Pregnant with the Boss's Baby Page 3

  ‘Kelli, take the boy, get him fixed up and on his way home. Michael, see if the general ward can accommodate the head-pain patient and let them follow up on her blood results as they come in.’

  ‘Onto it.’

  ‘Tamara.’ When had she come to stand next to him? Like she was offering support? He should’ve felt her there, but he wasn’t used to looking to someone else for comfort or sharing. He looked into that steady dark gaze and knew he was glad she was with him. For now they were on the same page, despite the chasm yawning between them. A baby. Longing unfurled slowly deep inside. Family. The thing he’d denied himself for life. Even when he’d desperately wanted one. Was this the universe’s way of saying he was wrong?

  An elbow nudging his arm reminded him of what he was meant to be thinking about. Nothing to do with babies. ‘Right, Tamara.’

  ‘What do you want me to do?’ she asked, clearly weighing up all that had to be done before their first little patient came through those wide doors from the ambulance bays.

  ‘In the waiting room, those stat fives. Send the man with the possible sprained ankle straight to Radiology. I’ll let them know he’s coming and why the hurry.’

  ‘Right.’ She made to move away.

  She was obviously not as distracted as he was, then. This woman was the ultimate professional, hiding behind that impenetrable façade, letting nothing personal affect her work. He’d only once seen her mask come down completely. Whoa. Do not go there. ‘Wait. The man with a constant bleeding nose can go over the way to the emergency doctors’ clinic.’

  ‘He’s going to love that,’ Tamara muttered as she reached to pick up the patient notes.

  ‘Explain the situation. He’ll get just as good care there, and certainly a lot quicker. Tell Reception to send people to medical centres where possible after the triage nurse has assessed them. Once those kids start arriving no one else is going to get a look in unless they’re stat one.’

  ‘Give me the easy job, why don’t you?’ There was no acid in her retort. Maybe it wasn’t a retort, considering the lift of those full lips into something resembling a tentative smile. A Tamara smile—rarely given, and never over-eager—was something to hold onto.

  Warmth flooded him because of that smile. Warmth that only Tamara seemed capable of giving him at a deeper level than just fun and enjoyment. He found her a smile in return, and drank in her surprise. Hopefully she didn’t know how she affected him when he wasn’t being careful, which around her was becoming more and more difficult. Hence why he’d applied for a job in Sydney, hopefully starting next month.

  Staff from the next shift were wandering in one at a time. A low hum of whispers told the newcomers what they were about to deal with. Conor looked at Mac, who said, ‘Pretty much everyone’s here so carry on. You’ve started the process.’

  Facing the eager faces, Conor told the nurses and registrars, ‘All of you, double check we’re ready and prepared for every eventuality. You know what to do. Treat this as you would any stat one coming through the door, but know there’s going to be a seemingly endless stream. It will come to an end, I assure you, but there’ll be moments when you doubt that.’ He paused to let his words sink in, then said, ‘I’ll be on the phone, putting people around the hospital on standby, but interrupt me if you find there’s a problem anywhere. There are going to be double ups amongst you but, believe me, you will all be required.’

  Mac took over allocating jobs while Conor punched in the direct dial number for the theatre manager. ‘Sister, we have a situation.’ He quickly brought her up to speed and then left her to get on with cancelling surgeries and getting theatres prepared for the influx due any moment.

  Theatres, done. Running through a mental list of who he had to notify, he punched in the next number. Radiology, then surgeons and other specialists, blood bank.

  ‘Everyone’s busy so I can take some of those calls.’ Mac stood in front of him, phone in hand. ‘Who’s next?’

  ‘Orthopaedics.’

  Together they worked systematically through the list, the whole time Conor watching the minutes ticking by, feeling the tension building in himself and the department as the doors from the ambulance bay remained firmly shut. He slammed the phone down on his final call. ‘Come on. Where are these kids? The odds aren’t great if they don’t get here now.’

