Pregnant with the Boss's Baby

by Sue MacKay

  ‘What is up with you today? You’re very distracted.’ Conor studied her from his six-foot-plus height. ‘Come to think of it, you’re looking peaky.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ she snapped, and headed to a cubicle where she could hear a middle-aged woman with a suspected broken ankle groaning. Peaky? Right. Of course she was peaky. She’d tossed up her breakfast that morning, hadn’t she? At least it’d happened before she left home and not on the bus, or, worse, not here where some nosy parker would notice quicker than wildfire ignited dry tinder and come up with the wrong cause. Or the right one.

  ‘Tamara, I want you on the asthma with me,’ Conor called after her.

  ‘No problem,’ she lied. Ask someone else.

  ‘In a better mood.’

  Tamara nearly leapt into the air. She hadn’t heard him coming closer. ‘Don’t sneak up on me,’ she growled as her heart thumped loud enough for the whole department to hear.

  ‘Whoa.’ His hands were up, palms towards her. ‘Maybe you need to take a quick coffee break. Get some caffeine into your system. Something’s got your knickers in a twist and it’s not a good look in ED.’

  He was right. When wasn’t he? On a long, raggedy indrawn suck of air she managed, ‘Sorry. I had a restless night. Seems it’s catching up with me.’ As if she could have slept when the truth had been leaching into her mind, pushing aside her dreams, taunting her. No wonder her head was beginning to pound like there was a band of bongo drummers in there. She never did well on less than eight hours’ sleep. Something she’d planned on getting used to once she started her medical training.

  Now she was readjusting, learning the new phrase—once she became a mother.

  ‘Your mood anything to do with what you want to talk to me about?’

  Too shrewd for your own good, Dr Maguire.

  ‘No. Yes. Sort of.’

  ‘Bring me a coffee when you get yours, will you?’

  In other words, she wasn’t getting away without a caffeine fix. Sorry, baby. Don’t take any on board, or you’ll be buzzing all afternoon. ‘Three sugars?’ She arched an eyebrow at him.

  ‘For you, not me.’ He flipped a smile in her direction before reaching for another patient form, that earlier tiredness now tugging at his mouth.

  Damn that smile. It could undo all her resolve to be firm with him. ‘Looks like you need the caffeine more than I do,’ Tamara muttered as she headed for the kitchenette. Tea for her. It might be less aggressive on her system. See, getting used to there being a baby growing inside.

  Her knees gave out on her and she buckled against the wall as very real fear overcame her. Her dream was going up in smoke before she’d even pushed ‘send’ on that application. Becoming a mother was not part of the plan, had only been a remote, ‘not likely to happen in this lifetime’ kind of dream. But not any more. Not in her current situation. How was she going to cope? It wasn’t as though she’d had a good role model in her mother. While Dad had been the steady influence, Mum had always been a little off kilter, doing things without thought to time or place or other people. Like hopping on a flight to Melbourne for the fashion show and not telling Dad where she was until she’d landed. Dad had shrugged, said that’s your mother for you, and taken her out to dinner at a five-star restaurant. She’d been six at the time. Which parent would she follow? She knew which one she wanted to be like, but wasn’t sure of her capabilities.

  ‘Tamara? What’s going on?’

  Conor could be so nosy. She shuffled her body up the wall until she stood upright, not quite ramrod straight, and eyeballed him. ‘Having a wee kip on the way to get those drinks.’

  ‘You think you should be at work? You’re not exactly on form today.’

  ‘Have I made any mistakes? Looked incapable of doing my job?’

  ‘Not yet.’ Conor studied her for a long moment. No heated connection going on now. ‘Take thirty. Get something to eat to go with that coffee.’ Her face must’ve given her away because his hand went up, palm out. ‘No argument.’

  When he took her arm and led her into the tiny space that was the staff kitchenette she had no choice other than to go with him. Putting up a fight was a waste of time and energy that was best saved for other more important issues.

  ‘Here.’ Conor removed a brown paper bag from a cupboard and placed it on the bench. ‘Cheese scone from the café. Get it down you.’ Then he reached for the coffee.

