Gold Coast Angels: Bundle of Trouble
She pushed open the door of the nursery and did a round of her little patients. The baby with bronchomalacia, who was being nursed in the open cot, was improving and she hoped that by tomorrow he’d be breathing without the assistance of continuous positive airway pressure. She took the time to reassure anxious parents about the standard procedure of using an apnoea mattress with all premature babies, and she was thrilled to be able to help a mother hold her premature baby for the very first time.
Callie loved her job. Unlike her private life, here at the hospital she was in control and she knew exactly what she was doing. After she’d completed the discharge papers for the twins, Nick still hadn’t called back, so she decided to grab something to eat while she had the chance.
As she reached the tearoom door, laughter and conversation rolled out to meet her.
‘Oh, my God, that Cade Coleman has to be the sexiest man ever to walk the floor of this hospital.’
Callie recognised the voice of Sara Hennessey, one of the NICU nurses, and she stopped short of entering the room.
‘I know, right? And that accent! He only has to say hello and I’m a puddle of lust,’ replied a voice Callie wasn’t familiar with.
‘He is without a doubt the best addition to Gold Coast City in a very long time. I heard from the theatre nurses that Callie Richards—’
Oh, God, no! Callie hastily spun on her heel, away from the tearoom, and punched open the nursery door. It took every ounce of control she had to keep her feet from breaking into a run. One dumb mistake. It was bad enough she’d plastered herself all over him when they’d danced and then gone on to suggest that she was open to more, but to have the nursing staff talking about her was more than she could bear. She’d worked so hard at keeping her private life exactly that—private.
Never again was she going to give anyone any excuse to talk about her. From this day forward she was marking Cade Coleman and every other red-blooded male in the hospital as off limits.
‘What is the point of writing down clear instructions if no one reads them?’
As Luke’s terse words broke over Chloe like jagged shards of glass, she counted slowly to five. Despite talking with Keri and Kate and outlining her concerns about Luke, and their meeting with staff in Theatre to try and work out the best way to handle him, not much had changed in two weeks. With Keri and Kate, with whom he’d worked before, he seemed to hold himself in check, but there were still moments when he was difficult, and on those occasions he took down everyone in his path.
Oh, why had Keri gone to a seminar today, leaving her in charge of the ward? Now she had to deal with the man she’d nicknamed the panther. Like the big black cat, he was a perfect specimen—sleek, muscular and strong. At times his emerald eyes would glow with ruthless keenness that made her shiver with delicious anticipation.
It unnerved her because she didn’t want to be attracted to him. She didn’t want to be attracted to any man, let alone one who had a neon ‘excess-baggage’ sticker plastered all over him. That would be like throwing herself under a truck—both dangerous and deadly to her peace of mind.
Stay strong. Remember, no man is for you, especially not this one.
A raft of heady need skipped through her, deaf to her entreaties, and she stomped on it hard. She didn’t even like this version of Luke, so why was her body doing this to her? When he was in one of his moods, he pounced on any weakness, attacking first and pausing second. Yes, the man was grieving, and for the last couple of weeks the staff had been making allowances for him, but that didn’t absolve him from basic manners.
Glancing up at his handsome but scowling face, she said, ‘And hello to you, Mr Stanley. Welcome to Ward Six.’
‘Chloe.’ He gave her a stiff nod as if he recognised that he should have at least greeted her first before lobbing his complaint at her like a grenade. ‘Mrs Wharton’s drain tubes should have been removed today. The woman’s been through breast cancer and the least she can expect is to be free of tubes so she can get an idea of how her new breasts are going to look.’
‘I agree.’
‘I don’t need you to agree.’ He rubbed his temple and squinted at her as if he was having trouble focusing. ‘I just need the drain tubes out.’
‘And they will come out.’ In every encounter with the irascible consultant she’d needed to draw on her counselling skills. It was exhausting. ‘As a result of your busy morning in the operating theatre, we’re flat out here with post-op checks. Along with that, we’re one nurse down and as I am sure you’re aware you didn’t specify an exact time for the removal. There’s still a lot of today left.’