  Mac shook his head. ‘We’re organised, ready and waiting. But, yeah, where the hell are those children?’

  The buzzer screamed, cutting through the air, sounding louder and more urgent than normal. Instant silence fell across the department and every head turned towards those doors.

  Conor drew a breath. ‘Okay, everyone, good luck. I know you’ll do your damnedest.’ And then some.

  As he took a step his gaze slid from the doors to Tamara. She was pale, but ramrod straight, and her nod in his direction was assured. Then she was moving to let in their first patient, and Conor was right beside her.

  ‘Jamie Johnson, eight years old, severe concussion.’

  Then the flood started.

  ‘Carole Miller, facial injuries, nine years old.’

  ‘Toby Crawford, eight years old, unconscious, suspected skull fracture, internal injuries.’

  Once it began the line of trauma victims was continuous and the severity of the cases presenting mind-numbing. A brief gap ninety minutes in gave everyone time to nearly catch up before the second wave of children arrived. These kids were in worse condition than the initial ones because they’d taken longer to be extricated from the wreckage that had once been a bus.

  ‘We need blood here.’ Tamara was beckoning to the lab technician to take a sample for cross-match from her patient prior to his surgery for a severed foot.

  ‘And here,’ Kelli called from the next resus unit, where a tiny lad with a broken kneecap and torn artery lay whimpering in a fog of morphine.

  Conor called to Tamara, ‘Get the orthopaedic surgeon in here.’

  The phone was at her ear immediately as she hadn’t put it down from her last urgent call. For a brief moment they locked eyes and he felt a surge of adrenalin. It was like she was his other half. The calm, self-assured nurse who now had him under control and as calm as she was. The woman carrying his baby. Conor’s gut clenched. Baby. Child. Accidents. Death and destruction. Forget calm. What if something like this happened to their child? What—?

  ‘Here.’ Tamara shoved the phone at him and instantly replaced his hands with hers on their small patient’s leg to continue pressing on a pad staunching the blood flow that had restarted while they’d been investigating his injuries.

  Conor swallowed down the fear and said into the phone, ‘Kay, we’ve got a lad whose left foot has been severed.’ As he rattled off details he refused to think about how the loss of a foot would affect a young child. Instead he concentrated on Tamara as she bent over the boy, whispering sweet nothings to him even when there wasn’t a chance in hell the boy heard a word. This was Tamara at her best. Calming.

  That night in his bed she’d been the antithesis of calm.

  Conor slammed the phone back on the hook. Concentrate, man. He called, ‘Orderly,’ and returned to the lad’s side. ‘Obs? How’s that oxygen flow?’

  Mam, how did you survive watching Sebastian die?

  Conor’s heart stopped. Slashing his forearm across his eyes, he stared at the boy before him. Life was so unfair. But he wasn’t going to let this kid die.

  Bright lights flashed in the department, temporarily blinding Conor. ‘What the...?’

  ‘Get out of here,’ Tamara snarled. ‘Conor,’ she yelled. ‘We need Security. Yesterday.’

  Conor blinked, saw rage fill Tamara’s face, her eyes, as she stalked past him towards a man pointing a camera in the direction of their patient.

  ‘The media?’ Tell me I’m wrong. ‘How the hel
l did you get in here?’ he demanded of the man, anger now running in his veins too.

  ‘Like they always do, by pushing people aside as if they have a right to.’ Tamara was shaking.

  He placed a hand on her shoulder. ‘Ignore him. Our patient needs us.’ Where were those security guys?

  The camera flashed again, and Tamara stepped away from it, her face contorted with a mix of anger and hopelessness. Then two guys in uniform were hauling the cameraman away none too gently.

  Conor turned Tamara back to their case. ‘Don’t think about it. Save it for later. You’re needed with our lad at the moment.’

  Her body shuddered as she drew a breath, and she slapped the back of her glove-covered hand across her cheeks. ‘They have no respect for anyone.’

  ‘Tam, focus now.’

