by Fiona Lowe
She watched him turn and leave without giving an apology and she tried not to let it rankle. After all, it shouldn’t bother her one bit because she was used to working with surgeons who believed all should bow down before them and kiss their feet. She also knew that apologies for bad behaviour were few and far between. Only Luke Stanley had always been an exception to that rule.
His reputation for skill and good humour had always meant that people had fallen over themselves to work with him. The nursing and auxiliary staff, from cleaners to occupational therapists, had loved him, and whenever he’d put together a team to go to Asia or Africa for a six-week stint with the foundation, repairing cleft lips and palates, there had always been more applicants than positions.
That man had utterly disappeared when his wife had died.
She wasn’t a stranger to grief, and she understood the pain of it all too well. She’d been lost in the midst of it once, for a year, floundering in the suffocating darkness that had become both enemy and friend. It had been her beloved brother Nick who’d hauled her unwilling teenage mind out of the black and treacherous morass and pushed her back into the light of life.
At the time it had hurt like nothing she’d ever experienced before or since and the battle not to let grief become a toxic legacy had been beyond hard, but she’d done it. Years later, when Jason had told her he wouldn’t marry her because she couldn’t give him a child, she’d teetered on the edge but she’d survived and learned. Today, she knew that even though her life now wasn’t anything like that she’d imagined for herself as a naïve sixteen-year-old, and neither was it the life she truly wanted, it was a life worth living and living well.
You could show him how to do it.
The thought clanged loudly in her head like the penetrating sound of a fire alarm and she wished she could put noise-cancelling headphones over her brain.
Yes, she was a nurse, a member of a caring profession, and, yes, she had the ability to recognise when someone needed help. Luke Stanley definitely fell into that category—he needed help big-time—but she was also a survivor. Helping a grieving man with a child would be more harmful to her than helpful to him and she wasn’t prepared to risk her hard-won stability.
No, it wasn’t her job to do the ‘hands-on’ helping stuff with Luke Stanley, but she’d talk to Keri and Kate. After all, they knew Luke a hell of a lot better than she did.
CHAPTER THREE
‘WANT BUNNY,’ Amber sobbed into Luke’s shoulder, her tears making a damp patch on his cotton shirt.
‘Hello, Amber, I’m Mr Clown,’ Luke said in a voice he thought might sound like a clown’s as he waggled the soft toy near his daughter’s face.
Amber’s hand knocked the clown sideways. ‘Want bunny!’
Luke’s head pounded with fury at himself and despair for Amber, which rumbled through him and reminded him he had so much to learn as a father. How had he forgotten to check that her beloved bunny had been in the backpack when he’d collected Amber from daycare?
Because you were thinking about Chloe Kefes.
His anger at himself was buried deep with sharp roots. How had he forgotten ever meeting her? Unlike most of his colleagues, he didn’t forget names and faces, especially when there was another connection, like her being Nick’s sister. But today he’d needed all her prompting to recall the iodine incident.
He hated that he’d forgotten as much as he hated the fact his mind kept repeating the way her plump lips curved into a smile. A generous, captivating smile, which dimpled her round cheeks and danced in her eyes. A smile that had faded under the onslaught of his bitter words—words generated by his own self-loathing and hurled out to land on the nearest target. It wasn’t Chloe’s fault that Amber was motherless and in full-time daycare. No, that responsibility lay solely at his feet.
Amber’s wails sounded even louder than before.
Damn it, he shouldn’t still be thinking about Chloe. What sort of a pathetic excuse for a father was he?
Poor Amber. She was rarely without her talisman bunny—her security blanket in her ever-changing world. Her one stable item in a confusing place, where her previously mostly at-home father was now absent during the day, and her aunt, uncle and cousins were unexpectedly gone too.
He’d telephoned the director of the daycare centre, who, although sympathetic to his plight, had not been prepared to make the twenty-minute drive to open the building to retrieve the bunny, no matter what Luke had offered. The doctor in him understood. The father with the hysterical child wasn’t quite so reasonable.
