by Becky Wicks
It still stung that his father had been so unsympathetic, so cold as to try and drive them apart. It stung even more that Fraser had let her go without a fight. But what hurt the most now was knowing that he’d come to get her in London and she hadn’t even known. Now their lives really were on different paths—more different than ever before.
Fraser’s hands were on her waist still, controlling her closeness, even though the song had ended and the band were stepping off the stage. With every ounce of strength she possessed she forced herself to take a step back. The moon and the lights made a silhouette of his face. The spell was broken.
‘What are we doing here, Fraser?’
He narrowed his eyes, but his reply was cut short by Harry, their cardiac patient, spinning through the crowd right up to their toes in his wheelchair.
‘I’ve been looking for you!’
His bald head was gleaming pink under the disco ball, his puffy cheeks full of colour again. He’d made an excellent recovery. He motioned for Sara’s hand and she watched in shock as he placed a giant wad of rolled-up bills into her palm and folded her fist over it.
‘For you,’ he said. ‘My winnings from the casino that night.’
She shook her head quickly. ‘I couldn’t—’
‘Plenty more where that came from. If it wasn’t for you I wouldn’t be here to spend it. So spend that, Nurse Cohen.’ He released her and turned to Fraser. ‘It’s for both of you. Heaven-sent, both of you. And a match made in heaven, by the looks of it.’
CHAPTER SIX
‘SHE’S FALLEN!’
Fraser heard the voice before he saw the elderly lady on the floor. She was sprawled in a pool of what looked like water, but might possibly be gin. He spotted a lime slice not too far away.
‘Enid! Can you get up?’
A short man in a loud Hawaiian print shirt was fussing around her. Fraser moved him aside gently and reached for his radio. In what seemed like seconds his ears picked up the tapping of shoes on the deck.
‘Stand back please,’ came Sara’s authoritative voice.
She appeared beside him with the stretcher as the crowds parted. He noticed several phones pointed at them.
‘No filming, please,’ she told them strictly, swiping a tendril of loose hair behind her ear. ‘What happened?’
She was dressed in her white coat and fresh from the dialysis centre, he gathered. Her air of determination and swift efficiency, plus the lingering smell of her shampoo in the warm sea air, threw him right back to that summer with her in Scotland.
Enid was in her late seventies, maybe older. Her hair was pure white. ‘She’s having trouble moving,’ he told Sara as she quickly handed him oxygen.
‘Can you lift your leg, or turn it?’
Her voice was low, kind. He watched her hand move gently over Enid’s hip and leg, inspecting for damage.
‘Can you put any weight on this side?’ Enid howled again. Sara pulled a face and apologised. ‘We have some swelling,’ she announced.
He placed the oxygen mask over Enid’s mouth.
‘Looks like a break in the hip.’
She caught his eyes as she said it and he nodded, keeping his face expressionless so as not to panic Enid, or her Hawaiian-shirt-wearing husband. It was exactly as he’d feared.
‘Will she be OK?’ Mr Hawaiian Shirt looked panicked anyway. He sported one or two strands of white hair on an otherwise shiny head.
Fraser helped Sara lift Enid onto a stretcher. ‘Are you her husband?’
‘Yes, but we don’t have insurance.’ The man’s face looked as white as his hair now.
‘We’ll do all we can. Come with us.’
‘Should we call the Coast Guard?’ Sara looked concerned. Enid was sucking in short, sharp breaths.
He shook his head. ‘Not yet. I don’t think we need to.’
She took the other end of the stretcher without so much as a flinch and together they lifted their patient and moved as one towards the top-deck entrance.
Now that they were inside, away from the eyes and phones and ears on deck, the old man asked him. ‘How much will medevac cost?’
‘Sir,’ Fraser said, trying to keep his inner frown from showing in his face and voice. ‘It’s never good to travel without insurance. but that’s not the main concern here. The main concern is your wife. We need a radiological diagnosis before—’
‘What’s that?’ The guy looked flustered and confused. He started to sweat through his shirt as they headed for the elevator.
‘X-rays,’ Sara clarified, moving swiftly along.
Fraser was walking backwards now in the narrow walkway, and she was walking forward. He watched the sunlight from the porthole windows play in her hair the whole way.
‘We’ll take some X-rays and then we’ll know more. Don’t worry—we have it under control.’
She pushed the button for the elevator. Her hair was half pulled back in a bun and he noted her earrings suddenly—tiny little blue sapphire studs. She’d been driving him crazy all night, even after she’d gone to bed.
He’d thought about kissing her on the dance floor. God, he’d wanted to—or just nibble lightly on her ear for half a second. That had used to drive her wild. Holding her against him like that after all these years had made him think entirely unprofessional thoughts, but somehow he’d reined them in.
In the medical centre, they moved Enid off the stretcher and carefully onto a bed. Sara rolled the vitals machine over quickly while Fraser snipped with precision along the lady’s floral skirt. He always felt bad cutting people’s clothes.
The wheels of the X-ray machine screeched for a second on the shiny floor as Sara wheeled it over and plugged it in.
