A Mother for Matilda/The Boss and Nurse Albright

by Amy Andrews

  Beyond her conscious control her hands strayed to his back, clawing at his shirt, and before she knew it it was off and his chest was warm and bare beneath her touch. Even her injured palms were totally forgotten in the sensual exploration. She broke off to press her mouth to the hard ridge of his collarbone and the soft thrill of his carotid.

  With her lips elsewhere Lawson felt the fog clear and sense returned. How the hell had his shirt got on the floor? ‘Whoa. I think we’re taking this a little too fast.’

  Vic smiled. ‘I’m not a teenager, Lawson, and I’m not a virgin. I don’t want to court. Or go steady. I’m leaving in seventy days and tonight, I want this.’ She lowered her head and kissed one perfectly formed pectoral.

  Lawson shut his eyes as the huskiness of her voice combined with the tiny, almost innocent gesture travelled straight to his groin. Without further thought he snagged the hem of her shirt and dragged it over her head. He looked down at her nakedness, her perfectly shaped breasts with nipples the colour of her lips, brushing his chest.

  Vic blushed at the intensity of his gaze; it was as if he was working out the best way to devour them. ‘Not quite Boobylicious, huh?’

  ‘They’re perfect,’ he murmured, brushing a finger along one dusky tip, feeling its instant pucker. He dropped his mouth to hers, determined to show her just what an effect her body, her breasts, had on him.

  The kiss escalated and for Vic it just wasn’t enough. She wanted to press herself along the length of him, feel the breadth of him, she wanted to melt into him, absorb him. She wanted all of him, at once.

  His hands ran down her back and her skin was so responsive it felt as if he’d stroked an icecube down her spine and then trailed a burning coal back up again. When they wandered again it felt as if his hands were made of feathers dusting ever closer to the sensitive swell of her breasts at her sides.

  Her head was spinning. His hands forged havoc. His lips, ecstasy. Her pulse thundered, her breath barely kept up with the demands of his open-mouth kisses as their heads twisted and fought for the deepest angle. Emotions churned and mixed inside and popped behind her eyes like fireworks and Ferris wheels.

  So the pain, when it came totally ripped her out of the moment. She broke off, gasping and clutching at her side where Lawson’s hand had strayed seconds before. She doubled over as the pain paralysed her breath.

  ‘Oh, God!’ Lawson removed his hand as if it had touched an electric fence. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he panted. ‘I just…forgot. Are you okay? I’m so sorry.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ she whispered, shutting her eyes, riding out the pain that sucked at her breath. They’d both been out of control, not thinking.

  He sat on the lounge staring at her. Her nakedness didn’t register—just the livid bruise. He could hear the pain he had caused catching in her breath. Talk about the proverbial cold bucket of water! What the hell had he been thinking? She was injured and he was pawing at her like a marauding teenager.

  The pain easing, Vic straightened and took a step towards him and enfolded his head in her arms, urging it against her good side. He resisted for a second and then let her cradle him. ‘It’s okay, Lawson.’ She stroked his hair. ‘We were both a little…carried away.’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ he whispered against her belly. Her skin was warm and smelled amazing, but he could see the bruise even more pronounced in the flicker of light from the television and he felt sick.

  Vic nodded. ‘I know. It’s okay. We just have to be a little imaginative tonight, that’s all.’

  Lawson shut his eyes. No, no, no. This was insane. There were so many reasons why this was wrong, not least of all her injury. She needed him to look after her, pamper her, not take advantage of her on her father’s couch.

  It had been wrong of him to start it. But she’d sounded so hurt, had looked so bereft. Her anguish and tears had been too hard to take. After nearly losing her today, he had found her vulnerability unbearable.

  But. Oh, God—what had they nearly done…?

  She was his partner. Had he really been going to throw that to the wind for a night in her arms? Was a few hours of bliss going to be worth the fall-out? If they did this, then what next? Where was this heading? She had said it was just about tonight but would that ever be enough for them if they crossed that line? Would they want more?

  He sure as hell would.

