Читать книгу Gold Coast Angels: Bundle of Trouble - Fiona Lowe, Fiona Lowe - Страница 8

‘HOW WAS SHE today?’ Luke asked, sitting at his sister’s outdoor table under the protective shadow of a huge shade sail and watching Amber running around the yard with her older cousins. He tried not to think about the fact he had to take her home to a quiet and empty house.

‘The kids ran her ragged and she napped for three hours straight,’ Steph said with an apologetic shrug. ‘I guess that means she’ll be hard to settle tonight. Sorry.’

He thought about the hard-fought routine he’d established with his toddler daughter, all of which was about to change now he was returning to full-time work. ‘Hopefully, she’s running off more energy now and will snuggle down at seven.’

His sister gave him a contemplative glance. ‘So, how was it?’

‘What?’ He was being deliberately obtuse just in case his perceptive sister was having an off day.

‘Being back at Gold Coast City?’

The memory of the shocked expression of the nurses slugged him. ‘They didn’t know.’

‘Hell.’ Her hand touched his arm.

‘Yeah.’ He stirred the ice at the bottom of his glass. ‘I thought someone would have told them. I mean, hospitals are usually seething with gossip, rumour and innuendo, but just when I needed my personal life to be part of that mill, it wasn’t.’

‘I guess because it happened in France…’

‘Maybe.’ He drained his glass, trying not to think of that night when the gendarmes had told him his car had drifted onto the wrong side of the road. ‘I had to tell them, Steph. I had to watch their horror and then their sympathy. God, I thought by now I was over having to tell people. I thought at least that part would be done.’

‘It’ll get easier.’

‘Don’t say that.’ He glared at her, hating platitudes. He’d heard enough of them to know they only made the speaker feel better. Nothing was ever going to make him feel better. Nothing could erase the bald fact that he’d unwittingly killed his darling wife.

Steph’s usually smiling mouth flattened. ‘We’ll always miss Anna. You know I meant walking into the hospital and talking with the staff will get easier. Try to look on the plus side. By the time you return on Thursday they’ll have digested the news and be onto something else. Besides, given the turnover of staff, half of them probably don’t even know you.’

The image of a pair of hazel eyes framed by black-rimmed glasses, followed by a mane of glossy, chestnut hair, pinged into his mind. Eyes that seemed familiar and yet he felt sure that he’d never met the nurse before. If they’d met, he’d have remembered that particular combination of khaki-green flecked with brown. He knew that grief screwed with memory and his had been bad lately but, even so, she hadn’t shown any spark of recognition either. Hell, he really didn’t know why he was even thinking about her.

He tried to stop the picture of her at those eyes but, like a movie reel, his brain recalled way more. In vivid detail, it rolled over her round, smiling face, her ruby-red lips that peaked in a delectable bow and her lush curves that no uniform could hide. Natural curves that in a bygone era women had embraced but which today so many tried to dominate into submission. Curves that said, I am all woman.

His mouth dried as the same short, sharp kick of arousal he’d experienced the first time he’d seen her stirred again. He rubbed the back of his neck. God, what was wrong with him? Anna had only been dead just over a year and he missed her every single day. He didn’t want to look at other women, let alone lust after them.

‘You okay, Luke?’

No. ‘Yep.’ He didn’t like the inquiring look in his sister’s eyes so he shifted conversational gears. ‘The daycare centre called and they can take Amber for the extra days each week while you’re away on your big trip.’

Relief flitted across Steph’s face. ‘That’s good news. Of course, if you hadn’t sold the house around the corner…’

He shook his head, thinking about the five-bedroom house with its indoor-outdoor living, swimming pool and a spectacular view of the tidal canal and its constant boat traffic.

He and Anna had bought the colonnaded home when he’d been appointed to Gold Coast City. It was the place they’d taken Amber home to from the hospital and settled her into her nursery with the crooked wallpaper frieze of pastel balloons that he’d put on the wall. Anna had taken one look at his dodgy handiwork and had teased him not to give up his day job.

‘I couldn’t live in that house, no matter how close it was to you, and besides…’ he raked his hand through his hair ‘…it’s moot in this instance because you’re going to be gone for two months. I appreciate that you’ve been having Amber three days a week while I’ve been doing some private practice stuff, but I don’t want you putting your life on hold for me. Marty’s been talking about driving up the centre from Adelaide to Darwin for as long as I’ve known him, and it isn’t fair to you, him or the girls to put it off again.’

‘Luke, we’re family and we help each other out. It’s what families do. And the moment we get back I want to have Amber three days a week again.’ She leaned closer to him and smiled. ‘We love having her here, and the girls have stopped pestering me for a baby brother or sister so it’s win-win.’

He tried to match her smile. ‘No more baby plans, then?’