He lined up all Amber’s cuddly toys. ‘Look, honey, Teddy’s sad and needs a cuddle,’ he tried, desperate to turn the situation around.
Amber screamed.
Abandoning any attempts to try and settle her into her cot, Luke carried her outside to the deck. The slow and rhythmic roll of the waves hitting the sand boomed around them and the silver rays of moonlight beamed down through the streaks of cloud to sparkle on the Pacific Ocean. He lowered himself onto the sun lounger and settled Amber on his chest, his hand patting her sobbing and shuddering body and matching the beat to the tempo of the waves.
Oh, so very slowly, as the inky darkness cloaked them both, Amber’s frantic sobs turned into occasional, gulping hiccoughs until her breathing steadied and her body relaxed against his. Despair finally turned to sleep. He knew he should probably take her into her room and settle her into her cot, but after the last hour he didn’t dare move in case she woke up, remembered the missing bunny and was again faced with having to go through the same trauma.
He knew all about that. Even now, living in a different house, he still woke occasionally expecting to find Anna there, only to have the realisation she was gone dump all over him. Over and over. Anna was gone because he’d made a critical error that couldn’t be fixed. At least Amber was spared the memory of missing her mother, or at least he hoped she was. She’d only been six months old when Anna had died. Did she miss someone she couldn’t remember?
He pulled a beach towel off the chair next to him and covered both of them with it to ward off the slight chill of the night air. Amber may not have a mother, but she had a loving extended family who smothered her in love. Were aunts, uncles and cousins enough?
The image of clear and honest hazel eyes beamed into his brain and he instantly shut them out. He’d only ever had eyes for one woman, and even though Anna was gone he had no desire to look elsewhere. The idea was abhorrent to him. Closing his eyes, he found himself battling random images of dimples and long, glossy chestnut hair. Desperate, he focused on the sound of the sea and willed sleep to come.
The elevator doors closed and Callie Richards, neonatal specialist, wished she could turn off her pager and hide in the steel box for an hour. She knew it was just an idle dream, however, because the NICU was full of sickies and Nick Kefes, Gold Coast City’s beloved obstetrician, had just called her, flagging a possible case that might require her skills. She hoped Nick was being his usual overcautious self and that she might actually get home tonight to sleep in her own bed.
Who else’s bed would you sleep in? Certainly not arrogant Cade Coleman’s.
Shut up!
She hated how her conscience threw up unexpected reminders of her most stupid mistake to date—flirting outrageously with Cade Coleman. Just when she’d been convinced she’d successfully let go of the embarrassing memory, her brain did this to her. It made little sense because it wasn’t like he was the only man she’d ever had practise forgetting. Truth be told, he was just one in a long line of men—men she rarely gave a second thought after she’d picked up her shoes and tiptoed quietly out their doors, never to see them again.
Correction—thinking about Cade made no sense because she hadn’t even got to first base with him, thank God, let alone kissing and sex. But flirting with him had been a basic error—a rookie mistake she should be long past making.
Rule Number One: don’t hit on the men you work with. Prior to Cade, she
’d held fast to that rule like superglue because it meant she never had to deal with coming face to face with her folly on a daily basis.
Mind you, the man didn’t seem perturbed by that fact so she shouldn’t be either and, damn it, she wasn’t. Just yesterday she’d given him a polite nod and not felt a moment’s regret. Well, not very much of a moment, anyway.
Emotionally stunted men like Cade are not worth thinking about. She repeated the mantra to herself.
The elevator pinged, the doors opened and she stepped out to see Chloe Kefes standing and staring through the large windows of the special care nursery. On the other side of the glass were the cots that were home to the premature babies who were now almost full term. The staff affectionately called this part of the room the ‘fattening-up’ corner and when babies graduated here, they were close to being discharged home into the loving care of their parents.
‘Hi, Chloe, you’re a long way from Plastics.’
The nurse looked momentarily flustered and a pink flush stained her cheeks. ‘I’m on my way back from Pathology.’