  A warning rose from her tense gut. No way. Food would have to wait. ‘Th-thanks. Tea for me.’ And this was the woman who had taken control of her life and refused to let anyone or anything tip her off track again? Tamara reached for the bag, tore it open and broke off a tiny corner of the scone. Shut up, stomach. Whose side are you on, anyway? And she popped the morsel into her mouth and chewed. And chewed. Swallowed. Take that. She took another small bite, and locked eyes with Conor. ‘Just what I needed,’ she agreed around a wave of relief that her stomach was supporting her. However briefly. For now she was back on track.

  ‘I’ll hand that asthma over to one of the junior doctors, then we’ll take our drinks to my office and have that talk you asked for.’

  ‘What? Now?’ She tipped sideways, grabbed at the bench. ‘It can wait.’ I’m not ready.

  ‘Something’s up and it’s affecting you. Best we sort it and get on with the day. Finish making those drinks, will you?’ Conor shot out the door, leaving her shaking.

  On autopilot she spooned coffee into one mug, dropped a tea bag into another, added sugar and boiling water to both. Stirred. It’s too late to do a runner. Time to face the facts.

  ‘Ready? Good.’ Conor swooped back into the small space, picked up both full mugs in one hand and took her elbow in the other. ‘Let’s go.’

  And then they were there, Conor’s office door clicking shut behind her, and the air all hot and heavy. Tamara sank onto the closest chair, gripped her hands between her knees and stared at the floor. She should’ve dug into the back of her wardrobe and found something half-decent to wear for this, instead of looking like the frump she hid behind. But then he’d have known something was up.

  She heard the mugs being placed on the desk, Conor’s chair being pulled out, his knee clicking as he sat down. She felt his eyes on her, his bewilderment boring into her. Her skin chilled, and the moisture evaporated from her mouth.

  Slowly lifting her head, she nearly leapt up and ran. There was so much concern radiating out at her from across the desk it undermined all the lessons on men she’d learned from her ex. Could Conor care about her that much?

  ‘Start at the beginning.’ Conor’s soft voice flowed over her, tightening already tight muscles and jangling nerve endings.

  There was no beginning. No ending. Only the facts. Her spine couldn’t straighten to ramrod straight. Her tongue felt too big for her mouth. Her heart squeezed in on itself so hard pain shot out in all directions. ‘I’m pregnant.’

  He rocked backwards in his chair, those beautiful eyes widening with disbelief. Or was it shock? She couldn’t read him clearly. Gone was the open-faced, cheerful, friendly man everyone adored.

  Might as well go for broke, put it all out there. In a strangled whisper, she told him, ‘You’re the baby’s father.’

  Then she waited for the axe to fall. And waited and waited. The silence was stifling. The walls came closer, squeezing the heavy air around her, suffocating her.

  Say something, Conor.

  CHAPTER TWO

  ‘I’M PREGNANT.’ The words ricocheted from wall to wall.

  Conor slammed back in his seat as all the air in his lungs spewed into the room. The silence was deafening. As if everyone in the hospital was holding their collective breath.

  ‘You’re the baby’s father.’

  Tell me this isn’t true. But Tamara looked certain. Apprehensive, but definite
ly sure. There was no colour in her cheeks, no warmth in her eyes, and her hands were rubbing her arms like they were cold. ‘You can’t be. I used condoms.’ Rule number one: when indulging in sex, use protection. No exceptions.

  ‘I am, and you did.’

  No, no, no. He leapt to his feet, an oath spilling across his lips. ‘You’re saying one was faulty?’ He saw his disbelief drill into her, wanted to regret his words, but couldn’t quite. She mustn’t be pregnant. Not with his child.

  Tamara pulled back, her eyes locked on him. ‘Faulty, torn in use, I have no idea. I only know that I haven’t had a period since that weekend, and there was a blue line on the test stick.’ She gulped. ‘On both sticks.’

  ‘Making certain, were you? Crossing the “t”s and dotting the “i”s?’ So like Tamara, he’d laugh if there was anything humorous about this. A chill was spreading through him. She wasn’t lying. It wasn’t a sick joke. Not that she’d ever do that. It was just that... It was impossible to believe.

