Читать онлайн книгу «Pregnant With The Boss′s Baby» автора Sue MacKay

Pregnant With The Boss's Baby
Sue MacKay
One unexpected night…Emergency nurse Tamara Washington had everything—until her life was publically destroyed by her ex. She’s hidden herself away ever since, focusing only on her patients. Then one hot night with her boss, Dr Conor Maguire, upends her world again.With consequences!Now Tamara is pregnant and Conor faces being a father, something he never anticipated. But if they face their fears together, maybe they could become a family, because with Tamara in his arms, anything seems possible…


One unexpected night...
ED nurse Tamara Washington had everything—until her life was publicly destroyed by her ex. She’s hidden herself away ever since, focusing only on her patients. Then one hot night with her boss, Dr. Conor Maguire, upends her world again.
With consequences!
Now Tamara is pregnant and Conor faces being a father, something he never anticipated. But if they face their fears together, maybe they could become a family, because with Tamara in his arms, anything seems possible...
There was no beginning. No ending. Only the facts.
Her spine couldn’t straighten to ramrodstraight. Her tongue felt too big for her mouth. Her heart squeezed in on itself so hard pain shot out in all directions.
‘I’m pregnant.’
He rocked backwards in his chair, those beautiful eyes widening with disbelief. Or was it shock? Tamara couldn’t read him clearly. Gone was the open-faced, cheerful, friendly man everyone adored.
Might as well go for broke, put it all out there.
In a strangled whisper, she told him, ‘You’re the baby’s father.’
Then she waited for the axe to fall. And waited and waited. The silence was stifling. The walls came closer, squeezing the heavy air around her, suffocating her.
Say something, Conor.
Dear Reader (#u9ef96a1b-6d56-5d0a-a577-2d4f82691340),
I can’t imagine having to work all week with a gorgeous man I love and not wanting him to have an inkling of my feelings. The tension would be huge. Throw in a pregnancy and it would be more than awkward!
For Tamara the choice is taken out of her hands—and the shock to Conor is massive. But working together actually helps them resolve some of their issues. Of course nothing’s straightforward, and I’ve enjoyed throwing obstacles in their way…
You’ll also briefly meet Kelli and Mac in this story. To see how their romance unfolds look out for my next book in the coming months.
Happy reading!
Sue MacKay
suemackay.co.nz (http://www.suemackay.co.nz) sue.mackay56@yahoo.com
Pregnant with the Boss’s Baby
Sue MacKay


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
SUE MACKAY lives with her husband in New Zealand’s beautiful Marlborough Sounds, with the water on her doorstep and the birds and the trees at her back door. It is the perfect setting to indulge her passions of entertaining friends by cooking them sumptuous meals, drinking fabulous wine, going for hill walks or kayaking around the bay—and, of course, writing stories.
Books by Sue MacKay
Mills & Boon Medical Romance
Reunited…in Paris!
A December to Remember
Breaking All Their Rules
Dr White’s Baby Wish
The Army Doc’s Baby Bombshell
Resisting Her Army Doc Rival
Visit the Author Profile page at
at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk) for more titles.
Praise for Sue MacKay (#u9ef96a1b-6d56-5d0a-a577-2d4f82691340)
‘I highly recommend this story to all lovers of romance: it is moving, emotional, a joy to read!’
—Goodreads on
A December to Remember
Contents
Cover (#uc8e50707-c8ad-571c-9675-a3e7d752b5bb)
Back Cover Text (#u0db4d922-fafb-5fd1-8794-f1035c4c4a6f)
Introduction (#u26d1f308-ef34-51aa-a993-7b6172107775)
Dear Reader (#u642f29e2-971f-5396-8299-895430a895c9)
Title Page (#ueaebeac0-922a-57ea-8b0f-fed9385f4aa0)
About the Author (#u1b759139-e8cc-5847-a8f2-4b8e58d25e4a)
Praise for Sue MacKay (#u4b6198a6-3844-5b92-9a64-6c9ce0cedd9a)
CHAPTER ONE (#u846923e7-c78c-5b54-a312-e5e678e6e0e8)
CHAPTER TWO (#u836dee61-cab9-545d-aa61-cbf94fa03652)
CHAPTER THREE (#u41b75653-f26d-5c2c-9a56-a4ea7308e7a4)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#u9ef96a1b-6d56-5d0a-a577-2d4f82691340)
‘THAT WAS TOO close for comfort.’ Nurse Tamara Washington watched the paediatric intensive care team wheel their tiny patient towards the lift and PICC.
‘Every parent’s worst nightmare,’ Conor agreed as he dropped onto a chair at the emergency department’s work centre. ‘At one point I didn’t think we’d get him back.’
The baby had stopped breathing while being examined to find what was causing his dangerously high temperature.
‘But you did. We did.’ Sometimes it astonished her that they were able to revive someone so young and small. Always it shook her up. Today... Today it had been hard to hold her emotions in. Too close, too frightening. What-ifs played in her head as she stared at the man typing in notes on the baby’s file. He needed to know.
‘Have I grown a wart on the back of my head?’ Conor asked in that Irish lilt that tightened her toes, and a whole lot of other areas of her body.
‘Can you spare me a few minutes at the end of the day?’ Tamara’s chest clenched as her reluctant question came out. A few minutes that would change Dr Maguire’s quiet, easy life for ever. No matter which path he took in response to the lightning bolt she had to deliver.
‘Sure.’ He tossed her a negligent eyebrows-raised glance. ‘What’s bugging you? More stuff about med school?’ He’d been more than patient with her over the application, and must think she was a pain in his gorgeous backside with her continual, often repetitive questions.
Tamara glanced around Auckland Central Hospital’s ED, the place in which she felt most at home, and definitely most confident. This was where she knew her stuff.
‘That’s me. Crossing the “t”s and dotting the “i”s before I finally push “send”.’ Not even a reputed university had been going to get the better of her. These days she checked everything, over and over.
‘Those “t”s and “i”s will be so crossed and dotted they’ll be unrecognisable.’ Conor gave her one of his dynamic, tummy-tingling smiles.
Except her stomach was far too tense to tingle. ‘Today’s the day I finish with it.’ Literally. Trash-bin finish. Training to become a doctor was the dream she’d been working towards all year. The dream she was so invested in had turned to dust over a thin blue line on a plastic stick. Two test kits, different brands, same result. No argument.
Tamara’s left hand pressed, oh, so gently on her unhappy tummy while her teeth worried her bottom lip. At least her mouth was better occupied doing that than spewing out any of the thoughts mashing her up on the inside. This being in charge of her life was full of pitfalls, all of them deep and dangerous. It was her life, right? Sometimes she wondered.
Conor cut through her worry. ‘As long as the shift doesn’t run over too much, let’s go to the local for a drink and food.’
‘No.’ Nausea swamped Tamara at the thought of greasy pub food. As for alcohol, forget that for a while. Sweat saturated the folds of her baggy scrubs. Since the first tweak of nausea on waking last Friday morning she’d been in a terrible state, gutted at the abrupt about-turn in her well-laid-out, Tamara-controlled plans. Of course she’d fought the obvious, denied the deepening despair, knowing she’d lost another round in life’s plans for her.
‘Why not?’ Conor looked bemused.
He hadn’t spent the weekend fighting the inevitable. No, that started for him later today. ‘Can we stick to your office?’ So you can vent in private. ‘I won’t take up much of your time. Promise.’
His kingfisher-blue eyes widened briefly. ‘This is about your application for university?’ As head of this emergency department, Conor had backed her all the way when she’d decided to start studying extramurally with the goal of entering med school next year.
