A Child to Heal Them

by Louisa Heaton

  ‘I think they’d make a grand pair, those two. If the little tyke pulls through, of course.’

  ‘How has she been since I’ve been out?’

  ‘Restless. Her fever’s building again. We’ve been trying to keep it down as much as we can, but I think this is her turning point.’

  Quinn looked at Maria. Met her gaze.

  He felt immense pressure to get this right. The blood results that had come back earlier were good. Abeje’s scan was clear. There wasn’t anything else going on in her system. She was just a young kid battling a deadly disease. Every patient responded differently.

  ‘Let’s see which way she turns, then,’ he said.

  * * *

  ‘What happened to your arm?’

  He’d been by Abeje’s bed, monitoring her progress as best he could with one hand, balancing her notes on his lap as he wrote with his pen.

  Tasha had crept up on him unawares.

  Hearing her voice, he instantly stood up, and Abeje’s notes, on their clipboard, went clattering to the floor.

  Tasha picked them up, scanned what he’d written and looked up at him, frowning.

  ‘She has another fever?’ She bent over the girl to rest her hand against the girl’s brow.

  ‘We’re doing everything we can to make her comfortable.’

  ‘Have you given her acetaminophen?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Has she been seizing?’

  ‘No. She’s stable at the moment. Her condition has neither worsened nor got better over the last few hours.’

  ‘You should have called me.’

  ‘You wouldn’t have been able to do anything.’

  She shook her head. ‘I could have been here.’ She took a seat beside Abeje and took the little girl’s hand. It felt clammy.

  ‘Your arm? You never said how you hurt it.’

  ‘My arm’s fine. It’s my collarbone that’s broken.’

  Her face filled with concern. ‘How did that happen?’

  ‘I tripped in a hole in the road.’

  ‘Last night?’

  He nodded.

  Tasha could see he was still wearing the same clothes from yesterday. He didn’t look as if he’d washed yet, or rested, and she wondered just how on earth he was going to manage any of those things with just one arm.

  ‘I’m not teaching today. I’ll stay and help you out.’

  ‘You don’t need to.’

  ‘When did you last get any sleep? Have a shower? Eat some proper food? Look, I’m here, I’ve got two hands and, to be honest, if I just sit by Abeje’s bed all day I’m going to go mad! Let me look after you for a bit, and we’ll both be here if her condition changes.’

  The thought of Tasha being around and looking after him was appealing. He liked having her around, and he had been struggling with his arm in the sling. He’d taken painkillers, but the injury still hurt. The slightest movement seemed to set it off—like a smouldering fire beneath his skin.

  And if he was going to feel any smouldering heat he’d prefer it to be another kind. Even if that did make him feel guilty for thinking about a woman who wasn’t Hannah.

  ‘Okay. Thank you.’

  ‘When are you off shift?’

  ‘As of eight hours ago.’

  She smiled, understanding immediately. Of course she would. She’d used to be a doctor. You couldn’t just switch off when your shift ended. Sometimes you stayed. You carried on to see a patient through. Sometimes you found it hard to let go.

  ‘Right. Let’s get you sorted, then.’ She stood up, slipping her arm through his good one. ‘Show me where your cabin is.’

  * * *

  It was larger than she’d expected. Whenever she’d pictured what the crew’s cabins were like she’d imagined tiny rooms, big enough for just a single bed and a sink. Maybe with a small portable television up high on one wall. A small cupboard with a rail to hang clothes. Not much else.

  But Quinn’s room was a decent size. There was a single bed, neatly made, with a porthole just above it looking out onto the Ntembe docks. Beside it was a small two-seater sofa, a small desk and chair, and opposite a floor-to-ceiling wardrobe for his clothes and a door that led to an en-suite bathroom with a shower and toilet.

  He’d made it homely. There was a bed runner in traditional African fabric. A couple of cushions on the couch covered in the same material. And on the desk was a framed photograph of Quinn and a woman who could only be his wife. Hannah.

  She picked it up. ‘This is Hannah? She was very beautiful.’

  ‘She was. Inside and out.’

  Tasha put the picture down and turned to him. He was standing close and she could feel her body responding to that proximity.

  ‘When did you last eat?’

  He shook his head. ‘I don’t remember.’

  ‘Typical doctor.’

  He looked down at the floor, smiling, and her heart just melted. She felt it happen. That simple gesture of his—smiling, looking down—let her see that he knew he was being caught out in how badly he was looking after himself. She felt like liquid. Her body was going to pieces over this man.

  ‘You can’t look after patients if you don’t look after yourself.’

  He continued to smile at her. He had no defence.

  ‘I’ll go and get you something to eat from the canteen.’

  He nodded, and she sidestepped him and closed the cabin door behind her, letting out a heavy breath, feeling relief flooding through her.

  She had to be careful. She couldn’t get carried away just because he’d kissed her. He’d told her he hadn’t meant to do it. Clearly he regretted what he’d done. But there was something more between them now. She could feel it.

  A heat. An intensity. And it was stronger than any silly crush she’d experienced as a teenage girl. This was different. More potent.

  More real.

