by Fiona Lowe
You have to work with her.
He did, and it wasn’t Chloe’s fault that Anna was dead. It wasn’t Chloe’s fault that with one ill-timed action he’d screwed up his perfect life.
He stood facing her with his fingers clenched on his Swiss pen and tried to apologise. ‘I do appreciate your work here, Chloe.’
‘Thank you.’
This time her smile made her dimples and her eyes dance, and the treacherous heat flared again, filling him with longing before vanishing and leaving only bitterness. Hell, he couldn’t cope with this roller-coaster ride of emotions every time he came to the ward, but he could hardly ask Administration to have her removed. A thought struck him—the perfect solution for six weeks or more.
‘You did a great job with Made, so great, in fact, that I think you should sign up for the foundation’s cleft palate tour that leaves next week.’ He tried for what he hoped was a reassuring smile. ‘Jenny Patrick’s looking for people and you’re a natural with kids.’
She flinched as if he’d struck her. ‘I appreciate the compliment but that won’t be possible.’
No. ‘Why not?’ He heard the bark in his voice and wished he could snatch the words back because, damn it, his fear sounded the same as anger.
She blinked at him as if she couldn’t believe he’d asked her the question. ‘Because…’ Her cheeks flamed red and she twirled her ponytail tightly around her forefinger as if she was struggling to give a reason. ‘Because it’s just not possible.’ She picked up Glenda Wharton’s drug chart and slapped it against his chest. ‘Please write up some milder analgesia for her and I’ll take out the drain tubes now.’
Her expression—a combination of defiance and pain—was all too familiar and it silenced him. As much as he didn’t want to have to see Chloe every day, he didn’t want to hurt her either. While he quickly wrote the order across the page, neither of them said another word.
He got the distinct feeling both of them were battling demons they wanted to keep secret.
CHAPTER FOUR
‘HE SHOULD SLEEP all afternoon because I ran him halfway to Burleigh Heads this morning,’ Chloe told Nick as she settled Chester into his basket inside a playpen.
Even though Lucy had taken the twins to visit a friend, Chloe didn’t want the puppy to escape and cause her sister-in-law any more work. Being the mother of twins was enough to exhaust her, without adding anything extra. Despite today being Chloe’s weekend off, the hospital had called, asking if she could come in for three hours. She was happy to work but her puppy was still too small to be on his own for more than an hour.
‘You’ll be fine with your uncle, won’t you?’ Nick fondled the pup’s golden ears.
‘Enjoy him, because he’s as close to a nephew as you’re ever going to get.’
The acrid words spewed out of her, shocking her. For years she’d kept a tight lid on her sorrow, and she wasn’t sure why today it had momentarily lifted, especially with her brother. He was the one person who knew the details of what had happened to her all those years ago at sixteen. If it hadn’t been for Nick and his quick actions, she’d be dead.
Nick’s eyes, the identical colour to hers, darkened with concern. ‘You okay?’
‘I will be.’ She forced a smile. ‘I think turning thirty was harder than I thought.’
‘It can be a tough birthday,’ Nick said, still patting the dog.
‘Oh, yeah.’ It had been a tough couple of weeks in so many ways—her birthday, working with Luke Stanley and nursing the little Balinese boy. She’d even added to it by walking past the special care nursery, instead of avoiding it like she normally did. For an extra dose of agony she’d paused, gazing at the babies. Reminding herself of what she could never have.
‘You know, Chester reminds me of Cerberus,’ Nick said, his voice filled with surprise.
‘Sorry.’ Chloe bit her lip, thinking about their childhood dog. When their strict Greek father had discovered she’d broken his draconian rules and had snuck out of the house to meet a boy, he’d punished her by having the dog put down. Her actions had cost Nick his beloved dog. ‘I think that’s why I chose him.’
‘Don’t let your mind go back to that toxic place, sis. Baba just wanted an excuse to get rid of the dog, and if it hadn’t happened then it would have happened another time.’ Nick rose to his feet and gave her a hug. ‘You really are having a tough time, aren’t you?’
