The time Kirsten, elbows on table, had frowned earnestly over lunch, and she’d disagreed with his take on the political situation in Australia so vehemently he’d had to agree to disagree, and they’d both ended up laughing.
Kirsten swimming underwater in the compound pool, green eyes open and finning around him like a dolphin, her modest one-piece bathing suit so erotic to him he hadn’t been able to leave the water until she’d turned her back.
Her friendships with her tiny patients’ families that saw her welcomed into the homes of ordinary Arabs and not just the super-rich, experiences he’d occasionally been privileged to share with her. But it had all been a dream because she wasn’t a one-man woman.
He’d barely finished his flavourless lunch when the MIRA phone rang again.
This time a three-year-old girl at Bowral had come down with what the staff there feared was meningococcal meningitis. The little girl needed emergency transfer to a tertiary hospital and time was critical.
Hunter entered the child’s weight and age into the computer to generate the drug doses and Kirsten gathered up the paediatric box of medications and resus gear for the situation. The computer printed out the drug sheet and Hunter grabbed the paper on the way out.
‘We’ll pre-prepare anticonvulsants we could use in case she fits.’ Hunter’s mind was running through scenarios as they made their way to the helipad.
The referring doctor was conferenced with an infectious disease consultant and they all agreed that time was the most important factor.
Jim authorised a ‘hot load’ of the helicopter, which was only used for the most time-essential retrievals. It was a decision that lay with the clinical co-ordinator, not the medical staff.
A ‘hot load’ meant the pilot had the helicopter engine and rotors turning while the team, outfitted with hearing protection, loaded the aircraft under flight crew supervision. This option could shave fifteen minutes from the departure time. A ‘hot load’ increased the danger to the team significantly and wasn’t used lightly.
If they did the same at the other end, they could shave another fifteen minutes off the time, but it meant a parent wasn’t allowed to enter the helicopter because of unacceptable danger. Kirsten hoped those few minutes would be critical in saving young Sara Sullivan’s life.
When Kirsten arrived at the referring hospital with Hunter she knew instantly the situation was grave. Covered in a fine red rash, Sara was limply unconscious and deathly pale. Ominously, her dimpled limbs would occasional twitch as her cerebral state became more irritated.
‘It seems more of a meningitis than a meningococcal septicaemia, which might give us more time,’ Hunter said in a low tone to Kirsten.
Her parents, still dressed in the pyjamas they’d come from home in, sat on two chairs at the side of the room, plainly distraught, and Kirsten’s heart went out to them.
It must be terrifying, she thought, to see your child so gravely ill in the hands of complete strangers. Already the referring doctor had started the antibiotic treatment ordered by the infectious disease consultant and there wasn’t much the MIRA team could do except transfer Sara as quickly as possible to the receiving hospital.
‘I’m sorry you can’t come in the helicopter with Sara,’ Kirsten told Rita, the child’s mother, just before they left, ‘and I promise to stay with her until she’s handed over to the intensive-care staff.’
Rita nodded and her husband put his arm around her. ‘We’ll be right behind you in the car.’
Kirsten nodded and gave them a card with her personal number. ‘If you have any problems, give me a ring and I’ll see what I can do.’ Both parents nodded and Kirsten squeezed Rita’s hand once more and then she had to leave. Hunter was frowning at her and she glared back. Now what was his problem?
He didn’t say anything until they were in mid-flight and Sara was sleeping peacefully for a moment. ‘You can’t give every parent your number to ring you if they need something.’
She tossed her hair and he remembered all the times she’d done that, especially when he’d said something to annoy her. ‘I don’t,’ she said very quietly, so as not to wake the child. ‘Just the ones that I’m not there to settle into the destination ward in case they get lost or can’t find accommodation.’
He looked at her raised chin. ‘And I suppose you’re going to put them up at your place if they can’t find anywhere?’ he said just as quietly.
She didn’t quite meet his eyes. ‘Only if they’re desperate.’
