‘Becky’s with you now?’ Ben asked in a hushed tone.
‘Yes.’
‘Thank God for that.’ Jack heard Ben draw in a breath of relief. ‘Don’t let her out of your sight. Promise me, Jack. It’s really important.’
Shouldn’t be too hard, Jack thought as he glanced back at his bed where Becky was lying like a kitten that had overdosed on cream.
‘Where are you?’ he asked Ben.
‘I can’t tell you. Just keep my sister out of harm’s way.’ The phone clicked off as if someone had snatched it out of Ben’s hand.
He stared at the receiver for a moment or two, his brow furrowed.
‘Wrong number?’ Becky asked, sitting up and tucking her hair behind one ear.
‘Yeah.’
After a long silence she slipped out of the bed and, taking the sheet with her to cover herself, stood just in front of him, her eyes shadowed with worry as they met his.
‘I thought I should tell you I’m not currently on the Pill.’
It took a full thirty seconds for his brain to register what she’d just said. He hadn’t used a condom the second time. He had wanted her so badly he hadn’t stopped, hadn’t, in fact, been able to stop.
He stared at her in a shocked silence as the blood drained from his face, the extremities of his body suddenly feeling icy cold.
‘Tell me you’re joking.’
‘I’m not joking.’ She chewed on her lip. ‘I was taking a break. I was changing brands and wanted to make sure I had a month or two off between.’
‘You should have told me.’ He dragged a hand through his hair. ‘You should have stopped me.’
‘I think I’m in a safe period.’
‘You think?’
She gave him an uncertain little glance. ‘I hope.’
He dragged in a deep breath and paced the floor.
‘Don’t get any ideas, Becky,’ he said, turning back to face her. ‘I’m not interested in marriage. I’ve seen what a bad relationship can do and I want no part of it.’
‘But you’ve seen good relationships as well,’ she pointed out. ‘What about my parents? They’ve been married thirty-five years and are as in love now as they ever were.’
She had a point, he had to admit. The Baxters were the most stable, loving couple he’d ever met, and if he could be assured he’d have that sort of relationship, nothing would stop him from going for it. But he wasn’t the easygoing man Becky’s father was, and Becky was certainly nothing like her quiet and somewhat shy mother.
‘Your parents are great people and I admire them for lasting the distance, but I haven’t got any plans for a long-term relationship, and certainly not with someone who irritates the hell out of me most of the time.’
‘There’s that inimitable Colcannon charm, smashing every female ego in sight again.’ Becky sent him a caustic look. ‘Hell, you really know how to make a girl feel great about herself.’
‘Listen, Becky, we wouldn’t even be in this situation if you weren’t the most tempting woman I’ve ever been associated with. I’ve been fighting this for years as it is.’
Becky couldn’t help feeling slightly mollified by his confession, grudging as it was. ‘Thanks.’
‘I mean it, Becky.’ His hands came down to rest on the top of her shoulders, his eyes commanding hers to meet his. ‘I don’t know how I’ve kept my hands off you for so long. Tonight was…unbelievable.’
‘But you don’t want it to continue.’
His chest rose and fell on a sigh. ‘If I thought we could have an affair without leaving any lasting damage after it’s over, I would take you right back to bed here and now.’
‘Don’t you ever get lonely way up there in that ivory tower?’ she asked.
He held her look for a long moment.
‘What are you trying to say, Becky? That you want some sort of relationship with me?’
Becky lowered her gaze from the intense probe of his. ‘I don’t know what I want,’ she lied, even as the words began to drum incessantly in her brain: I want you! I want to have your children. I want you for ever.
‘As I said before, this is a very unsettling time for you,’ he said. ‘Your parents are out of the country and Ben’s not around. You’re looking for security, which is understandable given the circumstances. I can offer you a house to stay in for as long as you need it but as to long-term promises, I’m definitely not your man.’
