by Fiona Lowe
‘I don’t think she’s hungry, though, because she ate more bread than she gave to the ducks.’ A flicker of inadequacy churned her stomach and she frowned. ‘I must remember to always take some food with me.’
‘Chloe,’ Luke said with mild reproof, ‘you’re doing an amazing job. I’ve had almost two years to learn all that stuff and you’ve been thrown in at the deep end. We can’t thank you enough.’ He leaned in and casually brushed his lips ever so briefly across her cheek before quickly pulling out a kitchen chair.
‘Sit, Chloe.’ His tone was so matter-of-fact he could have been calling Chester to heel. ‘I’ll rustle up a Vegemite sandwich for Amber and a coffee for you.’
‘Thanks,’ she said faintly, almost falling onto the chair. A blast of conflicting emotions rocked through her, stealing the strength from her legs. Again.
The kiss—no, it hadn’t been a kiss, she told herself sternly. It had been an appreciative peck, a chaste touch.
It was something she could totally imagine him giving his sister or a maiden aunt and it aptly summed up the surreal situation in which she was currently living. Every moment of every day she was straddling the line between being a caregiver and a platonic friend to a man who made her blood run hot and filled her dreams. Dreams that woke her panting, tingling and tangled up in her sheets.
All of it was utterly, mentally exhausting. All of it was dangerous to her long-fought-for safe and relationship-free life.
Two weeks had passed since Luke’s surgery. His skin staples had been removed from his scalp and the only residual effects he’d experienced from having a benign tumour cut out of his brain were weariness and some minor co-ordination issues that were improving every day.
His moments of confusion in the first few days were now non-existent and recently there’d been times, when she was so tired from running around after Amber and caring for Luke, that he’d thought faster and more cogently than her.
‘Steph called while you were out,’ Luke said, over the hissing sound of steam through milk.
Luke’s sister tried to phone every day for an update because she and her family were still stuck in the outback because of impassable roads. Although Chloe was yet to meet Steph, she’d initially spoken to her daily for the first week and she really liked the practical, no-nonsense woman. Just recently Luke had taken all the calls.
‘How is she?’ she asked, glad to have a topic of conversation that shut out the cacophony of thoughts that came under the banner of way too complicated.
‘Frustrated.’ He set a coffee down in front of her, complete with latte art of a fern, similar to the ones growing in the shady secret garden.
She adored spending time in Luke’s garden and at some point every day she and Amber would go there and play with the water play set. Initially, Chloe had thought Amber would play on her own but she didn’t seem keen to do so. After consulting some normal childhood development books, Chloe realised her expectations were far too high. Now she joined in playing tea parties and pouring water through the water wheel to make the boats sail.
Very occasionally Amber would get so involved in her play or be so engrossed with Chester that Chloe could actually take ten minutes of uninterrupted, blissful reading time.
Luke slid into the seat across from her, his expression serious. ‘We all assumed Steph would be back by now and I feel that Amber and I are imposing on you.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ she blurted out, rushing to reassure him despite the cautious voice in her head that said, The longer this goes on the tougher it’s going to be to leave. ‘What are friends for if not to help out?’
He frowned. ‘Chloe, you’ve taken precious annual leave to work harder than you do at the hospital. I know how much work toddlers can be.’
She did too and she’d learned fast. ‘Yes, but Amber’s gorgeous and a joy to mind unless she’s overtired. Not unlike someone a bit bigger than her,’ she teased with a wink.
‘Are you referring to a grumpy plastic surgeon?’ His eyes sparkled and he gave her an impish grin.
The familiar swirl of attraction that she both loved and loathed spun through her as it did every single time he smiled at her. She sobered. ‘You’re hardly grumpy any more. Having a tumour in your head can’t have been easy.’
‘So it appears.’
He got a far-away look in his eyes and she tried not to panic. He hadn’t fitted since before the surgery and this look wasn’t a blackout. She’d come to call it his Anna look. He did it occasionally when he was thinking about his wife.
He pulled back to the present. ‘I feel more like myself than I have in a very long time.’