‘If they were desperate, they’d sleep at the hospital.’ Hunter silenced an alarm that had been activated by an involuntary movement of Sara’s arm. ‘New South Wales isn’t some big country town where everyone is related, you know.’
‘What’s that got to do with country towns? Are you one of these people who think those in country towns must be inbred?’
Hunter snorted quietly in disgust. When he regained control he realised Kirsten was waiting for an answer. ‘I can’t believe you accused me of that.’ He shook his head and his voice was barely audible. ‘Inbred.’ He laughed quietly. ‘If you’re inbred then I’m all for inbreeding.’
The smile left his face when he realised what he’d said, and changed the subject. ‘Just be careful.’
Kirsten looked away from him. Sara was starting to shift uneasily. She held the little girl’s hand because Rita couldn’t, and when the child began to twitch and shudder with a mild fit Kirsten soothed her while Hunter increased her medication.
‘It’s OK, sweetheart. The shakes will go away soon.’ She watched as Hunter gave more intravenous anticonvulsant and gradually Sara’s shaking subsided. It was moments like this that stirred the deep maternal instincts in Kirsten and, as if reading her mind, Hunter’s question followed her thoughts.
‘Do you ever want children, Kirsten?’
She brushed the damp hair away from the little girl’s forehead. ‘Yes. One day. When my parents died I swore I’d never have anyone rely on me like I did on them and decided I’d never have children. Then something happened.’ Someone actually. She looked out the window so he couldn’t see her face. She’d fallen in love with Hunter and seen that children were an extension of love, not a neatly packaged box you could choose to pick up or not. She turned back to face him and because this was something she’d only recognised recently she went on doggedly. ‘I realised I’d been kidding myself all that time. That I was just as maternal as the next woman. But if I ever become a mother, I’ll always watch over them. Children are a huge responsibility and I’d do my best to be always there for them.’
Hunter heard the seriousness in her reply and wondered if Kirsten would give up her more hazardous pursuits. ‘You might have a couple of adventurous children.’
She looked across at him. ‘That’s a lovely thought. But you have to be careful because kids need you too much. You know my mother died when I was fifteen, and even though my sisters looked after me wonderfully, I wish Mum had been more careful. I won’t do that to my children.’
He couldn’t help imagining a young Kirsten, stoically heartbroken as a teenager, and the image moved him more than he wanted to admit to himself. ‘Nobody can help accidents.’
‘No,’ she said, and he could tell the subject was closed. He didn’t know why he’d started it when he’d promised himself to maintain his distance, but she’d looked so Madonna-like as she’d soothed the infant that the question had come from somewhere he hadn’t expected.
He’d never have kids now. When he’d first married Portia and again when his relationship with Kirsten had blossomed, he’d hoped that one day he would share the joy and fears that he saw every day in his work. That train of thought became too painful and he glanced at his watch. They’d be down in twenty minutes.
Sara was transferred smoothly but Hunter had grave doubts on the child’s prognosis because she wasn’t improving with all the antibiotics she’d been given. He could see that Kirsten shared his doubts and he knew how she’d worry.<
br />
But it wasn’t his concern if Kirsten was upset. The little girl was in the best place and they’d done all they could. So why did the thought intrude on his consciousness all day until they finished their shift?
He’d glance across and Kirsten would be staring into space with a frown on her face, and he knew she was worrying about Sara and he wanted to ease her frown away. This side of her was so loyal and caring. When he had a moment to spare, the questions would return and he realised he was spending far too much time thinking about her. All the same, he’d ring the paediatric ICU tonight when he got home and check on Sara’s condition.
Hunter unlocked the door to his empty house later that evening and the retrievals he’d done that day with Kirsten loomed large in his mind. Her smile haunted him as he hung his keys on the hook and walked thoughtfully into the kitchen. He found himself trying to imagine what she was doing at this moment.
He made a few calls and then there was a reason to phone her.
When her telephone rang, Kirsten’s mind was still with Sara Sullivan.
‘Hello.’ She glanced at the clock and was surprised to see it was after ten.
‘Kirsten?’ Her hand froze on the kettle as she recognised Hunter’s voice.
