Pregnant with the Boss's Baby

by Sue MacKay

  Hence all the wet clothes lying in piles around the department. Seemed most of the kids preferred being undressed than wet and cold.

  Tamara approached with an amused expression lighting up her face. ‘Remind me not to have more than one child, will you?’ She tossed him a smile before picking up a book that had been dropped by one young patient.

  Of course his gaze rested on her backside as she’d bent to retrieve the book. Of course. No problem with the chemistry between them. No difficulty with anything at this stage really. Not when he regularly felt light-headed and excited.

  ‘How are the boys who had allergic reactions?’ the teacher asked.

  ‘One lad’s doing well, but we’ve had to put the other on oxygen and morphine. He also reacted to the painkiller. His parents are with him, if you want to see them.’

  The woman shook her head. ‘They don’t need me asking irritating questions. I saw them when they arrived.’

  ‘We need to start moving some of these children out of here, preferably on their way home.’ Conor glanced around the department. ‘There are other patients waiting to be seen and none of these youngsters require our attention any longer.’

  ‘Have you signed any of them out?’ Tamara asked.

  ‘Starting now.’

  The teacher sighed. ‘I’ll get the parents together to explain that their children are ready to go.’

  ‘That’ll be a bag of laughs.’ Tamara chuckled as she watched the woman begin rounding up her charges and their families.

  ‘We didn’t need to see most of the children,’ Conor mused. ‘But I don’t mind admitting I’ve enjoyed the last hour.’

  ‘You’re a natural with kids. Our wee man is so lucky to be having you as his dad,’ she murmured before heading over to a group of kids objecting to picking up wet clothes.

  Down, chest, down. But, hey, any compliment Tam was handing out he’d happily accept. His gaze followed her and his heart clenched as the kids laughed at something she said.

  Impatience gnawed. They had everything going for them and had coped well with the king hits over the past week, and, damn it, he wanted more than he should.

  ‘Doctor.’ A parent stood in front of him.

  ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘Tell me again about this EpiPen my son will always have to carry. It seems extreme when he’s had bee stings before with no side effects.’

  Conor nodded. ‘One sting, even two or three at a time, don’t always cause problems, but your lad had more than fifty today. Those would’ve filled his system with toxin, which will eventually disappear, but his body now recognises the toxin and even a small sting will ring warning bells and start a response you don’t want to take a chance on.’

  ‘Better to be safe than sorry?’ The man nodded.

  ‘If it was my child I’d be doing it.’

  I’ve got a son. A son in utero, but he’s real. I’m going to be a dad.

  And it felt wonderful. As long as he didn’t think about hearts and stoppages. Funny, but those had been far from his mind the last couple of days.

  The phone buzzed at his elbow. ‘Call for Dr Maguire.’ It was the director of emergency services at Sydney Hospital.

  ‘Hold on and I’ll transfer this to my office.’ Conor punched some buttons and raced for his room.

  ‘Hi, there, Conor. Hope I’m not interrupting anything serious.’ The director’s voice boomed over the airwaves.

  ‘Perfect timing. How’s things in Sydney?’ What was this call about? He’d made arrangements to fly over for the interview on Friday.

  ‘We’re having a minor heatwave. The job? That’s yours. The other contender has pulled out for family reasons.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that. But I’m also stoked.’ He and Tam could get serious about their plans for the future. ‘Thank you. I’m thrilled.’

  ‘So are we. We’d like it if you still come over at the end of the week so we can run through your contract and get to eyeball you before you start officially.’

  ‘Not a problem. I want to look into accommodation anyway.’ He’d got the job. Conor punched the air. Another tick in the going-well stakes. Where was Tam? He couldn’t wait to tell her.

  * * *

  ‘Congratulations, Dr Maguire.’ Tamara lifted her glass of sparkling water in a toast the following night. ‘Watch out, Sydney Hospital.’

  Conor tapped his glass against hers. ‘We’re on our way, Tam.’ He glanced around the restaurant she’d chosen to celebrate his new job. ‘I can’t believe how everything’s falling into place so easily.’