‘For the absolute last time.’ No doubt there.
‘Right, my office when we’re done with headaches and broken bones.’
His thick brogue wrapped around her, softening her heart when it needed to be steel, making her feel all mushy about him despite not wanting to feel anything for him. A sexy man with a whole lot more going for him, he was hard to ignore. They’d shared one night in his bed—with devastating consequences. No denying the tingle in her thighs and lower belly whenever he turned all Irish on her, though. But that was about the sex they’d shared. He’d been hot, and imaginative, and very, very good. Phew, her cheeks were warming at the memories. Of the sex. Nothing else. Sometimes she still pinched herself to make sure she hadn’t imagined it. Now she had the evidence. No more pinches.
The strident sound of the buzzer from the ambulance bay curtailed any further discussion as Conor leapt up from the chair. ‘Here’s our guy.’ A car-versus-truck victim. Possible flail chest injury.
Hurrying after the only man Tamara had been intimate with in years, her gaze automatically scanned Conor’s longish black hair at the back of his neck, remembering how she’d run her fingers through the glossy waves. That had been then. Today was a whole new ball game. Learning she was carrying his baby was going to knock Conor off his impeccable stride.
Tamara heard the paramedic begin to give Conor her report on their latest stat one patient, and pulled on her professional face, straightened her back into its now usual, though false, don’t-fool-with-me, ramrod-straight line and pushed aside any thoughts not related to work.
‘Impact to the chest from the steering wheel, suspected broken ribs and perforated lungs.’
Conor interrupted the woman. ‘Tamara, take over debrief. I’m getting this guy into Resus and the radiology technician onto him now.’ Calm belied the urgency of Conor’s statement; the only giveaway to his concern a thickening of that mouth-watering drawl. He was already rushing the stretcher towards Resus, a second ambulance officer with him moving as fast.
Time was running out if their man had a flail chest. With broken ribs tearing holes in the lungs on every breath, the guy would simply run out of oxygen in very little time.
‘How long since the accident happened?’ she demanded of the paramedic, worried about the man’s chances of survival.
‘Approximately fifteen minutes ago. Just around the corner on Grafton Road. We were already on the road, heading to another accident, when the call came through. It was a load-and-go the moment we figured out what might be his major injury.’
‘Good on you for not hanging around, checking him out.’ Seemed something was on their patient’s side. ‘What else have you got?’
As the paramedic listed the other injuries Jimmy Crowe had sustained, Tamara couldn’t help sighing with relief. She was going to be busy for the next hour, so her mind would stay shut down on everything else.
‘Tamara, we need oxygen happening,’ Conor called as she ran into Resus. ‘ASAP.’
‘Onto it.’ Tamara shoved the paperwork into another nurse’s hands. ‘Kelli, can you read these obs out to Conor?’ Reaching for the gas, she mentally crossed her fingers they weren’t too late and that some oxygen would do its job.
She and Kelli worked in unison with Conor to get Jimmy’s bleeding and breathing under some sort of control. A cannula was slid into the left arm to allow for essential fluids to enter the man’s bloodstream.
Michael, a registrar, joined them. ‘A steering-wheel injury?’
Conor nodded. ‘Yes.’
Tamara wiped blood from the man’s mouth. ‘This could back up the lung-damage theory.’
‘Stand back, everyone,’ the radiology tech called from behind his portable unit. Whizz, click, whizz. Angles were changed, more images taken. Even before he’d finished Conor demanded, ‘What’ve we got?’
‘Give me a minute.’
‘We haven’t got a minute.’
Tamara understood Conor’s impatience. Their patient’s life depended on what the X-rays showed.
The images appeared almost immediately on the screen and Conor studied them with the intensity of a specialist determined not to lose his patient. ‘Fractures to the right side of his rib cage but no ribs pushed in at the front. There’s some displacement at the front, and two ribs have broken off the sternum, but they’re not causing further damage to the lungs.’
From beside him Tamara also peered at the images. The tightness in her shoulders did not ease. ‘I think our man’s very lucky.’
‘On count one, yes. But from my observations so far there’s probably a skull fracture, likewise with the right elbow, where, going by the amount of blood leakage, the artery is torn, plus internal injuries to deal with.’ Conor had already called for someone to get onto the lab to come and take a blood sample for cross-match. He turned to the guy from Radiology. ‘I need pictures of his pelvis and arms while you’re at it. Flick them all straight through to the radiologist.’
‘No problem.’
‘His spleen’s damaged,’ Conor reported later after a call from the radiology department. ‘Wonder what caused that? And the other injuries below the ribs,’ he pondered aloud as he snatched up the phone again. ‘I’m getting the surgical team on standby up to speed.’
‘The corner of the other vehicle must’ve pushed the side of the car inwards,’ Tamara commented.
‘How’s that oxygen flow?’ Conor demanded as he held the phone to his ear. ‘What’s his sat level?’
Everyone worked quickly and thoroughly, doing their damnedest to save the man’s life. When they finally stepped away to let the orderly take Jimmy to Theatre, where surgeons were scrubbed and waiting, Tamara felt exhaustion roll through her. ‘That was crazy.’ But what they were used to. Except she didn’t usually feel so tired afterwards.
Tiredness and nausea. Not normal for her. But they were for pregnancy. The towel she was unfolding dropped to the floor. It was so unfair it was incomprehensible. Oh, like life hadn’t been inconsiderate before? Hadn’t blown up in her face in the past?
On the far side of the room Conor was talking through a yawn. ‘I hate impact injuries. They’re often extreme and messy, let alone hard to stabilise.’ Why was he tired? Had a busy weekend between the sheets, had he?
A twinge of regret tightened her already tight stomach. Jealousy didn’t suit her, and was irrelevant as they were only friends and colleagues. Conor liked the ladies, nothing new there. She’d been quick to walk away after that fantastic night in his bed, being wary of any more involvement with him. Even then her heart had sent her a warning: Beware, Conor’s dangerous to your determination to remain single.
She watched him rubbing his lower back as he stretched up onto his toes, swivelling his neck left then right. His gaze caught hers as he continued, ‘Vehicles of all kinds are so damned dangerous.’
Her breath hitched in her throat as she locked eyes with him. A look like this one had led to her predicament. A night on the town with colleagues and kapow! One of those lingering, across-heads-of-people-dancing looks and she’d known they’d have to connect up. And reciprocal knowledge had been blinking out at her from Conor’s eyes. No denying something had to happen between them. And it had. Her mouth watered at the memories of the hottest night she’d ever experienced. And he was looking at her like that now. Her gut tightened. It would be so easy to follow through on the promise in those eyes.
Problem. They were at work. It wasn’t happening again. She was about to turn his world upside down. How many more reasons did she need?
‘Hello, Tamara. Anyone home?’ Conor waved at her, stopping those distracting thoughts. Not that he looked any more comfortable than she was.
What had they been talking about? Vehicles and danger. ‘Enough to put me off driving.’ Tamara dragged her eyes forward, away from the promise, avoiding that toned body, and focused on the bed she needed to strip. The muscles his scrubs were hiding were lean and strong and sexy.
She’d been rambling on about driving when she didn’t own a car. That eye-lock had a lot to answer for. ‘Being bowled off my bike would be a bigger mess, I reckon.’ The bike on her back porch that had a thick layer of dust covering it and spiders’ nests between the spokes of the wheels sitting on flat tyres.
‘You ever going to ride that thing again?’ Kelli asked with a hint of amusement from the other side of the bed.
