The Surgeon's Love-Child

by Lilian Darcy

  'Stop it, Dr Fletcher, you're making me laugh,' Steve growled, and their eyes met for a moment.

  He saw the way hers brightened, saw the self-conscious flush in her cheeks as it crept above the top of her mask. She flicked her gaze down again, and said with a change of tone, 'Blood in the surgical field has darkened, Steve. How's his oxygen?'

  'OK, a bit low.' He adjusted the level, the calm of his manner a little deceptive.

  'Temp?'

  'Normal. Heart's normal.'

  'Lord, are we still jittery after Eric Kellett?' Doreen voiced the concern they'd all felt for a moment. 'What would those odds be? To have another malignant hyperthermia crisis so soon?'

  'Slim,' Candace agreed.

  'Odds don't work that way in medicine,' Steve pointed out.

  'Some people win the lottery twice,' Peter agreed. 'Candace, the pre-admission assessment on this patient— my assessment, before he even got to the clinic, and his clinic visit as well—wasn't based on his fitness for a double operation.'

  'I know,' she said. 'But ultimately it's less stressful this way than putting him under twice. What's it called? An economy, of scale, or something? Both sides at once doesn't take nearly as long as two sides separately. I know what I'm doing, and I'll work as efficiently as I can. Steve, if there's the slightest sign that this is too much for him, let me know and we'll bail out, OK? I can schedule a second procedure if I have to.'

  'No worries, Dr Fletcher,' he said, then took his usual pleasure in watching the way she worked. Those hands, the angle of her head and her eyes squinting in concentration.

  They'd almost reached the end of the procedure when Mr Gatto's heart tracing went haywire, then flattened to nothing, accompanied by the high-pitched monotone of the alarm. They had equipment on hand, and everyone took their assigned roles with a smoothness that would have made Steve feel a little smug about his rural Australian hospital—if he'd had the time to feel anything.

  The paddles pressed to Mr Gatto's chest were brutal in their effect. His torso arched up from the operating table, then slumped down heavily, his solid flesh shaking.

  'Nothing,' Steve reported through tight lips. 'Let's go again.'

  They gave it a bigger charge this time, and inside the cage of those comfortably padded ribs the heart responded at last. The rhythm on the monitor was erratic at first, but quickly settled and steadied.

  'OK, I'm breathing again,' Candace muttered.

  Steve followed up quickly with drugs to maintain blood pressure and the correct rhythm, and she put her final sutures in place without saying another word.

  Out in Recovery, he ached to follow her out to the tearoom. Was that where she'd gone? She wasn't here on the phone, using the space between patients to catch up on other business as she often did. He knew he couldn't go in search of her, though.

  He wasn't prepared to leave anything to chance now, and stayed at the patient's side until he was confident that Mr Gatto was emerging from the anaesthesia as he should. His big frame looked like an empty shell, and his recovery would be slow and uncertain.

  Is Candace blaming herself? Steve wondered, staring at the ECG monitor that was still tracking Mr Gatto's heart rhythm. She was right to handle it the way she did. These things happen, and she fixed both those hernias in less than the time it would have taken Harry Elphick to do one of them, particularly in those last few years before he retired. Where's she got to, I wonder?

  He would have liked to have talked to her. He remembered that other time when they'd got Eric Kellett through his malignant hyperthermia crisis by the skin of their teeth, and she'd then forgotten to give the next patient a local anaesthetic to tide the woman through the first few hours after her painful haemorrhoidectomy and vein-stripping.

  Then, Candace had expressed her need for Steve with a clinging touch on his arm and a huge-eyed gaze. This time, during the routine vasectomy that followed, an hour later than scheduled, she didn't even look his way.

  He waited at home that night quite deliberately. Listened for the phone while he made scrambled eggs on toast for dinner. Didn't take a shower in case she phoned while he was in there and he didn't hear over the sound of running water.

