by Amy Andrews
At her insistence they were sitting right up in the back row in the corner and with the cinema only half-full they were a long way from their nearest neighbour. And those knees and the skirt just above them had been seriously tempting.
He also survived their Sunday drive up into the Gold Coast hinterland. Her tiny shorts and tank top were perfect for the gorgeous sunny day, if not for his sanity, but he managed to limp through their third date without succumbing to Callie’s considerable wiles.
The same couldn’t be said for coming across her in the special-care nursery the day before the big surgery. He’d ducked in to check on a couple of his babies, pausing by the nurses’ station when he spotted her.
She was in a part of the unit known as the fat farm. It was the step-down area for those babies who had graduated from the NICU and special care levels and just needed to fatten up a bit before being discharged. She was standing near an empty cot, cradling what he presumed to be the occupant of said cot, while she chatted with Lucy Palmer, who, as a midwife, was also out of her usual territory.
The bundle squirmed and a little angry fist punched the air. Callie smiled down at the baby, her lips pursing in a shushing motion as she rocked a little. Her hand came up to cover the little fist, her thumb gently stroking over tiny knuckles.
A hand seemed to clamp around Cade’s intestines and squeeze hard. It was swift and unexpected. He’d seen her in tiny shorts, in a zippered top and in nothing but sand on the beach that night, but somehow this view of her was the most breathtaking of all.
She looked down at the bundle in her arms with an expression on her face he saw every day here at work both on men and women. The pure wonder of a baby. The miracle of it all. Had she ever wanted a baby? And what would a baby of Callie’s look like—a cute little carrot top with attitude to burn, wrapping every male in her vicinity around her little finger?
Cade smiled to himself but it faded quickly as he thought about his own baby with the usual dose of mixed emotions.
Anger and loathing and guilt.
Regret. Relief. Remorse.
When Sophie had told him he was going to be a father he’d been so angry with her over lying to him about being on the Pill, for trapping him and for freely admitting it. And he’d been angry at himself. Castigating himself over and over for that one lapse of judgement when they’d been caught out without a condom and thrown caution to the wind. Yes, he’d thought they’d had a safety blanket with her other contraception, but that was no excuse.
And through everything that happened afterwards—her overdose, the miscarriage—he’d carried the anger and the guilt, but there’d been part of him that had been…devastated. He hadn’t wanted a relationship, he hadn’t wanted a baby, he certainly hadn’t had a clue how to love one or be a proper father with no role model worth a damn. Hell, he hadn’t even known how to love himself.
Still, a part of him had yearned for that opportunity. And looking at Callie holding the baby he allowed himself to wonder for the first time—what would his baby have looked like?
Callie looked down into the sweet face of little Benjii, who had been born at twenty-nine weeks with foetal alcohol syndrome. He was now almost term and his road had been rocky but he was finally over the hump and putting on weight—and already in the care system, with his mother signing over her parental rights two days after he was born.
Every now and then Callie liked to come and visit the babies who had graduated to the fat farm. She’d been involved in all their journeys and it was the pay-off to a job that didn’t always end so well.
And she’d wanted this once. So very badly. If things had worked out between her and Joe, she’d have probably had several by now.
‘Don’t look,’ Lucy murmured, her gaze flicking to a point behind Callie’s head ‘but the lovely Dr Coleman is staring at you.’ Lucy had delivered Benjii all those weeks ago and, like some babies inevitably did, he’d wormed under her skin.
Callie froze, the gentle rocking she hadn’t even realised she’d been doing screeching to an abrupt halt.
‘I hear on the grapevine you and Cade are…seeing each other.’
Callie glanced up, undecided about how to answer. Trying to fool Natalie was one thing but she didn’t want this thing she and Cade were doing—whatever the hell it was—to become the stuff of hospital legend. She wanted some wriggle room when they both inevitably went their own ways. Because people would take sides and that’s when it got messy.
