Harlequin Medical Romance December 2015, Box Set 1 of 2 (24 page)

Sitting beside this guy on the back step in the small hours was strange. Watching the moon over the valley...

The step was a bit too narrow. Hamster had wedged himself beside her—something about toast—and she'd had to edge a bit closer to Hugo.

Close enough to touch.

Definitely light-headed...

‘So tell me why you're not in Sydney?' Hugo asked and she had to haul herself away from the slightly tipsy sensation of sensual pleasure and think of a nice sober answer.

‘Smothering,' she said and she thought as she said it,
why?
She never talked of her background. She'd hardly confessed her claustrophobia to anyone.

He didn't push, at least not for a while. He really was the most restful person, she thought. He was just...solid. Nice.

Um...down
, she told her hormones, and she edged a little way away. But not very far. An inch or more.

She could change steps. Move right away.

The idea was unthinkable.

‘You want to elaborate?' he asked at last and she wondered if she did, but this night was built for intimacy and suddenly there seemed no reason not to tell him.

‘My parents love me to bits,' she said. ‘They married late, I'm their only child and they adore me. To Mum, I'm like a doll, to be played with, dressed up, displayed.'

‘Hence the Pollyanna...'

‘You got it. Pollyanna was her favourite movie, her favourite doll and then, finally, her living, breathing version of the same. That's me. Dad's not quite so over the top, but he's pretty protective. They've always had nannies to do the hard work but there's no doubting they love me. I was diagnosed with diabetes when I was six and they were shattered. I'd been smothered with care before that. Afterwards it got out of control.'

‘So don't tell me...you ran away to the circus?'

‘I would have loved to,' she said simply. ‘But there's a problem. I love them back.'

‘That is a problem,' he said, softly now, as if speaking only to himself. ‘The chains of loving...'

‘They get you every which way,' she agreed. ‘You and Ruby...I can see that. Anyway, I seem to have been fighting for all my life to be...me. They adore me, they want to show me off to their friends and, above all, they want to keep me safe. The fight I had to be allowed to do medicine... To them, medicine seems appallingly risky—all these nasty germs—but we're pretty much over that.'

‘Good for you.'

She grimaced. ‘Yeah, some things are worth fighting for, but you win one battle and there's always another. Two years ago, I started going out with the son of their best friends. Marcus was kind, eligible and incredibly socially acceptable. But...
kind
was the key word. He wanted to keep me safe, just as my parents did. I felt smothered but they were all so approving. I came within a hair's breadth of marrying him. He asked, and I might have said yes, but then I saw a video camera set up to the side and I recognised it. So, instead of falling into his arms, I found myself asking whether Dad had loaned him the camera and of course he had, and I pushed him further and he told me Mum had told him what kind of ring I'd like, and his parents knew and they were all having dinner together at that very moment and we could go tell them straight away.'

‘Whoa...'

‘You get it,' she said approvingly. ‘They didn't. But I didn't just say “no” and run. Even then I had to let them down slowly. I pretended to get a text on my phone, an urgent recall to the hospital, and Marcus offered to drive me and I told him to go have dinner with the parents and then I went to a bar and risked having a very bad hypo. That was when I figured I needed to sort my life. I told them all kindly, in my own way, but since then... I've fought to take control. I need to back away.'

‘Which is why you're here? Doing locums?'

‘Exactly,' she said with satisfaction. ‘It's five whole hours' drive from my parents' Christmas. Oh, don't get me wrong, I love Christmas, but they'll all be there, at the most exclusive restaurant overlooking the harbour, all my parents' friends, though not Marcus this year because he had the decency to accept a posting to New York. He's now going out with an artist who paints abstract nudes. He's much happier than he was with me, and his parents are appalled. Hooray for Marcus. But the rest of them... Mum will be trying to figure who I can marry now. She's indefatigable, my mum. Knock her back and she bounces back again, bounce, bounce, bounce. The rest of them will be smiling indulgently in the background, but feeling slightly sorry for Mum because she has an imperfect daughter.'