‘I’ve noticed the difference.’
His gazed fixed on her so intently it was as if they were the only two people in the world. Her mouth dried and she wanted to dive into those pools of liquid green.
‘I’m glad,’ he said softly. ‘I didn’t like being that person.’
His words wove around her, charging the air between them and pulling them together. Her head tilted forward as if tugged by an invisible thread, and so did his. She could feel the warmth of his breath on her face, smell a hint of mint, see the flare of his nostrils and the sheen of sweat on his top lip.
Kiss him.
This time she didn’t pause to argue. Instead, for the first time in two years she let her body take over. Her forehead tilted until it rested gently on his. Her eyes fluttered closed as her lips opened, ready to touch his lips.
Coolness streaked across her forehead, telling her he’d pulled back. Her eyes shot open and she saw him sitting ramrod straight in his chair with his fingers tightly interlaced and knuckles gleaming white.
‘How’s the coffee?’ he asked, looking everywhere but at her.
Fighting the shock of disappointment that he’d moved away from her, she struggled for equilibrium. She slowly stirred her coffee, watching the beautiful fern pattern bleed away to a mess of brown and white. A mess that perfectly reflected her life.
Stupid, stupid, stupid, Chloe.
Apart from Nick, there wasn’t a man out there who cared much about her and she needed to remind herself of that. Right now.
She raised her chin, determined to look at him—to act as if she hadn’t almost kissed him. Somehow, against a tight throat, she managed to croak out, ‘It’s a bit bitter.’ Or is that just me?
She batted the thought away. ‘Is this the new blend you asked me to pick up from the deli?’
‘Yes.’ He flicked open a magazine until he came to a page with a picture of a shiny machine that wouldn’t look out of place in the space programme. ‘I think I need a new coffee machine. What do you think of this one?’
She saw the five-digit figure and choked. ‘That’s six months’ rent.’
Something close to guilt crossed his face. ‘Talking of rent, can I pay yours while you’re here? It’s the least I can do with how much help you’ve been.’
That would be wonderful, thank you. But accepting his offer would only cause her more grief. She had to hold some part of herself back from Luke to survive. ‘That’s very kind of you, Luke, but it’s all good. I’ve been taking care of myself for a very long time now and I’ve got it sorted.’
Deep creases furrowed his brow and he gave her a long enquiring look filled with concern.
A flutter of panic eddied in her gut that he was about to ask her why.
‘Story, Daddy?’ Amber appeared with her favourite book about a train and climbed up onto her father’s knee.
Thank you, sweetie.
Luke pressed a kiss into Amber’s hair. ‘Sure thing.’
Two dark heads pored over the illustrations in the story, with Amber calling out, ‘Toot-toot.’
And Luke would reply, ‘Off we go,’ in his deep, melodious voice. Both of them were so engrossed in the story it was like they were the only people in the room.
Chloe’s heart lurched unexpectedly in her chest and she rose quickly, clearing the table and stowing the cof
fee mugs in the dishwasher. It was a timely reminder that Luke and Amber were a self-contained unit and she couldn’t allow herself to think for a single moment that she belonged in that tableau.
CHAPTER EIGHT
CALLIE STARED AT the baby in front of her. He’d just been admitted and she’d finished examining him but was pulling blanks on his diagnosis. She liked to have some clues before ordering rafts of tests but today she was struggling.
‘That’s a really big frown for a pretty face, Dr Richards.’
A rush of heat stormed through her and she didn’t need to look up to know exactly who was standing next to her. The man was sex on a stick and oozed charisma. As much as Callie had tried to tune out the hospital gossip, it was impossible because every second nurse and every third intern, irrespective of his or her gender, was trying to date the man.
Be cool, be calm, be detached, and at all costs be witty. ‘Ah, the ever-charming Dr Coleman.’ That’s not witty. ‘How are things?’
He smiled his easy smile—the one that lit up his face and lit up Callie. ‘Things are good,’ he said in his sexy American drawl. ‘Better than you, I think.’ He inclined his head towards the baby. ‘Problems?’