  And how was that going to work? He being a single father with no room in his life for any relationship, never mind the type of relationship, that Victoria deserved. And what would that mean for her? She was about to embark on a great adventure. He didn’t want to hold her back from that. She’d been counting down for the last year. He couldn’t let her get distracted from her goal because of him.

  Thank God the brakes had been applied and they could still salvage something out of the disaster. He moved out of her embrace and stood, finding their shirts. He handed hers to her and threw his back over his head.

  She shook her head. ‘Lawson? No.’ He wouldn’t leave her like this, would he? Aching for his touch? Taunted by the memory of how good his kiss had been, how his hands had felt like fire and ice on her skin?

  ‘I think we need to look upon this as a good thing.’

  ‘You’re stopping?’ She could hear the squeak in her voice and she knew later she’d regret not acting more sophisticatedly.

  ‘Please, Victoria. Put your shirt on. Don’t make this harder.’ Her bruise was making him feel ill—how could he have forgotten about that? Forgotten, too, that they were partners and had to work together. Forgotten about Matilda being his number one priority. Forgotten that she was leaving.

  Vic felt the bite of tears at the back of her eyes but refused to let them any further as she threw her shirt back on. She would not compound her humiliation by crying.

  ‘This shouldn’t have happened.’

  Vic couldn’t listen to whatever excuses he was going to drag out. She didn’t want to hear him try to treat her like a child again when for the first time he had actually touched her and looked at her as a woman. She just wanted to run away and hide. Be left alone to lick her wounds.

  ‘Damn right about that.’ She injected as much disgust into her voice as she could muster—which happened to be a lot at this precise moment in time.

  And then she walked out of the room and didn’t stop until she’d reached the safety of hers. She shut the door and then locked it.

  And as far as she was concerned, seventy days couldn’t come fast enough.

  Chapter Six

  IT HAD been five days since she’d seen Lawson when Vic arrived at the station for her first shift back at work since the incident in the cave. Her father had been furious and insisted she take a few sick days until her side was fully recovered. Which, given what had happened with Lawson, had suited her just fine.

  She wasn’t generally a coward, but that night in all its embarrassing glory had played in her head a thousand times and she didn’t know if she could look Lawson in the eye.

  He’d rung several times while she’d been away—not that she’d bothered to return his calls. She had to face him with as much nonchalance as she could muster and for that she’d needed a little distance. But with the bruise now a light yellowy-green and diminishing rapidly she couldn’t put off the inevitable any longer.

  She heard voices in the ambulance bay to her right as she entered the station for her night shift. She picked up her pager and wandered there first, her backpack slung over her shoulder, her heart tapping a frantic tattoo in her chest.

  Lawson was checking the equipment in the van while chatting with Carl, one of the day-shift paramedics. Carl spotted her first. ‘Hey, here she is,’ he said. ‘Our hero.’

  Carl grinned at her and held up a copy of the local paper, the Brindabella Gazette. There, on the front page, was a huge splashy headline.

  Local Paramedic Saves Family Pet From Flooding Cave.

  On the front a picture of Vic with Annie, Pete and a plastered Bell
a.

  Vic, avoiding Lawson’s intense gaze, grinned back at Carl. The story had been big locally and the island paper had been right on it. In a place where the front headline usually involved the ant threat to the grass at the lawn bowls club or the rates hike at the caravan park, a local hero was breaking news.

  She shrugged. ‘All in a day’s work.’

  Carl nudged Lawson. ‘Better watch she doesn’t get a swollen head with all this publicity.’

  Vic risked a quick glance in Lawson’s direction and saw him give Carl a tight smile. ‘Oh, I’ll be watching her.’

  Lawson’s ominous tone sent a shiver right up her spine. What exactly did he mean by that?

  ‘Anyways, I best be off,’ Carl said, and bade them both a good night.

  Which left the two of them facing each other with a wall of growing silence and the memory of the other night between them.