Not in the foreseeable future. Her hand touched her tummy before she realised where she was and jerked it away. People around here had eyes in the back of their skulls. ‘I doubt it. I’m such a wimp. Since that day I rode into a grass-covered ditch and got tossed into the field, I keep thinking about splatting onto the road.’ She shivered. The media had been chasing her for a comment on her ex’s latest crime that had been exposed. It was lucky she’d got away with three stitches in her arm where a broken bottle hidden in the grass had sliced her. ‘I know a warning when I see one.’
Not with Conor, she hadn’t. His easy manner and take-me-or-leave-me attitude had added to the compelling physical need he’d stirred up within her over that dance floor. He’d been the first man since Peter. The first kiss, first sex, first sleepover. Sort of like getting back in the saddle, only more frightening because she’d understood how hard the fall could be.
At least with Conor it had only been about the great sex, and one night had not led to others. In fact, he’d seemed relieved when she’d leapt out of bed the following morning, hauled on her clothes, and declared, thanks, but got to go. He hadn’t seen the fear of wanting more from him that she’d struggled to hold at bay until she’d got away. The fear made harder to hide when he’d done an about-face and invited her to breakfast at a classy café near his apartment. Almost as if her rejection had piqued his interest. When, in desperation, she’d declined, he’d insisted on walking her to the bus stop. All part of his charm, and utterly dangerous in its temptation.
‘Incoming severe asthma attack,’ the triage nurse called as she slammed the phone back in place. ‘ETA ten minutes.’
‘No rest for the wicked.’ Conor grinned. ‘Or even the slightly bad.’
‘We can’t complain that the day’s dragging,’ Tamara retorted. Her day was taking for ever to tick by, yet at the same time three o’clock was charging at her full speed. How would Conor react? Would he storm out, shouting that she was a liar or a con artist? Or would he pat her on the head and say good luck and goodbye?
‘What is up with you today? You’re very distracted.’ Conor studied her from his six-foot-plus height. ‘Come to think of it, you’re looking peaky.’
‘I’m fine,’ she snapped, and headed to a cubicle where she could hear a middle-aged woman with a suspected broken ankle groaning. Peaky? Right. Of course she was peaky. She’d tossed up her breakfast that morning, hadn’t she? At least it’d happened before she left home and not on the bus, or, worse, not here where some nosy parker would notice quicker than wildfire ignited dry tinder and come up with the wrong cause. Or the right one.
‘Tamara, I want you on the asthma with me,’ Conor called after her.
‘No problem,’ she lied. Ask someone else.
‘In a better mood.’
Tamara nearly leapt into the air. She hadn’t heard him coming closer. ‘Don’t sneak up on me,’ she growled as her heart thumped loud enough for the whole department to hear.
‘Whoa.’ His hands were up, palms towards her. ‘Maybe you need to take a quick coffee break. Get some caffeine into your system. Something’s got your knickers in a twist and it’s not a good look in ED.’
He was right. When wasn’t he? On a long, raggedy indrawn suck of air she managed, ‘Sorry. I had a restless night. Seems it’s catching up with me.’ As if she could have slept when the truth had been leaching into her mind, pushing aside her dreams, taunting her. No wonder her head was beginning to pound like there was a band of bongo drummers in there. She never did well on less than eight hours’ sleep. Something she’d planned on getting used to once she started her medical training.
Now she was readjusting, learning the new phrase—once she became a mother.
‘Your mood anything to do with what you want to talk to me about?’
Too shrewd for your own good, Dr Maguire.
‘No. Yes. Sort of.’
‘Bring me a coffee when you get yours, will you?’
In other words, she wasn’t getting away without a caffeine fix. Sorry, baby. Don’t take any on board, or you’ll be buzzing all afternoon. ‘Three sugars?’ She arched an eyebrow at him.
‘For you, not me.’ He flipped a smile in her direction before reaching for another patient form, that earlier tiredness now tugging at his mouth.
Damn that smile. It could undo all her resolve to be firm with him. ‘Looks like you need the caffeine more than I do,’ Tamara muttered as she headed for the kitchenette. Tea for her. It might be less aggressive on her system. See, getting used to there being a baby growing inside.
Her knees gave out on her and she buckled against the wall as very real fear overcame her. Her dream was going up in smoke before she’d even pushed ‘send’ on that application. Becoming a mother was not part of the plan, had only been a remote, ‘not likely to happen in this lifetime’ kind of dream. But not any more. Not in her current situation. How was she going to cope? It wasn’t as though she’d had a good role model in her mother. While Dad had been the steady influence, Mum had always been a little off kilter, doing things without thought to time or place or other people. Like hopping on a flight to Melbourne for the fashion show and not telling Dad where she was until she’d landed. Dad had shrugged, said that’s your mother for you, and taken her out to dinner at a five-star restaurant. She’d been six at the time. Which parent would she follow? She knew which one she wanted to be like, but wasn’t sure of her capabilities.
‘Tamara? What’s going on?’
Conor could be so nosy. She shuffled her body up the wall until she stood upright, not quite ramrod straight, and eyeballed him. ‘Having a wee kip on the way to get those drinks.’
‘You think you should be at work? You’re not exactly on form today.’
‘Have I made any mistakes? Looked incapable of doing my job?’
‘Not yet.’ Conor studied her for a long moment. No heated connection going on now. ‘Take thirty. Get something to eat to go with that coffee.’ Her face must’ve given her away because his hand went up, palm out. ‘No argument.’
When he took her arm and led her into the tiny space that was the staff kitchenette she had no choice other than to go with him. Putting up a fight was a waste of time and energy that was best saved for other more important issues.
‘Here.’ Conor removed a brown paper bag from a cupboard and placed it on the bench. ‘Cheese scone from the café. Get it down you.’ Then he reached for the coffee.
A warning rose from her tense gut. No way. Food would have to wait. ‘Th-thanks. Tea for me.’ And this was the woman who had taken control of her life and refused to let anyone or anything tip her off track again? Tamara reached for the bag, tore it open and broke off a tiny corner of the scone. Shut up, stomach. Whose side are you on, anyway? And she popped the morsel into her mouth and chewed. And chewed. Swallowed. Take that. She took another small bite, and locked eyes with Conor. ‘Just what I needed,’ she agreed around a wave of relief that her stomach was supporting her. However briefly. For now she was back on track.
‘I’ll hand that asthma over to one of the junior doctors, then we’ll take our drinks to my office and have that talk you asked for.’
‘What? Now?’ She tipped sideways, grabbed at the bench. ‘It can wait.’ I’m not ready.
‘Something’s up and it’s affecting you. Best we sort it and get on with the day. Finish making those drinks, will you?’ Conor shot out the door, leaving her shaking.
On autopilot she spooned coffee into one mug, dropped a tea bag into another, added sugar and boiling water to both. Stirred. It’s too late to do a runner. Time to face the facts.
‘Ready? Good.’ Conor swooped back into the small space, picked up both full mugs in one hand and took her elbow in the other. ‘Let’s go.’
And then they were there, Conor’s office door clicking shut behind her, and the air all hot and heavy. Tamara sank onto the closest chair, gripped her hands between her knees and stared at the floor. She should’ve dug into the back of her wardrobe and found something half-decent to wear for this, instead of looking like the frump she hid behind. But then he’d have known something was up.
She heard the mugs being placed on the desk, Conor’s chair being pulled out, his knee clicking as he sat down. She felt his eyes on her, his bewilderment boring into her. Her skin chilled, and the moisture evaporated from her mouth.
