barely there kiss to his stubbly cheek, her silky blonde hair falling forward to caress his bare neck. ‘Thanks for coming to my rescue tonight.’
He grunted something inaudible in response and covered his head with the pillow.
Jack listened to the soft pad of her bare feet as she made her way to her room, heard the rustle of the bedclothes as she slipped back into bed. After a few moments he heard the click of the bedside lamp going off and another soft rustle as she shifted in the bed to get more comfortable.
He gave a silent groan as his lower body sprang to life at the thought of her lying within a few feet of him, the pulse of blood thickening him almost painfully.
‘Damn you, Rebecca Baxter,’ he growled in a deep undertone.
‘Did you say something, Jack?’ Becky called out from her bedroom.
Jack gritted his teeth. ‘Goodnight, Reb—Becky.’
After a few short moments he heard her bedclothes being pushed aside, closely followed by the pad of her footsteps as she came back out to the sitting room.
‘I just thought of something.’ She shifted from one bare foot to another, her chocolate gaze a little reluctant to meet his. ‘Were you…with someone tonight? I mean…you know, sleeping with someone?’
‘Sleeping with someone?’ He almost laughed out loud. The last time he’d slept with someone had been—Hell, had it been that long ago?
‘I mean having sex with someone,’ she said, her cheeks tinged with pink.
‘I don’t think I have to answer that question,’ he said firmly. ‘For a start it’s none of your business, and secondly I—’
‘It’s not like I’m jealous or anything.’ Becky quickly cut him off. ‘I just thought it was highly presumptuous of me to assume you’d drop everything and come over here.’ She inspected her hands for a moment. ‘I didn’t want there to be any trouble…I mean, you having to explain to a girlfriend that you’d spent the night with me.’ She raised her eyes to his. ‘I wouldn’t want there to be any misunderstandings.’
‘Trust me,’ he said with a touch of wryness. ‘There will be no misunderstandings. Apart from the police, no one knows I’m here.’
‘You won’t tell anyone at work, will you?’ she asked after a little pause.
‘Hell, no,’ he said, laying his head back on the sofa.
She pursed her lips for a moment. ‘You make it sound as if it’s some sort of terrible punishment to spend the night with me.’
You’re not wrong there, baby, he felt like saying, but didn’t. ‘You didn’t have to stay,’ she went on. ‘I can look after myself.’
‘Yeah, right, armed to the hilt with a pair of stilettos,’ he muttered as he recalled her statement to the police. ‘I’d be absolutely scared spitless if I encountered you in a dark alley.’
‘You think you’re so funny,’ she bit out resentfully.
‘I don’t want to think anything right now except about how many minutes I can shut my eyes before I have to open them again,’ he said. ‘Now, will you go back to bed or do I have to carry you?’
Becky did her best to hold his determined look, but in the end it was too much for her. She was overtired, overwrought and overcome with emotions she couldn’t control any longer.
‘I—I’m scared.’ She waved a hand in the general direction of her bedroom. ‘He was
in there. I can still see him when I shut my eyes.’
Jack swore under his breath as he got off the sofa. He came across to where she was standing, putting his hands on the top of her slim shoulders, his eyes holding hers.
‘I know I’m going to regret this, but do you want me to sleep in your bed with you just for tonight?’ he asked.
‘You’d do that?’ she asked, her eyes wide with amazement. ‘You mean you wouldn’t mind?’
He gave her what he hoped was a carefree smile. ‘It’ll be a piece of cake,’ he said. ‘Which side do you want, right or left?’
She smiled up at him. ‘Let’s toss for it.’
CHAPTER THREE
JACK hadn’t expected to get to sleep at all, so when he woke at sunrise to find Becky lying on her side, looking at him, it took him a moment or two to gather himself. Her shoulder-length blonde hair was all tousled, her full mouth soft and her pink satin pyjamas clinging to the curves of her body in all the right places.
‘Did I snore?’ he asked, trying not to stare at the tempting shadow between her breasts.
A small smile tugged at her mouth. ‘No, but you do talk in your sleep.’
He stiffened. ‘What did I say?’
She gave him a wouldn’t-you-like-to-know wink and got out of bed. ‘What would you like for breakfast?’