She smiled at him to reinforce her commitment. ‘I guarantee you that the drain tubes will be out before I go off duty at three.’
‘Good,’ he said gruffly, scrawling an order on another patient’s chart. ‘Make sure they are.’
His response crossed her threshold of what she was prepared to have dished out to her. ‘Mr Stanley…Luke.’
His silver pen stilled in his hand. ‘Yes?’
‘I may not be Keri and we may not have had a long working relationship but I’m good at my job. When I give you my word, know that it will be honoured. I’d appreciate being treated with the same professional respect that I accord you.’
Despite the semi-permanent dull ache behind his eyes, Luke felt Chloe’s words strike him and strum a chord. God, when had he turned into such an ogre?
Since you killed your wife. The cancerous words spread their malignancy through him again, ramping up the hatred he held for himself—an abhorrence he shielded Amber from. Like a full reservoir, there were times when it spilled out at work, no matter how hard he tried to contain it.
‘I have a headache.’ He rubbed his eyes and hid behind an excuse because it was easier than telling Chloe the truth.
Her hazel eyes widened in disbelief at his justification for rudeness, which even sounded lame to his own ears.
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ she said, her chin tilting up defiantly, ‘but is there any need to inflict it on us? Here…’ She fished a foil disc out of her pocket. ‘Take some ibuprofen.’
He accepted the two white tablets along with the admonishment and tried a wry smile. ‘Spoken like a true nurse.’
Her lush mouth softened into a smile and the stirrings of warmth that eddied in him each time he met her became waves of liquid heat. Then she laughed and the sound surfed on the heat, pulling up memories of the times he’d laughed easily. For a brief moment the constant reminders of why he didn’t laugh much any more—why he didn’t feel any more—faded away and he let the wondrous and glorious sensations of life surge through him.
Betrayer.
Guilt seared him like the dry heat from a furnace, sucking the oxygen from the joy until it shrivelled to nothing. He didn’t deserve to feel happy. He wanted to turn and leave—march away from Chloe immediately. Away from the temptation that represented everything he could no longer have in his life.
You have to work with her.
He did, and it wasn’t Chloe’s fault that Anna was dead. It wasn’t Chloe’s fault that with one ill-timed action he’d screwed up his perfect life.
He stood facing her with his fingers clenched on his Swiss pen and tried to apologise. ‘I do appreciate your work here, Chloe.’
‘Thank you.’
This time her smile made her dimples and her eyes dance, and the treacherous heat flared again, filling him with longing before vanishing and leaving only bitterness. Hell, he couldn’t cope with this roller-coaster ride of emotions every time he came to the ward, but he could hardly ask Administration to have her removed. A thought struck him—the perfect solution for six weeks or more.
‘You did a great job with Made, so great, in fact, that I think you should sign up for the foundation’s cleft palate tour that leaves next week.’ He tried for what he hoped was a reassuring smile. ‘Jenny Patrick’s looking for people and you’re a natural with kids.’
She flinched as if he’d struck her. ‘I appreciate the compliment but that won’t be possible.’
No. ‘Why not?’ He heard the bark in his voice and wished he could snatch the words back because, damn it, his fear sounded the same as anger.
She blinked at him as if she couldn’t believe he’d asked her the question. ‘Because…’ Her cheeks flamed red and she twirled her ponytail tightly around her forefinger as if she was struggling to give a reason. ‘Because it’s just not possible.’ She picked up Glenda Wharton’s drug chart and slapped it against his chest. ‘Please write up some milder analgesia for her and I’ll take out the drain tubes now.’
Her expression—a combination of defiance and pain—was all too familiar and it silenced him. As much as he didn’t want to have to see Chloe every day, he didn’t want to hurt her either. While he quickly wrote the order across the page, neither of them said another word.
He got the distinct feeling both of them were battling demons they wanted to keep secret.
