morning, hauled on her clothes, and declared, thanks, but got to go. He hadn’t seen the fear of wanting more from him that she’d struggled to hold at bay until she’d got away. The fear made harder to hide when he’d done an about-face and invited her to breakfast at a classy café near his apartment. Almost as if her rejection had piqued his interest. When, in desperation, she’d declined, he’d insisted on walking her to the bus stop. All part of his charm, and utterly dangerous in its temptation.
‘Incoming severe asthma attack,’ the triage nurse called as she slammed the phone back in place. ‘ETA ten minutes.’
‘No rest for the wicked.’ Conor grinned. ‘Or even the slightly bad.’
‘We can’t complain that the day’s dragging,’ Tamara retorted. Her day was taking for ever to tick by, yet at the same time three o’clock was charging at her full speed. How would Conor react? Would he storm out, shouting that she was a liar or a con artist? Or would he pat her on the head and say good luck and goodbye?
‘What is up with you today? You’re very distracted.’ Conor studied her from his six-foot-plus height. ‘Come to think of it, you’re looking peaky.’
‘I’m fine,’ she snapped, and headed to a cubicle where she could hear a middle-aged woman with a suspected broken ankle groaning. Peaky? Right. Of course she was peaky. She’d tossed up her breakfast that morning, hadn’t she? At least it’d happened before she left home and not on the bus, or, worse, not here where some nosy parker would notice quicker than wildfire ignited dry tinder and come up with the wrong cause. Or the right one.
‘Tamara, I want you on the asthma with me,’ Conor called after her.
‘No problem,’ she lied. Ask someone else.
‘In a better mood.’
Tamara nearly leapt into the air. She hadn’t heard him coming closer. ‘Don’t sneak up on me,’ she growled as her heart thumped loud enough for the whole department to hear.
‘Whoa.’ His hands were up, palms towards her. ‘Maybe you need to take a quick coffee break. Get some caffeine into your system. Something’s got your knickers in a twist and it’s not a good look in ED.’
He was right. When wasn’t he? On a long, raggedy indrawn suck of air she managed, ‘Sorry. I had a restless night. Seems it’s catching up with me.’ As if she could have slept when the truth had been leaching into her mind, pushing aside her dreams, taunting her. No wonder her head was beginning to pound like there was a band of bongo drummers in there. She never did well on less than eight hours’ sleep. Something she’d planned on getting used to once she started her medical training.
Now she was readjusting, learning the new phrase—once she became a mother.
‘Your mood anything to do with what you want to talk to me about?’
Too shrewd for your own good, Dr Maguire.
‘No. Yes. Sort of.’
‘Bring me a coffee when you get yours, will you?’
In other words, she wasn’t getting away without a caffeine fix. Sorry, baby. Don’t take any on board, or you’ll be buzzing all afternoon. ‘Three sugars?’ She arched an eyebrow at him.
‘For you, not me.’ He flipped a smile in her direction before reaching for another patient form, that earlier tiredness now tugging at his mouth.
Damn that smile. It could undo all her resolve to be firm with him. ‘Looks like you need the caffeine more than I do,’ Tamara muttered as she headed for the kitchenette. Tea for her. It might be less aggressive on her system. See, getting used to there being a baby growing inside.
Her knees gave out on her and she buckled against the wall as very real fear overcame her. Her dream was going up in smoke before she’d even pushed ‘send’ on that application. Becoming a mother was not part of the plan, had only been a remote, ‘not likely to happen in this lifetime’ kind of dream. But not any more. Not in her current situation. How was she going to cope? It wasn’t as though she’d had a good role model in her mother. While Dad had been the steady influence, Mum had always been a little off kilter, doing things without thought to time or place or other people. Like hopping on a flight to Melbourne for the fashion show and not telling Dad where she was until she’d landed. Dad had shrugged, said that’s your mother for you, and taken her out to dinner at a five-star restaurant. She’d been six at the time. Which parent would she follow? She knew which one she wanted to be like, but wasn’t sure of her capabilities.
‘Tamara? What’s going on?’
Conor could be so nosy. She shuffled her body up the wall until she stood upright, not quite ramrod straight, and eyeballed him. ‘Having a wee kip on the way to get those drinks.’
‘You think you should be at work? You’re not exactly on form today.’
‘Have I made any mistakes? Looked incapable of doing my job?’
‘Not yet.’ Conor studied her for a long moment. No heated connection going on now. ‘Take thirty. Get something to eat to go with that coffee.’ Her face must’ve given her away because his hand went up, palm out. ‘No argument.’
When he took her arm and led her into the tiny space that was the staff kitchenette she had no choice other than to go with him. Putting up a fight was a waste of time and energy that was best saved for other more important issues.
‘Here.’ Conor removed a brown paper bag from a cupboard and placed it on the bench. ‘Cheese scone from the café. Get it down you.’ Then he reached for the coffee.
A warning rose from her tense gut. No way. Food would have to wait. ‘Th-thanks. Tea for me.’ And this was the woman who had taken control of her life and refused to let anyone or anything tip her off track again? Tamara reached for the bag, tore it open and broke off a tiny corner of the scone. Shut up, stomach. Whose side are you on, anyway? And she popped the morsel into her mouth and chewed. And chewed. Swallowed. Take that. She took another small bite, and locked eyes with Conor. ‘Just what I needed,’ she agreed around a wave of relief that her stomach was supporting her. However briefly. For now she was back on track.
‘I’ll hand that asthma over to one of the junior doctors, then we’ll take our drinks to my office and have that talk you asked for.’
‘What? Now?’ She tipped sideways, grabbed at the bench. ‘It can wait.’ I’m not ready.
‘Something’s up and it’s affecting you. Best we sort it and get on with the day. Finish making those drinks, will you?’ Conor shot out the door, leaving her shaking.
On autopilot she spooned coffee into one mug, dropped a tea bag into another, added sugar and boiling water to both. Stirred. It’s too late to do a runner. Time to face the facts.
‘Ready? Good.’ Conor swooped back into the small space, picked up both full mugs in one hand and took her elbow in the other. ‘Let’s go.’
And then they were there, Conor’s office door clicking shut behind her, and the air all hot and heavy. Tamara sank onto the closest chair, gripped her hands between her knees and stared at the floor. She should’ve dug into the back of her wardrobe and found something half-decent to wear for this, instead of looking like the frump she hid behind. But then he’d have known something
