Sue MacKay - Pregnant With The Boss's Baby

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.