leaned shakily back against the bench and let out a ragged breath. What was it with this man? She hugged her stomach. How could he reduce her to this?
She’d make herself a remedy when she finished tonight. An essential oil bath perhaps, with a calming and stabilising blend for her nerves out of Mum’s aromatherapy book.
It should help.
As usual, thinking of her radical, lovable mother lifted her spirits. Although it had only been two years since she’d died, Poppy had taken to heart her mother’s conviction that in spirit she would always be with her, and the ache of loss was bearable.
Maybe Poppy had compensated by immersing herself in her mother’s interests, like aromatherapy and reflexology, and her home was certainly filled with her mother’s beads, plants and chimes. But they fitted so beautifully into midwifery, and just maybe, she admitted wryly, anything that attracted her ex-husband’s contempt had become doubly attractive to Poppy. The guy was a weasel and hated anything unconventional.
She wondered if Jake did, then shook her head. It didn’t matter anyway. She wasn’t going to get close enough to find out.
Sandy should be around here somewhere, she thought, and found her friend helping the new mums to master the art of breastfeeding. She was in Sheila’s room. Sheila’s eyes showed their delight when she saw Poppy.
‘How are you today, Sheila? Not too tired, I hope?’ Poppy noted the rings around the girl’s eyes but her contentment with her new son was plain to see. ‘Not quite the natural birth you and Luke were planning, was it? Though, I must admit, you do make beautiful babies.’
Sheila smiled dreamily at her son. ‘I’m feeling much better this afternoon, but thanks, Poppy, for looking after us yesterday. You were wonderful. I was so scared of coming into the hospital and how I’d be treated—let alone having a Caesarean. Luke was here when Dr Sheppard came in to see me this morning, and he’s very impressed with him.’ She winked. ‘Dr Sheppard’s quite a hunk.’
‘Yes, he is.’ Poppy felt her face stiffen at the mention of Jake and changed the subject. ‘You and Cade look very contented there. I’ll come back later to see you. Sandy and I are going to have a much-needed cuppa. If you want us, just push the buzzer.’
The two women moved towards the tea room and Poppy grimaced as she saw Sandy watching her. For the last two years her friend had been trying to encourage her to date. Without much success.
‘So, do you think the “hunky” Dr Sheppard is going to fit in here, Poppy? You’re the one who’s had the most to do with him. Day staff said he calls you by your first name already.’ Sandy’s eyes glinted mischievously.
Poppy avoided her eyes. ‘He’s certainly good-looking, but I learnt long ago what that means. At least he’s good at his job.’
‘Good-looking? The guy is devastating. I fancy him myself and I’m ten years too old for him and happily married. You haven’t even hit thirty. Come on, Poppy, when are you going to give another man a chance?’
‘That’s just it, Sandy. Why should I? I dumped my inferiority complexes with my married name. My life is great. Why would I risk that again?’
Maybe she shouldn’t visit the sins of her ex-husband on Jake. Maybe he was trustworthy.
Ha! That small voice inside her went into hysterics. You’ve met him twice! The guy’s charming, but can he be trusted?
‘When Mum died, another “hunk” walked out on me, right when I needed him. Maybe I’d feel more inclined to trust him if he wasn’t so perfect.’
Sandy raised her eyebrows. ‘Yeah, right. So we need him to put a paper bag over his head and get him to chant, “Trust me, trust me.”’ Poppy stifled a giggle at her friend’s imagination.
As if conjured up by their conversation, the sound of slightly off-key whistling preceded Jake’s head as he appeared around the door. Poppy watched his eyes brighten at seeing them and his long lean body followed to prop up the door frame. His dark hair was tousled as if he’d been caught in a wild breeze and the front of his shirt was damp and sticking to him in a fist-sized spot under his collarbone.
Jake looked a different man from the one in the nursery today. Ten years seemed to have dropped off his age. ‘I love kids, even if they are messy. I like the way they run Children’s Ward here—for the kids and not despite them.’ He grinned at them.
Poppy could see he meant what he said. She felt the same about her own ward.
‘Coffee smells good.’ Jake’s voice slid through her defences and Poppy stiffened her shoulders. Sandy could be mother.
‘How do you like it, Dr Sheppard?’ Sandy switched on the jug.
‘Jake, please. I’d settle for any way, except down the front of my shirt like my last drink was given to me. I can see by your badge that you’re Sandy. Is it Sandra or Cassandra?’
‘Cassandra, actually.’ Sandy blushed and Poppy hid her smile as the mature mother of three groped for composure like a sixteen-year-old.
‘White, no sugar, thanks.’
Cynically, Poppy marvelled at the way Jake put Sandy at her ease, drawing the older woman out about her children, obviously interested in all she said. Handsome men usually could. She could remember her ex-husband and all the young mothers sighing over him. Her nose twitched in disgust.
‘I’m going to check the ward.’ Poppy stood abruptly and left the room as if she had something important to do. She didn’t. She heard his voice thanking Sandy for the coffee as she walked away and she knew he’d follow her. She sighed.
The corridor was deserted and as Poppy passed one of the empty rooms she felt his presence as he came up behind her and steered her into it with a hand on her shoulder. He gently shut the door behind them.
Poppy could hear the now familiar thumping in her ears and she tried to slow the rapid rise and fall of her breathing as she turned to face him. She tried for lightness. ‘Did you want to see me, Doctor?’
Jake’s face was calm and Poppy marvelled how difficult she found it to read his mood. He was different again from the man of ten minutes ago. He didn’t look like he was going to chastise her for some fault in her work or even discuss a patient—so why was he here?
‘I want to apologise—for last night. There are reasons, which have nothing to do with you, that may have made me seem unfriendly.’
‘Apology accepted, Dr Sheppard.’ She looked up at him with mischief in her eyes. ‘Be polite next time.’
‘My mother would like you, Poppy. She’s very proper, too.’ He grinned and held out his hand for her to shake.
‘Proper’ was such an old-fashioned word. Poppy hiccuped on a giggle as she thought of herself as being labelled proper. But she supposed he’d only seen her as a neonatal nurse.
Actually, there had been times she’d been labelled a hippie, and a harpy—‘like your mother’. Her husband’s cold contempt still stung after all this time.
She was sure conservative Mrs Sheppard wouldn’t appreciate Poppy’s