‘Yes.’ She met his gaze and beyond the ever-present charm she detected professional concern for her little patient and a genuine interest.
Run the symptoms past him. He might be able to help.
Talking to Cade about the baby would also help her in her campaign of thinking of him only in terms of a fellow doctor—her current campaign to maintain precious distance. ‘Would you mind talking through his history with me, please? I’m missing something.’
‘Happy to.’ He tilted his head, all professional attention. ‘Shoot.’
Years of well-honed skills came to the fore. ‘Baby Nicols, born at term and abandoned. Mother unknown. He’s been in foster-care for four weeks but is irritable and failing to gain weight.’
‘Drug screen results at birth?’ Cade asked, as his high forehead creased in concentration.
‘Not done.’
His brown brows rose sharply and if he’d wanted to blurt out, ‘That would never happen in the States,’ he managed to stifle it.
Callie couldn’t get all parochial or take offence at his expression because she’d been horrified herself when she’d found out the tests hadn’t been carried out. ‘I know it’s supposed to be standard procedure when the patient’s history isn’t known, but the baby was born in the outback and examined in a tiny clinic. He appeared healthy at birth and, given the lack of medical infrastructure, everything stopped at a routine exam, despite the fact that he’s not the most attractive baby on the planet—’
‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Cade smiled his hypnotic smile. ‘I’ve seen stranger-looking kids, that’s for sure. So how’s he ended up here on the glittering Gold Coast?’ He stroked his finger along the baby’s forehead.
Callie stared at the action, trying to align the inveterate playboy with a man who was so gentle and caring with children.
‘Callie?’
She quivered at the way his accent rolled over her name and was immediately horrified that her body had done that, let alone the fact she’d allowed her thoughts to be sidetracked. ‘Um, the foster-mother’s visiting her sister. She says today he won’t feed at all and she’s given him saline drops to try and clear his snuffly nose.’
Cade unlooped his stethoscope from around his neck and listened to the baby’s heart rate. ‘Slightly elevated, but that fits the story of baby with a cold.’
‘That’s what I thought but that doesn’t account for the substantial weight loss. On the chart, he falls firmly into the failure-to-thrive category. His low weight gain isn’t due to this cold.’
Callie reached over and undid the baby’s nappy. ‘This rash could be nappy rash except…’ She picked up the baby’s feet.
Cade blinked and moved in for a closer look. His cologne floated around Callie and she moved sideways so as not to breathe it in, knowing it would undermine her best intentions of staying detached.
He clicked on his penlight. ‘I can see tiny blisters. Are they anywhere else?’
She nodded. ‘Yes, on his hands and around his mouth too. With that pattern, the logical thought is Candida but it doesn’t look anything like it.’
Cade scratched his head. ‘So let’s recap. Failure to thrive, irritable, the sniffles and a rash. All vague symptoms and could be due to a thousand things. Are you waiting on blood tests?’
‘I was about to do them.’
He cupped the baby’s cheek and using his torch examined the nose. ‘Did the foster-mom say if the nasal discharge had ever been thick mucus?’
She shook her head. ‘I asked and she said it was always clear. In fact, she said it was watery and constant, but it never got—Oh, my God.’ A wild thought shot into her head, which she was tempted to dismiss instantly, but the shared look of comprehension in Cade’s dark brown eyes confirmed exactly what she was thinking. ‘Listen to his lungs again, please.’
‘You bet.’ Cade slowly and carefully moved his stethoscope around the baby’s tiny rib cage.
It took everything Callie had not to interrupt and say, ‘Can you hear any congestion?’
Finally, he pulled the earpieces out. ‘We’ll get an X-ray to confirm but, yeah, I think he’s got some consolidation there.’
‘It can’t possibly be what we’re thinking, right? I mean, he doesn’t have a saddle nose.’
‘Neonatal congenital syphilis?’ Cade nodded. ‘It’s rare but it does exist in disadvantaged groups so I’m thinking, yes. I’ve never seen it but this little guy’s mama probably didn’t have any prenatal screening or care so it’s possible.’