‘You’re taking the long way, then.’ Callie laughed, understanding exactly, because sometimes in a fraught and busy hospital, taking a circuitous route gave a professional the only breathing space they got in a day. She followed Chloe’s gaze. Twin boys had managed to each get a hand out from under their bunny rug and their little fingers were exploring the air.
‘Those two were so sick and now look at them. They’re just itching to explore life,’ Callie said with a glow of satisfaction.
‘Hmm.’
Callie glanced at Chloe, who was usually a lot chattier. ‘Tough day?’
Chloe shrugged. ‘I used to love coming to work but for the last few weeks the ward’s been on tenterhooks. It seems no matter what we do, we can’t do anything right.’
‘Luke Stanley?’
She nodded. ‘When the consultant’s not happy…’
‘No one is.’ Although Callie didn’t know Luke, she’d heard the news of his wife’s death on the hospital grapevine. She touched Chloe’s arm in an understanding gesture because nurses often took the brunt of a doctor’s unhappiness.
‘When my day sucks, I often come down here and look at the babies.’ Callie smiled. ‘There’s something about them that makes you feel better and gives you hope, right?’
Chloe spun away from the window so fast that she almost knocked into her. ‘I have to get back to work, Callie. Catch you later.’
She walked away before Callie had time to say another word. Astonished by the nurse’s abrupt departure, she watched her disappear into the lift. Chloe was usually so upbeat—one of those people who seemed to be almost too bright, bubbly and good humoured to be real, although Callie knew her to be absolutely genuine. Chloe Kefes was one of the hospital’s best nurses, with a perfect blend of professionalism, empathy and good cheer. For her to be so skittish, Luke Stanley must really be getting her down.
Men. Working with them should be straightforward but so often it was far from that. Thoughts of Cade threatened to rise but she cut them off at the knees. She’d made a fool of herself once and she had no plans to do it again. She was over and done with Cade Coleman.
She pushed open the door of the nursery and did a round of her little patients. The baby with bronchomalacia, who was being nursed in the open cot, was improving and she hoped that by tomorrow he’d be breathing without the assistance of continuous positive airway pressure. She took the time to reassure anxious parents about the standard procedure of using an apnoea mattress with all premature babies, and she was thrilled to be able to help a mother hold her premature baby for the very first time.
Callie loved her job. Unlike her private life, here at the hospital she was in control and she knew exactly what she was doing. After she’d completed the discharge papers for the twins, Nick still hadn’t called back, so she decided to grab something to eat while she had the chance.
As she reached the tearoom door, laughter and conversation rolled out to meet her.
‘Oh, my God, that Cade Coleman has to be the sexiest man ever to walk the floor of this hospital.’
Callie recognised the voice of Sara Hennessey, one of the NICU nurses, and she stopped short of entering the room.
‘I know, right? And that accent! He only has to say hello and I’m a puddle of lust,’ replied a voice Callie wasn’t familiar with.
‘He is without a doubt the best addition to Gold Coast City in a very long time. I heard from the theatre nurses that Callie Richards—’
Oh, God, no! Callie hastily spun on her heel, away from the tearoom, and punched open the nursery door. It took every ounce of control she had to keep her feet from breaking into a run. One dumb mistake. It was bad enough she’d plastered herself all over him when they’d danced and then gone on to suggest that she was open to more, but to have the nursing staff talking about her was more than she could bear. She’d worked so hard at keeping her private life exactly that—private.
Never again was she going to give anyone any excuse to talk about her. From this day forward she was marking Cade Coleman and every other red-blooded male in the hospital as off limits.
‘What is the point of writing down clear instructions if no one reads them?’
As Luke’s terse words broke over Chloe like jagged shards of glass, she counted slowly to five. Despite talking with Keri and Kate and outlining her concerns about Luke, and their meeting with staff in Theatre to try and work out the best way to handle him, not much had changed in two weeks. With Keri and Kate, with whom he’d worked before, he seemed to hold himself in check, but there were still moments when he was difficult, and on those occasions he took down everyone in his path.