  But when it did ring, a little later, it was only Helen, inviting him for a family dinner at the weekend. After that, he got impatient and angry—with Candace? He went out to a late movie that he didn't particularly want to see, because if Candace hadn't phoned by five past nine, then she probably wasn't going to phone at all, and he was damned if he'd spend the entire evening waiting by the phone like a teenage girl.

  If she didn't need him, fine. If his instinct about the strength of what she felt at the moment was wrong, fine. He wasn't enjoying this, anyway.

  Like Andrea Johnson yesterday, he was sick of putting himself through it.

  Did that mean he was giving up? That he was ready to abandon Candace, their conceived-too-soon baby and their no-strings-attached relationship?

  No! No, he wasn't giving up, and sooner rather than later Candace needed to know it.

  CHAPTER NINE

  'I feel as if I've let you down terribly by not having you over before this,' Myrna Davis said to Candace. 'After you were so helpful in getting Terry and me settled in during his fellowship stint in Boston all those years ago.'

  'Don't be silly, Myrna. You shouldn't have felt that you needed to do it even now.'

  They were seated together in a paved area of garden at the back of the Davises' attractive house, overlooking the river estuary. Terry was flourishing' an expensive set of barbecue tongs over a smoking grill, and the June sunshine was stronger and warmer than winter sun had any right to be. There were about twenty people present, and they were all enjoying themselves.

  'This is one of my good weeks, between cycles,' Myrna said. 'Now that I know the pattern, I can leave my chemotherapy weeks blank and slot things into the times I know I'll be feeling well.'

  'That sounds far too sensible, Myrna! Are you looking after yourself properly?'

  'No choice in that department.' The older woman laughed. 'I knew that chemo hits a lot of people hard, but somehow hadn't expected to have to cart a bucket and a box of tissues around with me at every step!'

  'Oh, heavens, yes, you poor thing!'

  Candace's sympathy was coloured by her own current situation. Myrna was trying to be funny about it, and Candace appreciated the other woman's courage in making light of the ongoing threat to her health, but even the wittiest observations on intractable nausea hit far too close to home at the moment.

  She'd been feeling worse over the past couple of days than she had felt a week ago, even though she'd reached the thirteen-week mark, when most women began to feel somewhat better as their hormones stabilised.

  It was stress and fatigue, Candace knew. She wasn't sleeping well, couldn't relax by day or by night with the test result still likely to be a week away or more. She was trying hard to ensure that Maddy had a good time, but that took effort as well. She didn't always want to go to a movie or to the local shopping mall after work.

  Linda Gardner's teenagers were helping enormously, at least. Richard was seventeen and Julia was just a few months younger than Maddy, and Candace had hosted a casual evening of pizza and ice cream the previous weekend, to which both of them had brought friends.

  It was surprising how much clearing up there was to do after ten teenagers when you hadn't even cooked for them, but apparently it had been worth the effort. Richard and Julia and a couple of their friends were here at the Davises' today, and Maddy had hardly deigned to talk to anyone else.

  One less thing to worry about.

  That wasn't necessarily a plus. In her churning mind, Steve Colton quickly stretched out a little further to fill the newly available space.

  He was stretching out now, on one of the Davises' outdoor jarrah-wood chairs near the barbecue grill—legs straight at the knee and crossed at the ankles, fingers laced behind his head and elbows pressed back, casual knit shir
t hugging tight across his broad chest.

  Not a care in the world? she wondered.

  His eyes were closed. His face was basking in the sun's gentle caress. He looked like an itinerant surfer, tanned and free and immortal.

  Then she looked closer, and saw the frown notched into his forehead, and the way those closed lids narrowed and flickered. He wasn't really relaxing. He was just wishing he could.

  Don't get it wrong, she chided herself. He's in this with me at least as far as the baby's health is concerned. He'll help.

  How much help can you give from ten thousand miles away?

  It's not his fault that I've fallen in love with him. That was never part of the deal. I'm the one who has changed the rules.

  Had he felt her watching him? His lids flickered again then opened, and he sat up straight and shielded his eyes with his hand. Her gaze clashed with his, and he gave a quick, covert smile that was too wry and too complicated.