‘It’s not really serious,’ she said dismissively. ‘It’s more convenience.’
Lucy frowned. ‘That’s not what I heard.’
‘Really,’ Callie said noncommittally, as she took up her rocking again when Benjii protested the loss of movement.
‘Well, he’s heading this way,’ Lucy said. ‘And I’ve got to say he’s looking at your butt pretty damn seriously. Kind of like he owns it, if you ask me.’
Callie felt a tiny thrill in her chest as said butt cheeks practically burnt up.
‘Lucy,’ Cade said, nodding in her direction as he drew even with the women. ‘Callie.’
‘Cade,’ Lucy acknowledged. ‘All ready for tomorrow?’
‘Ready as we’ll ever be.’ He turned his gaze to Callie. ‘You’re a natural,’ he murmured.
She was wearing that damn black dress again with all the pockets. It made him want to put his hands in them. Given how many there were, that could lead to something way more.
Callie shrugged, her stupid heart tap dancing in her chest for no good reason. ‘I know my way around a baby.’
Cade ignored the terseness in the deceptively soft reply. ‘Are you ready for tomorrow?’ he asked.
Callie kept her gaze firmly on Benjii’s cute button nose. ‘I’m ready,’ she murmured.
Cade frowned. She didn’t sound very pumped. ‘You need to bring your A game.’
Callie did look up then, insulted by his suggestion. She could feel Lucy’s curious gaze darting from one to the other. She held Benjii a little tighter. ‘I always bring my A game.’
His gaze dropped to one of her breast pockets. ‘That you do.’
Cade decided it was best to leave before he did something outrageous in front of a member of staff and an impressionable infant. He nodded at Lucy and said, ‘See you tomorrow,’ to Callie, his voice gruff.
She knew she should just nod and let him go but after his A-game crack Callie couldn’t help herself. ‘I might drop by tonight,’ she said.
She had absolutely no intention of doing so but seeing the jump of the muscle at the angle of his jaw restored some of her tattered female pride.
Cade felt the sexy threat streak a molten pathway to his groin. He always felt a little edgy before a big op—the last thing he needed was Callie offering him a way to burn some of it off. He was like a prizefighter before a match—he needed that edge.
His gaze dropped to her mouth. ‘I’m having an early night.’
Callie refused to glance away, not even with the added complication of their spectator. ‘Okay?’
Cade knew what that question in her voice was. And it was most definitely not okay. ‘Tomorrow,’ he said, before taking his leave.
Lucy and Callie watched him stride away. ‘Wow,’ Lucy said, ‘Somebody get me some water.’ She turned to look at Callie. ‘He is so hot for you.’
Callie had never been so grateful to have her pager go off. ‘Here,’ she said, dodging the statement entirely by handing over her bundle. ‘Take Benjii—I’ve got to answer this.’
It had been a long time since Callie had felt comfortable with girly conversations—probably high school. And all the ones after high school had pretty much always turned to sex and she’d been terrified her inexperience and ineptness would show. It had become easier to avoid them altogether.
So it was no hardship to turn tail and run.
CHAPTER EIGHT
WEDNESDAY MORNING DAWNED and Callie had never felt so alive. She practically skipped into the hospital. She s
aw Cade as they all gathered for an early morning briefing session but everyone was too busy for conversation that didn’t revolve around the momentous thing they were about to do. He looked pumped and utterly commanding in his scrubs, standing in front of the extra-large theatre’s imaging boards going over the films he had with Diane Coulter, the neurosurgeon.
Most of the procedure would be done under ultrasonic guidance but if Callie had learned anything about Cade while working with him on this case in particular, it was that the man was a perfectionist.
And that made him even more appealing.
Then, before she knew it, Trudy was in the anaesthetic room having her epidural and it was all hands on deck. The spinal anaesthetic would ensure the baby would be asleep during the operation. Trudy would also have a general anaesthetic.