‘Just a bit.’ She pulled back from her brother. ‘I’d better get going. At least Luke Stanley won’t be in today to upset everyone, so that’s something.’
‘Give the guy a break, Chloe,’ Nick admonished gently.
She slung her leather backpack over her shoulder with a jerk. ‘He’s mostly fine with Keri and Kate and I’ve done my best to be understanding, but there are times when he’s tough to work with.’
‘There’s no time limit on grief.’
‘You’re preaching to the converted, Nick. Say hi to Lucy and the twins for me.’
He grinned at the mention of his wife and children. ‘Will do. And, Chloe…’
She paused at the door. ‘Yes?’
‘Keep looking forward. Promise?’
She nodded at their old mantra—the cluster of words that had kept them strong through difficult times. ‘Will do.’
Closing the door behind her, she walked the short distance to the hospital. Accident and Emergency was seething with humanity on this fine and sunny Saturday afternoon and she signed in, introducing herself to the staff.
‘There are two rugby players with concussion and head lacerations who’ve just arrived,’ said Greg Lindall, the nurse-in-charge. ‘I’ve called Plastics and someone will be down.’
‘I’m on it.’ She pushed her arms into a gown, grabbed some dressing packs and made her way to the cubicles. Two burly men, their toned and buff bodies dwarfing the hospital trolleys, sat holding icepacks to their heads.
‘Hi, I’m Chloe.’
‘Finn Hudson,’ replied one of the men.
‘Harry Jameson,’ said the other.
Chloe flicked through the head-injury charts that the ambulance officers had commenced and saw their ages. ‘So, guys, your chart says you’ve both had concussion twice before. Isn’t it time to give up the game?’ she flicked on her pencil torch and checked Harry’s pupils.
‘We’re thirty-two, not dead,’ he said, flinching as she inspected the nasty gash on his head.
‘That may be, but serial concussions are serious. You don’t want to be forty and suffering from memory loss. What about taking up tennis?’
The guys stared at her as if she’d just suggested they take up floristry. She laughed. ‘Okay, then, maybe not tennis, but there are plenty of other non-contact sports to challenge you. Cycling or kayaking. I do sea kayaking and it’s fabulous.’
‘If you’re offering a lesson I might just consider it,’ Finn said, his face breaking into a flirty grin.
She laughed, comfortable with the banter. She was used to male patients flirting with her, and she enjoyed the safety of it because it never led anywhere, which was just how she liked it.
‘I’m going to stitch up the gash on your head now, Harry, but the cut close to your eye needs the expertise of the plastic-surgery registrar.’
‘Yeah, like he had such a pretty boy face to begin with,’ Finn teased.
‘Mate, I wasn’t the one spending the bucks ordering face cream online,’ Harry shot back.
Chloe listened to their nonsense as she carefully shaved a small section around the head gash and cleaned it, before administering local anaesthetic to numb the area. She loved the routine of suturing—the way the curved needle brought the skin edges neatly together, the looping of the silk over the scissors and then the sharp snip to end the stitch. The skin edges joined cleanly and she was applying a dressing when Greg stuck his head through the gap in the curtains.
‘Got a minute?’
‘Sure.’ She stripped off her gloves. ‘Back in a minute,
fellas.’
She followed Greg, swooshing the curtains closed behind her. ‘What’s up?’
Greg inclined his head towards the corridor that led to the tearoom.
Luke Stanley stood in the doorway—tall, dark and definitely handsome in his stormy, angst-ridden way.
Delicious shock waves of delight scudded through her, fast followed by dismay. Why couldn’t she get a better handle on this crazy reaction to him?
He was holding a little girl whose black curly hair was identical to his own. His daughter. She snuggled in close to his broad chest, seeking sanctuary, and she clutched a soft toy tightly as if it would ward off the confusion of the combined sights and sounds of a busy A and E.
Luke’s not rostered on.