  It wasn’t a fantasy any more. It wasn’t a crush.

  She and Quinn had kissed and she could imagine a whole lot more. What she had to do now was keep control of herself, stay logical and remind herself that he would be leaving soon and there was no future for them.

  They would both have to keep their hands to themselves.

  She found her way to the ship’s canteen by following her nose, and returned with a tray filled with scrambled eggs, bacon and toast. She’d also brought two mugs of tea and a small fruit salad.

  Holding the tray with one hand, she gave a gentle knock on his door, saying quietly, ‘It’s me.’ And then she went in.

  Quinn was lying on the bed, still dressed, his eyes closed. Fast asleep.

  She stood and watched him for a moment, gazing at his face, smiling. Feeling a warmth inside her that was making her feel dreamy.

  What am I doing? This has no future.

  She put down the tray, as quietly as she could and settled on the sofa opposite. There was a book on his desk—some tale of spies and espionage—and she picked it up, intending to read. But once she’d flicked through the first pages—the dedication, the acknowledgements, the first paragraph—she let her gaze return to Quinn. Knowing she could look at him without being caught. Without being judged.

  Her feelings for him were growing. Exponentially. But should she be getting involved with another guy? Look how badly it had always worked out for her with men.

  It had been such a long time since she’d been in a relationship she was craving it. That closeness. That intimacy. There’d been no one since she’d broken up with Simon. And she’d had a wall of solitude around her for so long that now it was coming down, and she wanted to let him in so badly!

  But it was Quinn. And her feelings for him had always been muddled since day one. And he’d be leaving soon...

  Perhaps I’m just scared? Finding reasons to walk awa
y because I’ve never been given a reason to stay?

  Tasha let out a heavy sigh. She stared at Quinn, taking in every detail of his face, until her eyelids began to droop and she, too, fell fast asleep.

  * * *

  She woke with a start some time later. Quinn was still sleeping and she checked her watch—three hours had passed! Three! Okay, so she hadn’t got much sleep last night after Quinn had kissed her and then walked away, but she hadn’t realised just how tired she was.

  Stretching, she got up to work out the kinks in her muscles, and as she stretched her arms high and wide she heard Quinn stir behind her.

  ‘What time is it?’

  Blushing, she turned around and sat on the couch. ‘Midday. Lunchtime. I brought you breakfast, but you’d fallen asleep by the time I got back.’

  ‘I was beat. But, thanks.’

  He tried to pull himself up into a sitting position, but seemed to struggle with just one arm, so she got up to help pull him upright. He pulled the tray towards him and began to eat the cold bacon and eggs.

  ‘I can go and get you something fresh.’

  He gave her a thumbs-up sign. ‘This is fine.’

  She sat down again and watched him eat, but then she felt self-conscious and got up, trying to give him some space. It had been such a long time since she had been close to a man. She couldn’t believe she was finding it so difficult to be with him.

  When he’d finished eating he swallowed down the cold tea and then began to fiddle with the buttons of his shirt.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘I need to have a wash.’

  ‘Oh.’ She watched him struggle for a moment more, but it was painful seeing him fail to undo his buttons with just one hand.

  ‘Here—let me.’

  She reached for his last two buttons near his waist, trying not to look at the expanse of chest that had been revealed already. It was making her have palpitations just thinking of what he might look like with no top on.

  She went to stand behind him, so she could pull each sleeve off carefully. It was a bit fiddly. She had to release the sling to get the shirt off, but when she did she realised she was staring.

  He was beautiful. Not overly muscular, but she could tell he looked after himself. He was trim, with a neat, flat waist, his shoulders were broad and strong, his skin suntanned and golden. When he turned to face her she saw his chest had a smattering of hair in the centre, sun-kissed and barely there.

  The urge to trail her fingertips across his skin with a feather-light touch was strong. His nipples were taut and she had to yank her imagination back from the fantasy of wanting to do things to them.

  ‘I shouldn’t get this sling wet, so I’ll just have a flannel wash. Could you fill me a bowl of water?’

  ‘Sure.’

  Colouring, she hurried into the bathroom and smiled broadly at her reflection, shaking her head at all the wicked thoughts that were running rampant through her mind.

  I’m a very naughty girl...

  She put a bar of soap in the water and let out a big breath before she carried the bowl and a flannel back to him, realising that if anyone was going to wash him down it was going to have to be her.

  ‘I can do my front...but if you could do my back?’ he asked, an eyebrow raised.

  ‘Sure.’ Did her voice sound as wobbly as it felt?

  Tasha watched him wash his chest. He obviously had no idea how erotic it was. Watching him squeeze the flannel with one hand to get all the water out, wiping soap all over his skin, leaving white smears and bubbles that he then smoothed away with the flannel, his skin glistening in the sunlight from the porthole as the fabric brushed over muscle and sinew, his nipples peaking.

  He did his chest, his stomach, his face. But he’d need her to do the rest.

  She jumped up like a shot.

  ‘Okay. I’ll...er...start on your back.’

  Her hands were trembling. He couldn’t see it, but she could. Standing behind him, she looked at his skin, at the line and curve of his spine that she could imagine tracing with her tongue. His broad shoulder blades.