‘Imperfect...?'

‘Perfection has perfect teeth and skin, a toned body and designer clothes. Perfect doesn't argue, she moves in the right circles, she marries the right man and never, ever has diabetes. So here I am and I'm here to stay, so you and Ruby might as well go to Bondi because I'm a very good doctor and you've contracted me to work for two weeks and that's just what I'll do.'

‘Polly...'

‘Go,' she said. ‘Enough of this guilt stuff. If I have this right, you've left a perfectly good career, I suspect a perfectly satisfactory girlfriend, a perfectly acceptable lifestyle, all because you love Ruby. That's some chains of loving.'

‘And you've left a perfectly good career, a perfectly satisfactory boyfriend, a perfectly luxurious lifestyle all because you want to cut the chains of loving?'

‘Exactly,' she said.

‘So why encourage me to break away?'

‘Because if you stay I'll feel guilty and I'm over guilt. Go.'

‘I don't think I can.'

‘Hugo,' she said, figuring a girl had to make a stand some time and it might as well be now. She was full of toast. Her blood sugars had settled nicely. She was back in control again—sort of. ‘This is nuts. You're a surgeon, and a thoracic surgeon at that. I'm trained in Emergency Medicine. If a kid comes in with whooping cough, who'd be most qualified to cope?'

‘Whooping cough's lung...'

‘Okay, bad example. Itch. In he comes, scratch, scratch, scratch. Is it an allergy or is it fleas? What's the differential appearance? Or could it be chickenpox? Some kids don't get immunised. And if it's chickenpox, what's the immunisation period? Then the next kid comes in, sixteen years old, cramps. How do you get information out of a sullen teenager? Do you suspect pregnancy?'

‘Not if it's a boy. Is this an exam?'

‘Do you know the answers?'

‘I've been working as a family doctor for twelve months now.'

‘And I've been training as an emergency doctor for five years. I win.'

‘Did you know you look extraordinarily cute in those pyjamas?'

‘Did you know you look extraordinarily sexy in those jeans? Both of which comments are sexist, both beneath us as medical professionals and neither taking this argument forward. If you can't come up with a better medical rebuttal then I win.'

‘You can't.'

‘I just have. Give me one more day to get my bearings and you leave on Thursday.'

‘Friday,' he said, sounding goaded. ‘Tomorrow's another rest day and I spend Thursday watching you work.'

‘That's ridiculous, plus it's discriminatory. I have diabetes, not gaps in my medical training. Tell you what, for the next two days we work side by side. That'll give you time with Ruby and it should set your mind at rest. If at the end of Thursday you can truthfully say I'm a bad doctor then I'll leave.'

‘Go back to Sydney?'

‘That's none of your business.'

‘No,' he said. ‘It's not. Polly, it's not safe.'

‘Go jump. Ruby's Christmas is at stake. You're leaving, I'm staying, Dr Denver, and that's all there is to it. I have a nice little Christmas pudding for one in my suitcase, and I'm not sharing. Go away.'

‘I can't.'

‘You have no choice. Ruby needs you.'

‘Everyone needs me,' he said, sounding even more goaded.

‘I don't need you,' she retorted. ‘I don't need you one bit. So get used to it, and while you're getting used to it, you might like to pack and leave.'

CHAPTER EIGHT

H
IS
STIPULATION
WAS
that Polly stayed in bed until noon. She agreed, but reluctantly. She also didn't like it that Hugo had pulled in yet more help.

His housekeeper was away. Ruby was on school holidays. He needed to care for Ruby, but Polly figured she could at least do that.

But she'd got tired of arguing last night. She'd fallen back into bed and when she woke it was nine o'clock. Okay, Hugo had a point. As a childminder she was currently less than efficient.

She snagged her glucose meter and took a reading. Six point three.
Nice.
‘I've won, Snake,' she said out loud and settled back on her pillows feeling smug.