Within twenty minutes Trudy was out of it and everything was ready to go. Cade prepped her abdomen with Betadine and draped it with sterile drapes. Then he was making his first incision and everyone seemed to hold their collective breaths.
Callie stood at the ready slightly to the back and one side in case she was needed to help with an emergency delivery and resus. At twenty-four weeks Trudy’s baby was considered viable if anything went wrong.
Caroline and her registrar stood scrubbed beside her, all set to perform the myelomeningocele repair once Cade had exposed the baby’s back.
There were others, as well. Two anaesthetists—one for the baby, one for Trudy. Sam Webster was there, monitoring the baby’s heart condition via ultrasound throughout. Cade’s registrar helped with the procedure. Not to mention the scrub and scout nurses, two orderlies and the crowded gallery above them.
Cade talked through the procedure as he went for the benefit of the staff watching from the gallery. Soon enough he’d done his part, exposing the baby’s back, and he was stepping away, hands clasped together in front of him to prevent de-sterilising them.
It was now Caroline’s turn to do her bit and repair the large defect protruding from the baby’s spine. A defect that would have a very different outcome if the traditional treatment had been the only thing on offer.
Cade was beside Callie now and had he not been sterile and had they not had an audience she might just have moved in closer and rubbed her pinkie along his leg in silent admiration. Then he turned and looked at her and their gazes locked and they shared a moment of pure connection that took her breath away.
It didn’t last long, a second or two before he looked away, engrossing himself in the operation again, but Callie had felt it right down to her bones.
Barely a sound could be heard in the theatre as everyone there was aware of the ground-breaking work they were doing. Callie craned her neck to see the delicate neurosurgery Caroline was performing with such skilled fluidity. She, too, talked through the procedure and Callie watched every single move she made with rapt attention.
Almost two hours later the defect had been repaired and the spine closed. All that could be seen were a neat row of soluble stitches along a section of the spine where there had previously been a large mass containing delicate and vital neural tissue.
Callie blinked back tears as the entire gallery clapped. It was a miracle.
Then Caroline stepped back and Cade stepped forward, stripping off his gloves and asking the scrub nurse for a new pair. She handed them over and he and his registrar got to work on the next step: closure.
An hour later Callie was in the theatre staffroom, celebrating with the rest of the team. It was an exhilarating feeling, being a part of something so momentous, and to say they all felt a little giddy was an understatement. Of course there were many things that could still go wrong—preventing Trudy from going into premature labour would now be the focus for Nikolai Kefes and his obstetric team—but in this blip in time right now they were going to wallow in a job well done.
Cade was there for a short while on the opposite side of the room, chatting to colleagues, but his gaze kept meeting hers like it had for that moment during the op and she was aware of him like she’d never been before.
And that was saying something!
It was obvious he was feeling high, too. Pride and accomplishment oozed from his scrubs as easily as his sex appeal, and part of her just wanted to pull him into the privacy of the change rooms and do what they both wanted to do.
But then a toast was proposed by Sam Webster and everyone joined in, clinking their coffee mugs. ‘We should have organised a cake,’ the scrub nurse who Callie clinked with said, and Callie agreed that if ever there was a time for cake this would be it.
But when she looked up from that conversation Cade had disappeared—to check on Trudy, Callie supposed—and soon the impromptu party broke up as everyone returned to their normal jobs.
Which was rather more difficult than Callie had imagined. The highly technical, highly challenging, highly dynamic world of the NICU seemed positively Stone Age after what she’d just witnessed and all day she couldn’t shake the feeling of being like a kid on Christmas Eve. Every time she thought about what they’d accomplished she got a little-kid spring to her step.
By the time she’d headed home after checking in on Trudy and Elliott she still hadn’t clapped eyes on Cade. But she knew one thing for sure as she kicked off her shoes: she needed to clap eyes on him. She needed to see him. To talk to him. To debrief. To just ramble about the amazing, incredible experience she’d been part of.