‘It’s Hunter. I’m sorry, I’ve just realised how late it is. Perhaps I should leave it until tomorrow?’
She kept her voice as expressionless as she could. ‘I’m awake. What can I do for you, Hunter?’
He didn’t answer for a second, and Kirsten wondered if he’d been cut off, but then he spoke.
‘You were great to work with today, Kirsten.’
Kirsten reached into a cupboard and lifted down a cup. ‘You sound surprised.’
She heard the laughter in his voice and thought with a pang how long it had been since she’d heard that sound.
‘I suppose I shouldn’t be,’ he said. ‘Mainly I want to apologise for any negative impression I may have left you with at your orientation day. I do believe you will be an asset to the service. I just rang to say that I will try to make it as easy as possible for us to work together.’
Patronising pig. ‘That sounds sensible to me, Hunter.’ Kirsten gripped the phone tighter. ‘Was there anything else or shall I see you tomorrow?’
‘No, except that Sara Sullivan seems to be holding her own. I just spoke to her paediatrician and I knew you’d been worrying.’
Kirsten bit her lip and remembered all the times she’d seen him watching her that day. He’d been concerned for her—not looking for mistakes, as she’d thought—but that just made him inconsistent. ‘How did you know I was worried, Hunter?’
He paused and then she heard the care in his chosen reply. ‘Give me credit for some instincts, Kirsten,’ he said, and she snorted.
‘You have lousy instincts, Hunter Morgan, but it was good of you to ring and let me know.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
She’d shocked him. Excellent! ‘Goodnight, Hunter.’ Kirsten put the phone down and sank slowly onto the chair beside the phone and hugged herself. On the surface it had been thoughtful of him to tell her about Sara. Tonight she’d tried to get some information herself, but had been told the unit was too busy to answer her call. Typically, Hunter as a doctor had got through.
But she knew that wasn’t why he’d called—it had been to keep her off balance like this. She didn’t know what his agenda was but she wasn’t going to read anything into it.
Kirsten tried to shake off her agitation as she walked into the bathroom and turned on the bath tap. It wasn’t helpful that her sisters where five hundred kilometres away. She needed rational advice and she just wasn’t feeling rational. Her older sister Abbey could be relied upon to have the sensible answer and Bella’s sympathy was legendary. Kirsten poured too much of Bella’s calming oil in the bath and grimaced at the slick on top of the water. Hopefully, later she’d sleep. She took a sip from the empty cup in her other hand and then sighed at the vagueness of the action. Her brain was fried with trying not to think about Hunter. The chance of falling asleep at all seemed unlikely, and it was Hunter’s fault.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE next morning Kirsten tried Paediatric Intensive Care again and managed to speak to Sara’s mother, Rita. Apparently the little girl had slightly improved overnight but the doctors were still cautious at raising her parents’ hopes.
The young mother’s forlorn voice stayed with Kirsten as she rode her pushbike to MIRA headquarters. Despite her reluctance, she would ask Hunter if he could find out any more information on Sara.
Night staff had had a huge night, with three retrievals, and Kirsten’s morning began in the same way. They were hurried off to two small outlying hospitals in succession for children in respiratory distress. Both transfers went well and the MIRA staff were back at base just on lunchtime. When they landed on the roof, they could smell the aroma of frying onions drifting up from the east balcony.
‘I gather Jim’s brandishing a barbecue fork somewhere,’ Kirsten said, and Hunter nodded.
‘He’ll be wearing that spotted apron that does nothing for his figure,’ he said. They’d had a good morning, and he was in control. There was no reason they couldn’t lighten up just a little.
Coming down in the lift, they came out on the second floor. Through the open-plan room they could see the people out on the balcony.
‘Anyone for lunch?’ Jim called across at them.
Kirsten started to giggle and Hunter smiled at the staff gathered to cat-call Jim’s cooking prowess. Sometimes when the workload eased and several teams were overlapping their shifts, Jim would throw an impromptu cooking experience, and it was no coincidence these occasions often happened after a run of stressful days.
