Sarah's Gift. Caroline Anderson

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Sarah's Gift - Caroline Anderson Mills & Boon Medical

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side. ‘Fancy a cup of tea or coffee? You’ve arrived at just the right time. All my delegating’s done and my paperwork’s up to date, so I can sit back and relax for five minutes, knowing the only person I’m holding up is myself, and I reckon I deserve it after the weekend.’

      His smile warmed the blue-grey depths of his rather gorgeous eyes. ‘I’d love a cup of coffee. Breakfast seems a long time ago. I had to take my daughter to school on the way here, and the traffic was a bit heavy by the time I finished getting lost.’

      She chuckled. ‘The traffic round here’s always a bit heavy. We get used to it. Come on, let’s go and check the coffee machine. Patrick might have put it on, otherwise it’ll be instant or wait for the machine to finish.’

      ‘We’ll go for instant,’ he said without hesitation. ‘If we wait someone’ll try and waste themselves and we won’t get it at all.’ He followed her down the corridor, his firm, light tread keeping pace with her businesslike bustle easily. ‘Do you get many MVAs—sorry, RTAs?’

      ‘Enough. We’re well sited for picking up the nasties that happen on the through trunk routes. Although it’s a rural area we’re bisected by busy roads with heavy commuter traffic and lots of freight movements, and so we get accidents, particularly if the weather closes in suddenly like it did on Saturday.’

      She led him into the staffroom and found that it shrank to half its size. Matt Jordan seemed to fill it, propped against the worktop with his arms folded and a lazy grin on his face, watching her as she switched on the kettle and then picked up two mugs. ‘Instant OK? Patrick’s failed us.’

      He nodded. ‘I’ll get used to it.’

      Sarah snorted. ‘Or learn to like tea.’ She filled the coffee-machine and flicked the switch to turn it on. ‘Did your daughter settle into school all right?’

      He frowned and scrubbed a hand round the back of his neck. ‘I hope so. I didn’t have time to stop and worry, but she went in with Ryan O’Connor’s children, so I think she’ll be OK. The O’Connors have been great, really helpful.’

      ‘Did you know him before? Is that why you chose the Audley for your research?’

      Matt shook his head. ‘It’s just coincidence that he’s a fellow Canadian, but it made a link. He’s been really helpful, especially with Em. I hope she’s OK.’

      ‘Ring the school—ask.’

      ‘And do what if they say she’s unhappy? I’m at work—and, anyway, she’ll cope. She’s used to fitting in. She’s moved around a lot in her short life.’

      Sarah poured the hot water into the mugs and stirred. ‘Can’t your wife go if there’s a problem?’

      ‘I don’t have a wife,’ he said, in a voice that brooked no further discussion. Sarah took the hint. There were things she didn’t talk about, too, things you didn’t want to get out and air. She could respect that. She moved on.

      ‘So how are you dealing with the after-school and weekends and being on call?’ she asked, concerned to make sure he’d covered all his bases. ‘Have you managed to sort all that sort of thing out already?’

      ‘I have a neighbour—or rather Ryan does—who will fetch her from school and sit with her until I get to pick her up. When I’m on call overnight Ryan said she can go to them until I sort out a better arrangement.’

      Sarah nodded. Arranging for child care was difficult, especially if you were new to an area. She’d had to do it once…

      ‘There’s a crèche in the hospital, did you know?’ she suggested.

      His smile was crooked and rather enchanting. ‘I think my five-year-old daughter might draw the line at going in a crèche, somehow.’

      Five. Sarah felt a pang, and suppressed it. There were lots of five-year-old girls. Literally hundreds of thousands—probably millions the world over. And nine-and seven-year-old boys.

      She slopped milk into one mug and cocked a brow at him, putting the thoughts away. ‘White?’

      He shook his head. ‘Black, please, no sugar. That’s fine. Cheers.’

      His fingers brushed hers and yet again there was that strange reaction, that little shimmy of the pulse that came out of nowhere.

      ‘So, how long have you been here?’ he asked, settling himself in one of the easy chairs with his outstretched legs shrinking the room again. She stirred her coffee and tried to forget about his blatant masculinity.

      ‘Two years. I started as a staff nurse—I became Junior Sister just over a year ago.’

      ‘And do you like it?’

      ‘The hospital or the work?’

      ‘Either.’

      She smiled. ‘I like both. They’re a very friendly bunch here. The doctors are all very civilised and approachable, and the nursing staff make a well-knit team. It’s a good place to work, if you can cope with the gallows humour.’

      He laughed. ‘I don’t know a single trauma unit where the staff don’t have a really sick line in patter. It goes with the territory—it’s just a way of defusing the distress. If you didn’t do it, you’d burn out in no time.’

      Her smile was wry. ‘People don’t understand, though, unless they work there too. They think we’re saints, but if they heard some of the things that were said we’d fall off our pedestals big time.’

      ‘It helps if you have a partner who understands,’ he said, and she wondered if his wife hadn’t understood and if that had been the problem. He didn’t give her time to dwell, though, just carried on. ‘Didn’t Ryan’s wife work here?’

      ‘Yes, and Jack Lawrence’s, and Patrick’s.’

      ‘A regular dating agency.’

      She laughed. ‘Sounds like it, doesn’t it? I think it’s just the pressure. There’s not much time to meet anyone else, and if you’re working together intensively you get very close. You have to learn to trust people and rely on them, and it’s only a short step from there to commitment. I won’t say romance, there’s precious little of that around here.’

      He snorted. ‘Again, it sounds just like home.’

      She tipped her head and looked searchingly at him. ‘Do you miss it?’

      ‘The hospital? No. The weather? Definitely no—well, not the cold, anyway. However, I hear the snow’s thick and I imagine they’re all skiing every spare minute.’

      Sarah eyed him thoughtfully. ‘You sound wistful. Will you miss the skiing?’

      ‘That obvious, huh?’ He grinned, a mischievous, cheeky grin that made her insides flutter. ‘Yeah, I’ll miss it. I’m sure I’ll find something else to take its place—and, anyway, Emily isn’t too keen. She prefers to swim.’

      ‘There’s a good pool in the town.’

      ‘Is there? Do you go?’

      She

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