  A flicker of doubt crossed her eyes but then she smiled. ‘Don’t tempt fate, whatever you do.’

  ‘That first day I walked into Auckland Central’s ED and set eyes on you, I had absolutely no idea how much my life would change.’ If not for Tamara’s pregnancy he’d still be avoiding the things that were now making him happy.

  The sweetest pink coloured her cheeks under her make-up. ‘Are all Irish men so charming?’

  The off-the-shoulder little black dress she wore was sensational. ‘You’re like another Tamara Washington. Just as beautiful and lovely with an added dose of style thrown in.’

  The pink darkened to red. ‘I shudder when I think how I let myself go.’

  Her hand was warm under his. ‘Your shapely body and stunning looks weren’t all that attracted me.’ The words were coming too easily for a guy not used to putting his feelings out there.

  ‘You’re embarrassing me.’ Tamara toyed with her glass. ‘What I wouldn’t do for a glass of wine right now. There’s so much to celebrate and I’m stuck with water.’ Her mouth was tipping into a big smile. One that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

  ‘For the best reason.’

  ‘Totally agree.’ No doubt in her eyes now.

  * * *

  ‘Thank goodness for nights,’ Tamara muttered, as she dropped her bag on the kitchen table on Wednesday and pulled open the fridge to see what to have for dinner. ‘Then again maybe not.’

  One soft and spongy tomato, a piece of cheese growing a healthy dose of mould—or was that unhealthy in her condition? The solitary carrot on the middle shelf was so soft she could tie a knot in it. The groceries she’d bought last weekend were still at Conor’s apartment.

  Thank goodness for the café at work. Another supermarket trip was imperative, but would have to wait until the weekend. Her body ached with fatigue, as though it hadn’t had any sleep in a month.

  Flicking the kettle on, she leaned a hip against the bench and stared out into her tiny back yard. It was as if she’d been running forward at full tilt since the day she’d told Conor she was pregnant, with no stopping to take a breath and suss everything out in a reasoned fashion. No wonder she felt as though she was slowly unravelling. The excitement of seeing her baby for the first time had gone, replaced with lethargy. Conor’s proposal hadn’t banished all her doubts either. In the middle of the night the old fears rose to torment her. A fast proposal so he could carry on as he’d always intended? But she had agreed to go to Sydney with him anyway. What else did he want from her?

  This should be the best time of her life and yet she couldn’t drag up any enthusiasm. She was so damned tired. And still uncertain of relying on her judgement.

  Ding-dong.

  That darned doorbell. She never had got around to taking the batteries out. But, then, she enjoyed Conor dropping in all the time. Still did, if only she could find some energy. And complete belief that he wouldn’t hurt her.

  Ding-dong.

  ‘Coming,’ she called. Please be Conor. Conor without too many questions, not Conor wanting to sort out dates for moving to Sydney, for getting married, for every damned thing.

  ‘Hey.’ He stood on the step, looking good enough to eat.


  ‘Hey, yourself.’ Pulling the door wide, she stepped back, and breathed in his man scent as he walked in. What a man. The man she wanted to trust implicitly, but couldn’t quite manage to yet. Getting close, but not close enough. Following him into her kitchen, she said, ‘I’m making a cup of tea. Want one?’ How domestic was that, then?

  ‘I’ve got a six-pack in here.’

  Only then did she notice the grocery bags swinging from his hands. ‘You’ve got more than beer there.’

  ‘I’m on dinner. Hope you’re okay with steak again?’ He placed the bags on the bench and began unpacking, totally at home in her space.

  ‘Grocery shopping was next on my to-do list. But I wasn’t getting excited about it.’

  ‘Your excitement levels have been wavering most of the week.’ Conor leaned his butt against the bench and locked a formidable gaze on her. ‘Are you sure everything’s all right? Not having second thoughts about anything?’

  Since when had Conor become challenging? Was this one of the reasons she was feeling at odds with herself? ‘I’m pregnant, and that’s taking everything out of me at the moment,’ she snapped, more forcefully than intended.