Or sort of smug. She was still sore. She'd made origami gifts with Ruby the day before, but in truth it had been a struggle. Maybe Hugo was right with his two days of rest.

He looked like a man who was used to being right, she thought. Typical surgeon.

But the thought didn't quite come off in her head. It sounded a bit...lame.

Hugo wasn't typical anything, she thought.

There was a scratch on the door.

‘Yes?'

Ruby's head poked around. Looking scared. She'd relaxed a little the day before when she'd been engrossed in origami frogs, but tension was never far from this little one.

‘Hi.' Polly smiled, hoping for a smile in return.

‘Are you awake?' she whispered.

‘Yes.' She edged over on the bed. ‘Want to come and visit?' The bedspread was pretty—patchwork. Had Ruby's grandma made it?

The house was cosy. A family house. Home of Hugo and Grace and their mum and dad.

She found herself hoping Grace had had a happy childhood and suddenly she thought she bet she had. Depression usually didn't strike until the teens. She looked out of the window at the valley beyond. A tyre swing was hanging from a huge gum nearer to the house.

Hugo would have used that swing...

She was still feeling odd. How bad had that hypo been last night? She shouldn't be feeling weird now.

Ruby was still by the door, still looking nervous, but she was obviously on a mission. ‘I have to find out your blood sugar level before you get up,' Ruby quavered and Polly pulled herself back to the here and now.

Blood sugar level. It was six point three; she'd just taken it. She went to say it but then she paused. Something made her stop.

I have to find out your blood sugar level
...

‘Did your Uncle Hugo tell you to find out?'

‘He says you're d...diabetic and your blood sugar has to be under ten and above four and if it's not I have to ring him and he says I have to make sure you still have juice on your bedside table.'

Polly glanced at her bedside table. There was a glass of juice there.

Hugo must have brought it in last night or early this morning. He must have come into her bedroom while she was asleep.

Creepy?

No. Caring.

But she didn't like caring. She didn't like fuss. She'd been swamped with fuss since childhood.

Ruby was patiently waiting for an answer.

‘Can you help me with my glucose meter?' she asked and motioned to the small machine beside her.

‘What does it do?'

‘If you hold it out, I put my finger in it and it takes a tiny pinprick of blood. It tests the blood and gives a reading.'

‘Does it hurt?'

‘Not if you hold it still.'

Ruby looked fascinated. Still a bit scared, though. ‘I don't want to hurt you.'

‘I can do it myself,' Polly confessed. ‘But I have to be brave, and now I have a sore hand. It would help if you do it for me.'

And Ruby tilted her chin and took a deep breath. ‘Like doctors do?'

‘Exactly.'

‘My Uncle Hugo is a doctor.'

‘Yes.'

‘He could do it.'

‘Yes, but he's not here. It's lucky I have you.'

‘Yes,' Ruby said seriously and picked up the glucose meter and studied it. She turned it over and figured it out.

‘That's the on switch?'

‘Yes.'

‘Then I think you have to put your finger in here.'

‘Yes.'

‘Do we have to wash your finger first?'

‘You're practically a real doctor,' Polly said with admiration. ‘Wow, how do you know that? Ruby, I would disinfect my finger if this wasn't my meter, but I'm the only person ever to use this. There are only my germs in there. I take a chance.'

Ruby raised one sceptical eyebrow. ‘But it'd be safer if I did wash your finger,' she declared and who was Polly to argue?

‘Yes,' she conceded, and Ruby gave a satisfied nod and fetched a damp facecloth and a towel and a tube of disinfectant.

She proceeded to wipe Polly's finger, dry it and then apply disinfectant cream. A lot of disinfectant cream.

‘Now it's done its job, maybe we need to use a tissue to wipe most of it off,' Polly offered. ‘Otherwise, we'll be testing the disinfectant instead of my blood. You'd be able to tell your Uncle Hugo that your tube of disinfectant is safe, but not me.'