  ‘Don’t call me Tam,’ she snapped, but at least her spine straightened and all her focus returned to where it was meant to be.

  He worked with Tamara, stabilising and checking blood flow, oxygen, getting the boy ready for surgery. Then his patient was gone, onto the next phase of being put back together, though for the boy that would be a long process.

  Tamara’s eyes were chilly and giving nothing away as she stretched her back, pushing her breasts up. His mouth dried. Then he recalled some comments made about her when he’d first started here. Something about how the media were always waiting to pounce if she so much as breathed out of order. She had history with them, but he’d never asked what it was about, figuring it was none of his business.

  Now he wanted to take them all down in a bloody thrashing for upsetting Tamara.

  A little girl arrived before them.

  ‘Nine years old, suspected fractures to both arms and legs, and possibly ribs.’ A nurse from the nightshift read the details as Conor nodded to the X-ray tech.

  The thrashing would have to wait.

  As would thinking about that baby.

  * * *

  The hours disappeared in a haze of anguish and despair. Children came through ED, some staying longer than others before moving on to Theatre, or, for the lucky ones, to the children’s ward with plaster casts or multitudes of stitches.

  Finally, ‘We’re all done.’ Mac appeared from the adjoining resus unit, looking like he’d been living a nightmare for hours. Which he had. They all had.

  It was over. Air leaked from Conor like a puncture as the tension that had been with him from the moment Michael had told them what they were in for softened. ‘I didn’t know they could fit so many children on one bus.’ The exhaustion that’d been beating him up earlier in the afternoon returned at full throttle. ‘Glad that’s done.’ Except there were parents throughout the hospital dealing with their worst nightmares.

  Parents. Closing his eyes, he rubbed them with his thumbs, and was confronted with an image of Mam letting herself in through the front door, shoulders drooped, knees buckling. Those laughing eyes he’d looked for on waking every morning of his four short years had been dulled with pain and anguish. Her arms had shaken as she’d clung to him. He hadn’t recognised her voice as she’d croaked, ‘Sebastian and Daddy are in heaven, my love.’ And there had begun the rest of his life.

  ‘I’ve never dealt with anything like it.’ Mac rolled his neck left then right.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Go home, Conor. Get a beer in you and hit the sack.’

  Looking around, Conor couldn’t find Tamara. He stumbled. ‘Where is everyone?’

  Tam, did you cope? Really? Behind that mask, are you okay?

  Mac was muttering, ‘I sent day shift home half an hour ago. They were shattered after already working a shift, and I figured my team could handle the remainder of cases. Not that they’re in much better shape.’

  ‘It’s going to be a long night for them.’ What was left of it.

  Mac gave him a rueful smile. ‘You sure knew how to cope with the situation.’

  ‘For all the wrong reasons, unfortunately.’ The wall clock read nine twenty. He wouldn’t have been surprised if it was after midnight. As it was, he’d be back on duty all too soon. With that thought his mind filled with the urgent need to get out of there while he could still walk. ‘I’m gone.’

  Home. A shower. Bed.

  Tamara.

  Now that you’re coming down from the high we’ve all been on for endless hours, are you looking all peaky and worried again?

  She’d be beyond exhausted now that she had pregnancy to contend with as well.

  I hope you’re all right. That my baby is doing okay.

  CHAPTER THREE

  TAMARA HUDDLED AGAINST the bench in her kitchen, waiting for the toaster to pop. Wet hair hung down her back. Blow-drying it would take energy she didn’t have. Tomorrow it would stick out in all directions but right now she didn’t care. All she wanted was to eat something fast before slipping between the clean sheets she’d put on the bed that morning. To fall asleep and forget all the horrors of the day.

  Those poor little kids, broken, in agony, some damaged for ever. The parents’ distress had been equally harrowing. Not something she’d have considered from a parent’s perspective until that thin blue line had entered her life. Never before had she seen such despair, so much shock, all at once.

