Miracle: Twin Babies Page 8

  Kirby ringing at six o’clock when clinic was over and the evening was looming—perhaps she’d had a change of heart. Pressing the phone to his ear, he answered the call. ‘If you’re offering to take me out to dinner, I accept because not one single fish has landed on my line.’

  ‘It’s not a dinner invitation.’

  The serious tone of her voice quickly dispatched all ideas of flirting and he immediately shot into professional mode. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘I need you out at Kids’ Cottage—’

  He cut her off, memories from his childhood flashing at him like a neon sign. ‘I told you I don’t work at the camp.’

  ‘Well, today you do.’ Her voice unexpectedly whipped him. ‘I’ve got a suspected outbreak of salmonella poisoning and so far all the cases are diabetics.’

  Hell! He raked his free hand through his hair as his pulse picked up. Sick diabetic kids. This was more than just maintaining fluids and electrolytes. This was complicated by either hyper- or hypoglycaemia. It didn’t matter which way he looked at it, didn’t matter how he felt about the camp, Kirby was right. This time he didn’t have the luxury of choice. As a doctor he had to be there.

  Forcing down uncomfortable memories, he sighed. ‘I’ll be there in ten minutes.’

  ‘Make it five.’

  The phone went dead, the silence deafening in its censure.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  THE sharp electronic beep of Nick’s watch signalled three a.m. as he walked slowly and softly along the long row of beds, the old wooden floorboards creaking in protest as he checked all their patients. Low night lighting illuminated the beds along with the silvery beams of a waning moon and he didn’t need to use his torch.

  Every bed was predictably identical, although these beds with their laminated pine bedheads and built-in drawers underneath the mattress were a lot more flash than the old metal beds he’d slept on at similar camps around the country. The same brightly coloured doonas lay on each of the eighteen beds and fourteen of them had sick pubescent boys huddled underneath, fitfully sleeping. Four beds contained sick adults who’d also eaten at the Greasy Spoon, their pale faces looking slightly at odds with the ‘superpowers’ doona tucked under their chins.

  Kirby had created an isolation ward in one of the dormitories in the grounds of KC and everyone affected by the outbreak was being treated here rather than at the hospital. It made sense seeing that he and Kirby had been frantic—treating children non-stop for the last nine hours. They’d just managed to go one full hour without admitting a new case and hopefully no one else in the community had eaten the contaminated food.

  They’d divided the care of the patients evenly and both of them had been so busy they’d hardly spoken to each other all night, but he’d known exactly where she’d been in the dorm at all times. Her sweet scent wafted on the air and when she spoke to her patients he could hear her reassuring and gentle voice. An immature part of him wished he was sick so he could feel her hand on his brow and hear such care for him in her voice. He ignored the thought as he’d learned long ago to take no notice of errant thoughts generated by long hours and fatigue.

  Kirby’s manner with the kids was the perfect blend of caring mother and objective professional and he couldn’t help but be impressed. The cottage was a big drawcard for me to come to Port. He wondered if he should talk to her about pursuing paediatrics.

  Judy Dalton touched his arm. ‘Phillipa and I are back from a break. I’ve just convinced Kirby she needs to take one and so do you.’

  Nick looked up the dorm toward Cameron.

  Judy followed his gaze, understanding on her face. ‘I promise I’ll call you if he needs you.’ She gave him a gentle push. ‘Go.’

  ‘You’ve got my mobile number?’

  She nodded patiently. ‘You’re not going to be far away and I’ve got your number plus my phone is on and charged. Worst-case scenario, I can yell really loud.’ She pointed to the door and mouthed, ‘Go now.’

  Part of him felt he should stay but most of him wanted to take the chance of leaving the claustrophobic brown walls of the dorm. He hadn’t had a break since he’d arrived.

  ‘You OK?’ Kirby greeted him as he walked into the kitchen, her voice soft.

  ‘Fine.’ Nick avoided meeting her far-too-observant gaze as he accepted the proffered mug of hot, steaming tea. Instead he stuck to the much easier topic of medical supplies. ‘Has more saline arrived from the hospital yet?’