‘I’d say definitely no prenatal care.’ She wished they knew who the mother was because she needed treatment too. ‘I’ll order full bloods, LFTs and a lumbar puncture and get him started on IV penicillin.’
‘Treating him will be the easy bit,’ Cade said, with a twinkle in his eye.
‘What do you mean?’
His lips curved into a delicious smile. ‘If the paperwork for a notifiable disease in Australia is anything like it is back home, you’ll be tied up in red tape for days.’
She laughed, understanding perfectly. ‘Sad but true. Thanks for your help, Cade. I’m not sure I would have got to even considering this diagnosis without you.’
‘Oh, you would have,’ he said, his tone genuine and complimentary, ‘but I’m happy to help.’ He slid his hands into his pockets to retrieve his buzzing phone and read a text message. ‘I have to go. I’ll catch you around, Callie.’
‘Sure.’ She nodded, happy to watch him walk away knowing they’d just worked together professionally and relatively painlessly.
A new beginning.
Hopefully, yes. A new beginning without the crazy attraction that had caused her so much angst.
Callie picked up the phone and called the nurse in charge of infection control. ‘Lisa, it’s Callie Richards. You’re never going to believe this, but we’ve got a baby here with congenital syphilis and…’
An hour later, with all the barrier nursing in place, Callie stripped off her gloves, having completed the last of Baby Nicols’s tests—the lumbar puncture.
Scooping up all the test tubes and vials, she said to the nursing staff, ‘I’ll drop all these off at the lab and on my way back I’ll call by the coffee cart. If you’re quick, I’ll take your orders and bring coffee back.’
‘I can do that,’ Sara Hennessey said, pulling a coffee list off the board. ‘I always write one up for each shift just in case we get an offer like this.’
Callie laughed. ‘That’s taking organisation to a whole new level.’
‘Hey,’ Sara said with a steely look in her eye, ‘it’s coffee.’
‘It’s an addiction. You and Luke Stanley should form a club.’
‘Oh, don’t worry, we’ve talked about it,’ Sara said, full of enthusiasm. ‘As soon as he gets back, we�
�ll be drafting members.’
‘I’ll think about it. Meanwhile, I’ll be back in a bit.’
On her way out, Callie paused at fattening-up corner to get her fix of now-healthy babies and to remind herself of why she did her job. Then she trekked to Pathology and ran up the stairs to the coffee cart. After handing in the order for six coffees of various permutations and combinations, she used the brewing time to browse the magazines in the nearby small gift shop. As she flicked through the pages, catching up on all the celebrity news, she reassured herself that even though she knew her pre-and post-divorce life was a mess, it looked almost functional compared with what went on in Hollywood.
‘Cade, hi! You got my text?’
A beguiling female voice drifted into the shop. Callie looked up, keen to see who was talking to Cade, but the tall cluster of mobile card stands occluded her view. She couldn’t see Cade or the woman with the New Zealand accent but she could hear the conversation so clearly it was as if she was part of it.
‘I sure did, Natalie,’ Cade replied as smoothly as ever.
Natalie? The paediatric registrar—tall, willowy, blonde and gorgeous—who’d started six months ago at the hospital was a Kiwi, and Callie was certain her name was Natalie. The woman could have modelled for a European fashion house and her arrival had generated almost as much comment from the male staff as Cade’s had from the females.
‘So?’ Natalie almost cooed, clearly flirting. ‘What do you think?’
‘I think you’ll look stunning in black lace,’ Cade said, his deep voice caressing the words like velvet.
Black lace? Callie’s hand scrunched the magazine she was holding and the shop assistant shot her a killing look. She mouthed, ‘I’ll buy it.’ She didn’t dare speak and reveal she’d been eavesdropping. That would be far too embarrassing.
‘I plan to, Cade.’ Natalie’s voice dropped to a sexy burr. ‘That’s if you like black lace. If not, I could always wear white and be the blanc to your noir. After all, there’s something divine about a man in a tux.’