The Surgeon's Doorstep Baby (6 page)

A sign hung on a nail in front of it.

‘
Maggie’s Not Here
.’

As Maggie swung into the gate the lady at the fence beamed, waved and swapped the sign over.

‘
Maggie’s Here.
’

‘Very professional,’ Blake said dryly, and Maggie cast him a wry look.

‘So how would you organise it, city boy?’

‘Regular hours?’

‘And when another kid falls off a roof I still stay here because I need to be regular? I’ll be here when I can.’ She climbed out of the car and hugged the lady doing the signs. ‘Ronnie, this looks great. Fantastic. And we have our first patient. Christopher.’

Ronnie sighed and tugged away to look into the back seat. ‘Oh, Christopher, what have you done now?’ And then she paused as Blake emerged from the passenger seat. ‘Oh...’

‘This is Blake Samford,’ Maggie said briefly. ‘He’s Bob’s son—and a doctor. He’s offered to help. Blake, this is Veronica Mayes. Ronnie. She’s a schoolteacher, but the school’s on the other side of the river.’

‘You’re a doctor.’ Ronnie’s eyes grew huge. ‘A medical doctor—here? On this side. Oh, Maggie, that’s wonderful.’ She peered again into the back seat. ‘But Christopher...?’

‘Sliding on roof ended badly,’ Maggie said curtly. ‘Badly cut thigh. It needs stitching and Blake’s offered to help.’

‘And...the baby?’ She was still staring into the car.

‘Ruby,’ Maggie said. ‘Blake’s baby. If he asks nicely, he might be persuade you to take care of her while he stitches.’

‘You’ve brought your family here?’ Ronnie demanded of Blake, beaming her excitement.

‘Just his baby,’ Maggie said. ‘I suspect Blake thinks that’s enough.’

* * *

The wound on Christopher’s leg was jagged and bone deep. He was incredibly lucky to have escaped nerve damage, Blake thought as he cleaned, debrided and inserted internal stitches as well as external to hold everything together. They’d sedated the boy heavily, so he wasn’t out of it completely but he was wafting in a drug-induced haze. Maggie was doing the reassurance, prattling on about some weird video game Christopher loved, but at the same time she was giving him every inch of assistance he needed.

She was an excellent nurse, Blake thought. The valley was lucky to have her.

As he started the final suturing and dressing, Ronnie poked her head round the door and said apologetically, ‘Maggie, love, Joan Kittle’s here with Angus with asthma.’

‘I can handle Angus’s asthma,’ Maggie told Blake. ‘Mild asthmatic, hysterical mum.’

‘There seems to be an abundance of hysterical mothers in this valley,’ he noted, keeping on working. ‘Christopher, is it okay if your sister goes out to take care of a child with asthma?’

‘Yeah,’ Christopher said sleepily. ‘You’ll look after me, and everyone always needs Maggie.’

They did. He had that pretty much figured by now.

He finished stitching and dressing and tucked the little boy under blankets. Ronnie appeared again with a sleepy Ruby in her arms. He asked her to stay with Christopher and went to find out what was happening.

Angus was obviously sorted. Maggie was now examining a toe, attached to a very large, very elderly guy who looked like he’d just come in from the cowshed. He sat slumped in a rather rickety chair in the makeshift waiting room, his boot off and his foot stuck straight out in front of him.

Maggie turned as he entered and he was hit by a smile of sheer, anticipatory gratitude.

‘Mr Bowen has a splinter,’ she said.

‘Went out to chop the wood in me slippers,’ the old man said. ‘Dumb. Coulda chopped me foot off with an axe. Didn’t. Hit the wood with the splitter, though, and a bit of wood went right in. I’ve been digging round all morning with a needle and can’t get it. Maggie says you’re a doc.’

He was an orthopaedic surgeon, Blake thought faintly. Was he supposed to go digging for splinters?

But that’s what he did. He inserted local anaesthetic. He did a part resection of the nail of the big toe and managed the careful removal of a shattered splinter.

He administered a decent shot of antibiotics—the guy had indeed been digging into the wound and Blake hated to imagine what he’d used to do it. He added a tetanus booster and a dressing and the man was ready to heave himself up and leave—but not before commenting on what had happened and on who Blake was.

‘Bob’s son, eh?’ he said jovially. ‘You sure don’t take after your old man. I can’t see Bob Samford pulling splinters out of anyone’s toes—he’d be more likely driving them in. And Ronnie tells me you’re here with your daughter. How about that? A whole new generation for Corella Valley Homestead. I’ll tell the wife to bake a cake.’