And Ruby stared down at the ooze of disinfectant, she looked at the meter—and she giggled.

It was a good giggle. A child's giggle, and Polly guessed, just by looking at her, that for this child giggles were few and far between. But the giggle died. Ruby was back in doctor mode. She fetched a tissue and wiped the finger with all the gravitas in the world.

‘Put your finger in,' she ordered Polly, and Polly put her finger in and the machine clicked to register the prick and seconds later the reading came out.

‘Six point eight,' Ruby said triumphantly. ‘That's good.'

‘That's excellent,' came a gruff voice behind them and Ruby whirled round and Polly looked up and Hugo was standing in the doorway.

How long had he been there? How much had he heard?

He was smiling.
Oh, that smile...

‘That's really good,' he reiterated and he crossed to the bed and ruffled Ruby's pigtailed hair. Which was easy to do because the pigtails looked very amateurish—blonde wisps were escaping every which way. ‘Thank you, Ruby. How's our patient? Was she brave when you did the finger prick?'

‘Yes,' Ruby said. ‘She moved a little bit when it went in, but she didn't scream.'

‘I didn't,' Polly said, adding a touch of smug to her voice. ‘I'm very brave.'

‘It's all about how you hold the meter.' Hugo was talking to Ruby, not her. ‘You must have very steady hands.'

‘Yes,' the little girl said, and smiled shyly up at her uncle but there was anxiety behind the smile. ‘I did. Are we really still going to the beach for Christmas?'

‘We're going to try,' Hugo told her. ‘I told you this morning, and I mean it. If we can get Dr Hargreaves better...'

‘I'm Polly,' Polly said fast, because it seemed important.

‘If we can look after Polly,' Hugo corrected himself. ‘If we can make her better, then she can be the doctor and we can still have our holiday.'

‘She doesn't look like a doctor,' Ruby said dubiously.

‘She doesn't, does she? Those are very pretty pyjamas she's wearing.'

‘They are,' Ruby conceded. He and Ruby were examining her as if she were some sort of interesting bug. ‘I'd like pyjamas like that.'

‘I think I can find some like these on the Internet in your size,' Polly ventured. ‘If it's okay with your uncle.'

‘Doctors don't wear pyjamas.' Ruby seemed distracted by Polly's offer but not enough to be deflected from her main purpose, which was obviously to find out exactly how qualified Polly was to take over here and thus send Ruby to the beach.

‘Does your uncle have a white coat?' Polly demanded, and Ruby nodded.

‘He has lots. They're hanging in the airing cupboard.'

‘If you put one of those on me, I'll look just like a doctor.'

‘But your hair's too red,' Ruby told her. ‘Doctors don't have red curly hair.'

‘You've been moving with the wrong type of doctor. The best doctors all have red curly hair. If the medical board discovered your Uncle Hugo's hair was black and almost straight he'd be sent to the nearest hairdresser to buy a wig.'

‘A wig...' Ruby's eyes widened.

‘You can get wigs on the Internet too. You want to help me look?'

‘No!' Hugo said, and both girls turned and stared at him. At his hair. It was thick and short. It only just qualified as wavy—definitely not curly—and it was definitely black.

‘A red wig would be perfect,' Polly decreed, and Ruby giggled and giggled some more and Hugo's face creased into a grin and Polly lay back on her pillows and smug didn't begin to describe how she was feeling.

She'd been in some tight situations before this. Lots of tight situations. As an emergency physician she'd even saved lives. It had felt great, but somehow this moment was right up there. Making Hugo and his niece smile.

‘Ruby, Mrs Connor's just asked if you'd like to go to the pictures in Willaura,' Hugo said, almost nonchalantly. ‘Three girls from your class will be there. Talia and Sasha and Julie. Mr Connor will pick you up in ten minutes if you want to go.'

And he picked up the glucose meter and studied it as if it was really interesting instead of something doctors saw all the time—and Polly realised that this was important.