A thousand questions bombarded her, starting with Why is he here? And followed by Why on earth has he brought his daughter into a place that has the capacity to distress adults, let alone toddlers?
The child didn’t look sick, but then again Chloe’s experience with children was so limited that she didn’t trust her instincts at all.
Luke, his face a tight mask as usual, raised his free hand and motioned her over.
Mystified and somewhat hesitant, she made her way around the nurses’ station and towards him. ‘Is there a problem?’
‘Yes.’ Ragged exhaustion threaded through the words. ‘Richard telephoned me half an hour ago. His car’s broken down on the way back from Lamington National Park and the roadside service can’t get him back here for at least three hours.’
Things started to make sense. ‘So you’re covering for him?’
He nodded slowly. ‘Got it in one. He tells me there’s a patient with a laceration close to an eye that needs suturing.’
Chloe glanced at the little girl, who was looking up at her from under half-lidded eyes. For Luke to suture, he was going to have to put the little girl down and someone was going to have to look after her while he did it.
Her mind leapt straight to the logical conclusion and lurched away from it so fast it almost gave her whiplash. ‘I wish you’d called first because Mr Jameson’s not strictly an emergency. He’s on a head-injury chart for the next four hours so Richard should be back in time to suture it. You and your daughter…’
‘Amber,’ he said quietly.
She swallowed. ‘You and Amber are free to get back to enjoying your Saturday afternoon.’
He sighed, the sound weary and resigned. ‘The three hours is only a ball park estimate, and seeing as I’ve woken Amber from her nap to get here, it’s best I stitch it now rather than risk being called back later.’
And how are you going to do that? She refused to ask the obvious question and said instead in her best professional voice, ‘I’ll set up a suture trolley for you.’
‘Thanks, but I can manage that on my own.’ He smiled—only one of a very few true smiles she’d ever seen on his face—and it raced into those amazing, clear, green eyes of his, which were now fixed firmly on her.
Its effect was like a bomb detonating inside her, but instead of releasing shrapnel and carnage it was spinning out glorious, wondrous need that liquefied everything inside her. Her knees threatened to sag and she pressed her back up against the wall, seeking support.
This couldn’t be happening. One smile should not do this to her.
You know better than this. He’s difficult, unreasonable and a basket of pain.
Her body didn’t care about protecting her heart and soul—it was too busy savouring every addictive whoosh of attraction. It wanted nothing more than to slide down the wall and fall panting at his feet. Better yet, have his hands touch her, his long fingers caress the hypersensitive skin under her arm and—
She fought every sensation, struggling to pull herself together and banish the surge of mind-altering lust that had just blindsided her.
‘…minding Amber for me?’
The lust vanished the moment her brain decoded his question. No, I can’t do that. ‘But…’ Think! ‘…she doesn’t know me, and I’m on duty and…’ Her voice trailed off as the smile faded from his eyes, replaced by something so stark it actually hurt her to look at it.
His body stiffened and he looked as if he might shatter into a thousand pieces if anything brushed against him. ‘I’m sorry to impose on you, Chloe. Please know that if I had any other option, I’d take it.’
The remote and prickly surgeon was firmly back in place. This time, though, she could see the bewildered man underneath the façade—the professional who knew he had a job to do vying with the father who was worried for his daughter. She recognised how much it had cost him to ask for her help.
She tried to say no to his request but her mouth refused to form the word. Despite the fact she’d normally wade through shark-infested waters to avoid spending time with children, it would be utterly heartless to refuse him. Instead, she found herself hauling in a fortifying breath.
‘Sure,’ she said. ‘I can mind Amber.’
After all, how hard could it really be to mind a toddler for twenty minutes?
‘I’m back,’ Luke announced as he walked into the tearoom.
‘Oh, good,’ Chloe said with heartfelt emphasis.
He had the oddest sensation of things being totally back to front. He’d expected Amber to be the one counting down the minutes until he returned, but his daughter was quietly drawing, her head bent in concentration over a huge piece of paper. Chloe, on the other hand, was walking fast towards the door as if she couldn’t get out of the room quickly enough. ‘How did it go?’