Slowly lifting her head, she nearly leapt up and ran. There was so much concern radiating out at her from across the desk it undermined all the lessons on men she’d learned from her ex. Could Conor care about her that much?
‘Start at the beginning.’ Conor’s soft voice flowed over her, tightening already tight muscles and jangling nerve endings.
There was no beginning. No ending. Only the facts. Her spine couldn’t straighten to ramrod straight. Her tongue felt too big for her mouth. Her heart squeezed in on itself so hard pain shot out in all directions. ‘I’m pregnant.’
He rocked backwards in his chair, those beautiful eyes widening with disbelief. Or was it shock? She couldn’t read him clearly. Gone was the open-faced, cheerful, friendly man everyone adored.
Might as well go for broke, put it all out there. In a strangled whisper, she told him, ‘You’re the baby’s father.’
Then she waited for the axe to fall. And waited and waited. The silence was stifling. The walls came closer, squeezing the heavy air around her, suffocating her.
Say something, Conor.
CHAPTER TWO (#u9ef96a1b-6d56-5d0a-a577-2d4f82691340)
‘I’M PREGNANT.’ The words ricocheted from wall to wall.
Conor slammed back in his seat as all the air in his lungs spewed into the room. The silence was deafening. As if everyone in the hospital was holding their collective breath.
‘You’re the baby’s father.’
Tell me this isn’t true. But Tamara looked certain. Apprehensive, but definitely sure. There was no colour in her cheeks, no warmth in her eyes, and her hands were rubbing her arms like they were cold. ‘You can’t be. I used condoms.’ Rule number one: when indulging in sex, use protection. No exceptions.
‘I am, and you did.’
No, no, no. He leapt to his feet, an oath spilling across his lips. ‘You’re saying one was faulty?’ He saw his disbelief drill into her, wanted to regret his words, but couldn’t quite. She mustn’t be pregnant. Not with his child.
Tamara pulled back, her eyes locked on him. ‘Faulty, torn in use, I have no idea. I only know that I haven’t had a period since that weekend, and there was a blue line on the test stick.’ She gulped. ‘On both sticks.’
‘Making certain, were you? Crossing the “t”s and dotting the “i”s?’ So like Tamara, he’d laugh if there was anything humorous about this. A chill was spreading through him. She wasn’t lying. It wasn’t a sick joke. Not that she’d ever do that. It was just that... It was impossible to believe.
Because he didn’t want to. He’d been running from getting involved for the last fourteen years. Hell, he’d come all the way down to New Zealand to keep the yearning for love and family at bay. To stand alone, not get close to anyone. Showed how much he knew. Seemed life had always been going to catch up with him, regardless of what he did.
‘There’s a lot at stake.’ There was a quiver in Tamara’s voice that rattled him.
And pricked his heart. Don’t go there. He wasn’t available. Conor opened up to the chill ramping through him, let it into his voice box. ‘Sure is. When did you do the tests?’
‘Friday. Then Saturday.’
Conor felt his face tighten, worked at softening his facial muscles. Failed. ‘You could’ve said something sooner. You’ve got my phone number.’ Genuine anger was moving in, heating his cheeks, deflecting the chill.
‘I could have, yes.’ Tamara swallowed, started again. ‘But I didn’t want to believe it. Telling you makes it irrefutably real.’
‘You were in denial.’ That he could understand. About where he was right now.
‘Totally. I have—’ Gasp. Her hands clenched tight on her elbows. ‘I had plans, and being pregnant is upending everything. Again. I’ve worked so hard to be in charge of my future.’
What did she mean by again? And being in charge of herself? Wasn’t everybody? ‘You don’t want the baby?’ he snapped. How did that make him feel? Relieved? Not at all. Really? Who the hell knew? Not him. He charged for the door, reached for the handle to haul it open. Stopped. Spun around to face her, rose up and down on his toes as he waited for her reply to his telling question.
‘I never said that,’ she said sharply. ‘Or implied it.’
‘Just checking.’ Sounding like a heel, boyo. Now, there was a surprise. His head was full to the brim with questions, denials, longings, anger—every blasted emotion under the sun. Name it, it was there. ‘I don’t know you well enough to read your mind.’
Tamara fixed him with a glare. ‘Then take this on board. I won’t be going to university next year after all, and I so wanted to become a doctor. Instead I’m having a baby. Then I’m going to be a mother, something I know next to nothing about.’ She stared at him, imploring him to understand. ‘I don’t want to be like my mother. She believed nannies were put on earth so she could go to charity meetings and play mediocre golf.’
The bitterness colouring those words was almost tangible and Conor wanted to wipe it away, make her feel better. So he remained by the door. Start doing that and who knew what would happen next. They had a lot to get through over the coming weeks and any out-of-the-ordinary moves like that would only turn everything murky. He had to be aloof, separate. ‘I’d have said she did a great job with you.’ There, honest but uninvolved.
Tamara snarled, ‘Don’t talk about something you know nothing about.’
Ouch. He’d hit a painful point, for sure. ‘Fair enough.’ He strode back to his chair, dropped into it and banged his feet on the desktop. His hands gripped together under his chin as he studied Tamara. Looking for what? He wasn’t sure.
‘There’s nothing fair about any of this,’ she retorted.
He couldn’t agree more. But what he said was, ‘You have no idea.’
‘About what?’ she asked in a rare belligerent tone.
‘I can’t have children.’
‘Wrong. You are having one next year. In April, I reckon. It’s no one else’s.’
‘I am not accusing you of lying to me, Tamara.’
She lurched, as though stabbed by pain. Her hands clenched even tighter. But she kept her head high and those cocoa-coloured eyes fixed on him. ‘Then I don’t understand.’
‘I can’t have children. It’s as simple as that.’
Someone knocking on the door had Conor hauling his feet off the table quick fast. ‘Go away. I’m busy,’ he yelled in frustration.
They both held their breaths until it became apparent whoever was out there had taken his advice.
Tamara asked quietly, ‘You can’t? Or won’t?’
Back to the elephant. She knew next to nothing about him, and he wasn’t about to let his tongue go crazy filling in the gaps. Though there was one detail he’d have to reveal. His feet hit the floor in an instant, and his head spun as he came upright. Not now. Not today.
‘Conor?’ Not so quiet.
‘Either way, it makes no difference.’
Tamara’s eyes narrowed. ‘If there are things I need to know for my baby’s sake then tell me.’
He moved away from the desk abruptly, his chair flung back against the wall. His hands went to his hips, held tight. ‘All my adult life I’ve actively avoided this exact moment. Yet here it is, staring me down.’ Commitment with a capital C.
‘Don’t you like children? You’re always amazing with them in the department, teasing and fun, easing their distress. I wouldn’t have believed you were faking it.’ She paused, and when he didn’t answer she continued. ‘We need to talk, about a lot of things. Seems you’ve got issues. Which means I do too. I need to know what they are, Conor. For our child’s sake, if nothing else.’
‘What I need right now is some air. This office is stuffy. I’ll see you back at work shortly.’ Pulling the door open, he stepped right up against Michael’s extended hand.
‘I was about to knock,’ the registrar muttered, dropping his hand quickly. ‘We’ve got a situation and you’re both needed. Urgently.’
‘I’m on my break.’ Conor hauled the brakes on his motor mouth, breathed deep. ‘Sorry, start again. What situation?’
I need to get away from here, from Tamara and the distress in those serious eyes. I need to work out what’s just happened. Have I spent fourteen years being deliberately solo for nothing?
He felt movement beside him, heard Tamara ask, in a voice that didn’t sound a lot stronger than his, ‘What is it, Michael?’