‘No. Marty wanted two and I wanted four so we’ve compromised on three.’

Luke detected a wistfulness in his sister’s voice, but before he could say anything Amber took a tumble on the grass and sent up a shriek of shocked surprise.

‘Up you get, honey,’ Luke called out as he rose to his feet and crossed the lawn. He swung his daughter into his arms and gave her knees and elbows a quick inspection for skin damage but could only see grass stains. He kissed her. ‘Bath time for you, young lady.’

‘Play ducky?’ Amber asked hopefully.

‘Play ducky in your bathtub,’ Luke replied, bracing himself for a howl of disappointment that Amber had to leave her beloved cousins and come with him.

‘Okay.’

‘Okay.’ He kissed her again, battling a surge of sadness for them both. ‘Let’s go…’ He couldn’t bring himself to say home because the cottage was just a house.

Chloe checked little Made’s observations as the six-year-old slept. The white of the sheets and pillowcases made his black hair and deeply olive skin seem even darker, and in the big hospital bed he looked tiny and in need of protection. Her protection.

She bit her lip against the rush of emotions—some caring, some painful, most tinged with loss. She’d lost her baby and along with it her chance to be a mother. Self-preservation meant she’d chosen not to nurse children, and in her off-duty life, while she didn’t technically avoid children, she didn’t actively seek them out either.

She knew from bitter experience that letting her mind drift backwards was unwise and unhealthy so she drew on every ounce of her professionalism. He’s a patient, like all your other patients.

She picked up the Bahasa-English dictionary she’d purchased and thumbed through the pages. Last night she’d recalled her basic Indonesian from primary school, and using the dictionary she’d looked up the words for pain and thirst, adding them to her small list of phrases. The little boy’s mother spoke less English than Chloe spoke Bahasa, which wasn’t saying much, so the dictionary was getting a good workout.

Between them, they were muddling along and Made was pain-free, which right now was the most important thing for his recovery.

Chloe stifled a yawn. It had been a long day and she still had an hour to go before her relief took over. She’d started her shift early due to Luke Stanley’s request that she attend the operation. She’d arrived before him and had spent the time chatting with the anaesthetist about Made’s post-operative pain relief while the rest of the theatre staff had scurried around, getting ready. The scout nurse had set up Mr Stanley’s favourite playlist of music but the moment he’d walked briskly into Theatre he’d demanded it be turned off.

The mood of the room had instantly changed—people had become tentative and quiet. Eyes had flashed and flickered over the tops of surgical masks, sending coded messages to each other. Luke Stanley had operated almost silently, his only words being infrequent curt demands for instruments that the experienced scrub nurse had failed to anticipate, and as a result the air was thick with confused tension. People wanted to be sympathetic and understanding, but nothing about Luke Stanley’s demeanour allowed it.

Initially, Chloe hadn’t understood why Luke had insisted she be in the operating room, but it had been utterly hypnotic watching him in action and seeing how those long, strong and competent fingers had freed the thick, scarred adhesions on Made’s neck. He deserved his reputation as a talented surgeon and his skills were restoring little Made’s life to normality. The young boy would once again be able to turn his head, and in time he would once again enjoy playing childhood games.

Although it hadn’t been absolutely necessary to attend the operation to be able to nurse Made effectively, knowing exactly what Luke Stanley had done, seeing from where the skin grafts had been taken and how they had been positioned, did help. She rechecked Made’s analgesia drip and then set about her fifteen-minute routine of observing the skin grafts. Circulation was key and she wanted to see pink, warm skin, not white and cool skin.

‘How’s he doing?’

Surprised, Chloe spun around at the sound of Luke’s deep but curt voice. Just like their first encounter fifteen months ago, she hadn’t heard him enter the ward—only this time her hands were thankfully empty. This time Luke’s face wasn’t open, smiling and cheerful. Instead, gaunt skin stretched over high cheekbones, giving him a haunted look.

‘He’s doing great,’ she said, suppressing a shudder at the pain Luke wore like a greatcoat. Her brain sought for something she could say that could give them a shared connection, which might make him look less formidable and unapproachable. ‘Do you always enter the room panther style?’

His dark brows drew down. ‘What are you talking about?’

She ignored his brusqueness and tried a smile. ‘You have a habit of entering a room silently and surprising me.’

He looked blank and utterly uncomprehending. ‘This is the first time I’ve seen you with a patient.’

She shook her head. ‘Just before you went to France, you walked into this same ward very quietly and gave me such a fright that I covered you in iodine.’

His vivid green eyes finally flashed with recognition. ‘Chloe? Nick’s sister?’ He said the words as if he needed to hear them to cement them in his mind.

‘That’s right. Lucky for you that today my hands are empty,’ she joked.

