suddenly to do anything else was unthinkable. Both men were looking at her, smiling in compassion and caring, and those damned tears were threatening to well and to fall.
She had no choice.
‘Yes, please,’ she told them with as much dignity as she could muster.
‘Yes!’
And before she could protest the arm around her shoulders dropped and she was swept up into a pair of strong, warm arms. Laughing eyes danced down at her. Her feeble protests were ignored and Gemma Campbell, anaesthetist, independent career-woman—and total wuss—was carried straight to bed.
CHAPTER THREE
TWO a.m. Time for sleeping. But Nate wasn’t asleep. He’d tossed and turned for a couple of hours and then thrown back the covers and taken himself through the adjoining door into the hospital.
All was quiet. There were only four patients in the little bush nursing hospital—four patients plus Cady and Mia. And there were no problems tonight. Everyone seemed to be sleeping. Nate made his way through to kids’ ward and Jane was there, sitting beside Cady. When the nurse saw him she smiled and rose.
‘They’re both fine. I’ve just taken Cady’s blood pressure and sugar levels and he didn’t stir. You want to see?’ She handed over the chart.
Twenty. His sugar level was dropping already. Good. It looked good. He gazed down at the sleeping child and he thought, Hell, what a diagnosis. It was so unfair.
But at least this was the twenty-first century, he thought thankfully. Fifty years ago this diagnosis would have meant major health problems. Now, as long as Cady was careful with himself, there was no reason to think he couldn’t look forward to a long and eventful life.
But he’d still have to cope with insulin injections. Maybe medical researchers would develop a constant infusion mechanism, he thought, to halt the need for constant injections. Or a cure. Soon…
‘Nate, he’ll be fine,’ the nurse said, watching his face and obviously puzzled by his reaction. ‘Kids take to diabetes really easily—much more so than adults. My nephew’s diabetic and he lectures me about good and bad foods all the time.’
‘Yes. I know.’
Still she was watching him with curiosity. There was a lot going on here that Jane didn’t understand.
But she did understand one thing.
‘Your daughter needs feeding.’ There was a vague whimpering from behind the partition. Mia was stirring and her whimpering was threatening to build to a full-throated roar. But not yet. She was simply letting them know it was time.
‘Do you want to feed her?’
‘No, I—’
‘I’ll prepare the formula,’ she told him, disregarding his refusal as if he hadn’t made it. ‘You change her nappy.’
‘Me…?’
‘You have to start some time—Daddy.’ And she grinned and headed to the kitchen before he could say another word.
His daughter.
Mia was his daughter.
Somehow Nate changed her nappy—a thing he would have thought impossible. There was nothing to it, he thought as he adjusted the tapes. He lifted her from the change table feeling smug.
Her nappy fell to the floor.
Whoops.
‘OK, young lady, let’s try again.’
The second attempt was no better than the first but he had the sense not to pick her up straight off. He wrapped her up in her bunny rug before lifting her and when he picked her up he carried her horizontally back to his chair.
Miraculously the nappy stayed put. Great. Well done, he thought, and his chest expanded a notch or two with paternal pride. Nothing to this parenting caper…
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