How many times did Ruby accept this kind of invitation? She suspected seldom. Or never?

‘Don't I have to look after Polly?' Ruby asked dubiously.

‘She's awake now and she's been tested and her blood sugar's good. We'll give her breakfast and then she needs to go back to sleep. We can ask Hamster to snooze under her bed to look after her.'

‘We could put a white coat on Hamster,' Ruby said and giggled again. ‘He could be the doctor. And I could maybe teach the girls how to make frogs.'

‘That's a grand plan,' Hugo told her and Ruby swooped off to get ready.

And Hugo was left with Polly and Polly was left with Hugo and suddenly there were no words.

* * *

What was it with this woman?

What was it that made him want to smile?

She should be just another patient, he told himself, or just another colleague.

She was both. She was neither.

She lay in the too big bed in her cute swirly pyjamas, pink and orange and crimson and purple. They should have clashed with her red hair but they didn't. She looked up at him and she was still smiling but her smile was tentative. A bit uncertain.

She looked...vulnerable, he thought, and suddenly he realised that was how he was feeling.

Vulnerable. As if this woman was somehow edging under his defences.

He didn't have defences. What sort of stupid thought was that?

‘Lorna will bring you breakfast,' he told her.

‘Lorna?'

‘My housekeeper for this morning. Our usual housekeeper, Lois, has taken Christmas off.'

‘And because of me you're having to find fill-ins.'

‘I told you. Yes, because of you, Ruby and I are stuck here, but if it wasn't for you I wouldn't be here in the worst sense of the term. So lie back and get better without qualms. What would you like for breakfast?'

‘Toast and marmalade,' she said, almost defiantly, and he raised an eyebrow in exactly the same way she'd just seen Ruby do it.

‘Don't tell me.' The corner of his mouth quirked upward. ‘Plus coffee with three sugars.'

‘If you're about to lecture me...'

He held up his hands as if to ward off attack. ‘You're a big girl, Dr Hargreaves. You manage your own diabetes. And we do have sourdough, which has a low...'

‘Glycaemic index. I know.' She glowered. ‘If you turn into my mother I'm out of here.'

‘For the next two days I'm your doctor and I have a vested interest in getting your diabetes stable.'

‘I like sugar.'

‘You had enough last night to keep you going for a week.'

And she knew he was right, he thought. Her protests were almost instinctive—the cry of a kid who'd been protected since diagnosis, told what to eat and when, who'd not been given a chance to make her own choices.

‘I'm not silly and I'm not a child,' she muttered, confirming what he'd thought.

‘I know you're not. And of course you can have marmalade.'

‘Your generosity overwhelms me.'

‘Good,' he said cheerfully. ‘Let me look at your hand.'

She held it out for inspection. He lifted a corner of the dressing and nodded.

‘It's looking good. If you stay here and work you'll need to be extra careful. Glove up for everything.'

‘Yes, Grandpa.'

‘The correct term is
Doctor
. Say, “
Yes, Doctor”
.'

‘Won't,' she said and grinned, and he looked down into her face, that smattering of freckles, at those gorgeous auburn curls and...

And he had to get out of here.

She was messing with his equilibrium.

‘Call Lorna if you need anything,' he said and she glowered.

‘Why is Lorna staying? Ruby's going to her friends. Hamster and I are fine.'

‘Humour me,' he told her. ‘Lorna will stay until after lunch, just until I'm sure that you're...safe.'

‘I don't like being safe,' she snapped and he grinned and patted her head as if he was patting Ruby's head.

Except it wasn't like that at all. It felt...different. Intimate.

Okay?

‘Says the woman who's just been playing with snakes,' he told her. ‘You don't like being safe? You know, Dr Hargreaves, I'm very sure that you do.'

* * *

Polly slept on and off for the rest of the day. She woke late afternoon and looked at the time and nearly had kittens. Five o'clock? Where had the day gone? She must have been more shocked than she'd realised.