‘Pulse is one hundred; blood pressure is eighty over fifty-five,’ she told him.
Enid’s husband loitered, watching, fanning himself with his own shirt. The room was hot, even under the whirring ceiling fans.
Fraser beckoned Sara to the corner of the room with him. ‘We’re almost at Grenada,’ he said. The loose tendrils of her hair tickled his face under the fans as he leaned close. ‘She’s OK, but she’ll be better off staying stable with us till we get to the island.’
‘If you say so, Chief.’
He liked that word coming from her lips. ‘I do.’
He cast an eye to Enid and her husband. He still couldn’t believe some people travelled without insurance.
‘Calling for medevac now will wind up costing them more than waiting it out for an ambulance. And it won’t make a difference to our Enid at this point. Get her some morphine.’
She turned to do exactly that. It still felt kind of mad that they were working together. He knew she was right to be wary—not just of him, now that he was practically a stranger again, but because so many staff relationships ended badly. Bad vibes between fighting colleagues made life awkward for everyone, and he knew Sara would never risk that around Esme.
‘How long to Grenada?’ she asked him.
‘About one hour.’
Sara prepped the needle for the morphine—just a little...just enough to keep Enid out of pain. He watched her squeeze her hand reassuringly before administering it.
‘We’ll get her to a hospital on Grenada,’ he said to Enid’s husband. ‘She’ll be far more comfortable this way.’
The hour rolled by. Fraser made a call shore-side, transferred the X-rays, and had it confirmed by staff in Grenada that, yes, it was indeed a broken hip. Sara arranged for an ambulance at the port.
No one confirmed it had been spilt gin that had made Enid slip, but no one confirmed it had been water either.
‘Is everything under control?’
Renee appeared after a brief knock at the door that gave them no time to move apart without her seeing them. He stepped away from Sara anyway. She did the same thing.
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‘Vitals are stable. The ambulance is headed for the port,’ he told her, while Sara buried her head in her clipboard.
St George’s Grenada was as busy as ever, but the crowds parted as he and Sara carried Enid off the ship and let the ambulance take her away.
‘She’ll be OK,’ he said, watching it move along the road to the hospital, where he knew she’d be taken care of.
‘She won’t be getting back on the cruise, though, will she?’ Sara sighed beside him. ‘Should we not go to the hospital too?’
‘She’ll be going straight in for surgery, and she’s in good hands. Also, she was probably having the best time of her life right before this,’ he told her.
He spotted Renee again, talking to another passenger wearing a giant sunhat. Also distracting him now was a youngish looking couple, possibly in their late twenties, deep in some kind of chilling disagreement. The guy, sporting a long black ponytail and a bare back full of tattoos, was yelling in what looked like a drunken rage at a woman in a leopard-print dress. In turn, she was simmering, arms folded. Her body language screamed discomfort.
Fraser had seen them around the ship. They were always either smooching in a corner or arguing. Bad vibes.
He was about to walk over himself when two security guards stepped in. He put his hand on Sara’s. ‘Let’s go somewhere else,’ he said quickly.
‘What’s going on with them?’
‘I don’t know, but they don’t look happy.’
He started unbuttoning his white coat, zipped it into his bag, and motioned her to follow him fast, before Renee or anyone else saw.
‘Come on, Esme’s safe with Jess—aren’t you hungry for a taste of Grenada? We won’t be long.’
‘I am pretty hungry, now that you mention it.’
Sara followed him, taking off her own white coat quickly. He folded it into the bag with his as they walked, grateful that he’d worn jeans and a loose white shirt underneath.
Before long they were seated at his favourite restaurant. The ocean glistened in the distance and Sara looked relaxed, finally. He watched her blue sapphire studs reflecting the sun as she studied the scenery.
‘So, drama aside, what can you tell me about this place that doesn’t involve medical emergencies and ambulances, Mr Chief Tour Guide?’ She picked up her cranberry juice.
He leaned back in his seat. ‘Well, Grenada was founded by the French in the early eighteenth century. That’s why it looks so...’
‘French?’ She smiled as he rocked for a moment on his chair legs.
‘Exactly.’
Vibrant red roof tiles on a patchwork of pastel-coloured houses stretched before them, right up to the ocean. Fraser thought Sara had never looked as pretty as she did in a setting like this. Six years on and he swore she was even more beautiful. Her eyes were wiser, though, as if she’d seen too much—as if she was stuck inside her own head at times, maybe missing something wonderful while processing bigger things. She was used to putting Esme first, of course.
‘I’m guessing you don’t go on holiday much?’ he said as two plates of jerk chicken were placed before them.
‘It’s just hard with Esme. And with the hospital. They’re understaffed as it is.’
‘Megan is happy to help, though, and your dad?’ He remembered her younger sister, Megan.
She picked up a fork. ‘Yes, but it’s not fair to keep asking them, really, and I always panic if I leave her anyway. This is the first time we’ve been able to come away with dialysis care.’ She paused. ‘I did go to Mexico with my sister once. It was...interesting.’
‘Oh, yes?’
‘Long story—some guy called Pedro.’
