went beyond dedication.
Katrina Gregory clearly loved her job.
And the children clearly loved her all the way back. He’d noticed on the ward rounds how the newer parents turned straight to her for comfort, how the older ones greeted her as a friend. How the children brightened when they saw her and even the sickest ones could summon up a smile for Dr Katrina. Her warmth suffused everyone.
Even himself.
And, lord, he was tempted. Katrina was gorgeous. And it wasn’t just her personality: her midnight-blue eyes were stunning and her mouth was lush enough to make any man sit up and beg. When she’d shaken hands with him that morning, he’d been incredibly aware of her—of the softness of her skin, the light floral scent she wore, the quiet yet clear voice.
Irresistible.
He’d wanted her immediately.
And had held himself back, because it was highly unlikely a woman that attractive would still be single. Even though she didn’t wear a ring at work—he’d actually caught himself checking, during the ward round—she probably kept it on a chain round her neck, tucked inside her shirt for safety and staying close to her heart. And even if he’d got it wrong and Katrina was free, he was hardly in a position to offer her anything. His last girlfriend had told him he was so distant he might as well have been in Australia when they’d gone out together—and he knew she’d had a point. He was lousy at relationships, so it was best to stick to what he was good at. Work.
Katrina Gregory was his colleague—full stop and end of story.
Quietly, Rhys left the doorway and headed for his office.
CHAPTER TWO
THE following morning, Katrina was on her way out of Sadie’s cubicle when she saw Rhys in the corridor. ‘Morning,’ she said brightly, hoping that he wasn’t going to give her another lecture about being too close to her patients but quite ready to battle her corner if she had to.
‘Morning.’ He gave her one of the slow, sweet smiles he’d given Lynne in the kitchen the previous day—the smile that had made Katrina’s knees go ever so slightly weak—and all her annoyance melted away. ‘I’m with you in the children’s assessment clinic this morning.’
‘I thought I was on with Tim,’ she said. Their first-year foundation doctor was working mainly with her in the assessment clinic and she was enjoying his enthusiasm and freshness.
‘He called in sick this morning—he’s caught the tummy bug that’s going round. So I’m afraid you’re stuck with me,’ he said lightly.
‘I think I can manage,’ she said, equally lightly. Funny how the look in his eyes was making her heart beat that little bit faster. She really needed to get a grip. ‘Not that I’m trying to patronise you, but have you worked in the assessment clinic here before? I mean, you know how the system works?’
‘It’ll be my first time,’ Rhys said, ‘but I gather our patients are referred by their GPs or by the emergency department staff.’
She nodded. ‘We have a couple of paediatric nurses who do the usual checks when the children are brought in—height, weight, temperature, pulse, breathing rate, urine sample—and take a medical history, then we see the children in the order in which they arrive. Unless there’s an emergency, of course,’ she added, ‘but we do warn parents that emergencies take priority.’
‘Sounds like the same set-up we had back at the Cardiff Memorial Hospital,’ he said. ‘That’s fine by me. Do you want a coffee before we start?’
She glanced at her watch. ‘We haven’t really got time—not unless we make it with half-cold water. Who’s doing ward rounds this morning, if you’re not?’
‘Will.’
Will was the senior consultant: a tall, jolly man who had a fund of terrible jokes and even more terrible ties that their patients all loved. She grinned. ‘The poor nurses—not to mention the patients—will need sunglasses! At least your taste in ties is bearable.’
‘I wouldn’t bet on that.’ His eyes glittered with mischief. ‘This is my third week here. I think it’s time to start a competition with Will in neckwear.’
She groaned. ‘Don’t tell me your wife and kids find them for you, too.’
‘Not married. No kids. No intention of having either.’
His voice was suddenly cool, breaking the light-hearted mood, and Katrina winced inwardly. Hadn’t Lynne said yesterday that the man was very guarded about his private life? ‘Sorry. I wasn’t fishing. Just that Will always says his wife and kids buy his loudest ties, and I assumed if you had a collection like his it’d be from the same kind of source.’ She raked a hand through her hair. ‘Look, I didn’t mean to pry. I apologise.’
‘No offence taken.’
But that invisible barrier was back between them again. And this time it felt a tiny bit wider.
Katrina tried her best to keep it professional in the assessment unit, though she was very much aware of Rhys’s presence—far more than she usually was with Tim or whoever else worked with her. Even when her back was to the room, she knew the precise moment that Rhys left his cubicle and went to call his next patient. And that was worrying. Why was she so aware of the man?
Her third patient that morning worried her even more. Petros was six, and looked very poorly.
‘He’s been a bit off-colour for the last two days, tired and feeling sick,’ his mother said. ‘And his back hurts.’
‘His temperature’s up and he’s a bit short of breath,’ Katrina observed.
Mrs Smith nodded. ‘And his wee’s very dark, even though I’ve tried to get him to drink plenty of water.’
The little boy had olive skin but there was a definite pallor around his mouth, and the whites of his eyes were slightly yellowish. ‘Hello, Petros. I’m Dr Katrina,’ she said softly. ‘Would you mind if I had a little look at you, please?’
He shrugged listlessly.
‘He’s really not himself,’ Mrs Smith said, biting her lip. ‘He’s always on the go. He’s never this quiet and still.’
Katrina squeezed Mrs Smith’s hand. ‘Try not to worry,’ she said gently. ‘He’s in the right place. Has anyone else in the family or any of his friends had similar symptoms?’
‘Everyone’s fine.’
So it was unlikely to be a virus, then. The most likely culprit was a urine infection, but the paediatric nurse had already done a dipstick test and it was clear. She didn’t like his breathing rate or temperature, though. ‘I’m going to listen to your heart and your breathing now, Petros. And afterwards, if you like, you can listen to Mummy’s.’
Petros shook his head but didn’t say a word.
‘OK. I’ll be as quick as I can,’ she said, and listened through the stethoscope. ‘Big breath in? And out. And in. And out. That’s lovely. Well done, sweetheart.’