Jack swung his legs over his side of the bed and grimaced at the rumpled state of his trousers. ‘I haven’t got time for breakfast but can I borrow your iron?’
He left soon after his clothes were pressed, extracting a promise from her to get the locks changed before she came in to the hospital.
Becky watched him drive away and once his car had turned the corner she picked up the phone book and began to flip through the pages, looking for a twenty-four-hour locksmith.
Jack finished his round with the residents and entered the operating theatre where Gwen Taylor was setting up with two other nurses.
‘Has Becky arrived yet?’ he asked.
Gwen’s eyebrows rose just a fraction at his use of Becky’s preferred name.
‘Becky is it now?’ she mused. ‘Wow, what brought that on?’
He gave her a quelling look. ‘Can we bring in the first case now, Gwen? Time is getting on.’
‘David Barker, the new orderly, has gone down to get her. Don’t be so impatient, he’s still learning the ropes,’ Gwen said. With a twinkle in her eyes she added, ‘You just do the surgery and I’ll run the theatre.’
‘Fine,’ he said, ‘but let’s have none of that tea and scones routine this morning. I want these three cases done before lunch. Lately my lists seem to be turning into a list of meals interspersed with the occasional operation.’
‘How very amusing you are this morning.’ Gwen gave him a droll look. ‘Here’s the patient. Why don’t you go and scrub while we get things organized?’
Jack rolled his eyes and shouldered open the scrub-room door. Gwen Taylor was a good scrub nurse but she had a tendency to try and matchmake, which irritated him intensely. If word got out that he’d spent the night at Becky’s place, he’d never hear the end of it.
Becky watched as David, the orderly, and Susie, the anaesthetic nurse on duty, slid the patient from her bed to the operating table.
‘Just feel the edge of the table, Mrs Oakland,’ Susie said. ‘It’s pretty narrow. We don’t want you to fall off so make sure you’re settled in the middle.’
‘It is narrow,’ Mrs Oakland said as she settled herself. ‘How’s that?’
‘Fine, that’s perfect,’ Susie said. ‘I’m just going to cover you with a warm blanket while Dr Baxter puts in your IV line.’
Becky put a tourniquet on Mrs Oakland’s arm, inserted an IV cannula and started the drip while Susie held an oxygen mask over the patient’s nose and mouth, encouraging her to take big breaths.
‘The mask smells a bit rubbery, Mrs Oakland,’ Becky said, ‘but this is just oxygen to make you nice and ready.’ She began to inject propofol into the IV line. ‘You’ll start to feel a bit sleepy now; you’ll just drift off to sleep.’
Betty Oakland murmured something about feeling light-headed but her words soon began to slur and she drifted off into unconsciousness.
‘Size 6 reinforced tube, please, Susie, with the introducer in. Thanks. She has a very small larynx,’ Becky said.
She put the laryngoscope into the patient’s mouth and elevated the tongue, taking care not to chip the teeth as she inserted the endotracheal tube. She connected the patient to the anaesthetic machine and started the volatile agents just as Jack walked in from the scrub sink. He dried his hands on a sterile towel before donning his gown and double gloves.
‘Right to prep, Dr Baxter?’ he asked.
Becky caught the tail end of Gwen’s speculative look.
‘She’s asleep, Mr Colcannon,’ she said with a hard little glance his way. If he was going to go all formal on her then she would do the same to him.
‘Can you give a gram of cephalosporin and 5000 units heparin?’
‘Already done,’ Becky said.
Jack prepped and draped the abdomen with the registrar’s help, applying a steridrape and setting up the diathermy, positioning the scratch pad and sucker.
‘What do you think the splenic mass is, Mr Colcannon?’ Robert asked.
‘My guess is lymphoma. The spleen is so large that it’s causing pain and thrombocytopenia. That reminds me, Dr Baxter, we’ve got platelets available if we run into bleeding. I’ll give you warning if we need to access them.’
‘Right, I’ve checked myself and they’ve already been brought round to the blood fridge in case,’ Becky said.
‘Prepared for just about anything, aren’t you, Dr Baxter?’ His eyes met hers for a moment.
‘I always try to be prepared,’ she answered. ‘I don’t like nasty surprises.’