  ‘Theo just rang and it’s on its way.’ She stifled a yawn but she couldn’t hide the dark smudges under her eyes.

  ‘You look completely whacked.’ His hand tightened around the mug, tensing against the powerful urge to wrap his arms around her and pull her against him while he stroked her hair and let her sleep on his shoulder.

  Her brows rose as her mouth twitched. ‘I’d heard you had a way with words.’ Laughter threaded through her voice. ‘Now I can see why women lined up to date you.’ She rested her chin against her palm. ‘You look pretty exhausted yourself. How are your boys doing?’

  ‘Fair.’ He sipped his tea, welcoming the comforting warmth. Being inside the dorm had brought back far too many uneasy memories—massive homesickness, feelings of abandonment—and Cameron’s grip on his hand and the baleful look in his eye had reminded him too much of himself at that age.

  He leaned back and swung his feet up onto a chair. ‘It’s a fine line between too much and not enough insulin, and Cameron’s levels keep swinging but at least he’s stopped vomiting. I’ll be a lot happier when Barago rings in the blood results.’

  ‘Hypernatraemia is always a worry, isn’t it?’ She slid a covered plate toward him, a plume of steam curling up from the hole in the top of the silver cover. The aroma of garlic and onions filled the room.

  He smiled at her rhetorical question that a couple of weeks ago would have been a real question. He was really pleased that she’d started trusting her judgement rather than second-guessing every decision. ‘It is. We’ll do another round of bloods at six a.m. and check everyone’s electrolytes, including potassium.’ He lifted up the food cover, suddenly hungry, realising it had been hours since he’d eaten.

  She gave a quiet chuckle as she tucked into her spaghetti bolognaise. ‘Poor Constable Masterton. This is his first posting after graduation and I think he came to Port hoping to crack an international abalone ring, and we’ve got him transporting blood samples between here and Barago.’

  ‘Hey, he got to use the siren so he’s happy.’ Nick couldn’t fault the way Port had pulled together to deal with this crisis. The paramedics had transported equipment, the nurses had all come back on duty and spread themselves between the hospital and KC, and now the camp kitchen was working all night keeping the staff well fed.

  But it had been Kirby who’d organised everything. ‘Three weeks ago I would have doubted you could have handled this sort of challenge but you’ve aced it. You’re one hell of an organiser—I doubt anyone would have been brave enough to say no to you.’

  ‘You tried.’ She tilted her head and stared straight at him, her eyes lit with undisguised curiosity. ‘I don’t get it. Why haven’t you wanted to work here?’

  Damn it, how had a compliment to her suddenly become all about him? He tried a flippant response. ‘You love kids so I was giving you free rein.’

  Her stunning eyes narrowed. ‘You don’t like kids?’

  He willed his facial muscles to adopt a neutral expression. ‘I don’t have anything against them.’

  A ripple of irritation skated across her cheeks. ‘What sort of answer is that? I saw you in action tonight and you were thorough and caring so I know that you not wanting to work here has nothing to do with a lack of medical knowledge, unless…’

  He caught the moment her mind made the connection and his stomach clenched.

  Her forehead creased with an expression of complete bewilderment. ‘Why wouldn’t you want to work at a wonderful place like this?’

  H
is sister Sarah’s contorted face, her contracted muscles and wasted body beamed through his brain, taking him back twenty-odd years in an instant, the images clogging his mind. His heart hammered against his ribs as voices-past jumbled in his head, loud and discordant.

  Your mother needs a break, Nick. This way everyone gets a holiday.

  I hate it here, let me come home.

  Sweetheart, we love you. Camp will be fun.

  ‘Nick. Nick?’

  Kirby’s voice broke through the cacophony of sound as he became aware of the clink of the spoon against china. ‘You’ve gone all white. Here, I’ve added some sugar to your tea.’ She pushed the mug into his right hand and covered his left hand with her own. ‘It’s KC, isn’t it?’

