* *
Later that afternoon, watching Nate perform in Theatre, Erin was spellbound. His instructions to Theatre staff were clear, he was polite as well as precise and he talked her through every single step of the operation, explaining the methodology and what it would do for the patient.
With their patient and in Theatre, he was a completely different man, she thought. Not the cool, critical and judgemental stranger he’d been in the meeting. This man had deft, clever hands and really knew his stuff—and he treated everyone around him as his equal. She noticed that he made the time to thank every member of the team at the end of the operation, too.
This Nate Townsend, she thought, was a man she’d like to get to know.
And she understood now why so many of her colleagues had dubbed him the sexiest surgeon in the hospital. The only bit of his face she could see clearly was his eyes—a gorgeous, sensual dark blue. And the combination of intelligence and clever hands made a shiver of pure desire run down her spine.
Which was totally inappropriate.
She was here to observe, not to go off in some ridiculous, lust-filled daydream.
‘Thank you for letting me observe, today,’ she said when they’d both scrubbed out. ‘That was really useful. I can talk to patients with spinal stenosis about their options with a lot more authority now.’
‘No problem. And if you have any questions about the procedure later, come and find me.’
He actually smiled at her, then, and she caught her breath. When he smiled like that—a smile that came from inside, more than just politeness—he was utterly gorgeous.
And he was probably involved with someone. Given that he kept everyone at a distance, she’d bet that his home life was full of complications. And none of those complications were any of her business.
‘See you tomorrow,’ she said, feeling slightly flustered.
‘Yeah.’
* * *
Once Nate was happy that Kevin Bishop and his other patients from Theatre that afternoon had settled back on the ward and there were no complications following surgery, he finished writing up his notes. And then he braced himself for the drive to his mother’s house.
Guilt flooded through him. What kind of a father was he, to dread picking up his own daughter? But being her full-time parent—the one with total responsibility—was a far cry from being the part-time dad who saw her for a few snatched days in school holidays and odd weekends. Before Caitlin had come to live with him, they hadn’t spent long enough together at a stretch to run out of things to talk about. Now, it was the other way round: he had all the time he could’ve wanted with her, and not a clue what to say.
As he’d half expected, Caitlin wasn’t in the mood for talking.
‘How was your day?’ he asked as he pulled away from the kerb.
Her only answer was a shrug.
Great. What did he ask now? Clearly she didn’t want to talk about school or her friends—he didn’t even know whether she’d made friends, yet, because she always sidestepped the question whenever he asked.
Food would be a safe subject, surely? ‘Do you fancy pizza for dinner tonight?’
A shake of her head. ‘Your mother already cooked for me.’
As part of her protest about being forced to move from Devon to London, Caitlin had shut off from Sara, her paternal grandmother; she avoided calling Sara anything at all, just as she’d stopped calling Nate ‘Dad’. He had no idea how to get round that without starting another row—and he was trying to pick his battles carefully.
By the time he’d thought of another topic, they were home. Not that Caitlin considered his house as her real home, and he was beginning to wonder if she ever would. Though neither of them had any choice in the matter.
‘Do you have much homework?’ he tried as he unlocked the front door.
‘I’ve already done it. Do you have to be on my case all the time?’ she demanded.
It took her five seconds to run up the stairs. Two more to slam her bedroom door.
And that would be the last he saw of her, that evening.
He didn’t have a clue what to do now. Stephanie had made it clear that it was his turn to deal with their daughter, and being a full-time dad was as much of a shock to the system for him as it was for Caitlin. Of course he understood that it was hard starting at a new school and being away from the friends you’d known since you were a toddler, but Caitlin had been in London for a month now and things still hadn’t got any better.
He’d rather face doing the most complicated and high-risk spinal surgery for twenty-four hours straight than face his teenage daughter. At least in Theatre he had some clue what he was doing, whereas here he was just a big fat failure. He didn’t know what to do to make things better. When he’d tried asking her, she’d just rolled her eyes, said he was clueless, stomped upstairs and slammed her bedroom door.
Why was parenting a teenage girl so much harder than the job he’d trained for more than ten years to do?
And how was he ever going to learn to get it right?
He grabbed his mobile phone and headed out to the back garden. Hopefully Caitlin would be less likely to overhear this particular conversation if he was outside; he didn’t want her to misunderstand and think he was complaining about her. And then he called his ex-wife.
‘What now?’ was Stephanie’s snapped greeting.
He sighed inwardly. Caitlin had definitely inherited her mother’s hostile attitude towards him. ‘How are you, Steph?’
‘Fine.’ She sounded suspicious. ‘Why are you calling?’
‘Because I need help,’ he admitted. ‘I’m absolutely rubbish at this parenting business.’
‘You can’t send her back here,’ Stephanie said. ‘Not after the way she’s been with Craig.’
‘I know.’ Caitlin had been just as hostile towards Nate’s now-ex-girlfriend. Though, if he was honest with himself, the relationship with Georgina had been on its last legs anyway. If the final row hadn’t been over Caitlin, it would’ve been about something else, and he was pretty sure they would’ve broken up by now. Maybe Stephanie’s new marriage had slightly firmer foundations. For her sake, he hoped so. ‘I don’t know what to say to her. How to get through to her. All she does is roll her eyes at me and slam her bedroom door.’
‘She’s a teenage girl.’
‘I know, but they’re not all like that. Not all the time. And she wasn’t like that when she visited me or I came down to Devon.’
‘So it’s my fault?’
‘No. I don’t want to fight with you, Steph.’
‘But you’re judging me for putting my relationship before her.’
‘No,