Becky was glad he’d turned away so he didn’t see the disappointment on her face. She felt totally crushed. She had loved him for so long and yet while he clearly desired her, he had no permanent place for her in his life. She was no more than a passing interest, an itch he’d had to scratch in order for it to disappear once and for all.
She knew it would be pointless trying to convince him of her love for him: her three broken engagements hardly helped prop up her credibility. But while he maintained his desire had been slaked once and for all, Becky couldn’t help hoping it would return just as hers was doing, the tentacles of clawing need coiling their way through to where her heart lay beating behind her breast, where his mouth had so recently been.
The female change room was abuzz with excitement as soon as Becky walked through the door the next morning to get changed for Jack’s list.
‘Well, well, well, here she is now.’ Gwen gave Becky a knowing wink as she nudged one of the other nurses on duty for theatre. ‘Word has it this is the new woman in Jack Colcannon’s life.’
Becky stared at the women in blank bewilderment, her cheeks firing up guiltily.
‘You’re surely not going to deny it, are you, Becky?’ Gwen asked.
‘I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Becky reached for theatre overalls and began taking off her outer layer of clothing to put them on over her underwear.
‘David Barker, the new orderly, told us,’ Gwen said. ‘Apparently David lives in the eastern suburbs and saw you at the beach on Sunday. He does the odd shift as a lifeguard. He lives around the corner from Jack and saw you and Jack leaving his house together this morning.’
‘So?’ Becky snapped up the buttons on her overalls.
Gwen put her hands on her hips, her eyes twinkling.
Becky reached for her pink bandana to cover her hair and tied it roughly, her movements agitated and jerky.
‘I’ve been having some trouble at my flat lately.’ She addressed the mirror in which she could see the interested faces behind her. ‘Jack offered me his spare room till things get sorted out.’
‘What sort of trouble?’ Jenny, a nurse, asked, frowning. ‘A break-in?’
‘Among other things.’
‘What other things?’ Jenny and Gwen asked in unison. Becky gave a despondent sigh. ‘It seems I have some sort of stalker.’
‘A stalker!’
Not only were the two nurses very good at unison, they had the wide-eyed look of shock down pat as well, Becky mused wryly.
‘Have you called the police?’ This was from a still wide-eyed Gwen.
‘Yes, and they’re doing all they can.’
‘Wow.’ Jenny exchanged glances with Gwen. ‘Somehow I’ve never imagined Jack Colcannon as the bodyguard type. He’s bad enough to work with at times, being so picky and all. What’s he like to live with?’
‘I’m not living with him,’ Becky insisted. ‘I just stayed with him a couple of nights. Anyway, I’m planning on getting another place as soon as I can. There was an advertisement on the staffroom noticeboard this morning—one of the new recovery staff is looking for a housemate. I’m looking at it this evening.’ She dug out the piece of paper she’d written the name and number on. ‘Lyndal Hanlon. Do either of you know her?’
Gwen shook her head. ‘Don’t think so. What about you, Jen?’
‘Can’t say the name rings a bell, but it can’t hurt to have a look at what’s on offer. Sharing an apartment is a whole lot more sensible than living alone, especially since you’ve been having a bit of trouble lately.�
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‘That’s what I thought,’ Becky said, tucking the paper in her locker with the rest of her things.
‘Come on,’ Gwen said, glancing at the clock. ‘Jack will be bawling us out if we’re late. You know how much he hates service lists as it is.’
Becky knew exactly what Jack thought about them. Service lists were initiated by the hospital administration to reduce the ever-lengthening public waiting lists. A service list meant that there was no training, just the consultant operating with the registrar assisting, and getting through as many of the longest backed-up cases on the waiting list.
Over the next eight hours the operating team was meant to get through five laparoscopic cholecystectomies, three laparoscopic hernias and a haemorrhoidectomy. On the end of the list there were three skin lesions called ‘on call’ cases. Those patients would be done only if there was time. They would wait at home, fasting, and would either be called to come into the hospital or be informed their operation had been cancelled due to lack of time.