  Lawson let his gaze roam over her face. His heart banged against his ribs and for the hundredth time he castigated himself for screwing everything up so resoundingly. He knew with utter certainty their relationship had irrevocably changed. And there was no going back.

  ‘I’ve been trying to ring you.’

  Vic looked at her boots. ‘I know.’

  ‘We need to talk.’

  Vic nodded and raised her whiskey gaze to his turbulent grey one. She wanted to talk about as much as she wanted to drill a hole in her head. She didn’t want to revisit the humiliation of the other night. Once had been bad enough. But he was right—they had to work together and they at least needed to clear the air.

  She shrugged, reaching for the nonchalance she’d been practising all day. ‘Okay, so let’s talk.’

  Lawson opened his mouth, but was interrupted by two pagers beeping into the cavernous space of the garage. He cursed under his breath and pulled the pager off his belt. ‘D.I.B. Four-year-old. Query croup,’ he read.

  Vic nodded. It was that time of year. The seasons were changing and croup was more prevalent, particularly at night.

  She threw her backpack on the garage floor near the wall. ‘Let’s go, then.’ When a child had difficulty in breathing, parents understandably panicked. There was no time to hang around.

  They were in the van and Lawson was driving them to their destination, lights flashing and sirens blaring, within thirty seconds. It was quiet inside the cab and Lawson glanced at his partner’s profile. It was never quiet when she was around.

  ‘Victoria.’

  She turned to face him and shook her head. ‘Not now, Lawson. We’re two minutes out. After.’

  The last thing she wanted to do was have this conversation all night in dribs and drabs, picking up the threads in between jobs. When they talked about it, she didn’t want any interruptions. She wanted it over and done with in one fell swoop.

  ‘Fine. But don’t think you can put this off all night,’ he warned.

  Vic bristled. He sounded like a father talking to a petulant teenager, as if he were talking to Matilda. Hadn’t she already well and truly proved she was an adult? A woman?

  ‘Well, I guess that depends on the pager, doesn’t it?’ If he was going to treat her like a child she sure as hell could act like one.

  They pulled up a couple of minutes later and could hear seal-like barking interrupting the cries of an obviously fractious child as they alighted the vehicle and made their way to the front door. A haggard-looking man, who introduced himself as Warren, ushered them inside down a long central hallway.

  ‘He woke up with this terrible cough,’ Warren said. ‘He’s been unwell for a couple of days now with a runny nose and a bit of a cough, but this is much worse.’

  Lawson nodded. Without his having even laid eyes on their patient, the distinctive bark, the hallmark of what was medically known as laryngotracheobronchitis, had confirmed the diagnosis of croup. The history was also typical. A mild viral infection, more often than not the common cold, developing into an inflamed and irritated airway exacerbated by the cooler night air.

  The hallway opened into a large lounge area. A young woman who looked to be barely in her twenties turned a tear-stained face to Vic.

  ‘Hurry, please, he can’t breathe. He can’t breathe.’

  Vic flicked a quick glance at Lawson. The little boy was most definitely breathing. He was coughing and crying fit to wake the entire neighbourhood. Unfortunately his cries were contributing to his airway irritation and making his mother more frantic, which, in turn, was making the child more upset. At the moment they were stuck in a vicious escalating cycle.

  She moved forward. ‘Hi. I’m Vic,’ she said. ‘And what’s this little fella’s name?’ She placed her hand on the child’s back and gave it a gentle rub.

  ‘Jayden,’ the mother said on a sob.

  ‘Hi, Jayden,’ Vic crooned, continuing the back rub. ‘Jayden’s doing fine,’ she assured above the noise of the still-bawling, coughing little boy. ‘I think he has a touch of croup and it sounds very scary but that’s something called stridor, which is all part and parcel of croup. I know he’s upset but he’s very alert and pink—he’s doing well.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Absolutely.’ Vic nodded. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Cindy.’

  ‘Okay, Cindy. The most important thing we can do right now is try to get Jayden to stop crying and be calm. The more he cries, the more stress he puts on his airway. I think he senses that you’re upset. Do you think he might come to me?’