And before Blake had a chance to rebut or even answer, he was hit by a slap on the back that made him stagger and the guy was gone.

Leaving him...speechless.

Blake Samford returns to the family property with daughter...

Not so much.

Maggie was cleaning up. She had her back to him. She didn’t say a word.

He wanted to see her expression. He badly wanted to see her expression.

She’d better not be laughing.

‘All finished,’ Ronnie asked, opening the door so they could see through to Christopher. ‘Chris wants to go home. Is he going back to your mum, Maggie, or will you take him back with you?’

‘He’ll need to come with me,’ Maggie said doubtfully. ‘Mum won’t keep him quiet.’

‘Then you’ll need Liselle,’ Ronnie decreed. She eyed Blake thoughtfully while she spoke, obviously planning ahead. ‘At seventeen Liselle’s more than competent to do some babysitting,’ she told Blake. ‘And she’ll love getting away from her mother’s weird music so she can do some serious study. Unless
you’re
happy to stay home all the time.’ She arched her eyebrows at Blake, and grinned.

‘That’s exactly what Blake should be doing,’ Maggie retorted. ‘He’s recovering from appendicitis.’

‘Really?’ Ronnie was bug-eyed. ‘You’ve come home to recover? Isn’t that nice.’

‘I’ve come home... I’ve come
back
to put the farm on the market,’ he growled, and she grinned.

‘That sounds more like your dad. But you’re going to be useful while you do it, which isn’t like your dad at all. So... Christopher and Liselle...they won’t fit in that tiny apartment of yours, Maggie.’

‘Christopher can share my bed. You know we do that when any of them are ill. Liselle can sleep on the sofa.’

‘I’ve seen your sofa,’ Ronnie said darkly. ‘Charity-shop reject if ever I saw one. Poor Liselle.’ Then she looked—archly—at Blake. ‘Your house, though, has more bedrooms—and more beds—than you can poke a stick at. If you’re going to be useful, why not be properly useful? Let Liselle and Christopher stay in your part of the house. Maggie won’t even go through your door except to dust, and it’s always seemed such a waste.’

‘Ronnie,’ Maggie snapped. ‘You know—’

‘I know you’ve made a huge effort to get away from your family and I know why,’ Ronnie said. ‘But this wouldn’t be you taking them in. It’d be Dr Blake taking them in, in exchange for Liselle occasionally looking after his baby. She can’t get to school but she needs to study. I suspect she’ll get more study done at your place than at your mother’s.’ Then, as Maggie looked doubtful, she said, more gently, ‘Surely your mum can cope with just Peter and Susie?’

‘I guess...’ Maggie said slowly. ‘I worry about Pete—those mates of his are wild but he has two new computer games he’s obsessed with, and he’s promised... And Susie’ll be fine. She spends her time with the little girl next door. But—’

‘Then there you are,’ Ronnie said, beaming, refusing to listen to buts. ‘Problem solved. Corella Homestead will have two adults and three kids. It’s built for more but it’s a start.’

‘Ronnie, it’s Blake’s house.’

‘But he’s helping,’ Ronnie said, pseudo innocent. ‘It’s a flood. Everyone helps in a flood. Isn’t that right, Dr Samford?’

Open his house up, Blake thought, floundering. To three kids and one nurse? This hadn’t been in the contract when he’d taken Maggie in as a tenant.

The house was built for more.

He thought of the house as he remembered it, exquisitely furnished by his mother. It still was, even though the furnishings were long faded. She’d set up all the bedrooms for guests who’d never come—one hint of his father’s temper had been enough to drive them away.

He had five bedrooms, plus the tiny apartment that was Maggie’s.

What harm in letting them be used?

Letting a family into his life...

Don’t be dramatic, he told himself harshly, and another voice in his head said it would diffuse the situation. He wouldn’t be stuck with one baby. He didn’t need to bond. With a house full of people Ruby would be just one more.

‘She’s starting to fret,’ Ronnie told him, and before he could demur she’d handed Ruby over, an armful of needy baby. ‘Get out of here. Go home and feed your baby. Maggie, your wagon’s full. You want me to go and fetch Liselle and bring the kids’ gear over?’

‘Blake hasn’t even said yes yet,’ Maggie said, a trifle desperately, and Ronnie put her hands on her hips and fixed him with a schoolmarm look.

‘He hasn’t either,’ she said. ‘So what’s it to be, Dr Samford? Do you want me to fetch Liselle, or can you look after your baby all by yourself? She does babysitting for pocket money. She’s studying for her university entrance exams. She has Maggie for a sister. She’s good.’

‘But Maggie herself...’ he said, feeling helpless.