‘I’ve just got off the phone from Ambulance Headquarters. All hell’s about to break out. There’s been an accident involving a busload of children.’
Saved by the phone. Conor started down the corridor towards the centre of the department, and swore. He didn’t really wish harm on those kids so he could avoid facing up to Tamara’s news. News that at the moment had to go on hold. ‘Continue.’
‘A school bus has rolled off the motorway on-ramp in Newmarket. There are many serious casualties.’ The registrar’s voice slowed, dropped an octave. ‘And some fatalities.’
Conor saw the precise moment the reality of what he’d reported to them hit Michael. The guy’s eyes widened, and his body sagged a little. Something like his own reaction to Tamara’s news. Laying a hand on his shoulder, he said, ‘Okay, get everyone together and I’ll outline how we go about this.’
‘They’re all waiting for you and Tamara at the desk.’ Michael’s voice cracked. ‘This is huge.’
‘We’ll manage by breaking it down into components.’ Conor was already busy drawing up a mental list of people to call, jobs to do, equipment to check over. The moment he stood in front of his team he wasted no time. ‘Firstly, no one’s going home at three.’ The clock showed two thirty-five. He glanced at Tamara, who’d moved in beside Kelli.
Horror and despair for what they would shortly be dealing with filled her eyes. All of the previous distress about their own personal situation had been shoved aside. He nodded at her. Very impressive. She’d been ahead of him.
A tall, blond-haired man stepped into the area. ‘What’s up?’
‘Mac.’ Conor nodded at the head of the evening shift as he joined them. ‘We’re about to receive multiple stat one junior patients from a bus accident.’ He quickly added the few details he had. ‘You should take over right from the start. It’s going to be your roster.’
Mac shook his head. ‘No, you carry on, get things rolling. Your team’s all here, mine is yet to arrive.’
It made sense, and in some ways Conor was pleased. He preferred leading from the front, but that also meant there was a very long night ahead. He turned to Michael. ‘When can we expect the first patient?’ Patient, not child. It helped him keep his distance a little bit. But only until the first victim arrived. Then his heart would break for the child and his or her family. Every time he had to tell a parent bad news he saw his mother, distraught, inconsolable as she kissed his brother goodbye before the funeral.
Michael’s voice came through. ‘Coms couldn’t tell me times or numbers. She said it’s absolute chaos out there. Because we’re closest we get the first, most urgent cases, then they’ll start feeding out to other hospitals.’
‘First we need to clear as many beds as we can. Michael, what’ve we got?’
‘One lad about to have his arm put in plaster. A woman with unidentified head pain awaiting lab results. There are also two stat five patients in the waiting room.’
‘Kelli, take the boy, get him fixed up and on his way home. Michael, see if the general ward can accommodate the head-pain patient and let them follow up on her blood results as they come in.’
‘Onto it.’
‘Tamara.’ When had she come to stand next to him? Like she was offering support? He should’ve felt her there, but he wasn’t used to looking to someone else for comfort or sharing. He looked into that steady dark gaze and knew he was glad she was with him. For now they were on the same page, despite the chasm yawning between them. A baby. Longing unfurled slowly deep inside. Family. The thing he’d denied himself for life. Even when he’d desperately wanted one. Was this the universe’s way of saying he was wrong?
An elbow nudging his arm reminded him of what he was meant to be thinking about. Nothing to do with babies. ‘Right, Tamara.’
‘What do you want me to do?’ she asked, clearly weighing up all that had to be done before their first little patient came through those wide doors from the ambulance bays.
‘In the waiting room, those stat fives. Send the man with the possible sprained ankle straight to Radiology. I’ll let them know he’s coming and why the hurry.’
‘Right.’ She made to move away.
She was obviously not as distracted as he was, then. This woman was the ultimate professional, hiding behind that impenetrable façade, letting nothing personal affect her work. He’d only once seen her mask come down completely. Whoa. Do not go there. ‘Wait. The man with a constant bleeding nose can go over the way to the emergency doctors’ clinic.’
‘He’s going to love that,’ Tamara muttered as she reached to pick up the patient notes.
‘Explain the situation. He’ll get just as good care there, and certainly a lot quicker. Tell Reception to send people to medical centres where possible after the triage nurse has assessed them. Once those kids start arriving no one else is going to get a look in unless they’re stat one.’
‘Give me the easy job, why don’t you?’ There was no acid in her retort. Maybe it wasn’t a retort, considering the lift of those full lips into something resembling a tentative smile. A Tamara smile—rarely given, and never over-eager—was something to hold onto.
Warmth flooded him because of that smile. Warmth that only Tamara seemed capable of giving him at a deeper level than just fun and enjoyment. He found her a smile in return, and drank in her surprise. Hopefully she didn’t know how she affected him when he wasn’t being careful, which around her was becoming more and more difficult. Hence why he’d applied for a job in Sydney, hopefully starting next month.
Staff from the next shift were wandering in one at a time. A low hum of whispers told the newcomers what they were about to deal with. Conor looked at Mac, who said, ‘Pretty much everyone’s here so carry on. You’ve started the process.’
Facing the eager faces, Conor told the nurses and registrars, ‘All of you, double check we’re ready and prepared for every eventuality. You know what to do. Treat this as you would any stat one coming through the door, but know there’s going to be a seemingly endless stream. It will come to an end, I assure you, but there’ll be moments when you doubt that.’ He paused to let his words sink in, then said, ‘I’ll be on the phone, putting people around the hospital on standby, but interrupt me if you find there’s a problem anywhere. There are going to be double ups amongst you but, believe me, you will all be required.’
Mac took over allocating jobs while Conor punched in the direct dial number for the theatre manager. ‘Sister, we have a situation.’ He quickly brought her up to speed and then left her to get on with cancelling surgeries and getting theatres prepared for the influx due any moment.
Theatres, done. Running through a mental list of who he had to notify, he punched in the next number. Radiology, then surgeons and other specialists, blood bank.
‘Everyone’s busy so I can take some of those calls.’ Mac stood in front of him, phone in hand. ‘Who’s next?’
‘Orthopaedics.’
Together they worked systematically through the list, the whole time Conor watching the minutes ticking by, feeling the tension building in himself and the department as the doors from the ambulance bay remained firmly shut. He slammed the phone down on his final call. ‘Come on. Where are these kids? The odds aren’t great if they don’t get here now.’
Mac shook his head. ‘We’re organised, ready and waiting. But, yeah, where the hell are those children?’
The buzzer screamed, cutting through the air, sounding louder and more urgent than normal. Instant silence fell across the department and every head turned towards those doors.
Conor drew a breath. ‘Okay, everyone, good luck. I know you’ll do your damnedest.’ And then some.
As he took a step his gaze slid from the doors to Tamara. She was pale, but ramrod straight, and her nod in his direction was assured. Then she was moving to let in their first patient, and Conor was right beside her.
‘Jamie Johnson, eight years old, severe concussion.’
Then the flood started.
‘Carole Miller, facial injuries, nine years old.’
‘Toby Crawford, eight years old, unconscious, suspected skull fracture, internal injuries.’
Once it began the line of trauma victims was continuous and the severity of the cases presenting mind-numbing. A brief gap ninety minutes in gave everyone time to nearly catch up before the second wave of children arrived. These kids were in worse condition than the initial ones because they’d taken longer to be extricated from the wreckage that had once been a bus.
‘We need blood here.’ Tamara was beckoning to the lab technician to take a sample for cross-match from her patient prior to his surgery for a severed foot.