  ‘Sure that’s not an excuse for something else?’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘If I knew I wouldn’t have to ask. You don’t tell me much of what’s going on in your head.’ Frustration was building in his voice, and those hands she loved on her body were tightening their grip on his hips.

  ‘Until last week I always dealt with problems on my own.’ Usually by ignoring them or hiding. ‘I am still getting used to having you on my side, in my life.’

  ‘Problems. Are you having doubts?’ Conor demanded.

  ‘No,’ she shouted, too fast and too loud. ‘No,’ she repeated at lower decibels. At least she didn’t think so.

  He continued to look at her as though searching for something. She only hoped it was something good and that he found it. Finally he returned to unpacking the shopping. ‘Guess we’re still on for steak, then.’

  Tamara’s heart cracked. They’d had their first row. A very short one, but she felt terrible. This was Conor, the father of her baby, the man who’d stepped up to his responsibilities without a blink, including asking her to marry him. The man she could be falling in love with—if only she’d relax and believe in herself. Standing behind him, she slipped her arms around his waist and laid her face between his shoulder blades. ‘I’m sorry.’

  Turning in her arms, Conor wrapped her into a hug. ‘Me, too, Tam. Me, too.’ His chin rested on her head. ‘It’s all taking some getting used to, isn’t it?’

  She nodded. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘All I ask is don’t shut me out, okay?’

  ‘Okay.’ She stared at him. ‘You don’t think you’ve rushed the proposal?’

  ‘Definitely not. It’s what I want. I’ve never been so happy,’ he said gruffly. ‘I’m hoping you are too.’

  ‘It’s time I gave you a key to this place.’ That would go some way to showing how much he meant to her. No one else had access to her home, not even Kelli.

  ‘If you’re sure?’ A slow smile began creeping over his mouth, like a slow burn.

  ‘Absolutely.’ She trusted him with her inner sanctum. Just had to get the rest sorted out.

  Conor flicked the cap off a beer. ‘We haven’t discussed names yet. Have you got any in mind?’

  She had an idea, but hoped she wasn’t opening up trouble. ‘What was your brother’s name?’

  Whack. His hand landed on his chest. ‘Sebastian.’

  ‘And your dad’s?’ Might as well go for broke.

  ‘Sebastian.’

  That made it easy. As long as Conor agreed. ‘Then our boy’s called Sebastian.’ She smiled at him, silently pleading he’d accept her idea. ‘Or Sebastian Sebastian Maguire.’

  The air whooshed across his lips and his eyes lit up with joy, then excess moisture swamped them and he was blinking rapidly. ‘Thanks,’ he managed before placing his lips on hers.

  ‘No problem at all.’ Now, that had been a lot easier than she’d expected, thinking Conor mightn’t want a daily reminder of those he’d lost. She still needed to get to know him more thoroughly.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  A WOMAN’S SCREAM rent the air of the emergency department, lifting the hairs on Conor’s skin. Mam? But of course it wasn’t. Dad and Sebastian had died in another lifetime, another country.

  Tamara appeared at the entrance to Resus One, gently leading a sobbing woman to a chair out of the way. She glanced across at him, her face so sad it hurt him before she refocused on the woman.

  ‘Damn, but I love you, Tamara.’

  What? His chair scraped the floor as he leapt to his feet. I do?

  Yep, buster, you do. Lock, stock and every damned curve of her.

  She couldn’t have heard his whisper, but he was receiving another glance from those brown eyes and a small, intimate smile as she turned back to the patient she was with.

  Conor sank back onto his chair, watching her. He’d gone and fallen in love despite doing his damnedest not to. Hard not to, considering how he couldn’t get Tam out of his mind for a minute, day or night. And then she’d added a baby to the mix and bang. He was hooked.

  Behind Tamara, Conor could see Michael and another emergency consultant working to resuscitate their patient, a forty-year-old man brought in after feeling unwell and noticing his mouth drooping. The man had a history of minor TIAs but today he’d hit the big mother. A stroke. And now heart failure.