  Because he didn’t want to. He’d been running from getting involved for the last fourteen years. Hell, he’d come all the way down to New Zealand to keep the yearning for love and family at bay. To stand alone, not get close to anyone. Showed how much he knew. Seemed life had always been going to catch up with him, regardless of what he did.

  ‘There’s a lot at stake.’ There was a quiver in Tamara’s voice that rattled him.

  And pricked his heart. Don’t go there. He wasn’t available. Conor opened up to the chill ramping through him, let it into his voice box. ‘Sure is. When did you do the tests?’

  ‘Friday. Then Saturday.’

  Conor felt his face tighten, worked at softening his facial muscles. Failed. ‘You could’ve said something sooner. You’ve got my phone number.’ Genuine anger was moving in, heating his cheeks, deflecting the chill.

  ‘I could have, yes.’ Tamara swallowed, started again. ‘But I didn’t want to believe it. Telling you makes it irrefutably real.’

  ‘You were in denial.’ That he could understand. About where he was right now.

  ‘Totally. I have—’ Gasp. Her hands clenched tight on her elbows. ‘I had plans, and being pregnant is upending everything. Again. I’ve worked so hard to be in charge of my future.’

  What did she mean by again? And being in charge of herself? Wasn’t everybody? ‘You don’t want the baby?’ he snapped. How did that make him feel? Relieved? Not at all. Really? Who the hell knew? Not him. He charged for the door, reached for the handle to haul it open. Stopped. Spun around to face her, rose up and down on his toes as he waited for her reply to his telling question.

  ‘I never said that,’ she said sharply. ‘Or implied it.’

  ‘Just checking.’ Sounding like a heel, boyo. Now, there was a surprise. His head was full to the brim with questions, denials, longings, anger—every blasted emotion under the sun. Name it, it was there. ‘I don’t know you well enough to read your mind.’

  Tamara fixed him with a glare. ‘Then take this on board. I won’t be going to university next year after all, and I so wanted to become a doctor. Instead I’m having a baby. Then I’m going to be a mother, something I know next to nothing about.’ She stared at him, imploring him to understand. ‘I don’t want to be like my mother. She believed nannies were put on earth so she could go to charity meetings and play mediocre golf.’

  The bitterness colouring those words was almost tangible and Conor wanted to wipe it away, make her feel better. So he remained by the door. Start doing that and who knew what would happen next. They had a lot to get through over the coming weeks and any out-of-the-ordinary moves like that would only turn everything murky. He had to be aloof, separate. ‘I’d have said she did a great job with you.’ There, honest but uninvolved.

  Tamara snarled, ‘Don’t talk about something you know nothing about.’

  Ouch. He’d hit a painful point, for sure. ‘Fair enough.’ He strode back to his chair, dropped into it and banged his feet on the desktop. His hands gripped together under his chin as he studied Tamara. Looking for what? He wasn’t sure.

  ‘There’s nothing fair about any of this,’ she retorted.

  He couldn’t agree more. But what he said was, ‘You have no idea.’

  ‘About what?’ she asked in a rare belligerent tone.

  ‘I can’t have children.’

  ‘Wrong. You are having one next year. In April, I reckon. It’s no one else’s.’

  ‘I am not accusing you of lying to me, Tamara.’

  She lurched, as though stabbed by pain. Her hands clenched even tighter. But she kept her head high and those cocoa-coloured eyes fixed on him. ‘Then I don’t understand.’

  ‘I can’t have children. It’s as simple as that.’

  Someone knocking on the door had Conor hauling his feet off the table quick fast. ‘Go away. I’m busy,’ he yelled in frustration.

  They both held their breaths until it became apparent whoever was out there had taken his advice.

  Tamara asked quietly, ‘You can’t? Or won’t?’

  Back to the elephant. She knew next to nothing about him, and he wasn’t about to let his tongue go crazy filling in the gaps. Though there was one detail he’d have to reveal. His feet hit the floor in an instant, and his head spun as he came upright. Not now. Not today.

  ‘Conor?’ Not so quiet.

