Meredith Webber - Christmas at Jimmie's Children's Unit - Bachelor of the Baby Ward / Fairytale on the Children's Ward

Kate had to smile as she accompanied her tiny comatose patient to the intensive-care room. He would be her responsibility until he regained consciousness, although Clare was in charge of the machine that was keeping him breathing.

‘Getting him off the ventilator is the next hurdle,’ Clare, who was walking beside Kate, said.

‘Only if he needs it for a long time, but he’s come through very well—all his blood values were good,’ Kate replied, and Clare smiled.

‘You’re a glass-half-full person, right?’ she said.

Was she?

‘I’ve never thought about it,’ Kate admitted honestly.

‘Never thought about what?’ a deep voice asked, and she turned to see Angus had joined them in the small room.

‘Whether I’m a pessimist or an optimist,’ she said, thinking of the times when sadness and loss had threatened to overwhelm her and whether that was pessimism.

‘Oh, definitely an optimist, I’d say,’ Angus told her, almost smiling, almost teasing. ‘What else would you call a woman who organised childcare for children she doesn’t yet have?’

‘You what?’ Clare demanded, but Kate silenced Angus with a ‘don’t you dare’ look.

Bad enough she’d admitted her grandmother obsession to one person without the entire hospital knowing it.

‘What about you, Angus,’ she asked to divert the conversation. ‘Are you a glass-half-full or a glass-halfempty person?’

He studied her for a moment.

‘You know, I’ve never thought about it. Definitely half full as far as patients are concerned. I could never do an operation if I doubted I’d be improving a child’s quality of life.’

‘You’ve children yourself?’ Clare asked, and Kate felt a surge of something that couldn’t possibly be jealousy flood through her veins at the other woman’s interest.

‘One, Hamish—he’s four,’ Angus answered, while Kate wondered why Alex couldn’t have found a less beautiful perfusionist.

‘Probably ready for a little sister or brother,’ Clare suggested, and though Kate knew this was just idle talk as they all watched the monitors that told them Baby Stamford was doing well, she resented the other woman’s interest. Although Clare probably didn’t know Angus was a widower.

‘Not for Hamish, I’m afraid,’ Angus replied. ‘He’s going to be an only child for life.’

Poor kid, Kate thought, but before she could point out the disadvantages—the haunting loneliness she’d felt as an only child—Clare was talking again, talking and smiling.

Flirting?

‘Good for you!’ she said. ‘I’m one of four and the number of times I’ve wished I was an only child! You’ve no idea. Having to share toys, wearing hand-me-downs—not that we lived on bread and jam or the hand-me-downs were rags, but I think I was born to be an only child.’

Selfish! Kate muttered to herself, but there was something so open and honest about Clare that she found herself looking past the beauty to the woman within.

And liking her!

Damn!

Double damn if Angus were to fall for her, and why wouldn’t he?

Not that it was any of Kate’s business who he fell for, so why was she still thinking about Clare, thinking perhaps she was attached— surely she was attached; how could someone so beautiful be unattached?

‘Look, there’s no point in all three of us being here. Why don’t you two grab a coffee break—in fact, it’s past lunchtime. The canteen is good, and cheaper than the coffee shop on the ground floor. You know where to go?’

Was she pushing them together? Angus wondered. Then knew it was only because, for some indefinable reason, he was attracted to Kate Armstrong that he’d even consider she might be doing such a thing. This was work—two colleagues sharing lunch. He had to get his mind off Kate Armstrong and, having decided that, lunch with the beautiful Clare might be just what he needed.

Kate watched them depart, telling herself it was for the best, particularly now she’d heard Angus being so adamant about not producing siblings for Hamish. Given that fact, Angus McDowell was definitely not the man for her.

Not that he’d shown the slightest sign of wanting to be, so why she’d been idly fantasising about him she had no idea!

No idea apart from the attraction that had startled her body into life when she’d first met him. Her body, that was usually biddable and dependable and had rarely felt anything more than a lukewarm interest in any man since Brian and even he hadn’t provoked much physical reaction.

Enough of attraction; she’d think about something else. Like why was Angus so definite about not wanting more children? Perhaps it was another way of saying he’d never marry again?

Get your mind back on work!

She checked Baby Stamford, wishing he had a name, then was surprised to hear the whirr of a wheelchair coming towards her. Mrs Stamford, pushed by a man who definitely wasn’t a wardsman.

‘They said he’d come through very well.’ Mrs Stamford’s voice was back in accusatory mode, daring Kate to argue this piece of good news.

‘He’s a little champion,’ she assured the still-pale woman, then she held out her hand to the man. ‘I’m Kate Armstrong, the anaesthetist. I’ll be keeping an eye on him for the next few hours.’

‘Pete Stamford,’ the man responded, shaking Kate’s hand, although all his attention was on his baby son who was so dwarfed by wires and tubes it was hard to see much of him. ‘You keep a personal eye on him? Not just watch monitors?’

‘I like to be here most of the time,’ Kate told him, and was surprised when the man’s face darkened.

‘Then it’s obvious to me he’s not out of the woods yet,’ he said, his muted voice still managing to convey anger.

‘He’s been through a huge ordeal for such a tiny baby,’ Kate said gently. ‘Being on bypass takes a lot out of them, and we stop his heart while the switch happens, poor wee mite, but there’s no cause for anxiety. I stay because I like to watch until I’m certain he’s over the effect of the anaesthetic and sleeping naturally. I can’t always do it, because I’ve usually other ops scheduled, so today it’s a bit of a treat for me.’

Pete Stamford eyed her with great suspicion and Kate was glad he hadn’t come when all three of the specialists had been in the room. Then he would have been truly alarmed.

And she was even gladder—or should that be more glad, she wondered—when she realised that Mrs Stamford had wheeled herself closer to the cot, put her hand through the vent and was softly stroking her baby’s arm, talking quietly to him at the same time.

Kate felt her heart turn over at the sight, then realised Baby Stamford’s father was also looking at his wife, while tears streamed down his cheeks.

Unable to resist offering comfort, Kate put her arm around his shoulders and he turned to her and sobbed, his chin resting on her head.

‘It’s okay,’ she said, more or less to both of them. ‘You’ve been through such an ordeal and it isn’t over yet, but the worst part is behind him, so maybe, little champ that he is, he deserves a name.’

To Kate’s surprise, Pete straightened. He stepped towards his wife, taking her hand as they both chorused, ‘Bob.’

Bob?

They were going to call the baby Bob?

What about Jack and Tom and Sam, simple syllable names that were in vogue right now? What kind of a name for a baby was Bob?

It was Mrs Stamford who eventually explained.

‘We had a dog once, a border collie, who was the most faithful animal God ever put on earth. Even when he was dying of some terrible liver disease, he would drag himself to the doorway to greet Pete every night, and every morning he’d bring in the paper and drop it at my feet, right up to the day he died. He had more strength and courage than any human we’ve ever known, so it seems right to name this little fellow after him.’