He fought a stab of jealousy. ‘You hooked up with a guy called Pedro?’
She laughed. ‘No, not me—Megan. I read books. That’s my idea of a good time these days, Fraser. Books and knitting.’
‘And the butterfly collection?’
She smiled. She’d always collected things with butterflies on them. He’d given her a butterfly-patterned lace bra once.
‘You never felt the need to be the last to leave a party, but you could still start one whenever you wanted.’ He lowered his voice, directed it across the table. ‘Especially in the bedroom.’ He couldn’t resist. They both knew their sex-life had been incredible.
‘Your father had so many plans for you,’ she said after a moment, her lips still curved, smiling at the memories no doubt. ‘He’d be proud of what you’ve done and what you’re doing, Fraser.’
He reached across the table for her hand and she dropped her fork. ‘I listened to him way too much.’ He’d said it now.
‘What do you mean?’
‘He was always so set in his ways—you know that.’
His heart started to thrum. His father had been looming in the doorway after Sara had left in a taxi.
‘She broke up with me. What did you say to her?’
‘Nothing, son, I said nothing. But she’s a smart girl—she knows she’s bringing you down right now, Fraser. More to the point—wake up! There’s more to life than women.’
‘I know that.’
‘Well, prove it, then. We need your help to keep this practice afloat. I know it’s a lot to ask, son, but think of the future. Think of everything me and your mother have worked for. Now Sara’s gone you’ll have the space you need to get back on track!’
He’d had to bring Fraser’s mother into it. God bless Aggie Breckenridge, who’d worked tirelessly her entire life to raise him, to keep the practice running, only to be told she might not be able to retire in the manner she deserved. They’d been ploughing every penny of their savings into modernising the practice and they’d still needed more.
He’d called and called Sara, determined to talk to her and tell her what he hadn’t found the courage to admit before—that his family were under significant financial strain and needed him. He’d been determined that in spite of her concerns they could make it work.
But when he’d flown to London and seen her with someone else he’d accepted that maybe his father had been right. He had been distracted from his studies. He’d had no other options then. He couldn’t afford to let his family lose it all.
He’d kept his word, pulled himself up, got back on track. He’d qualified and then injected his trust fund money straight into the surgery, paying for new equipment, the latest treatments, three more highly qualified staff members. But he’d never forgotten Sara.
He stood and pulled her up from her seat, bringing both hands to her face.
‘Fraser...’
His name was a breath as her hands came up again, over his. Their meals were forgotten.
‘You and me, we had something really good,’ he said, putting a hand to the back of her head and letting his fingers tangle in her soft hair as he touched his forehead to hers. ‘We both know that.’
She closed her eyes.
‘We were young,’ he said. ‘Maybe it just wasn’t the right time for us back then.’ He tilted her chin. ‘When we get off the ship...’
‘I don’t know, Fraser.’ She pulled away and her amber eyes seemed to rummage through his soul. ‘Things are all so different. I can’t do anything right now, with the way things are for Esme.’
‘I know—and I know you’re doing everything you can for Esme—but we’re going to find her a donor.’
‘You keep saying that...but how do you know?’
‘I just do.’
He brought his nose to the tip of hers. He half expected her to pull away, or push him off, but her hands came to his chest. She clutched at the front of his shirt and he kissed her—because he had to.
Sara moaned slightly against his lips as she kissed him back softly, just for a second or two, before she pulled away and dipped her head against his shoulder. His arms circled her impulsive
ly and they stood there, her hair brushing his face in the breeze, the scrape of forks on plates a distant sound.
He wanted to lead her off the terrace and do more. He wanted to take her back to the ship and make love to her. But for the moment this would have to do. This and working on the plan he’d been hatching. It was now taking on whole new proportions in his head...
CHAPTER SEVEN
SARA WOKE WITH a jolt and almost hit her head on the ceiling. She’d slept in a fit of crazy dreams featuring tsunamis and Fraser...maybe even surfing a tsunami with Fraser.
Someone was banging on her door.
‘Sara!’ Jess burst into her cabin, waving her spare key card. ‘Sorry.’
She sprang up in bed, throwing the sheets off. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Esme’s missing.’
She clocked the time. One-thirty a.m. ‘Have you looked for her?’
‘Yes, of course!’
She pulled on jeans and a T-shirt, and was instantly thrown back on the bed. There was a storm raging outside and the boat was rocking. Panic was a fire flaming on her skin, and then came chills at the thought of her vulnerable daughter, missing.
Jess put a hand to the wall to stop herself from tripping. ‘I’m so sorry... I came in for my shift and she wasn’t there—there was maybe a three-minute crossover between staff. She must have slipped out then, and I can’t find her anywhere!’
On wobbly feet they climbed the stairs up to the nursery floor. Taking the elevator didn’t feel right with the ship this unsteady. Outside the night was black. No stars. They were by now, en-route for Florida once more, but from the views outside they could have been anywhere.
‘She can’t have gone far,’ Sara said, though her heart was a sledgehammer. She felt more than queasy. The ground beneath her feet was unstable.
They checked the nursery again. She wasn’t there.