varieties of tomato sauce.’
Sam felt a smile twitching at his lips. This was definitely a Meg he knew, standing up for the rights of others—ready to take on the world if necessary. That hadn’t changed!
‘And Brad’s brand of tomato sauce had “single parent family” on the label?’
Meg grinned at him.
‘Same as yours—Bad Boy Brand!’ she said, but the words slipped in one ear and out the other, his mind too occupied with the jolt he’d felt inside his chest when Meg’s face had lit up with that cheeky smile.
‘I don’t know how to be with you.’ The words blurted from his lips, and a frown chased Meg’s smile away.
‘How to be with me?’
Sam knew the smile he offered was a foolish one, and shrugged his confusion away.
‘That came out wrong, but this is so weird, Megan. I feel I know you yet I don’t know you. The old Meg—well, we usually picked up right where we left off…’
Wrong analogy. Right where they’d left off last time had been a disaster—a hurtful, painful, unmitigated disaster.
Was Meg remembering?
‘It’s been thirteen years, Sam,’ she reminded him, revealing nothing beneath an ultra cool and controlled exterior and a polite smile he knew was false. ‘We’ve both changed.’
‘Have we?’
He shouldn’t be persisting with this conversation but couldn’t stop himself.
‘Of course we have. We were kids thirteen years ago—now we’re adults.’
‘Are we?’ He caught himself just in time. ‘Dumb question! Of course we are, although do you really feel different—feel like an adult—all the time?’
Meg’s cool façade cracked and she smiled again, enthusiasm bubbling back to the surface with the memories.
‘Right now I feel fifteen again—or thirteen—or eleven—having one of those earnest, interminable discussions we used to have. About evolution or religion or morality or—’
‘Friendship,’ Sam reminded her, taken back himself. ‘Would you lie for a friend? Die for a friend?’
‘No to both—wasn’t that always my stand? That there had to be another way around the problem?’
‘Oh, Meg, there you are.’ A nurse Sam hadn’t met came hurrying towards them. ‘Ben Richards is on his way in by ambulance—heart pains. Jenny phoned, asked if you could meet him.’
‘Ben Richards? The Ben Richards I—’
‘Put in hospital,’ Meg finished for him, but she said it softly so the nurse, who was walking away from them, didn’t hear her.
‘Damn!’ she continued as she hurried down the corridor, Sam following in her wake. ‘His father died from heart disease and Jenny’s been warning him this would happen. Ben’s overweight and he drinks too much.’
‘Then he hasn’t changed,’ Sam muttered, uncertain how to tackle this new challenge in the ‘returning home’ scenario.
‘He’s a patient and whatever that was all about—it was a long time ago,’ Meg reminded him, although she’d have given her eye teeth and probably a couple of front ones as well to know what had happened.
‘I should be able to manage, Sister Anstey,’ Sam told her, coolly polite, the nostalgic moments of accord between them lost again. The Sam who could always hide his feelings was back in control again. ‘In fact, if I remember rightly, you’re the one more likely to lose your temper in pressure situations.’
‘I didn’t put Ben Richards into hospital with concussion and a broken jaw thirteen years ago,’ Meg snapped, then regretted the jibe when she saw the pain on Sam’s face.
It was the one time he’d lost control! No one had ever found out what had started the fight but, whatever it was, the memory still had the power to hurt Sam deeply.
And seeing Sam in pain still affected her…
Oh, dear!
She led the way towards the emergency room doors where the ambulance bearers were already unloading their patient.
‘ECG’s OK but we can only do a rhythm strip so it’s hard to tell. He was in a lot of pain. We gave him aspirin and 5 milligrams of morphine IV, notes all here.’
Meg took the initial assessment forms, signed for them, then handed back one copy to the ambulance bearer before turning to introduce Sam.
‘Cal Johnson, meet Sam Agostini, acting medical super at the hospital.’
‘Sam Agostini? That really you, Sam? Didn’t end up in jail after all!’
Ben’s voice was hoarse as he interrupted the introduction, but he obviously wasn’t upset at meeting his old adversary. He grabbed at Sam’s hand and held it in both of his.
‘I hope you’re a good doctor, mate. My Jenny couldn’t cope with something happening to me right now.’
Sam leaned forward to reassure him as tears began to stream down Ben’s cheeks.
‘Our baby is sick.’ The big man’s voice was hoarse with emotion, his face twisted with grief. ‘So little and so sick—leukaemia. Did you know boys with Down’s syndrome are prone to it? Hardly fair, is it? And just when Jenny needs me to be strong, and supportive for her and the kids—for little Benjie—look at me. Useless bastard that I am!’
‘We’ll have you out of here in no time and, knowing this town, there’ll be someone out there with Jenny right now, helping with the kids.’ Sam rested his other hand on Ben’s shoulder. ‘But first things first. Let’s see if we can find out what’s causing your pain and what we can do to stop it happening again.’
He glanced up at Meg.
‘Get him straight onto a twelve-lead ECG. I’ll take blood for testing. Does the hospital have its own path lab?’
‘We can do basic stuff. In Ben’s case cardiac enzymes, white-cell count, ESR, U and E, glucose, lipids and a clotting screen.’
Sam frowned at her.
‘Are you sure you’re not a doctor in disguise?’
Simple enough question, one would have thought, but once again he watched as Meg’s face lost colour. Anguished green eyes were raised to his—anguished green eyes that caused pain in the part of his chest where he didn’t have a heart.
‘Quite sure,’ she said quietly, walking beside the trolley as Ben was wheeled into the trauma room.
She was all efficiency—this woman he hadn’t expected to see and certainly hadn’t expected to feel anything for. Working with swift, sure movements, she changed Ben’s oxygen feed from the bottle on the ambulance trolley