‘And here,’ Kelli called from the next resus unit, where a tiny lad with a broken kneecap and torn artery lay whimpering in a fog of morphine.
Conor called to Tamara, ‘Get the orthopaedic surgeon in here.’
The phone was at her ear immediately as she hadn’t put it down from her last urgent call. For a brief moment they locked eyes and he felt a surge of adrenalin. It was like she was his other half. The calm, self-assured nurse who now had him under control and as calm as she was. The woman carrying his baby. Conor’s gut clenched. Baby. Child. Accidents. Death and destruction. Forget calm. What if something like this happened to their child? What—?
‘Here.’ Tamara shoved the phone at him and instantly replaced his hands with hers on their small patient’s leg to continue pressing on a pad staunching the blood flow that had restarted while they’d been investigating his injuries.
Conor swallowed down the fear and said into the phone, ‘Kay, we’ve got a lad whose left foot has been severed.’ As he rattled off details he refused to think about how the loss of a foot would affect a young child. Instead he concentrated on Tamara as she bent over the boy, whispering sweet nothings to him even when there wasn’t a chance in hell the boy heard a word. This was Tamara at her best. Calming.
That night in his bed she’d been the antithesis of calm.
Conor slammed the phone back on the hook. Concentrate, man. He called, ‘Orderly,’ and returned to the lad’s side. ‘Obs? How’s that oxygen flow?’
Mam, how did you survive watching Sebastian die?
Conor’s heart stopped. Slashing his forearm across his eyes, he stared at the boy before him. Life was so unfair. But he wasn’t going to let this kid die.
Bright lights flashed in the department, temporarily blinding Conor. ‘What the...?’
‘Get out of here,’ Tamara snarled. ‘Conor,’ she yelled. ‘We need Security. Yesterday.’
Conor blinked, saw rage fill Tamara’s face, her eyes, as she stalked past him towards a man pointing a camera in the direction of their patient.
‘The media?’ Tell me I’m wrong. ‘How the hell did you get in here?’ he demanded of the man, anger now running in his veins too.
‘Like they always do, by pushing people aside as if they have a right to.’ Tamara was shaking.
He placed a hand on her shoulder. ‘Ignore him. Our patient needs us.’ Where were those security guys?
The camera flashed again, and Tamara stepped away from it, her face contorted with a mix of anger and hopelessness. Then two guys in uniform were hauling the cameraman away none too gently.
Conor turned Tamara back to their case. ‘Don’t think about it. Save it for later. You’re needed with our lad at the moment.’
Her body shuddered as she drew a breath, and she slapped the back of her glove-covered hand across her cheeks. ‘They have no respect for anyone.’
‘Tam, focus now.’
‘Don’t call me Tam,’ she snapped, but at least her spine straightened and all her focus returned to where it was meant to be.
He worked with Tamara, stabilising and checking blood flow, oxygen, getting the boy ready for surgery. Then his patient was gone, onto the next phase of being put back together, though for the boy that would be a long process.
Tamara’s eyes were chilly and giving nothing away as she stretched her back, pushing her breasts up. His mouth dried. Then he recalled some comments made about her when he’d first started here. Something about how the media were always waiting to pounce if she so much as breathed out of order. She had history with them, but he’d never asked what it was about, figuring it was none of his business.
Now he wanted to take them all down in a bloody thrashing for upsetting Tamara.
A little girl arrived before them.
‘Nine years old, suspected fractures to both arms and legs, and possibly ribs.’ A nurse from the nightshift read the details as Conor nodded to the X-ray tech.
The thrashing would have to wait.
As would thinking about that baby.
* * *
The hours disappeared in a haze of anguish and despair. Children came through ED, some staying longer than others before moving on to Theatre, or, for the lucky ones, to the children’s ward with plaster casts or multitudes of stitches.
Finally, ‘We’re all done.’ Mac appeared from the adjoining resus unit, looking like he’d been living a nightmare for hours. Which he had. They all had.
It was over. Air leaked from Conor like a puncture as the tension that had been with him from the moment Michael had told them what they were in for softened. ‘I didn’t know they could fit so many children on one bus.’ The exhaustion that’d been beating him up earlier in the afternoon returned at full throttle. ‘Glad that’s done.’ Except there were parents throughout the hospital dealing with their worst nightmares.
Parents. Closing his eyes, he rubbed them with his thumbs, and was confronted with an image of Mam letting herself in through the front door, shoulders drooped, knees buckling. Those laughing eyes he’d looked for on waking every morning of his four short years had been dulled with pain and anguish. Her arms had shaken as she’d clung to him. He hadn’t recognised her voice as she’d croaked, ‘Sebastian and Daddy are in heaven, my love.’ And there had begun the rest of his life.
‘I’ve never dealt with anything like it.’ Mac rolled his neck left then right.
‘What?’
‘Go home, Conor. Get a beer in you and hit the sack.’
Looking around, Conor couldn’t find Tamara. He stumbled. ‘Where is everyone?’
Tam, did you cope? Really? Behind that mask, are you okay?
Mac was muttering, ‘I sent day shift home half an hour ago. They were shattered after already working a shift, and I figured my team could handle the remainder of cases. Not that they’re in much better shape.’
‘It’s going to be a long night for them.’ What was left of it.
Mac gave him a rueful smile. ‘You sure knew how to cope with the situation.’
‘For all the wrong reasons, unfortunately.’ The wall clock read nine twenty. He wouldn’t have been surprised if it was after midnight. As it was, he’d be back on duty all too soon. With that thought his mind filled with the urgent need to get out of there while he could still walk. ‘I’m gone.’
Home. A shower. Bed.
Tamara.
Now that you’re coming down from the high we’ve all been on for endless hours, are you looking all peaky and worried again?
She’d be beyond exhausted now that she had pregnancy to contend with as well.
I hope you’re all right. That my baby is doing okay.
CHAPTER THREE (#u9ef96a1b-6d56-5d0a-a577-2d4f82691340)
TAMARA HUDDLED AGAINST the bench in her kitchen, waiting for the toaster to pop. Wet hair hung down her back. Blow-drying it would take energy she didn’t have. Tomorrow it would stick out in all directions but right now she didn’t care. All she wanted was to eat something fast before slipping between the clean sheets she’d put on the bed that morning. To fall asleep and forget all the horrors of the day.
Those poor little kids, broken, in agony, some damaged for ever. The parents’ distress had been equally harrowing. Not something she’d have considered from a parent’s perspective until that thin blue line had entered her life. Never before had she seen such despair, so much shock, all at once.
The day the fraud squad had turned up at her family home had been shocking, but in a very different way; certainly not life-threatening, only life-changing. Back then, the press she had been used to, following her around to photograph her latest outfit or hairstyle, or who she’d dined with and where, had turned on her. Painted her the same black shade as Peter. From that day on she and the media had come to a mutual understanding. They disliked each other; a far cry from the fawning she’d grown up knowing and enjoying. These days, loath to attract attention of any kind, she no longer wore supermodel clothes or spent a fortune on make-up and hair. Nowadays she hid behind dull and duller.
A sigh escaped. What a day. And she’d thought telling Conor about their baby had been difficult. It had been a breeze compared to what those poor parents were dealing with.
Ding-dong. The doorbell was loud in the quiet space.
Her neck cricked painfully when her head snapped up. Who was here at this hour? She didn’t have visitors at any hour. Staring at her bedraggled reflection in the microwave door, she hoped whoever was out there would take the hint and go away.
Ding-dong.
Pulling the belt of her bathrobe tight, she took another moment to stare at the image gleaming back at her. Whoever it was, they’d soon take a hike when they saw her looking like something hauled out of a dumpster.