Oh, why had Keri gone to a seminar today, leaving her in charge of the ward? Now she had to deal with the man she’d nicknamed the panther. Like the big black cat, he was a perfect specimen—sleek, muscular and strong. At times his emerald eyes would glow with ruthless keenness that made her shiver with delicious anticipation.
It unnerved her because she didn’t want to be attracted to him. She didn’t want to be attracted to any man, let alone one who had a neon ‘excess-baggage’ sticker plastered all over him. That would be like throwing herself under a truck—both dangerous and deadly to her peace of mind.
Stay strong. Remember, no man is for you, especially not this one.
A raft of heady need skipped through her, deaf to her entreaties, and she stomped on it hard. She didn’t even like this version of Luke, so why was her body doing this to her? When he was in one of his moods, he pounced on any weakness, attacking first and pausing second. Yes, the man was grieving, and for the last couple of weeks the staff had been making allowances for him, but that didn’t absolve him from basic manners.
Glancing up at his handsome but scowling face, she said, ‘And hello to you, Mr Stanley. Welcome to Ward Six.’
‘Chloe.’ He gave her a stiff nod as if he recognised that he should have at least greeted her first before lobbing his complaint at her like a grenade. ‘Mrs Wharton’s drain tubes should have been removed today. The woman’s been through breast cancer and the least she can expect is to be free of tubes so she can get an idea of how her new breasts are going to look.’
‘I agree.’
‘I don’t need you to agree.’ He rubbed his temple and squinted at her as if he was having trouble focusing. ‘I just need the drain tubes out.’
‘And they will come out.’ In every encounter with the irascible consultant she’d needed to draw on her counselling skills. It was exhausting. ‘As a result of your busy morning in the operating theatre, we’re flat out here with post-op checks. Along with that, we’re one nurse down and as I am sure you’re aware you didn’t specify an exact time for the removal. There’s still a lot of today left.’
She smiled at him to reinforce her commitment. ‘I guarantee you that the drain tubes will be out before I go off duty at three.’
‘Good,’ he said g
ruffly, scrawling an order on another patient’s chart. ‘Make sure they are.’
His response crossed her threshold of what she was prepared to have dished out to her. ‘Mr Stanley…Luke.’
His silver pen stilled in his hand. ‘Yes?’
‘I may not be Keri and we may not have had a long working relationship but I’m good at my job. When I give you my word, know that it will be honoured. I’d appreciate being treated with the same professional respect that I accord you.’
Despite the semi-permanent dull ache behind his eyes, Luke felt Chloe’s words strike him and strum a chord. God, when had he turned into such an ogre?
Since you killed your wife. The cancerous words spread their malignancy through him again, ramping up the hatred he held for himself—an abhorrence he shielded Amber from. Like a full reservoir, there were times when it spilled out at work, no matter how hard he tried to contain it.
‘I have a headache.’ He rubbed his eyes and hid behind an excuse because it was easier than telling Chloe the truth.
Her hazel eyes widened in disbelief at his justification for rudeness, which even sounded lame to his own ears.
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ she said, her chin tilting up defiantly, ‘but is there any need to inflict it on us? Here…’ She fished a foil disc out of her pocket. ‘Take some ibuprofen.’
He accepted the two white tablets along with the admonishment and tried a wry smile. ‘Spoken like a true nurse.’
Her lush mouth softened into a smile and the stirrings of warmth that eddied in him each time he met her became waves of liquid heat. Then she laughed and the sound surfed on the heat, pulling up memories of the times he’d laughed easily. For a brief moment the constant reminders of why he didn’t laugh much any more—why he didn’t feel any more—faded away and he let the wondrous and glorious sensations of life surge through him.
Betrayer.
Guilt seared him like the dry heat from a furnace, sucking the oxygen from the joy until it shrivelled to nothing. He didn’t deserve to feel happy. He wanted to turn and leave—march away from Chloe immediately. Away from the temptation that represented everything he could no longer have in his life.