He held her challenging look for a single heartbeat before holding out his gloved hand towards Gwen. ‘Scalpel.’
He made a long upper midline incision and completed the abdominal opening with diathermy.
‘That’s one hell of a spleen,’ Robert observed.
‘Yes, and adherent to the diaphragm, too,’ Jack said. ‘I’m going to have to take the vessels first. At least this is a controlled splenectomy, not like that last ruptured spleen that bled out a couple of litres.’
‘What a night that was,’ Robert recalled with a visible shudder.
‘That’s the splenic artery clamped now,’ Jack said. ‘The spleen should shrink a bit through the splenic vein. Let’s start to mobilise it while that happens, then I’ll take the vein.’
‘She’s oozy, Mr Colcannon,’ Robert said. ‘What about the platelets?’
‘Yes, I agree. Can you give the five packs of platelets, Dr Baxter?’
Becky turned to Susie. ‘Get the platelets now, please. We’ll run them through a side line with the normal saline.’
Susie returned with the bags of platelets which she and Becky checked, then started to administer one by one, each over about ten minutes.
‘The spleen is freeing up everywhere but the diaphragm, Robert,’ Jack said. ‘I’ll take the splenic vein now then sharp dissect it off the diaphragm.’ He clamped and divided and ligated the splenic vein, freeing the spleen from its vascular pedicle.
‘She’s getting a few ventricular ectopic beats, Jack, I’m not sure why,’ Becky informed him, momentarily forgetting her determination to address him formally.
‘I’ve just got to get the spleen off the diaphragm and then we’re through,’ he said. Taking long dissecting scissors, he started to free the spleen from the diaphragm. ‘There’s no plane between spleen and diaphragm, Robert.’
‘I think there’s a hole in the diaphragm,’ Robert said.
‘Yes, it’s plastered to the spleen. Dr Baxter, I’m going to have to create a diaphragmatic defect to get this spleen out. I’ll repair in the end. How’s the patient?’
‘VEBs all over,’ Becky said. ‘PO2’s OK, w
e can oxygenate her fine. I’m not worried about the diaphragm, but this dysrhythmia’s worrying. Susie, set up a Xylocaine infusion and I’m taking bloods for electrolytes and cardiac isoenzymes. Maybe she’s had a silent infarct, although the ECG trace looks OK.’
‘Diaphragm’s repaired,’ Jack said after a few more minutes. ‘We’re putting in a suction drain to the splenic bed and we’re out of here.’
‘The sooner the better,’ Becky said, watching the monitor closely. ‘I want this patient in the cardiac unit and a cardiologist on board. Susie, can you get me Dr Lockney on the phone in Cardiology and tee up a bed with the coronary care unit?’
‘Sure,’ Susie said, picking up the phone.
Jack lifted out the massive spleen, inserted the drain and closed the abdomen. He stepped away from the table once he’d finished, while Robert and Gwen dressed the wound and attached the drain to the suction bottle.
Jack stripped off his gown and protective head gear as he left Theatre to write up his notes on the operation.
‘What’s next on the list?’ Robert asked as he took off his gloves. ‘Have we got time for a quick cup of coffee?’
Gwen shook her head. ‘Jack is in one of his let’s-work-right-through-no-breaks moods.’ She flicked her gaze to Becky, who was reversing the anaesthetic on Mrs Oakland. ‘What’s with all this Dr Baxter stuff, Becky? I thought him calling you Rebecca was bad enough. Don’t tell me you ran into his car again.’
‘You know what Jack is like,’ Becky said, trying her best not to colour up. ‘He likes to keep his distance.’
‘He must have a new lady in his life,’ Susie said. ‘One of the nurses on Surgical A told me she was trying to track him down about a patient’s pain relief during the night and he didn’t answer his land line or his mobile.’
‘That’s probably why he wants to speed things up around here,’ Gwen said with a mischievous little smile. ‘He’s in a hurry to get home to offload some of those hormones of his.’
Becky was relieved she had to accompany the patient out to Recovery. She’d had one too many of Gwen’s speculative looks cast her way and didn’t want to encourage any more.
A Surgeon Worth Waiting For Page 3