‘Maggie’s busy,’ Ronnie snapped, glancing at Maggie. ‘It’s Liselle or nothing. And you might be generous. You don’t have to be like your father, you know.’

‘That’s blackmail,’ Maggie retorted, and Ronnie grinned.

‘I know but it’s working. Look at his face.’

And of course it was.
You don’t have to be like your father...

It was a powerful statement.

The valley was flooded. These were emergency conditions. A man had to pull his weight.

By letting a family into his life?

He didn’t do family.

He was holding family in his arms.

‘Fine,’ he said, and Ronnie’s grin widened.

‘That’s very gracious. You might say fine and mean it. Liselle’s lovely and almost as competent as her sister. Christopher’s fun. Maggie’s magnificent. You’re getting a very good deal, Dr Samford.’

‘Fine,’ he repeated, but this time he managed a weak smile. ‘Let’s do it.’ He met Maggie’s gaze and for the first time he realised she was looking almost as trapped as he was.

She was Maggie the magnificent, he thought—who also didn’t do family. Or who didn’t want to. She was Maggie who was more trapped than he was.

‘Fine,’ he said for the third time. ‘We can do this, can’t we, Maggie? For a week or so... For a week or so we can put up with anything.’

CHAPTER FIVE

B
EFORE
they left
the clinic Blake took basic X-rays of Ruby’s legs—enough to confirm what he needed to know. Then they went back to the homestead, with Blake taking what he needed with him.

Ruby’s feet needed urgent attention. The X-rays showed there was no underlying complication, but at birth the tissues were soft and pliable and every day that passed meant manipulation would be harder and the treatment longer. By six months she’d be facing surgery, but at three weeks of age there was still time for the feet to be manoeuvred into the right position.

Maggie settled Christopher and Liselle into the bedrooms closest to her part of the house. He listened to their amazement at the opulence of his parents’ former life while he did what he’d needed to since last night.

He did a careful, thorough examination of Ruby’s feet.

A full CT scan of her feet would be good, but that meant evacuation. He could scarcely justify using emergency services when he felt sure the X-rays had shown enough. But there were other factors at play. If he accepted evacuation with Ruby and he went with her, it seemed a statement that he wasn’t ready to make. That she somehow belonged to him. But if he didn’t leave with her, if he sent her away on her own, that meant welfare. Foster-parents. Losing control.

No. Not yet. For some strange reason he was starting to feel that, whatever this little girl’s future was, he wanted a say in it.

Since last night he’d been holding her, feeding her, cradling her, and somehow she was starting to change him. She was starting to make him feel as he’d never expected to feel.

He and Miriam had never talked about having children. Children weren’t on their horizon. Now, though, as he held Ruby, as he felt her tiny head nuzzle into the crook of his neck, searching for the security of his warmth and his strength, he felt his world shift a little.

The thought kept coming back...the memory of the tiny girl he’d seen once when he’d been six years old.

She’d been wailing and he’d wanted to do something. He’d wanted to shout at the adults to stop fighting and make the baby better.

He hadn’t realised it had had such an impact, but now, all these years later, this baby was in his hands, and maybe he could help this time.

To make her better?

Maggie had thrust this baby at him. She expected him to help.

She wasn’t with him now. She was caught up settling Christopher, but it felt like she was right here, watching.

Judging?

Do no harm. That was the first principle of medicine. He examined the X-rays and was satisfied. He carefully manipulated Ruby’s tiny, twisted feet and he grew more and more certain that this was straight congenital talipes equinovarus, with no other factors coming into play.

There was no major deformity—it had just been the way she’d lain in utero, her feet twisted and gradually setting in a position that, if left untreated, would cause lifelong problems.

He’d set her on Maggie’s cashmere rug in the middle of his bed. She’d just been fed but she wasn’t asleep. It almost seemed like she was enjoying him playing with her feet, gently massaging, gently manipulating.

Her eyes were huge. She was up to focussing, but not smiling. He thought, though, that she was almost there.

He was examining her feet but he was also trying to make her smile.

‘Five weeks,’ Maggie said from the door, and he started like he’d been caught stealing. Trying to steal a smile?

‘What...?’

‘Babies are generally five weeks old until you can reliably say the smile’s not wind. But not your baby, of course.’ She grinned. ‘Every parent thinks their baby’s far, far smarter and it’s not wind at all. So what’s the prognosis?’

Every parent...

The words hung. He should refute them. He did, in his head, but he didn’t say it out loud.

It was something to do with the way Ruby was looking up at him. The contact was fleetingly—her focus was short lived—but he had established eye contact.