CHAPTER FOUR
‘HE SHOULD SLEEP all afternoon because I ran him halfway to Burleigh Heads this morning,’ Chloe told Nick as she settled Chester into his basket inside a playpen.
Even though Lucy had taken the twins to visit a friend, Chloe didn’t want the puppy to escape and cause her sister-in-law any more work. Being the mother of twins was enough to exhaust her, without adding anything extra. Despite today being Chloe’s weekend off, the hospital had called, asking if she could come in for three hours. She was happy to work but her puppy was still too small to be on his own for more than an hour.
‘You’ll be fine with your uncle, won’t you?’ Nick fondled the pup’s golden ears.
‘Enjoy him, because he’s as close to a nephew as you’re ever going to get.’
The acrid words spewed out of her, shocking her. For years she’d kept a tight lid on her sorrow, and she wasn’t sure why today it had momentarily lifted, especially with her brother. He was the one person who knew the details of what had happened to her all those years ago at sixteen. If it hadn’t been for Nick and his quick actions, she’d be dead.
Nick’s eyes, the identical colour to hers, darkened with concern. ‘You okay?’
‘I will be.’ She forced a smile. ‘I think turning thirty was harder than I thought.’
‘It can be a tough birthday,’ Nick said, still patting the dog.
‘Oh, yeah.’ It had been a tough couple of weeks in so many ways—her birthday, working with Luke Stanley and nursing the little Balinese boy. She’d even added to it by walking past the special care nursery, instead of avoiding it like she normally did. For an extra dose of agony she’d paused, gazing at the babies. Reminding herself of what she could never have.
‘You know, Chester reminds me of Cerberus,’ Nick said, his voice filled with surprise.
‘Sorry.’ Chloe bit her lip, thinking about their childhood dog. When their strict Greek father had discovered she’d broken his draconian rules and had snuck out of the house to meet a boy, he’d punished her by having the dog put down. Her actions had cost Nick his beloved dog. ‘I think that’s why I chose him.’
‘Don’t let your mind go back to that toxic place, sis. Baba just wanted an excuse to get rid of the dog, and if it hadn’t happened then it would have happened another time.’ Nick rose to his feet and gave her a hug. ‘You really are having a tough time, aren’t you?’
‘Just a bit.’ She pulled back from her brother. ‘I’d better get going. At least Luke Stanley won’t be in today to upset everyone, so that’s something.’
‘Give the guy a break, Chloe,’ Nick admonished gently.
She slung her leather backpack over her shoulder with a jerk. ‘He’s mostly fine with Keri and Kate and I’ve done my best to be understanding, but there are times when he’s tough to work with.’
‘There’s no time limit on grief.’
‘You’re preaching to the converted, Nick. Say hi to Lucy and the twins for me.’
He grinned at the mention of his wife and children. ‘Will do. And, Chloe…’
She paused at the door. ‘Yes?’
‘Keep looking forward. Promise?’
She nodded at their old mantra—the cluster of words that had kept them strong through difficult times. ‘Will do.’
Closing the door behind her, she walked the short distance to the hospital. Accident and Emergency was seething with humanity on this fine and sunny Saturday afternoon and she signed in, introducing herself to the staff.
‘There are two rugby players with concussion and head lacerations who’ve just arrived,’ said Greg Lindall, the nurse-in-charge. ‘I’ve called Plastics and someone will be down.’
‘I’m on it.’ She pushed her arms into a gown, grabbed some dressing packs and made her way to the cubicles. Two burly men, their toned and buff bodies dwarfing the hospital trolleys, sat holding icepacks to their heads.
‘Hi, I’m Chloe.’
‘Finn Hudson,’ replied one of the men.
‘Harry Jameson,’ said the other.
Chloe flicked through the head-injury charts that the ambulance officers had commenced and saw their ages. ‘So, guys, your chart says you’ve both had concussion twice before. Isn’t it time to give up the game?’ she flicked on her pencil torch and checked Harry’s pupils.
‘We’re thirty-two, not dead,’ he said, flinching as she inspected the nasty gash on his head.