While service lists had become a virtual necessity to bring some semblance of movement to public waiting lists, they robbed registrars of hands-on operating, and made operating seem like a production line, where there was pressure to perform a given operation in a specified time.
Becky knew the reason Jack was given these lists was that the administrators knew he could perform at that level. He was a competent surgeon with the sort of experience under his belt that made him work quickly and efficiently—they could virtually time a routine operation in his hands to within ten minutes.
She followed the women out of the change room and mentally prepared herself. Jack wasn’t going to be in a good mood, and once she told him about the alternative accommodation she’d organised it would only get worse.
Jack did his initial scrub at the sink, recalling his short but disturbing conversation with Ben. Ben wasn’t normally the panicking type but there had definitely been something in his tone that suggested things weren’t going to plan.
He wondered how his friend dealt with the stress of it all. His own work-related stress was bad enough, but at least none of his patients ever threatened him, other than with a thankfully rare legal suit. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to wake up each day not sure if it was going to his last, as Ben did—as, he supposed, many police officers did.
He couldn’t imagine his life without Ben in it, or indeed Veronica and William Baxter, who had been substitute parents for as long as he could remember. Those holidays at the farm had been his life raft in those difficult teenage years when outright rebellion had often tempted him. Steady, easygoing William had guided him, while Veronica had nurtured him in her quiet unassuming way.
And then there was Becky.
He’d been ignoring his feelings about her for so long, doing his best to keep away from the temptation of becoming involved with her, telling himself it would complicate his relationship with her family, when all the time it had had more to do with his need for control in his life.
Becky made him feel out of control. She always had. She threatened him at the most elemental level, but there was no point hiding away from it any longer. He’d hardly slept most of the night, agonising over it, his body burning with the scent of her on his skin, his flesh still aching for more of her touch.
He recalled his words to her with a mental cringe, how he’d insisted on no long-term promises, when all the time he wanted permanency—with her.
He loved her.
He wanted to spend the rest of his life waking up next to her. He wanted to see that tousled blonde head and those sparkling-with-mischief brown eyes every single morning. He wanted to see her bring his children into the world, he wanted to live a long and happy life doing the things he’d missed out on as a child—picnics, holidays and the sort of family celebrations that gave structure and security, maybe even meaning, to one’s life.
But while Becky was in love with the idea of settling down, she wasn’t in love with him—or, if she was, it wasn’t likely to last much longer than any of her other relationships. Her third engagement had set some sort of record by lasting more than two months. The other two hadn’t made it past the first three or four weeks.
What hope would he have of getting her to commit to him for life? Wasn’t that the whole reason he’d shied away from the whole notion of marriage in the first place? He hated failure. He didn’t want to replicate the disaster of his parents’ marriage and divorce, knowing firsthand the heartache it caused.
He’d seen the way his parents had destroyed each other’s happiness and that of everyone around them. He had cousins he hadn’t seen since he was ten, aunts and uncles who never contacted him in case it upset either his mother or father, who had insisted on their relatives taking sides.
Would he be able to convince Becky to marry him in spite of all he’d said to the contrary?
He had to convince her.
She might even now be carrying his child! The thought took hold, spreading an unfamiliar, tantalising sense of warmth right through his body. He could almost picture her soft curves swelling with the presence of his baby, her creamy skin glowing with the surge of hormones, her brown eyes luminous.
For years he’d thrown himself into a punishing work routine to avoid facing the truth of how he felt about her, how he’d always felt about her. But there was no escaping it now. His body had decided it for him, tying her to him in the most primal way possible.
If only he could fast-forward the day so he could get her alone and tell her how he felt.
He took a deep breath and shouldered open the theatre door to reach for a sterile towel before donning his gown and mask. His eyes went to where Becky was in position, with the patient anaesthetised. She lifted her gaze briefly to meet his, but her normally expressive face for once gave nothing away.