  Cindy’s arms tightened around her son. ‘I don’t know.’ She sniffed. ‘He’s usually happy to go to anybody but when he’s sick…’

  ‘Of course.’ Vic nodded. ‘Only Mum will do when you’re feeling rotten.’

  Cindy gave a watery smile. ‘Something like that.’

  ‘How about we try it? Pass him over and then Lawson and I can check him out.’ She reached for the child and eased him out of Cindy’s arms, hoping Jayden wouldn’t protest further but ready to put him straight back if the move made him any more distressed. There was no point exacerbating his airway any more than it already was.

  Jayden was still crying, but no more than he had been. For the moment. ‘Maybe you can get him a nice cold drink of water,’ Vic suggested. The water would help to soothe Jayden’s inflamed throat and give Cindy a chance to collect herself. ‘Has he had some paracetamol lately?’

  Lawson pulled some equipment out of the pack he brought in, watching Victoria as she did her thing. She was Patient Care Officer tonight and doing a brilliant job. She really did have the touch with kids. But then, as she frequently pointed out, she would, wouldn’t she?

  It seemed such a shame that she’d vowed never ever to have children of her own. Sure, he understood why, but he couldn’t help but feel she was cutting herself off from one of life’s greatest adventures. Matilda had brought untold joy into his world and he knew he was a better man for her presence in his life.

  Victoria rocked from foot to foot while flashing her pen-light at Jayden a few times and waving it around to attract his attention. The little boy’s cries fell to a grizzle as he reached for the torch. She gave it to him, talking calmly and gently, constantly rocking.

  She nodded at Lawson and he moved closer with the hand-held sats monitor and stethoscope. He stood in front of her, the child between them, as he surreptitiously tried to place the probe on the child’s toe. The immediate foot wiggle made application difficult and Lawson fixed it quickly while Victoria distracted the child.

  She shifted her hands from his back next so one was cradling his bottom, the other his head, giving Lawson full access to listen to Jayden’s chest. He placed the earpieces in his ears and lightly laid the bell against the child’s singlet-clad back.

  He shut his eyes and tuned into the air rushing in and out of the lungs rather than the transmitted noise from the patient’s upper airway. He moved it around instinctively, quickly assessing all the lung fields, deeming them clear.

  He opened his eyes again to f
ind Victoria looking at him with her whiskey gaze. She had her chin on top of Jayden’s head, the child’s wispy hair feathering against her face, still rocking. Their gazes locked. It reminded him of the times she’d held Matilda like this when she’d been littler. His daughter’s chest snuggled into hers as Victoria swayed and hummed.

  An odd thought whammied him from nowhere. What would a child of hers look like? Of theirs look like? What kind of a child would they have together? Would it have her auburn hair and olive colouring or his darker genes? Would it look like Matilda or the twins?

  ‘How does he sound?’

  Lawson blinked. He could see her lips moving but it took a second or two for the words to reach through his stunned thought processes. ‘All clear.’

  The beeping of the sats monitor caught her attention and Vic dragged her gaze from his. For a second his stare had been so intense it had transported her right back to the other night.

  ‘Ninety-two per cent,’ she murmured. Not awful. Not great. But at least, with Jayden having settled they were finally able to get a good trace and an accurate reading.

  Cindy returned with some water and a syringe containing some clear liquid. Vic smiled at her. She’d obviously washed her face and was looking much more in control.

  ‘He sounds a lot better, thank you.’ Cindy smiled. ‘I was so worried. His breathing was so loud.’

  Vic nodded. Jayden’s airway noise had settled but he was still sporting a decent inspiratory stridor, which was a bit of a worry now he was calm and at rest, especially as his sats were on the lower end of normal.

  ‘How about I sit down here, little buddy, and Mummy can give you some medicine?’ Vic parked herself on the lounge chair behind.

  Lawson watched as Jayden clung to Victoria’s front on the way down like a baby monkey and then sat on her lap, one hand still firmly attached to the torch, the other bunching up the material of her overalls.