‘That may be, but serial concussions are serious. You don’t want to be forty and suffering from memory loss. What about taking up tennis?’
The guys stared at her as if she’d just suggested they take up floristry. She laughed. ‘Okay, then, maybe not tennis, but there are plenty of other non-contact sports to challenge you. Cycling or kayaking. I do sea kayaking and it’s fabulous.’
‘If you’re offering a lesson I might just consider it,’ Finn said, his face breaking into a flirty grin.
She laughed, comfortable with the banter. She was used to male patients flirting with her, and she enjoyed the safety of it because it never led anywhere, which was just how she liked it.
‘I’m going to stitch up the gash on your head now, Harry, but the cut close to your eye needs the expertise of the plastic-surgery registrar.’
‘Yeah, like he had such a pretty boy face to begin with,’ Finn teased.
‘Mate, I wasn’t the one spending the bucks ordering face cream online,’ Harry shot back.
Chloe listened to their nonsense as she carefully shaved a small section around the head gash and cleaned it, before administering local anaesthetic to numb the area. She loved the routine of suturing—the way the curved needle brought the skin edges neatly together, the looping of the silk over the scissors and then the sharp snip to end the stitch. The skin edges joined cleanly and she was applying a dressing when Greg stuck his head through the gap in the curtains.
‘Got a minute?’
‘Sure.’ She stripped off her gloves. ‘Back in a minute, fellas.’
She followed Greg, swooshing the curtains closed behind her. ‘What’s up?’
Greg inclined his head towards the corridor that led to the tearoom.
Luke Stanley stood in the doorway—tall, dark and definitely handsome in his stormy, angst-ridden way.
Delicious shock waves of delight scudded through her, fast followed by dismay. Why couldn’t she get a better handle on this crazy reaction to him?
He was holding a little girl whose black curly hair was identical to his own. His daughter. She snuggled in close to his broad chest, seeking sanctuary, and she clutched a soft toy tightly as if it would ward off the confusion of the combined sights and sounds of a busy A and E.
Luke’s not rostered on.
A thousand questions bombarded her, starting with Why is he here? And followed by Why on earth has he brought his daughter into a place that has the capacity to distress adults, let alone toddlers?
The child didn’t look sick, but then again Chloe’s experience with children was so limited that she didn’t trust her instincts at all.
Luke, his face a tight mask as usual, raised his free hand and motioned her over.
Mystified and somewhat hesitant, she made her way around the nurses’ station and towards him. ‘Is there a problem?’
‘Yes.’ Ragged exhaustion threaded through the words. ‘Richard telephoned me half an hour ago. His car’s broken down on the way back from Lamington National Park and the roadside service can’t get him back here for at least three hours.’
Things started to make sense. ‘So you’re covering for him?’
He nodded slowly. ‘Got it in one. He tells me there’s a patient with a laceration close to an eye that needs suturing.’
Chloe glanced at the little girl, who was looking up at her from under half-lidded eyes. For Luke to suture, he was going to have to put the little girl down and someone was going to have to look after her while he did it.
Her mind leapt straight to the logical conclusion and lurched away from it so fast it almost gave her whiplash. ‘I wish you’d called first because Mr Jameson’s not strictly an emergency. He’s on a head-injury chart for the next four hours so Richard should be back in time to suture it. You and your daughter…’
‘Amber,’ he said quietly.
She swallowed. ‘You and Amber are free to get back to enjoying your Saturday afternoon.’
He sighed, the sound weary and resigned. ‘The three hours is only a ball park estimate, and seeing as I’ve woken Amber from her nap to get here, it’s best I stitch it now rather than risk being called back later.’
And how are you going to do that? She refused to ask the obvious question and said instead in her best professional voice, ‘I’ll set up a suture trolley for you.’
‘Thanks, but I can manage that on my own.’ He smiled—only one of a very few true smiles she’d ever seen on his face—and it raced into those amazing, clear, green eyes of his, which were now fixed firmly on her.
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