Josie Metcalfe - His Unexpected Child

‘White. Without,’ he said, then grinned. ‘I’ll see you in a few minutes, then. Your coffee should have cooled enough to drink by the time you get there,’ he added in what was clearly a challenge.

David tensed when he heard the door open behind him, wondering how he could possibly know that it was Leah who had just entered.

He was surprised to see that there was a slight tremor to the hand that was pouring the coffee when it had been perfectly steady in the life-and-death situation just a few minutes ago in Theatre.

‘Drat!’ he heard her say, and knew that it was in response to the fact that he’d beaten her.

He quickly stretched a triumphant smile over his face and turned to face her with a coffee in each hand, and nearly dropped both of them.

He certainly wouldn’t have expected her hair to be that long, and to see it hanging all the way to the middle of her back, still dripping with water, sent his imagination into overdrive…until he hastily put the brakes on it. He was still having difficulty trying to forget the sight of her elegant curves clothed in nothing more than creamy lace underwear as she’d stripped off after surgery.

Now was not the time for mental images of Leah in the shower, slick, wet hair flowing over her naked body, not while she was standing in front of him with her hand held out for the coffee he was clutching like a lifeline.

‘All right, I concede,’ she said. ‘But under duress. If I cut my hair as short as yours I’d be able to—’

‘Don’t!’ he exclaimed in horror at the idea. It was only when he saw the surprise on her face that he realised he’d spoken aloud and was abashed to feel the slow crawl of heat up his face. Was he blushing like a gauche teenager, for heaven’s sake? What was this woman doing to him? ‘I mean, it must have taken you years to grow it that long. It would be such a shame to just…’ He was making it worse, he realised when he saw her fighting a grin.

‘It would grow again,’ she said with a shrug, apparently totally unconcerned by the prospect of destroying what used to be called a woman’s crowning glory. ‘I’d even thought of getting people to sponsor me to have my head shaved, to raise money for charity.’

‘Shaved!’ He was definitely horrified. ‘Well, would you take offers not to cut it?’ he countered, while a tiny voice inside his head tried hard to remind him that this woman was little more than a stranger and there was absolutely no reason why she should take any notice of his wishes.

‘Now, that’s another possibility,’ she said as she put her cup down and casually twisted the length of her hair into a thick rope and wound it neatly against the back of her head, securing it with a giant clip. ‘But sometimes I think it’s not worth the bother and all the time it takes. After all, with a shaven head, I would easily have beaten you to the coffee.’

She took a careful sip to test the temperature then a larger mouthful when she found it bearable. He nearly groaned aloud when she closed her eyes and moaned in ecstasy.

‘Why does the first cup of the day taste so good?’ she demanded.

He didn’t reply. The memory of waking up to other activities, and the realisation of just how long ago that had been, reminded him with a jolt of all the reasons why he shouldn’t be indulging in this sparring with her. It wasn’t right, not when he had absolutely no intention of following through. His days on the relationship merry-go-round were over, and he was glad of it. He wouldn’t willingly go through that pain again for anything.

‘I stuck my head round the door to check up on the babies,’ he announced, needing to get his thoughts onto more professional matters. As that was the only sort of relationship the two of them could have, he might just as well set the boundaries right from the start. ‘Baby three—the little boy who got squashed—wasn’t doing very well, but his big sisters were doing amazingly well, in spite of their size and prematurity.’

‘And Mum?’

‘Still in Recovery. Ashraf’s hovering over her. All her vital signs seem to be slowly coming good but she hasn’t really shaken off the anaesthetic yet.’ He frowned briefly. ‘She’s certainly not compos mentis enough to be told what happened on the table.’

‘Well, that’s certainly going to be an interesting set of notes to write up. Perhaps you could make a presentation of the case at the monthly meeting.’

‘A presentation?’ He was startled by the suggestion. At his last post he’d barely had time to breathe, let alone prepare presentations, then he realised how logical the suggestion was when she continued.

‘Not only would it serve as a cautionary tale for those who weren’t involved today, but it would also scotch the rumours that are bound to grow with every telling.’

‘Ah, yes. The hospital grapevine,’ he said ruefully. ‘That’s one aspect of our job that’s the same wherever we go—a hairline crack becomes multiple fractures and a Caesarean delivery and hysterectomy becomes—’

‘A life-saving procedure performed superbly to give mother and all three babies the best chance possible,’ she interrupted, and for the first time in a long time, in spite of his embarrassment, he allowed himself a brief moment to bask in the warmth of her praise.

‘Which I couldn’t have attempted without a damn good team to back me up,’ he added, giving them their due, too. ‘Ashraf’s definitely one of the best anaesthetists I’ve worked with. That woman was emptying out so fast…’ He shook his head at the scary memory. ‘I honestly don’t know how he kept her going long enough for me to tie everything off. And as for you…’

It was her turn to blush, but he wasn’t giving her empty words—he wouldn’t waste his time on anything but the truth.

‘I admit that I was quite surprised to hear that you were one of the applicants for the AR head of department. I couldn’t believe that someone so young could possibly have the necessary skills.’ He bowed briefly towards her. ‘Suffice it to say that since I’ve witnessed your skill and intuition, albeit assisting this time rather than leading, I’m no longer surprised. You knew exactly what I was going to do and how to make it easy for me—proof, in spite of your own doubts, that you would have been equally able to do the job.’

She was obviously trying to bury her embarrassment in her coffee-cup but he could tell that she was pleased with his recognition of her skills. He had a brief image of the chaos that awaited him in his office and suppressed a shudder that it had been allowed to get into such a state. Was it just that organisation was not one of her skills? He supposed he had to make allowances for the fact that she’d been trying to run the department short-handed, but just in case her weakness was paperwork, he was going to offer to write up this morning’s case notes himself.

‘Are you sure?’ she said doubtfully. ‘Donald hated doing them—said he’d rather have his teeth pulled.’

‘I’m sure,’ he said with an even deeper sense of foreboding. Had he been unlucky enough to take over a department that hadn’t had anyone willing to take on the essentials? ‘I’ve brought everything with me and I shall have another cup or three of coffee while I get it done.’

‘In that case, I’m going to check up on Mum then sneak in for a peep at the babies. I wonder if anyone’s been able to contact their father yet.’

‘I’ll leave you to check up on that and I’ll see you in my office at, say, eight?’ he suggested.

For just a moment there was a strange expression on her face but it was gone too quickly for him to decipher it. Was it chagrin that it was now his office rather than hers, or was it the fact that she was handing it over in such a disastrous state? Well, either way, there was nothing she could do about it now. The job was his, and, providing there wasn’t a run of emergencies like this morning’s, it really shouldn’t take him long to get everything organised, even if he had to ask Personnel for the temporary loan of some sort of specialist filing clerk.