‘Cake,’ she said out loud.
She’d been thinking about it all day and suddenly it seemed like the perfect entrée into his apartment. She doubted he’d be keen to let her in if she just knocked. The awareness between them in the theatre, in the staffroom this morning, the eye contact that spoke of far more than successful operations, had been a living, breathing entity and it was just the kind of thing to signal an already determined Cade to pull up his drawbridge.
But if she came bearing cake?
Wasn’t the way to a man’s heart through his stomach? It was, according to her mother, even if Callie had never managed to prove it herself. It wasn’t his heart she wanted to get into anyway, but if there was one thing Callie had been schooled in more than any other, it was how to cook.
She had a quick shower, threw on her robe so she didn’t get her clothes covered in flour and sundry other cooking ingredients, pulled her hair up on top of her head into a messy knot, poured herself a glass of wine and hit the kitchen.
Chocolate cake. What man didn’t like chocolate cake? And her mother had won awards for her chocolate cakes every year that Callie could remember. She probably still did.
Callie could make her mother’s chocolate cake in her sleep!
And she set about doing just that.
The fact that she had all the ingredients probably said a lot more about her psyche than she was comfortable with. Over ten years away from home, away from the overwhelming domestic influence of it, away from the feminist black hole of it, yet still she shopped like she was living in the country and the CWA committee was coming around for afternoon tea.
She shook off the ties that threatened to yank her back in time and set the butter and sugar to cream in the industrial-strength electric mixer she’d been given as a wedding present from her mother. It was the only thing she’d taken out of the marriage.
While she waited for that to go a rich shade of white she wandered over to her stereo system, wineglass in hand, and popped on some music. Then she wandered over to her balcony and opened the doors. The noise of the ocean joined the sound of seventies rock and the mechanical beating and the breeze flowed in, parting her gown slightly below the tie at the waist, blowing against her naked thighs and swirling around where they met at the top.
She breathed the salt air into her lungs as she took a sip of her wine. Who’d have thought she’d ever be here? Thousands of kilometres from Broken Hill, a beachfront apartment block, a competent, well-respected neonatal specialist who’d just experienced one of her most pivotal career moments?<
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Callie grinned as she turned back to check on the creaming progress. Satisfied, she stopped the mixer and cracked the eggs into the bowl. The music drifted around her, louder now it wasn’t competing with the beaters. She unscrewed the cap of the vanilla-essence bottle. The aroma infused the air around her with its heady, milky-sweet essence and before she was consciously aware of what she was doing, Callie had dabbed some of it on her neck and behind her ears, exactly as her mother had done to her when she’d been little and had loved spending hours baking cakes in the kitchen.
‘Who needs that posh city stuff?’ her mother had said as she’d dabbed vanilla essence behind her own ears. ‘Best perfume in the world.’
Callie smiled at the memory and got on with making the cake.
Cade heard the music bleeding out from Callie’s apartment as he passed by about ten minutes later. It wasn’t loud but it was as distracting as hell. He’d planned to walk straight past but he hesitated. Her eyes had sparkled—literally sparkled—that morning during that moment they’d shared and he’d been thinking about them all day. About how aware he’d been of her during the procedure.
The excitement and belief in him she’d radiated had been heady stuff. And he was wired. Really wired. From the success of the day. And from the adrenaline that had flowed like lava through his veins and was still smouldering away.
A dangerous combination, really.
He should just go. But he knew Callie would love an update on Trudy’s condition and given he’d just come from Trudy’s room, surely…
Cade knocked before he had a chance to talk himself out of it. He’d just stand at the door, relay the info and go.
Except she opened the door in her robe—one that gaped more than was good for him—and sucking on a finger. Not a good sign for a reserve already significantly eroded by her attempts to bed him and the sharp edge of adrenaline.
‘Oh, hi.’ She smiled, taking her finger out of her mouth. ‘I was going to come and see you in an hour or so. I’m baking you a cake.’