He glanced down at his scrubs, as if he couldn’t remember what he was wearing, and then shrugged his wide shoulders like it really didn’t really matter anyway. ‘If there’s any change with Made’s grafts, notify me immediately. You have my mobile number?’

She swallowed a sigh. So much for attempting a friendly connection with the man. ‘I do. Are you leaving the hospital now?’

He seemed to stiffen. ‘Yes. I have to pick my daughter up from daycare. They don’t like it when I’m late.’

‘I don’t suppose she likes it either.’

His eyes burned, emitting sparks of green. ‘You think I want Amber in daycare ten hours a day? She doesn’t have a choice and neither do I.’

The loud and terse words slammed into her like a punch to her solar plexus, making her heart race.

Made’s mother startled from her nap in the chair. ‘Apa yang salah?’ Mrs Putu asked anxiously.

Chloe didn’t need to understand the words to know that the mother was stressing that Luke’s raised voice meant something was wrong with her son. She reached out her hand to comfort and reassure the woman.

‘Semuabaik,’ Luke said softly. ‘All is well.’

‘Terimakasih, Dokter.’ The woman visibly relaxed and sank back in her chair.

Chloe turned back to face Luke, surprised at the ease in which the foreign language had rolled off his tongue but furious with him for upsetting Mrs Putu. For deliberately misconstruing her own words. Adrenaline pelted through her, sending rafts of agitation jetting along her veins, and she needed to work extra-hard to appear calm.

Choosing her words carefully, she shepherded Luke towards the door. ‘I’m not judging you about daycare,’ she said, sotto voce, ‘I was talking about the fact your daughter probably doesn’t like it when you’re late either.’

He stared down at her, his jaw tight, his height dwarfing her by a good thirty centimetres, and she caught the scent of his spicy cologne. His eyes, which at times could be bright green, were now a dark moss and filled with so many flickering emotions that it was hard to decode any of them over and above the dominant and glaring pain.

Tall, dark, gorgeous, brooding and tortured.

Her heart did a ridiculous leap, which had absolutely nothing to do with his indignation or her chagrin.

Oh, no, she told herself sternly. The man is grieving and you do not need to rescue him. You’ve just got your own life back on track. You’ve got a dog to love and be loved by.

Shimmering tingles taunted her, spinning through her with their intoxicating call. But it’s been so long…

No way in hell, Chloe! her ever-vigilant internal guard yelled. Keep it simple, remember?

She sucked in a long, deep breath, trying desperately to banish the delicious buzz of addictive warmth. ‘Everything’s fine here, Mr Stanley. Go and get your daughter.’

His eyes widened at her dismissal of him, and he rubbed his forehead with his fingers and his temple with his thumb as if his head hurt. ‘Goodnight, then.’

She watched him turn and leave without giving an apology and she tried not to let it rankle. After all, it shouldn’t bother her one bit because she was used to working with surgeons who believed all should bow down before them and kiss their feet. She also knew that apologies for bad behaviour were few and far between. Only Luke Stanley had always been an exception to that rule.

His reputation for skill and good humour had always meant that people had fallen over themselves to work with him. The nursing and auxiliary staff, from cleaners to occupational therapists, had loved him, and whenever he’d put together a team to go to Asia or Africa for a six-week stint with the foundation, repairing cleft lips and palates, there had always been more applicants than positions.

That man had utterly disappeared when his wife had died.

She wasn’t a stranger to grief, and she understood the pain of it all too well. She’d been lost in the midst of it once, for a year, floundering in the suffocating darkness that had become both enemy and friend. It had been her beloved brother Nick who’d hauled her unwilling teenage mind out of the black and treacherous morass and pushed her back into the light of life.

At the time it had hurt like nothing she’d ever experienced before or since and the battle not to let grief become a toxic legacy had been beyond hard, but she’d done it. Years later, when Jason had told her he wouldn’t marry her because she couldn’t give him a child, she’d teetered on the edge but she’d survived and learned. Today, she knew that even though her life now wasn’t anything like that she’d imagined for herself as a naïve sixteen-year-old, and neither was it the life she truly wanted, it was a life worth living and living well.

You could show him how to do it.

The thought clanged loudly in her head like the penetrating sound of a fire alarm and she wished she could put noise-cancelling headphones over her brain.

Yes, she was a nurse, a member of a caring profession, and, yes, she had the ability to recognise when someone needed help. Luke Stanley definitely fell into that category—he needed help big-time—but she was also a survivor. Helping a grieving man with a child would be more harmful to her than helpful to him and she wasn’t prepared to risk her hard-won stability.

No, it wasn’t her job to do the ‘hands-on’ helping stuff with Luke Stanley, but she’d talk to Keri and Kate. After all, they knew Luke a hell of a lot better than she did.