  Her heart did a backward somersault inside her chest. Or maybe it was her stomach. Whichever organ was involved in the uncomfortable sensation, it would win a gold medal in gymnastics at the next Olympic Games at this rate. It was certainly training hard!

  'Sausages and steaks are up,' Terry announced. 'Satay sticks are about two minutes away. Help yourselves, everyone. Salads on the table, meats over here.'

  Candace got up to grab a plate before Myrna could make a fuss over her. She hated feeling like the guest of honour. Everyone must have been hungry, because a line had formed already, with the teenagers at the head of it and several adults hard on their heels.

  Coming next, Candace knew it was Steve who stood behind her, without even turning her head to look. A few moments later, they stood side by side at the salad table, and when his bare arm brushed hers as he leaned towards the coleslaw, she knew it was deliberate, a caress that said, I'm still here. I haven't disappeared.

  Yes, but only under the terms of the original agreement, she wanted to answer his unworded message. I want so much more than that now.

  Did she, though?

  She heard Maddy's confident yet still endearingly childlike laugh. 'Richard, that is so gross!''

  What do I want? My life isn't here, it's halfway around the world. That's where I have a career. Status and office staff, an extremely healthy income and a very large house, with Todd's share in it ceded to me under the terms of our divorce. More importantly, most importantly, that's where I have friends I feel truly comfortable with, and a mother I love, and a daughter who's the light of my life. Does loving Steve mean that I'd give all that up to stay here if he asked?

  Loving Steve...

  It was an instinct at the moment. A need. It made perfect, crystal-clear sense of some things, but threw others into total confusion. Little, trivial things such as her entire future.

  'Have Terry and Myrna shown you their garden yet?' Steve said to Candace in his 'public' voice, the one he used to her in front of colleagues, or in front of Maddy, or at any time when he thought they might be overheard.

  'No, they haven't,' she answered, in her own version of the same thing.

  She wondered if hers grated on his nerves as much as his did on hers. Her public voice was too high-pitched, too cooing and polite, while his was exaggeratedly Aussie, like that of some lone wolf Outback type who'd never had a sexual thought about an older woman in his life.

  Dear God, the age thing! She hadn't even given a thought to that potential problem for a while, because it seemed so trivial against ill the rest. But maybe it counted against both of them, too, counted against any possibility of a long-term future together.

  Women matured earlier than men, and had a head start. At least she'd lived and suffered. Suffered through the slow, unnoticed deterioration of a marriage, the bitterness of betrayal and divorce, the indescribable joys and relentless fears of parenthood. Steve was getting a crash course in the last item, and maybe, at thirty-three, he just wasn't ready for it.

  'Eat your lunch and I'll take you on a tour,' he offered heartily.

  'That sounds lovely...' she squeaked and cooed in reply.

  Her appetite had fled, but she downed a small plate of salad and barbecued meat. Steve poured her some fruit juice and they wandered off together, glasses in hand, with Steve uttering loud, helpful comments about the terraced flower-beds and the native shrubbery. Candace looked back once, but Maddy hadn't even noticed she'd gone.

  'They have a garden bench down here with great views of the water.'

  'I think you can stop now, Steve.'

  'I didn't want—' he began.

  'I know.' She nodded, meeting him halfway. 'I do it, too, don't I? It's OK.'

  They reached the bench but didn't sit on it. Candace put her empty glass down on a stone wall and stood awkwardly. There was a garden lamp just near the bench, and a set of stone steps running down to a small wooden dock where a small motorboat was moored.

  'Lovely!' she murmured, leaning a hand on the black metal of the lamppost.

  'You haven't phoned,' Steve said abruptly. 'Not once. In eleven days.'

  She turned, taken aback by the accusation and suddenly hot with feeling. 'I haven't phoned?'

  'It's easier for you.'

  His hands were folded across his chest, emphasising the hard strength of his forearms. She longed to stroke them as she had done so many times before, loving their raw, unmistakable masculinity. But she could tell he was angry, and it was like some sci-fi force field, keeping her at bay.

