was all he said. ‘Now, Baby, we’ll pop a little tube down your throat to help you breathe for a few minutes, and if you’re very good I’ll take it out again shortly.’
He listened to the infant’s chest and then took over the bagging so that Poppy could prepare the equipment. As she placed each object on top of the trolley she couldn’t help noticing how gentle his large hands were as he handled the newborn.
His voice rumbled on a deeper note as he spoke to the baby, and Poppy felt as if a cool breeze had somehow eddied into Theatre and blown across her neck. She shrugged off the thought that the cadences in his speech were niggling her as familiar, but she had to admit he had a great voice.
Not since her big city hospital training had Poppy felt so attuned during resuscitation, and she wordlessly placed the laryngoscope into his upturned palm. As she watched the diminutive patient lie flaccidly under his care, she sensed the anxiety of the other staff. There was none of the usual conversation.
The first signs of response started to appear. Poppy welcomed the lightening of weight in her own chest as, with each puff of the bag, the baby’s skin colour washed pinker from the oxygen. With the tiniest movements, the baby began to twitch and move.
Go for it, Baby! Poppy urged the little boy on in her mind. His plump hands clenched and the tiny toes spread as if in answer.
Relief washed over her like incoming surf. His little face grimaced and his chest fluttered as he struggled to breathe for himself.
Poppy sighed with relief. Any second now. She positioned the oxygen mask back over the baby’s face as Dr Sheppard removed the tube to allow the infant to breathe for himself.
The baby gasped and coughed. Then came the most beautiful sound in the world. He cried.
Poppy’s eyes misted and she looked up to meet those of the man beside her.
It was then that she fully took in the height, the forehead and those vivid blue eyes. It wasn’t just the voice that was familiar. For a moment she doubted her own sanity until common sense stepped in.
That man was dead!
She looked again and saw a different man beneath the green theatre attire. Similar but not the same. She shook her head and relegated another thought to later.
Refocussing on the crying baby, a smile spread from deep inside her. To hell with it. The baby was fine, they’d done a good job and life was great. She was glad they had a new paediatrician, even though doctors weren’t her favourite people. She smiled from her heart at this tall, skilled doctor standing beside her. He looked back and for a moment it seemed as if he, too, had been moved by the moment until his gaze hardened and he seemed to look right through her. Poppy shrugged and looked away.
The baby was roaring loudly now and she bundled him up in warm bunny rugs while keeping the oxygen mask tucked near his mouth. She watched Dr Sheppard gently pat the little boy to soothe him. He seemed to genuinely care about his little patient. Maybe he was one of the good guys.
All across Theatre, breaths were expelled and talk broke out.
‘I think everyone needs some oxygen after that. Well done,’ Dr Gates called out. He added, satisfaction clearly evident in his voice, ‘We’ve found the culprit, a true knot in the umbilical cord that pulled tighter during labour. Your young man was running out of time in there.’
Dr Sheppard looked across at the surgeon. ‘That answers a lot of questions. I’d say your decision not to wait was a good one. Baby responded well and I can’t foresee any problems.’ He looked back at Poppy and frowned.
Poppy’s own brows drew together at the expression on the new doctor’s face. What was eating him? She mentally shrugged. Did she really care? ‘Are you happy enough with the baby for me to transfer him back to the ward?’
She watched the scowl smooth away in front of her eyes. She sighed and hoped he wasn’t going to be another one of those doctors with unpredictable moods.
‘Yes, Baby’s fine. I’ll come with you and talk to the father. I gather he’s the poor chap nail-biting out in the corridor.’
Dr Gates looked up from his suturing. ‘Thank you for coming at such short notice, Dr Sheppard. I know you don’t start until tomorrow but in the country everyone knows your comings and goings. You can’t hide from us.’ He laughed, the way only really chubby men could, and everyone joined in as they watched him wobble with mirth.
‘By the way, the very efficient midwife at your side is Sister McCrae. Sister McCrae—Dr Sheppard.’ He chuckled as the two looked at each other and then away. ‘Thanks again. Midcoast won’t always call you in at dinnertime.’
‘Not a problem.’ Dr Sheppard nodded at Poppy and they manoeuvred the trolley carrying the baby out of the theatre. They paused, before pushing open the swing doors, and threw their masks and theatre gowns into the bins provided. The baby was so snugly wrapped that only his wrinkled face poked out of the mound of blankets. Poppy stroked his cheek. His skin felt like silk against her fingers. Newborn babies never ceased to fill her with wonder. Once she would have given anything to have been able to have one.
As they pushed open the external doors from the theatre the child’s father jumped up from his seat and rushed towards them.
‘Congratulations, Luke!’ Poppy said. ‘Sheila’s fine and so is your son.’
‘It’s a boy!’ he whooped, but quickly sobered, or as much as the grin on his face would allow. ‘You’re sure they’re both OK?’
‘This is Dr Sheppard. He’s the paediatrician and he can tell you all about it...’ Poppy’s voice dwindled away as Luke fastened his eyes on the other man.
She, too, turned to study his face properly for the first time. The bottom seemed to drop out of her stomach. He was a stunner. In the corridor lighting, the lines of his cheekbones made his face seem almost harsh. His full bottom lip hinted at sensuality and softened the strength of his powerful jaw. It affected Poppy in a way she wasn’t prepared for. Her own lips tightened in denial. She wouldn’t even think about it!
Still she found herself drawn to his eyes. That vivid blue of the sea on a sunny day. There was that memory again. She knew who he reminded her of now. She’d only seen eyes of that colour once before—and then they’d been outlined by very sparse eyebrows. She’d kissed that man’s brow goodbye two weeks before he’d died. She shivered at the eerie feeling it left her with.
The men were talking and she couldn’t help noticing how broad and reassuring Dr Sheppard looked in his theatre trousers and V-necked top. A few stray black tendrils of chest hair poked out brazenly around his neckline and the fabric stretched tautly across the widest chest she’d seen in town for a while. She gulped and tried not to stare.
A gentle pulsing warmth started low in her stomach as she watched him absently stroke the bundled baby on the trolley. What would it feel like to be cradled in those strong arms? He’d draw women like kids to a sweets jar.
She winced as if hit by a wet flannel. Just like her ex-husband. The snake.
She glared at his tall frame. Typical. See how easily Dr Sheppard instilled trust in the father, she warned herself. She’d seen what a smooth talker could do once before.
‘Thanks,