‘So it’s steak sandwich day, is it?’ Kirsten called out, as they pushed their equipment past the gathering. ‘We’ll be back in a minute—you’d better leave some for us.’
When they’d restocked their equipment and drug box ready for the next case, Kirsten turned back to the balcony. ‘Are you in?’ The way she said it came across as a you-wouldn’t-want-to-join-us message and Hunter bit back his smart why-wouldn’t-I comment.
Then he saw Paul Netherby and the pilot, Keith, wave at Kirsten, and there was all the more reason to see what went on. He nodded. ‘Sure. Why not? We’ve had a full couple of shifts and I’m out of here for the next few days.’
Kirsten almost staggered at the wattage beamed her way. He hadn’t smiled at her like that since before the fiasco in Dubai. One part of her screamed danger and flight but the other rotated like a rotisseried chicken and basked in the warmth. Maybe she should be the one to give the social occasion a miss. She willed her heart rate to settle and her determination firmed. They had worked well together. Perhaps he was seeing how wrong he’d been. Either way she’d be safe from doing anything foolish with everyone around.
They were welcomed into the group like long-lost relatives and Kirsten took the proffered sandwich and looked for somewhere to sit down out of Hunter’s sight. She smiled at Paul heading her way with his own plate, but before he could sink down next to her, Hunter slid into the vacant chair and waved him off. ‘Dip out, buster. I’m here.’
Kirsten nearly choked on her sandwich and couldn’t help the startled look she turned on Hunter. He smiled one of those killer smiles at her again and suddenly it was difficult to swallow. What was going on here?
‘Since when does sitting next to me improve your appetite?’ Her question could have been more delicately phrased but at least she’d kept it low enough not to broadcast her dismay to the others.
Hunter pretended to be wounded by her comment and she couldn’t help the tiny smile on her own lips in response to the woebegone expression on his face. Then he smiled. ‘This is a social occasion and I’m being social. Lighten up, Wilson.’ He looked innocent—and she speculated on his agenda as she glanced around to see if there was anywhere else she could sit. No such luck. She would eat her sandwich
and then get out of here as fast as she could.
‘Fine.’ She shrugged one shoulder. ‘The weather is interesting today, Dr Morgan.’
‘Boring, Sister Wilson.’ He shook his head. ‘We’re being social, not polite.’ He glanced at the roof of the balcony as if seeking inspiration for a topic. ‘Tell me about your new flat.’
Despite her intentions, Kirsten could feel that breathless anticipation that had trapped her in the past. This was the guy who thought she was an adulteress. She shook her head. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘Let me guess.’ He stared thoughtfully at her and Kirsten had to look away because the warmth in his eyes had been absent for so long she’d forgotten how he could make her feel. Drippy, like hot wax in the sun, and she disgusted herself.
‘Psst! Over here.’ Hunter tapped her shoulder and the warmth from his hand coiled insidiously around her heart. She couldn’t ignore him and Kirsten turned back warily. ‘Let me see,’ he said. ‘You’re playing house and I’m not invited?’
‘Hole in one.’ Kirsten pushed her sandwich around on her plate, appetite gone and nerves screaming because she needed to give in to what she had to say to him. If she didn’t…
‘What about your precious rules? Why this sudden interest? If you want to be friends, you should apologise before we go any further. Admit you were wrong about me, Hunter Morgan!’ The words hung in the air between them and Hunter winced.
The smile fell off his face and he was ominously quiet. She stifled the wash of disappointment as the silence dragged on and he didn’t respond, and told herself she’d known all along he was toying with her. But that didn’t help the feeling that she’d been a fool again. Damn the man.
Finally he answered but he didn’t meet her eyes. ‘If I was wrong about you, I’m sorry.’
If he was wrong? Big effort, creep. She didn’t say it out loud—maybe she should have—but his lack of faith stung anew and she didn’t want him to know that. So he still believed she’d had an affair with Jack Cosgrove. What a joke when all she’d done had been to push Jack back to his wife.
The Pregnant Midwife Page 5