  The day the fraud squad had turned up at her family home had been shocking, but in a very different way; certainly not life-threatening, only life-changing. Back then, the press she had been used to, following her around to photograph her latest outfit or hairstyle, or who she’d dined with and where, had turned on her. Painted her the same black shade as Peter. From that day on she and the media had come to a mutual understanding. They disliked each other; a far cry from the fawning she’d grown up knowing and enjoying. These days, loath to attract attention of any kind, she no longer wore supermodel clothes or spent a fortune on make-up and hair. Nowadays she hid behind dull and duller.

  A sigh escaped. What a day. And she’d thought telling Conor about their baby had been difficult. It had been a breeze compared to what those poor parents were dealing with.

  Ding-dong. The doorbell was loud in the quiet space.

  Her neck cricked painfully when her head snapped up. Who was here at this hour? She didn’t have visitors at any hour. Staring at her bedraggled reflection in the microwave door, she hoped whoever was out there would take the hint and go away.

  Ding-dong.

  Pulling the belt of her bathrobe tight, she took another moment to stare at the image gleaming back at her. Whoever it was, they’d soon take a hike when they saw her looking like something hauled out of a dumpster.

  Ding-dong.

  Persistent. ‘Yes, yes, I’m coming,’ she muttered as she gave in. Opening the front door, a gasp escaped her. ‘Conor.’ Might have known, considering the persistence aspect.

  ‘Did you check to see who was out here before you opened the door?’ he growled.

  She hadn’t given it a thought. ‘Hang on.’ She made to close the door and peek through the eye-hole just to wind Conor up. How else to deal with him when she could barely remember her own name?

  He was too quick for her, splaying his hand on the door to keep it open. ‘Can I come in?’

  Don’t tell me we’re going to discuss our baby now.

  She’d be at a huge disadvantage, her brain only functioning on low. Yet she stepped back, breathed him in as he passed. Her body succumbed to the scent of man with an overlay of antiseptic. ‘You’ve come straight from the hospital?’ she finally managed.

  ‘I wanted to make sure you’d got home all right and was coping with what went down in ED today.’

  Of course she was. And wasn’t. ‘There’ll probably be some nightmares, but I’m fine.’ He cared enough to check on her? When he had to be feeling as shattered as she did? Raising her eyes to his, she
found concern and something she couldn’t interpret fixed on her. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered around the lump suddenly clogging her throat. When was the last time a man—anyone, for that matter—had shown her such care? No one since her father had become ill with the dementia that had taken him from her. Not even Peter had managed to pull on a mask that had suggested he’d been genuinely concerned for her any time. One of the lesser reasons he was now her ex. ‘Thanks,’ she repeated.

  ‘Come here.’ Conor wrapped her up in a strong yet gentle hug, held her against his warm length and lowered his chin to the top of her wet head. ‘It’s been a huge day.’

  Tamara’s arms lifted to his waist without any input from her brain. She snuggled her face into his chest. ‘Massive,’ she agreed.

  ‘You were amazing with your little patients. So caring, understanding, unflappable. I’ve worked with a lot of nurses and you are one of the best.’ A large, warm hand ran soft, soothing circles over her back. Slowly, slowly, the tension ebbed away, leaving her feeling comfortable with Conor.

  Seriously? Oh, boy. That made her feel so good. ‘I could say the same back to you.’ And mean it as much as she believed he meant it.

  ‘So...’ Conor hesitated. ‘You’re okay now you’ve come down off the high brought on by the adrenalin rush today cranked up?’

  ‘I’m shattered so I don’t want to discuss our baby and how we’re going to deal with this situation tonight. I don’t believe I can be as focused as I need to be for that.’ Conor holding her like this made her feel as though she could tell him anything, open up to him, explain how she hoped their future—their baby’s future—would unfold. And probably give too much of herself away.

  ‘I came around to make sure you were all right. I also needed to hear you mention the pregnancy again. It’s been a blur from the moment Michael knocked on my office door.’

  Leaning back in his arms, she gazed up at him. ‘We are going to have a baby.’