He shifted his gaze and encountered speculative looks being passed between the theatre staff, in particular Gwen, who was smiling her usual knowing smile.
‘Let’s get started,’ he said with a mental grimace, and began issuing instructions to Jenny, the instrument nurse.
‘Betadine prep, please,’ Jack repeated for the fourth time on starting the fourth gall bladder.
‘Steridrape,’ he went on, ‘diathermy on 30 coag, cutting off, zero degree telescope, please, turn on the stack, white-set—’
‘Listen, Jack,’ Becky said from behind the anaesthetic machine, ‘this is the fourth gall bladder you’ve done today, right?’
‘Yes. So?’
‘Jenny’s been a theatre sister for…let’s see now, twelve years, right?’
‘Thirteen,’ said Jenny proudly.
‘What’s your point, Dr Baxter? Scalpel, please, Jenny.’
‘That is my point. Jenny can see you want the scalpel. You don’t need to tell her every time. It’s so monotonous and doesn’t recognise the professionalism of the theatre staff. Jenny’s been scrubbing for laparoscopic cholecystectomies for years. She’s done hundreds of them. She knows the routine. You don’t have to go through the whole list of things time and time again. Women are not completely dumb, you know.’
‘Did I say women were dumb?’ Jack said, frowning at her behind his mask. ‘Langenbach retractors.’
‘They’re in her hand—ready, see. Tell him what he’ll want next, Jenny.’
‘Next he’ll want the scalpel again for the linea alba.’
‘Scalpel, please, Jenny.’
Jenny rolled her eyes and handed it to him.
‘Look, will you stop it?’ Becky glared at Jack. ‘Just let her give you what you need, and cut out the repetition. It’s driving me nuts.’
Jenny held out the seven-inch artery forceps ready for Jack to take.
‘Seven-inch artery forceps,’ Jack said automatically.
‘Why do you have to go through everything every time? What is it with you?’ added Becky, hoping her insistence would counter the rumours that were circulating about them.
‘
Listen, Dr Baxter,’ Jack said in the patronising tone she’d come to expect from him, ‘when was the last time you flew to Melbourne? Diathermy hook, please.’
‘Last year.’ She caught the tail end of Gwen and Jenny’s she’s-trying-to-put-us-off-the-scent look, narrowed her eyes at them briefly, then turned back to Jack. ‘What’s that got to do with recognising nursing professionalism?’
‘Gall-bladder grasper, please.’ Jack said. ‘What did you see the pilot doing as you went past the cockpit?’
‘Hell, I don’t know. Chatting up one of the cabin staff probably.’
‘Clip applier, please. No, what you saw him doing was going through a checklist, checking all procedures. Endoscissors.’
‘So?’
‘Would you feel safe flying if the pilot ignored the procedures, just started up the plane and took off, ignoring the weather and disregarding the control-tower instructions?’
Becky compressed her lips without answering.
‘Well, that’s how I operate,’ Jack said. ‘Logical, sequential. One step at a time, check and talk through each step at a time. Gall-bladder extractor, then we’ll close.’
‘I give up, Mr Perfect step-by-step,’ Becky said, as Jenny handed Jack the closure suture for the linea alba.
‘Gentamicin for the wound, then subcuticular vicryl for skin, right?’ Jenny said. ‘And by the way, you used the airline pilot lecture three weeks ago when Di was scrubbed in. She told me in the tearoom.’
‘You’d be amazed at what you hear in the tearoom,’ Gwen said from behind the stack where she was changing a carbon-dioxide bottle, sending a wink in Becky’s direction.
‘I can just imagine,’ Jack murmured darkly.
‘Usually it’s boring stuff like which Hollywood celebrity is sleeping with which starlet,’ Jenny said, twinkling at Gwen.
‘Humph.’ Jack’s grunt told the scrub nurse exactly what he thought about the trashy magazines that littered the tearoom.
Becky gave the nurses a warning glance but Gwen was clearly not responding to it.
A Surgeon Worth Waiting For Page 14