‘Fine.’ She smiled but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.
‘Really? She can be pretty full on and she exhausts me. Sometimes I think a complicated piece of surgery is easier.’
A slow smile of relief crossed Chloe’s face. ‘Thank goodness. I thought it was just me. She was clinging onto her rabbit for dear life until I found the crayons and then she was a different child.’
He gazed at his beautiful daughter who was dealing with all sorts of experiences she wouldn’t have had to had Anna still been alive. All he wanted for Amber was security, so that she’d grow up to trust and not be fearful of change, but it was a big ask, especially when he had to rely on the kindness of strangers.
Chloe Kefes is hardly a stranger.
He rubbed the back of his neck. ‘In situations like this my sister would usually mind Amber but she’s holidaying in central Australia. Thanks for helping me out, Chloe, I really appreciate it.’
‘You’re welcome.’ She tilted her head quizzically, as if she was pondering something, and her ponytail swung out, the tips of her chestnut hair brushing against the soft skin of her neck. His fingers instantly itched, wanting to reach out and touch her—to dip into the hollow at her neck and then trail a path along her collarbone.
He quickly grabbed a mug off the bench, wanting to stop the feeling from going any further but at the same time not wanting her to leave. He’d been at home with Amber all day and he needed a conversation with an adult. ‘Can I make you a tea or a coffee?’
She caught her bottom lip with her teeth. ‘I should probably get back to work.’
He understood her prevarication. He’d hardly been easy to work with lately and he was probably the last person she wanted to chat with casually, but she’d helped him out and he wanted to make amends. Besides, sharing a coffee in the hospital tearoom with an almost-two-year-old chaperone was the safest place to chat with Chloe.
He rocked back on his heels. ‘Greg said to tell you the rush is over for now and to take your time.’ He saw her open her mouth to protest and he quickly cut her off with, ‘I did the half-hour HIC check on Finn and Harry so you’ve got time. Besides, I know where they keep the stash of chocolate biscuits.’
‘Chocolate?’ Her eyes danced. ‘Well, in that case, you’ve convinced me.’
‘Biccy?’ Amber looked up hopefully from her drawing.
‘Yes, blossom, you can have one,’ he replied, before looking back at
Chloe. ‘What’s your drink of choice?’
She flicked out her thumb as if she was hitchhiking. ‘I’ll have a latte if you’re able to work that machine.’
He grinned, enjoying the feeling. ‘Not only can I work it, I totally dominate it. I did a barista course in Italy.’
Disbelief raced across her high cheeks. ‘Seriously?’
‘I’m not just a difficult plastic surgeon,’ he offered by way of an apology.
‘That’s great to hear,’ she said with a smile. ‘I’m looking forward to seeing the different sides of you on the ward.’
No one had ever really taken him to task quite like this. Not his family. Not even Anna. ‘Are you always this direct?’
She shrugged almost too easily, as if she was pushing something away. ‘If I don’t stand up for myself, no one else is going to.’
Her words dragged across his skin and something akin to sadness for her seeped in.
‘Draw doggie more?’ Amber held out the crayon to Chloe.
Chloe hesitated before moving slowly over to his daughter, almost as if she was forcing herself. Accepting the proffered crayon, she sat down next to Amber and quickly sketched a golden dog with big brown eyes. ‘There you go, sweetie.’
‘Chester.’ Amber clapped.
‘Chester?’ Luke set down the latte with milk frothed to the perfect temperature in front of Chloe, wondering where Amber had learned the word.
‘My new puppy.’ Chloe sipped her coffee and her eyes drifted closed for a moment, before popping open again. ‘Oh, my, you weren’t just bragging, were you? You really can make coffee.’
Her astonishment made him laugh. ‘There’s no risk of me getting a big head around you, is there?’
‘Not a chance.’ She winked at him and then took another sip of her coffee, only this time her eyes stayed open. Behind the lenses of her glasses, bliss flared.