  She hadn't seen him like this before. His powerful physical energy had always manifested itself in other ways.

  'The timing, I mean,' he went on. 'You know when Maddy won't be around to hear you. And you know I live alone. You're safe ringing my place, pretty much any time you want. But you haven't.'

  She was still bewildered at his attack, sick with it. 'You talked about taking a break,' she said helplessly. 'I didn't know you wanted me to phone.'

  'Taking a break didn't have to mean total silence, did it?' His voice rasped harshly, and his blue eyes blazed.

  'Did it? You tell me!'

  'Well, it didn't. Not to me, it didn't.'

  'I thought that was what you wanted.'

  'No.' He swore under his breath.

  'Do you think I've found it easy? Going through this alone?' Her voice rose. 'The endless, agonising wait, while I try to make things nice for Maddy and pretend everything's just fine and dandy. I feel like some demented kindergarten teacher, most days. "Whoo-hoo, let's all have fun!" While really I wish I could just crawl away somewhere and go into a deep sleep until this was over.' Her voice cracked on the word. 'And the only person who's in this too—you, Steve—has said to me that we're taking a break. I thought it was what you wanted,' she repeated.

  'No, Candace. Hell, of course I wanted to keep in contact! I haven't dropped into a black hole.'

  'You should have made it clearer.'

  'I'm making it clear now.'

  'OK...' She nodded thinly.

  'Is that good enough?' he demanded.

  'If that's what you're offering.'

  'I'm still here, and I'm still this baby's father. I thought you understood that.'

  'Yes... There's no fathering to be done at this point, is there?'

  She didn't fully understand why she was pushing him away like this. Self-defence, maybe. Illogical, certainly. She was still reeling from the suddenness of his attack, although she'd started to understand his reasons now. But to feel herself in his arms now that she knew she loved him would surely be pain more than pleasure.

  'What are you saying, Candace?' he growled. 'What do you mean by "at this point"? That baby's just as real to me as it is to you.'

  'It isn't,' she argued. 'It can't be. You haven't felt its effect on your body. And you haven't had a child before. At least, not that you've mentioned. Perhaps there is one, tucked away somewhere?'

  'Hey!' Steve took a lunging step forward and gripped her arms. His face blazed with anger. 'Hell, what
is this?'

  'You started it. I "haven't phoned". Like it was a deliberately inflicted wound.'

  'I'm sorry. I was too abrupt. But, damn it, Candace...! And you're wrong! Don't you think it might be harder for me because I've never had a child, and because it's not a part of my body? I'm at sea. I'm totally powerless. Can't even pat my stomach the way you do, as a statement of love. I can do nothing, except stay away, and wait, and hope you'll take the initiative and phone. Do you know what it's like for a man when he has to do nothing? And you tell me you've got it hard?'

  He shook his head, twisted on his feet, thrust his hands into his pockets and began to pace the little terrace as if he wished it were ten times the size. He didn't look at her. Did he know how closely she was watching him? She blinked back tears, and several painful questions hovered on her lips.

  Is this the end? Are we calling it quits? Am I on my own?

  Finally he stopped, turned, faced her.

  'Are we giving up? Is that what we're saying?' she forced herself to ask.

  For such huge questions, her voice was tiny, squeaky with unshed tears. Evidently, they had the power to electrify him into action.

  'Giving up?' he echoed. 'Good God, Candee, no!'

  He had gathered her against him before she had time to harden herself and fight him off.

  They held each other rather desperately. He buried his face in the curve of her neck, and she felt the pleasing roughness of his jaw against her softer skin. She had her hair loosely swept back into a clip today, tumbling down between her shoulder blades. He laced its silky strands through his fingers, then took a ragged breath and began to kiss her hungrily, holding her against him with his hands bracketing her hips.

  'Lord, I need this!' he muttered.

  As always, it felt so right. It was the place she wanted to be. She needed the way he felt, and the way he smelt. She needed the sound of his voice vibrating in his chest when she pressed against its broad expanse and listened with one ear.