  ‘Either way, it makes no difference.’

  Tamara’s eyes narrowed. ‘If there are things I need to know for my baby’s sake then tell me.’

  He moved away from the desk abruptly, his chair flung back against the wall. His hands went to his hips, held tight. ‘All my adult life I’ve actively avoided this exact moment. Yet here it is, staring me down.’ Commitment with a capital C.

  ‘Don’t you like children? You’re always amazing with them in the department, teasing and fun, easing their distress. I wouldn’t have believed you were faking it.’ She paused, and when he didn’t answer she continued. ‘We need to talk, about a lot of things. Seems you’ve got issues. Which means I do too. I need to know what they are, Conor. For our child’s sake, if nothing else.’

  ‘What I need right now is some air. This office is stuffy. I’ll see you back at work shortly.’ Pulling the door open, he stepped right up against Michael’s extended hand.

  ‘I was about to knock,’ the registrar muttered, dropping his hand quickly. ‘We’ve got a situation and you’re both needed. Urgently.’

  ‘I’m on my break.’ Conor hauled the brakes on his motor mouth, breathed deep. ‘Sorry, start again. What situation?’

  I need to get away from here, from Tamara and the distress in those serious eyes. I need to work out what’s just happened. Have I spent fourteen years being deliberately solo for nothing?

  He felt movement beside him, heard Tamara ask, in a voice that didn’t sound a lot stronger than his, ‘What is it, Michael?’

  ‘I’ve just got off the phone from Ambulance Headquarters. All hell’s about to break out. There’s been an accident involving a busload of children.’

  Saved by the phone. Conor started down the corridor towards the centre of the department, and swore. He didn’t really wish harm on those kids so he could avoid facing up to Tamara’s news. News that at the moment had to go on hold. ‘Continue.’

  ‘A school bus has rolled off the motorway on-ramp in Newmarket. There are many serious casualties.’ The registrar’s voice slowed, dropped an octave. ‘And some fatalities.’

  Conor saw the precise moment the reality of what he’d reported to them hit Michael. The guy’s eyes widened, and his body sagged a little. Something like his own reaction to Tamara’s news. Laying a hand on his shoulder, he said, ‘Okay, get everyone together and I’ll outline how we go about this.’

  ‘They’re all waiting for you and Tamara at the desk.�
�� Michael’s voice cracked. ‘This is huge.’

  ‘We’ll manage by breaking it down into components.’ Conor was already busy drawing up a mental list of people to call, jobs to do, equipment to check over. The moment he stood in front of his team he wasted no time. ‘Firstly, no one’s going home at three.’ The clock showed two thirty-five. He glanced at Tamara, who’d moved in beside Kelli.

  Horror and despair for what they would shortly be dealing with filled her eyes. All of the previous distress about their own personal situation had been shoved aside. He nodded at her. Very impressive. She’d been ahead of him.

  A tall, blond-haired man stepped into the area. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Mac.’ Conor nodded at the head of the evening shift as he joined them. ‘We’re about to receive multiple stat one junior patients from a bus accident.’ He quickly added the few details he had. ‘You should take over right from the start. It’s going to be your roster.’

  Mac shook his head. ‘No, you carry on, get things rolling. Your team’s all here, mine is yet to arrive.’

  It made sense, and in some ways Conor was pleased. He preferred leading from the front, but that also meant there was a very long night ahead. He turned to Michael. ‘When can we expect the first patient?’ Patient, not child. It helped him keep his distance a little bit. But only until the first victim arrived. Then his heart would break for the child and his or her family. Every time he had to tell a parent bad news he saw his mother, distraught, inconsolable as she kissed his brother goodbye before the funeral.

  Michael’s voice came through. ‘Coms couldn’t tell me times or numbers. She said it’s absolute chaos out there. Because we’re closest we get the first, most urgent cases, then they’ll start feeding out to other hospitals.’

  ‘First we need to clear as many beds as we can. Michael, what’ve we got?’

  ‘One lad about to have his arm put in plaster. A woman with unidentified head pain awaiting lab results. There are also two stat five patients in the waiting room.’