Part of him wanted to say,
I am not this child’s parent
, but to do that when he’d been trying to make her smile...

‘They twist your heartstrings, don’t they?’ Maggie said gently. ‘Family. I have Christopher next door. He’s settling to sleep and my heart’s only just beginning to beat again.’

And Christopher was twelve, Blake thought. Twelve years of heartstrings. And for Maggie that was multiplied by eight.

He couldn’t begin to comprehend that sort of commitment.

‘Will the other two be okay with their mother? Pete and Susie?’

‘You mean should I bring them here, too?’ she asked wryly. ‘Um, no. Mum’d come then, too, and Dad and his girlfriend might well decide why not come as well, and where would you be then?’

He stopped looking at Ruby. He looked...stunned. How many Tildens?

‘Don’t worry,’ she told him, and grinned. ‘Your dad did you a favour. The whole district knows the Samfords are mean and grumpy. I doubt Mum’ll dare to come close—she doesn’t care enough about Christopher to try. But she’s not a terrible mother, if that’s what you’re worrying about. She doesn’t drink or belt the kids. She just goes about making dandelion tea or goat’s-milk balm or practising her latest yoga moves while the kids do what they like. I think they’ll be safe enough—and I’m here as back-up.’

‘So I don’t get your whole family under my roof?’

‘Heaven forbid,’ she said, quite lightly but he could hear a whole depth of emotion behind those words. ‘So you’re tackling Ruby’s feet. Do you want help?’

And here she was again, practical Maggie, moving in to do what was necessary—and then moving out again.

He was starting to see, very clearly, exactly how and why those boundaries had been put in place.

‘I brought back the things I need,’ he told her.

‘I saw you collecting them from the clinic. Like what?’

‘The makings for casts,’ he told her, going back to massaging the little girl’s feet. ‘I’m sure this is straightforward congenital talipes. See how I can move them? It’s not causing her pain when I manipulate—the tissue’s still incredibly pliable. The trick is to get the feet into the right position before we lose that pliability. Which is now.

‘What we do is manipulate the feet back as far as we can, then apply casts. We leave the casts on for a week, then remove them and do the same thing again. We’re inching her feet into correct position. The majority of cases can be corrected in six to eight weeks. Before we apply the last plaster cast we’ll probably need to cut the Achilles tendons—an Achilles tenotomy—but that’s a small procedure, nothing like the drama of a torn Achilles tendon in an adult. But that’s weeks away.’

‘You mean...she’ll be cured within a few weeks?’

‘They’ll be back in position then, but if left they’ll revert. She’ll need to wear a brace for twenty-three hours a day for three months and then at night-time for three to four years. She may end up with slightly smaller feet than she otherwise would, and her feet might not be exactly the same size, but by the time she goes to school she’ll be essentially normal.’

‘Wow,’ Maggie breathed. ‘That’s awesome. I learned about talipes in training but I’ve never seen it. I was imagining disability for life.’

‘I imagine that’s what Wendy thought, too,’ Blake said grimly.

‘Are you going to tell her?’ She hesitated. ‘You know, if Wendy thought she had a normal baby girl she might not have abandoned her.’

‘I’ve thought of that.’

He’d also thought... He could phone her. Come and get your daughter because she’s normal.

He raked his hair and thought about it some more. He looked down at his niece and he thought...

Deformed rat.
The vindictiveness of what had been said. The bruise on her shoulder. And Wendy hadn’t stood up for her.

‘Not yet,’ he said, and it came out harshly. ‘Let’s see if she misses her first.’

She’d have to make some effort, he thought. Make some contact. For him to hand this little one back to a pair who’d tossed her aside...

‘You’re falling in love with her,’ Maggie said on a note of discovery and he thought...he thought...

Actually, he thought nothing. The statement left him stunned, like all the air had been sucked from the room.

Love.

What sort of statement was that?

He gazed down at the baby and while he he was looking at her thought he saw a tiny flicker of a smile.

‘Wind,’ Maggie said.

‘It was a smile.’

‘See,’ Maggie said, and grinned. ‘Parents.’

The air disappeared again. Parents. Family.

‘So what do we do?’ Maggie said, and there was another word.

We.

It made what was happening less terrifying, he thought.

‘If you’re happy to help...’

‘Of course I am.’

‘Unless I ask for babysitting.’

‘That’s not my job and you know it’s not—Doctor,’ she said primly. ‘Let’s keep this professional. So what’s the plan?

If she was to be professional, so could he. He looked down at those tiny feet and thought of what had to be done.