  I can’t have shaky hands.

  She tried to stop it from happening. She ran the soap over his back, biting her bottom lip, trying not to think of this as a sexual act. Then she used the flannel, feeling the ripple of his muscles under his skin, trying to be tender over his left arm and near his broken collarbone. She wanted it to last for ever.

  ‘I think you’re done.’

  She didn’t want it to be done.

  ‘Shall I get you a towel?’

  ‘No. It’s nice to air-dry in this heat.’ He looked at her uncertainly. ‘I’ll...er...do my legs myself. I can reach those. But I’ll need a change of clothes. Could you get me something?’

  She nodded and turned to open the wardrobe, surprised to see a neat, orderly pile of items, some shirts and trousers on hangers, shoes paired and lined up at the bottom.

  ‘If you wouldn’t mind carrying the bowl back into the bathroom for me, I’ll finish up in there.’

  ‘Of course.’ She smiled, feeling her cheeks blush and thanking whatever god was listening that she hadn’t had to soap down his thighs, because if she’d had to do that...

  She blew her fringe from her face. Was it hot in there?

  In the bathroom, he looked at her uncertainly. ‘Er...could you do the button on my...?’

  He looked down. At his trousers.

  Right. Yes.

  She stood in front of him, her hands on the waistband of his trousers, undoing the button, telling herself inwardly over and over, Don’t touch the zip. Don’t touch the zip!

  But all she could think of was slowly drawing down the zip and letting her hand slip inside.

  When she was done Tasha backed away, closing the door behind her, and sank down into the chair.

  What the hell...?

  That was probably the most erotic thing she’d done in a long time. How terrible was that? That she’d somehow, in all of this, forgotten she was a woman with needs. She’d been so busy shutting everyone out she’d forgotten about who she was under there. Hidden in the dark recesses of her mind. Being alone was all well and good for the majority of the time, but there were other times when she just needed...

  She swallowed. Trying not to think of what she needed right now.

  She’d been on autopilot for so long now. Cruising through life at thirty miles an hour because it was safe. Becoming a teacher because it was safe. Staying single because it was safe. Shutting down her sexual drive because it was safe.

  But now she was in a danger zone. And she didn’t know what to do. Or how to react to Quinn. No. She knew how she was reacting, but was she going to do anything about that reaction? Was she going to act on it?

  From the bathroom she heard a small thump and a small, ‘Ow!’

  ‘You okay?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Well, just holler if you need help.’

  He came out wearing fresh trousers, but he held the shirt in his hands. ‘Can you help me get this on and buttoned up?’

  She nodded, feeling heat surge into her cheeks. ‘Sure.’

  She stood up and took the shirt, gliding it over his left arm first, so they could get it back into its sling, and then the easier, right arm. Then she stood in front of him to do up the buttons.

  Don’t look at his face!

  The last time they’d stood this close he’d been kissing her. She could feel the heat radiating from his body. He smelled fresh. Manly. A primal scent that she couldn’t help but react to as the memory of his perfect chest and body stayed at the forefront of her mind.

  ‘All done.’

  ‘Thanks. I couldn’t have done it without you.’

  She looked up. Wanted to stare into his eyes for eternity. ‘Quinn, I...�
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  He stared back. ‘Yes?’

  His voice was thick. Guttural. Had he been affected as much as she? Had he been awakened by the feel of her washing him? Running the flannel over his skin? Having her fingers slip into the waistband of his trousers?

  Having her stand so close?

  His eyes were like pools. She could drown in them happily. She wanted to touch him. To hold him in her arms, if only just for a moment.

  But she knew he wouldn’t act first. He’d already done that once, when he’d come to her place in the middle of the night and kissed her, and then he’d backed away.

  Would kissing him now be a mistake?

  Would she be muddling everything they had?

  But I want to so much! Perhaps he needs the first move to come from me? Perhaps he feels that by acting first he was taking advantage?

  She reached up to touch his face. To run her fingers down his jawline, over his slightly bristled skin. His lips parted and she couldn’t help but focus on his mouth. A mouth that had kissed her and could do so again.

  She stood up on tiptoe and brought his face down to hers. Unable to fight her doubts for a second longer.

  His lips met hers. Delicately. Hesitantly. But then, as if a dam had broken, their lust for one another powered through and Quinn was pushing her back against the wardrobe as her fingers reached for the buttons of his shirt once more—only this time she wouldn’t be removing it so gently.

  He reached out for the lock on his cabin door.

  And she allowed herself to submit to her basest desires.

  * * *

  Back on the ward, they found the parents of the two children from Mosa busy packing up their things. The children sat in their beds, smiling, talking quietly to each other, obviously pleased to be going home.

  Tasha stared hard and then turned to look at Quinn, surprised. ‘They’re going home?’

  She couldn’t believe this! It was great for them—of course it was—but why hadn’t he told her?

  The passion they’d just shared was forgotten as she watched the two children get ready to leave while Abeje still lay in her bed, sick.

  ‘Their parents were keen to take them home. They’re much better—we think they’ll be fine.’