Ding-dong.
Persistent. ‘Yes, yes, I’m coming,’ she muttered as she gave in. Opening the front door, a gasp escaped her. ‘Conor.’ Might have known, considering the persistence aspect.
‘Did you check to see who was out here before you opened the door?’ he growled.
She hadn’t given it a thought. ‘Hang on.’ She made to close the door and peek through the eye-hole just to wind Conor up. How else to deal with him when she could barely remember her own name?
He was too quick for her, splaying his hand on the door to keep it open. ‘Can I come in?’
Don’t tell me we’re going to discuss our baby now.
She’d be at a huge disadvantage, her brain only functioning on low. Yet she stepped back, breathed him in as he passed. Her body succumbed to the scent of man with an overlay of antiseptic. ‘You’ve come straight from the hospital?’ she finally managed.
‘I wanted to make sure you’d got home all right and was coping with what went down in ED today.’
Of course she was. And wasn’t. ‘There’ll probably be some nightmares, but I’m fine.’ He cared enough to check on her? When he had to be feeling as shattered as she did? Raising her eyes to his, she found concern and something she couldn’t interpret fixed on her. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered around the lump suddenly clogging her throat. When was the last time a man—anyone, for that matter—had shown her such care? No one since her father had become ill with the dementia that had taken him from her. Not even Peter had managed to pull on a mask that had suggested he’d been genuinely concerned for her any time. One of the lesser reasons he was now her ex. ‘Thanks,’ she repeated.
‘Come here.’ Conor wrapped her up in a strong yet gentle hug, held her against his warm length and lowered his chin to the top of her wet head. ‘It’s been a huge day.’
Tamara’s arms lifted to his waist without any input from her brain. She snuggled her face into his chest. ‘Massive,’ she agreed.
‘You were amazing with your little patients. So caring, understanding, unflappable. I’ve worked with a lot of nurses and you are one of the best.’ A large, warm hand ran soft, soothing circles over her back. Slowly, slowly, the tension ebbed away, leaving her feeling comfortable with Conor.
Seriously? Oh, boy. That made her feel so good. ‘I could say the same back to you.’ And mean it as much as she believed he meant it.
‘So...’ Conor hesitated. ‘You’re okay now you’ve come down off the high brought on by the adrenalin rush today cranked up?’
‘I’m shattered so I don’t want to discuss our baby and how we’re going to deal with this situation tonight. I don’t believe I can be as focused as I need to be for that.’ Conor holding her like this made her feel as though she could tell him anything, open up to him, explain how she hoped their future—their baby’s future—would unfold. And probably give too much of herself away.
‘I came around to make sure you were all right. I also needed to hear you mention the pregnancy again. It’s been a blur from the moment Michael knocked on my office door.’
Leaning back in his arms, she gazed up at him. ‘We are going to have a baby.’
‘Right.’ Those blue eyes locked on hers, and this time the electricity that often flowed between them was quiet. More of an accepting, compliant force. But he’d have his own agenda. Everyone did. While talking about her training to become a doctor, he’d mentioned his plans for the coming years, starting with an application he’d sent in for a position in an emergency department in Sydney Hospital.
Had he heard whether he’d got the job? She tensed. Where would that leave her and the baby? Free to raise her child as she chose? Or would he demand she follow him across the Tasman? If Conor turned out to be as manipulative as Peter had then she wished him to Siberia. Neither would she be following. Her exhausted muscles contracted some more. There was a lot to learn about this man before she could begin to make any plans for her and baby’s future.
‘Easy does it,’ Conor murmured above her. ‘Relax. We can put off in-depth and meaningful conversations for another day.’
Sure thing. She tried to pull out of those compelling arms. Conor simply tightened his hold, keeping her spread against him. Giving in, she went with the moment, absorbed his strength, his warmth, him.
Who knew how long they stood there, holding one another? All Tamara understood was that she didn’t want to move ever again. She’d temporarily found her safe place in Conor’s arms, and to pull away would sever whatever had brought them together. To move apart would bring back all the doubts and questions, would waken her up to the reality that she didn’t know her baby’s father well enough to put their needs in his hands. Or to trust him to do what was right for her. At the moment she was beyond leaving his arms, no matter what the consequences.
Finally Conor lifted his head and tilted it back to look down into her eyes. ‘I’ve ordered Thai. It should arrive any minute. I had to make sure you ate something more than a piece of toast.’
‘How’d you know that’s what I’d have?’
‘It was a guess. Might know you better than you think.’ He smiled, a slow cautious lifting of those clever lips. ‘Can I take a shower before we eat?’
‘Help yourself.’ Or should she be kicking him out? She was still edgy about him being here.
Conor dropped his arms. ‘Thanks, Tam.’
‘Don’t call me Tam.’ It was an automatic response. She didn’t deserve her dad’s pet name any more.
His eyes widened but all he asked was, ‘Where’s the bathroom?’
‘In the interests of saving you what little energy you’ve probably got left, follow me.’ As if her flat needed a map. ‘Here. Help yourself to towels under the basin. I’ll pull on some proper clothes and warm the oven for the Thai so you don’t have to rush.’
Conor ran his knuckles lightly over her cheek. ‘Stay like you are. I’m only here for a short while and you’ll be wanting to head to bed as soon as I’ve gone.’
Bed and Conor in the same thought should’ve cranked up her desire levels. They didn’t. Right now she was all out of anything but the need to eat and sleep. And by the exhaustion rippling off Conor he wasn’t any keener to get naked with her either. ‘Okay.’ Anyway, something as intimate as sex wasn’t happening while they were grappling with this new situation. She couldn’t afford to let him under her radar. The more caring and concerned he was for her the more worried she was he might want to take something from her.
Ding-dong. Her doorbell didn’t ring as often in a week as it had tonight.
‘I’ll get that. Take your time. There’s plenty of hot water.’ She closed the bathroom door before Conor said anything that could possibly change her mind and start to stir up her hormones. If he began peeling his clothes off in front of her, well... Risky, given how comfortable she was feeling with him. Almost as if she’d take a step off the edge to follow him. Almost. Went to show the state of her brain. Messy. Chaotic. In need of sleep.
‘This green curry is delicious,’ Tamara told Conor twenty minutes later as they lounged in her sitting room, laden plates on their knees. Hardly fine dining but very cosy. Her mother would have kittens if she saw her daughter like this in front of a man, especially as she was wearing a bathrobe that had seen better days a long time ago.
But you walked away from me, Mum, so your opinion doesn’t count.
‘I wasn’t sure if you liked spicy food so I went with middling chilli.’
‘It’s yummy.’ Her taste buds were in overdrive and even her unreliable stomach was happy, though usually it was used to hot curry.
‘Glad you like it.’ Conor shuffled further back in the armchair he’d snagged earlier, pretending he wasn’t yawning and all the while looking exhausted.
Then she thought of the cosy factor and the happiness retreated a step. Doing cosy with Conor when they had massive issues lying between them did not make sense. Even without the baby, cosy wasn’t an option for her. Cosy would suck her in and leave her wide open for Conor to make everything go his way. At the moment she knew so little about him. Being sexually attracted to him didn’t mean anything in this situation. She needed to get up to speed, and fast. Like checking the legal process for keeping her baby in New Zealand if he wanted to take it home to Ireland any time. Forewarned was forearmed. Protecting herself. Something she hadn’t known to do with Peter. ‘When you’re not at work, what do you do with your time?’
His head tipped back and he blinked. Not expecting any questions? ‘I run quite a lot, do the occasional half-marathon. Socialise, go fishing with Mac, visit places within easy driving distance.’