  She’d done it again. For years he’d spent a lot of time with a lot of women and not one of them had read him like Kirby could. She managed to get under his guard every single time. Her warmth trailed through him, slowing his racing heart, calming him. He finally met her gaze, the pull of her concern drawing him in. ‘Yeah, it’s the camp, Sherlock. Not this camp specifically but all camps like it. I spent a lot of time in them as a kid.’

  Surprise lit up her eyes. ‘Not good memories?’

  He laced his fingers through hers, the need to touch her overwhelmingly strong. ‘If a kid wants to come to a place like this then, like you say, it’s going to be a great experience.’

  ‘But not for you?’

  He shook his head. ‘I didn’t want to be there and I resented that I had to go.’ His fingers brushed the back of her hand, absorbing her softness. ‘My younger sister, Sarah, had severe cerebral palsy. She’d been born at twenty-six weeks, was blind, severely contracted and needed twenty-four-hour care. I was five when she was born and I remember the hushed voices, the strained and grey faces of my parents and grandparents, and an overwhelming feeling that everything had just changed. It was weeks before she came home and when she did, she understandably absorbed my parents’ time.’

  ‘But at five you wouldn’t have understood.’ Kirby’s keen eyes shone with empathy.

  ‘No. As a kid I was consumed by a feeling that I had lost something huge but I didn’t have the words to describe it. As Sarah got older and was permanently in a wheelchair, I realised she was never going to be any different and it was like a wound that never healed. Growing up I was both acutely embarrassed by Sarah and fiercely protective of her, especially if kids made crass remarks, but I just wanted to have a normal, healthy sister and be a normal kid. I craved a regular family, one where I could chase Sarah around the garden, tease her like a big brother is supposed to, and argue in the back seat during long car journeys.’

  ‘And coming to camp just marked you as different.’

  His head snapped up at the words that so aptly described what he’d been through. ‘That’s right. I always felt different. While my friends were off holidaying with their family or even getting to stay home and ride their bikes around the cul-de-sac, I was shunted off to camp.’

  The vivid blue of her irises suddenly darkened. ‘Or were you given the opportunity to have some freedom from your family?’

  Her Pollyanna words gnawed at him, pulling at the child within. ‘All I know is that had I ever been a father, I wouldn’t be sending a kid to camp if he didn’t want to go.’

  ‘Had you ever been a father?’ She leaned forward, her face earnest. ‘You’re thirty-three, with loads of time to become a father.’

  He shook his head. ‘Not after chemo, I don’t. Chemotherapy doesn’t differentiate between healthy cells and malignant ones, and it nukes sperm. One of the side effects is infertility.’

  Her brows drew in, carving a deep V above her nose. ‘I knew that. But surely you would have banked sperm before you started treatment?’

  He folded his arms across his chest. ‘I chose not to.’

  ‘What?’ Incredulity lay thick and heavy on the word. ‘Why on earth would your doctors have allowed you to make that decision?’

  ‘Allowed me?’ Anger flashed inside him at her lack of understanding. ‘I wasn’t some naïve twenty-year-old, I was thirty-one and I knew what I wanted. I lived through my parents’ unresolved grief after Sarah died so young and I saw the effect it had on their lives, felt the effect it had on my life. I want control over my life and I’m not taking any risks of having a disabled or sick child so a long time ago I made the decision that I didn’t want to be a parent. Ever.’

  Kirby abruptly pulled her hand out of his, her face flushing bright red and her eyes sparking with glints of pure rage. ‘So you just tossed away a precious gift?’

  Her fury rolled over him in ever-increasing waves, instantly putting him on the defensive. He stood up and walked around the table until he stood next to her. Drawing on every ounce of control he had, he managed to grind out a reply. ‘Look, this was my choice and it has nothing at all to do with you.’

  Her chest pushed in and out quickly, her breathing suddenly ragged. ‘How could you?’ Her voice rose, tinged with a maniacal edge, and her body shook. ‘How could you give away your fertility, just like that, as if it was a disposable item?’

  The thump of her fists on his chest caught him by surprise. He grabbed her wrists in self-defence, planning to set her back from him, but he caught a glimpse of her eyes and his breath left his lungs. Her raw grief knifed him, harrowing in its candour. What the hell was going on?