  Family history. It tore people apart, wrecked wonderful relationships, destroyed childhoods. Made a mockery of love. Love. He’d gone and fallen for Tamara. An oath tripped across his lips. He had made the biggest mistake of his life.

  Conor needed to go help the medical team working on the stroke patient. Only then could he quieten his mind. But there were already more than enough highly skilled staff working on the guy. Instead, he tried to ignore the woman’s deep, heart-wrenching sobs and began entering comments into the computer file of his last patient.

  But as the woman’s despair grew, there was no quietening his memories. Mam in the sitting room with two policemen. The spine-chilling screams and then the desperation in her bone-crushing hug as she’d clung to him. The tears that had lasted days. The hours when she hadn’t talked, had barely known him.

  The buzzer from the ambulance bay was sharp and very welcome. Now he had something solid to concentrate on, someone in need of his help who would banish these unsettling thoughts. Damned memories. To think people liked storing them up. If only they knew.

  ‘Fractured bones at the elbow resulting in a torn artery and heavy loss of blood.’ The advance paramedic handed over the patient work sheet to Conor.

  A quick scan and he said to the thirty-four-year-old woman, ‘I’m Conor, your doctor for the next little while. Can you tell me what happened?’

  ‘I was painting my house and fell off the ladder.’

  ‘Right, then let’s get you into the department and find out the extent of the damage.’ He took one side of the stretcher and, together with the ambulance officer, pushed his patient towards Resus Two, where Kelli and another nurse were waiting.

  ‘On the count of three.’ And they shifted the woman across to the bed.

  ‘Need Radiology and the lab here, and Orthopaedics on the phone,’ Conor ordered as he began examining the right arm, which was lying at an abnormal angle. Carefully removing the cardboard cast the ambulance crew had put in place to save extra movement and pain, he gently probed the elbow joint.

  And still that woman’s sobs came through loud and clear from around the corner.

  Ignore her.

  Conor asked his patient, ‘Did you hit your head when you fell?’

  ‘Y
es, on the back, but it can’t have been too hard. I didn’t black out,’ she wheezed through gritted teeth as pain jarred her.

  ‘We’ll get an X-ray to be doubly sure.’

  Someone handed him the phone. ‘Orthopaedics on the line.’

  He moved away, turning his back so his words wouldn’t be heard by his patient. ‘I’m waiting for Radiology to come and take pictures, but I suspect a fracture to the elbow ginglymus and others to the humerus and ulna at the point of the hinge. There’s heavy blood loss from a torn artery.’

  ‘I’ll be down as soon as I’ve put Theatre on standby,’ the specialist told him.

  Returning to his patient, he informed her, ‘You need surgery to put that elbow back together.’

  She nodded. ‘Figured as much. Can someone call my husband? Let him know what’s going on?’

  Another family whose day had been tipped sideways. But not as badly as the couple in the next unit. The sobs were quietening down now and Conor could hear his counterpart talking to the woman, explaining that her husband had been successfully revived.

  ‘Until next time,’ the woman cried.

  Until next time. The words he’d carried around in his head since the day of his heart attack. Until next time. The reason for his panic attacks. That ‘next time’ hovered on the periphery of his mind. Most days it played nice. Occasionally, like last week, when life had been in turmoil, it had fired up, gripped his chest and sent him into a tailspin.

  ‘Conor? This your patient?’ The radiology technician had arrived.

  He shook away the dark clouds in his head. ‘Yes. I need as many angles as you can manage without further collateral damage.’

  Conor put everything into focusing on his patient and not on the litany of doom banging around his head. But the moment the orderly wheeled her away the fears and memories were back, larger, louder than before.

  He aimed for the counter and a computer to update the woman’s notes. And locked eyes with Tamara as she stepped out of Resus One. Her face was drawn and that sadness in her eyes had grown heavier. His chest tightened. ‘Tam?’

  ‘We saved him, but he’s got a long recovery ahead of him. His chances of walking and talking in the near future are remote.’