‘Playing the tourist? I can’t see you following the umbrella-waving guide and listening to a taped explanation about the geysers in Rotorua or the Hole in the Rock up north.’
His alluring mouth lifted in a wry smile. ‘I am a visitor to this country. I might be working but I also want to see some of the sights. There’s so much that’s stunning. I could spend months just travelling the length and breadth of both islands.’
‘Why do you want to go to Australia, then?’ Or would that now be on hold?
Conor sat up straighter, stared at some place behind her. ‘It’s time to move on. Staying in one place too long often leads to complications.’ Definitely holding back. ‘Okay, make that it was time to move on. Everything’s up in the air since your announcement. Apart from becoming a father.’
‘You intend returning home some time?’ Would he expect her to follow wherever he decided to go? Did she want to?
‘Dublin is where I grew up, where all my family live. Dublin is who I am—what I am.’ Was it her imagination or had his accent thickened?
‘If that’s how you feel, why leave in the first place?’ What would it be like to live in Dublin? There was nothing to keep her in Auckland. On a positive note, there’d be no interfering television crews to bug her in Ireland.
He’d been yawning when she’d asked that question, but instantly his mouth slammed shut. The relaxed mood had gone in a blink.
When he didn’t answer she gave him a break and changed the subject. ‘Maybe you should stop running if it makes you so tired.’
‘Never.’ One word, spoken firmly, quietly, but full of don’t go there.
It was all too much. They were going round in circles, and she didn’t have the energy to try to figure it all out. Her eyes were itchy with tiredness, her head heavy and her body past ready for sleep. So she let it go. A voice in the back of her head was saying, Look what happened last time you didn’t ask the questions. Not that she’d have got the right answers from Peter. Worry fired up. She bit down on it. Not tonight. ‘You want a hot drink before you go home?’
He shook his head, the tightness in his shoulders easing again. ‘You’re right. I need to head away, give you some space. I’ve seen you’re okay.’ But he made no effort to move. ‘It’ll be time to get up and go to work soon enough.’
‘Do you have to remind me?’ Tamara hauled herself upright. ‘I’m having some camomile tea.’
Conor’s eyes locked on hers, causing her to hesitate.
Here we go. He’s going to say something about the baby, and what we’re going to do about it.
Her defences were rising and she made ready to protect herself.
‘Thanks for this interlude.’
Thanks in full Irish lilt was not like thanks in Kiwi-speak. It came with warmth and intrigue and passion. It sent funny tingly sensations down her legs, along her arms. It said things she was certain Conor did not intend. And she had not expected. ‘I didn’t do anything.’
‘Exactly. You could’ve started in on me about the baby, but instead you’ve been quiet and thoughtful.’
‘I’m tired too.’ Her breath stopped in her throat as she waited for the other shoe to fall.
‘Exhaustion’s puffing off you in clouds. It already was earlier in ED, which is why I had to make sure you’d got home safely and were looking after yourself.’ Those lips twitched. ‘After bad days at work I usually pace back and forth across my tiny apartment for hours on end. Tonight I don’t feel wired, just shattered, yet okay with knowing I did everything I could for those kids, that I couldn’t have done any more.’
‘You’re an amazing emergency specialist, always going the extra distance for your patients.’
Surprise lifted his thick eyebrows. ‘But I never stop questioning myself, wondering what else I could’ve done. It’s why I became an ED specialist in the first place. To save people.’ Conor’s hands tensed, his whole body winding tight. His mouth was flat as he dragged in air, then expelled it immediately. Those sunny summer eyes turned darker than an Auckland overcast day.
There was something else going on in his head that she had no line to.
Conor needed a hug.
Like that would solve anything. More likely he’d push her away. Wise man. Shoving her hands deep into the pockets of her robe, she turned for the kitchen and that tea, trying to ignore the painful squeeze her heart was giving.
They’d once shared a great night together that she’d enjoyed more than she’d have thought possible. Probably because she’d wanted nothing else from him than some fun. But that was it. End of. Except there was now a baby lying between them. There was no room for her heart to have its say.
Listening to her inner voice would undo all the effort she’d made over the last two years to get back on track. It’d also take more courage than she possessed, and would mean a breakdown of all the strictures she’d placed on herself to keep safe.
‘Tamara.’ Conor leaned against the doorjamb, watching her watch the kettle. He inhaled, sighed out the breath. ‘Thanks. Again.’
‘No problem.’ Please go. Before she said something she regretted.
In a low, rolling version of that bone-melting accent Conor said, ‘Don’t be afraid to show me your true feelings or thoughts.’
Slowly turning, she stared at him, her heart now clunking heavily against her ribs. ‘I’m not,’ she muttered, and had to suffer the disbelief in his eyes. Fair cop. ‘Okay, I’ve learned that showing my feelings about anything usually has severe repercussions.’ When his mouth opened to spill words—a question?—she rushed in to cut him off. ‘Not tonight.’ Probably never. ‘We’re both in need of sleep, not long, convoluted conversations.’
Damn, but her head hurt. A steady throb pounded behind her eyes, matching her heart. There was only one cure. Bed. Alone. So she needed to drink her tea to help obtain that oblivion, and see Conor out the front door before hitting the sack. Not necessarily in that order either.
Why was the water taking for ever to boil?
* * *
Conor’s eyelids were weighed down as he tried to open his eyes. ‘Where the hell am I?’
He scoped the room, semi-lit from the hallway light, saw the cream leather armchairs and sighed. Tamara’s place. Now he could feel that leather beneath his backside where he was sprawled along the matching couch. With a blanket covering him. When had Tamara put that there? Had to be her. There’d been no thought of him staying when they’d finished their meal and dumped the plates in the sink. No, he hadn’t even done that much tidying up. She’d gone to make herself tea and he couldn’t remember another thing after that. Except the ease with which he’d shifted from the chair to the couch and laid his head on a cushion.
The ease that had settled over him almost the moment he’d walked through Tamara’s front door, despite his misgivings about coming here when they had a massive problem to deal with.
Careful. He’d be taking risks soon. Risks he’d spent the last fourteen years fighting. Risks that had had him finally fleeing Ireland and family and heart-aching despair. He couldn’t imagine falling in love and getting married, having children. Children who might inherit his cardiac problem. A wife who could find herself bringing up their children alone because the big one had got him.
Conor sat up. Threw the blanket aside. Falling in love would mean breaking the rules that ran his life, kept everyone safe. So it wasn’t happening.
A vision of Tamara looking gorgeous in her thick, faded navy-coloured robe with her dark blonde hair gone wild from her shower. Part of his brain had been functioning correctly when it had kept him from following through on the desire that had kicked up at the sight of her. It would’ve been the worst move possible, and there’d have been no thanks from Tam.
Don’t call her that. The shortened version of Tamara disturbed her, for reasons he knew nothing about. And wanted to know. No, he mustn’t. Knowing meant caring, meant sharing. But to him she was Tam. He just had to keep that to himself.
Time he was out of there. He needed to go home to his randomly put-together collection of furniture that was more practical than inviting; a home that spoke of moving on, not settling down.
Nothing like this warm and welcoming nest created with what he suspected were top-of-the-range furnishings. Not that he knew a lot about these things but this home seemed classy. That sideboard made of polished wood that he didn’t recognise was stunning in its simplicity. In fact, everything was understated in a grand way. Was this why she didn’t have a lot of spare money to go to university with? A shopaholic gone wild? If so, only when it came to her home. No money was wasted on clothes.

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