  Kirby felt his vice-like grip against her skin and a surge of anguish poured through her. How could he have terminated his fertility? How could he have willingly given up the gift that had been stolen from her? Searing pain burned her chest, silver spots flickered against inky darkness and she heard a wrenching, guttural cry.

  A moment later she became aware of soft-spun cotton cushioning her cheek and the reassuring pressure of Nick’s arms holding her gently yet securely against him. His hands stroked her hair and his voice, low and mellow, caressed her ear. ‘Breathe deeply, sweetheart, breathe, it will be OK.’

  His calming voice, the tenderness of his arms and the heat of his body soothed her, and her anger ebbed away. A tiny part of her tried to hold onto it but the flames had been doused as fast as they had flared, and the only thing left inside her was exhaustion. Exhaustion and embarrassment. How could she have lost control like that? She valued her control—it protected her.

  But today it had gone AWOL and left her totally exposed. She sucked down a deep breath and buried her barrenness back where it belonged—out of sight but rarely out of mind. With superhuman effort she dragged her head up from Nick’s sheltering shoulder and stepped out of his arms. She pushed her facial muscles up into a wan smile and levelled her gaze at his left ear.

  ‘Please accept my sincere apologies.’ She splayed her hands out in supplication. ‘Sleep deprivation has obviously taken its toll on me but I promise you such an outburst won’t ever happen again.’ She turned toward the door. ‘We better get back to the children.’

  His hand caught hers, the grip firm. ‘Kirby, two minutes ago you were hysterical. You’re not ready to go back to the kids and right now they don’t need you. Judy and Phillipa have everything under control and we can take a bit more time.’ His keen gaze held hers, swirling with care and questions as his finger trailed down her cheek.

  She tried to steel herself against the blissful sensations that coursed through every part of her. ‘I’m just overtired.’

  ‘There’s more to it than that. I saw complete desolation in your eyes and I heard it in your voice. Tell me what’s going on, I want to help.’

  The empathy in his eyes, combined with the warmth of his touch, eroded her fragile façade and she closed her eyes for a moment, knowing that when she opened them she would have to tell him the whole truth.

  She opened her eyes and strode to the freezer, hauling out two much-needed creamy vanilla ice creams covered in dark chocolate. If she had to bare her soul she needed comfort food. ‘Here, catch.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Nick caught the confecti
onary, ripped open the gold foil wrapper, saluted her with the ice cream and then raised it to his lips, his mouth caressing the chocolate.

  The memory of their kiss thundered through her and she bit down hard on her own ice cream, marshalling her thoughts. ‘You can’t help me but you do deserve an explanation, especially as I hit you, and I have never done that before to anyone in my life.’ She gave a snort of derision. ‘Not even to Anthony.’

  He winked. ‘Now, he might have deserved it.’

  She managed a smile. ‘You don’t have to be this nice.’

  He grinned at her—a look of pure magnetism. ‘It’s what I do.’ He moved in next to her, his back against the freezer, his arm barely touching hers, and yet it pinned her with his support.

  She bit her lip. ‘I guess I start at the beginning. I met Anthony at a charity fundraiser for underprivileged children. He was ten years older than me, witty and entertaining, and he came from a large family, just like I did. We shared in common growing up in a chaotic household of kids, pets and love. He talked about how much he wanted to re-create those special times for children of his own and I knew exactly what he meant.’

  A shudder ran through her. ‘At least, I thought I did. Looking back, he actively chased me—flowers at work, helicopter rides to dinner and a whirlwind romance that culminated in his proposal three months later. He wanted to start a family straight away.’

  Nick frowned. ‘What about your career? Wouldn’t waiting two years have been better for you?’

  She dragged in a steadying breath, hating it that he could see so clearly what she had allowed to happen. ‘Yes, but Anthony was nothing if not persuasive. He told me he was financially secure, and that he’d be a hands-on father and he’d support me to return to work to finish my training. I’d always seen children in my future so although it was all a bit faster than I wanted, I agreed that we’d start our family as soon as the ink was dry on the wedding certificate.’

  ‘An old-fashioned honeymoon baby?’