‘The first manipulation aims to raise the first metatarsal, decreasing the cavus,’ he told her, thinking it through as he spoke. ‘We’ll apply long leg casts to hold everything in position after the manipulation. You had everything we needed back in the clinic. Are you treating greenstick fractures yourself?’

‘Hopefully not, but if I have to I will. We can’t depend on evacuation. That’s why the X-ray machine.’

‘It’s great for us that it’s there. It makes me confident of what we’re dealing with, and I can feel pretty much what I need to feel now. We’ll get the feet into position and in casts. In a week we take them off. The next manipulations involve abduction of the forefoot with counter-pressure on the neck of the talus. Carefully. You don’t pronate—and you never put counter-pressure on the calcaneus or the cuboid.’

‘I promise I won’t,’ she said—and she grinned. ‘Doctor. Whatever calcaneus or cuboids are. Wow, isn’t Ruby lucky to have an orthopod as an uncle?’

‘I wouldn’t call Ruby lucky,’ he said grimly.

‘I don’t know,’ Maggie said, suddenly thoughtful. ‘If you’d told me a week ago that being born into the Samford family was lucky I’d have said you had rocks in your head—for all this place is worth a fortune. But now...I’m seeing a seriously different Samford and I’m impressed.’

‘Don’t be,’ he growled. ‘I’m out of here in a week.’

‘So you’re being nice for a week?’

‘Until the bridge is safe.’

‘Well, then,’ Maggie said briskly, ‘tell me what you need to do and we’ll start doing it. If Ruby and I only have a week of niceness, we’d best make the most of it.’

* * *

The procedure to manipulate and cast Ruby’s legs was straightforward enough, but it was also enough to show Maggie that in Blake she had a seriously skilled operator.

This was one tiny baby. His fingers were as gentle as a mother’s, fingering the tiny toes, carefully, gently massaging, moving, wiggling, taking all the time in the world so Ruby felt no pain. Instead she seemed to be enjoying it, lying back on pillows, wide awake, seemingly savouring the sensation of this big man caressing her twisted legs, playing with her—and smiling at her while he did it.

He’d be a good surgeon, Maggie thought with sudden perception. If she were an old lady with a broken hip, she’d like it to be this man treating her. She thought suddenly, Samford or not, this smile was not just for this baby.

He’d used it on Christopher who, terrifyingly reckless at the best of times, was usually a total wimp when it came to doctors and needles. Christopher was tucked up in bed, happy and safe, because of this man.

Ruby was having her legs encased in casts and she looked not the least bit perturbed. She looked as if she had total trust in Blake as well.

In a Samford.

In a man no one knew anything about.

Maggie reminded herself of that, over and over, as she handed Blake what he needed, as she held the little legs in position as Blake wound the dressings, as she watched as he took the first steps to make this little girl perfect.

And she thought... Uh-oh.

This was one sexy male, and there weren’t a lot of sexy males in Maggie’s orbit. She needed to keep a clear head and remember—this guy was a Samford. Son of the local squattocracy. She was a Tilden. Daughter of the local welfare bludgers.

As well as that, he was here for a week. She was here for life.

So she’d better stop what she was thinking right now, she told herself. Just because the man had the sexiest, most skilful hands and was smiling at Ruby with a smile to make a girl’s toes curl...

Maggie couldn’t understand why Ruby wasn’t beaming back—but a girl had to keep her feet firmly on the ground and remember relative positions in the world. This guy was her landlord and she needed to stay professional and get back to her side of the wall,
now
.

But Liselle and Christopher were on this side of the wall and Blake would need her advice with Ruby so she’d be on his side of the wall at other times, and boundaries were blurring.

It was up to her to keep them in place—and stop looking at this guy’s smile!

By the time they were finished, Ruby was fast asleep. So much for a traumatic medical procedure. She was snuggled on her pillows, dead to the world, sucking her fist and totally, absolutely contented with her lot.

As Maggie cleared the remains of the dressings, Blake looked down at his niece as if he didn’t quite know what to do next.

‘How about sleep?’ Maggie suggested, and he looked at her like he’d forgotten she was there.

‘She’s already asleep.’

‘You,’ she said gently. ‘Appendicitis. Recovery. I just bet your surgeon said get lots of rest.’

‘He might have.’ It was a grudging admission.

‘Then sleep.’

‘I need to move her,’ he said, sounding helpless, and she grinned.

Ruby was on the left side of the bed. She took two pillows and tucked them against the edge so even if Ruby managed a roll—pretty much impossible at three weeks—she’d go nowhere.

‘That leaves you the whole right-hand side of the bed,’ she said. ‘She’ll sleep better knowing you’re close. Babies sense these things.’