From Fling To Wedding Ring. Karin Baine
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to perform a complete mastectomy to remove all traces and possibility of cancer.
Whether he’d been correct in his judgement or not, it hadn’t given him the right to yell at her the way he had that morning. He obviously thought that being at the top of his field meant that no one else could question his decisions, but she was every bit as confident in her role as he was in his. She would never question that he was the expert when it came to reconstructive surgery but she knew the patients on a personal level and she reckoned that counted just as much when deciding on the best course of treatment to suit an individual’s needs.
Mollie didn’t often hold grudges but when it came to questioning her professional abilities she was willing to make an exception for Ben Sheridan.
When he came here, ‘checking up,’ her paranoia kicked in that he suspected there was a danger she might undo his good work during this final stage and that their conflict might turn out to be more than a one-off.
‘I’m fine, Doctor. Mollie here has been wonderful.’ Carole’s praise was a welcome affirmation to him that she knew what she was doing.
‘Good to know I left you in such capable hands.’ Ben nodded an acknowledgement Mollie was sure was nothing more than professional courtesy yet heat prickled her skin as that cobalt stare lit upon her. Those ever-watchful blue eyes contrasting against the near black, neatly groomed hair and dark beard made him an imposing figure. Not to mention a handsome one. Two factors that had an unsettling effect on her pulse.
‘It might seem like a lot to ask now, but the best thing you can do for yourself is to keep looking in the mirror and learn to accept these changes are part of everything which makes you the beautiful person you are.’ She kept her back to Ben while she gave Carole the pep talk, conscious he was here watching and listening.
There were so many reasons she felt uncomfortable around him, but it was the attraction she felt towards him despite their obvious personality clash that unnerved her most. He had a reputation among the nursing staff as much for his antics outside the operating theatre as inside it. It had been noted that he’d attended every hospital event in recent times with a different woman on his arm and appeared to lead a very interesting and varied personal life. Unlike her own.
She’d learned at an early age men usually preferred trophy girlfriends to scarred, damaged women with too many personal issues to stuff into a designer clutch bag, and had steered clear since.
Work, home, eat, sleep, repeat—that was her routine and she was happy as long as she was allowed to get on with it in peace.
‘Well, we’re all finished now...’
There’s no need for you to stick around, Ben...
Carole’s phone beeped with an incoming text message and Mollie bent down to retrieve her handbag from the floor to save her stretching for it.
‘I’ll get it—’
‘Let me—’
Unfortunately Ben reached for it at the same time and accidentally grabbed her hand instead of the bag. The unexpected jolt from the touch of his skin on hers almost knocked her onto her backside.
She scrambled to her feet and let him do the honours, since the room suddenly seemed much too small to accommodate his sizeable frame along with hers and Carole’s.
‘That’s my husband. I should go and put him out of his misery and tell him we’re all finished.’
‘Great. I’ll say a quick hello while I’m here.’ Ben—seemingly eager to put some space between them, too—escorted Carole out of the door and let Mollie breathe a little easier.
‘I’ll see you in a few weeks’ time, Carole.’ The moment Mollie waved them off and shut the door, she collapsed back into her chair. A quick glance at her watch confirmed she had time before her next appointment to grab a break and regain her composure.
It was ridiculous that she should get so flustered when she knew she was damn good at her job, but he had that knack of upsetting the status quo around here. No matter how busy they were at the clinic, there was always that ripple of excitement accompanying a visit from Mr Sheridan, which was not reserved solely for her. Staff and patients alike lit up whenever he was around.
Some days it was like an episode of one of those awful reality shows where women competed against each other in the hope of winning the coveted prize of a date with the handsome star attraction. Thank goodness she had no inclination towards any man who treated women as nothing more than accessories. Her mother had paraded enough of those through her life to leave her immune. There seemed little point in adding a man to the list of people she had to worry about or who could cause her more pain, and no reason this man in particular should make her rethink that now.
There was another rap on the door but this time it opened before she’d even had time to reply.
‘I wanted to thank you—’ Just when she thought it was safe to relax, Ben popped his head around the door again and every fibre of her being tightened back to breaking point.
‘Er...no problem. It is my job, after all.’
It really didn’t require his personal attention. She did this every day of the week without waiting for his approval like an eager pupil expecting a gold star from her teacher for completing her homework.
Instead of ending the conversation and closing the door, he seemed to take it as an invitation to step back inside the room.
‘I don’t mean the tattoo. I’ve seen your work and have no doubt you’ve done a sterling job as usual. I’m talking about putting yourself forward for the dance competition. I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye and I appreciate—’
Mollie stopped tidying away her supplies as her world seemed to come screeching to a halt. ‘Pardon me?’
‘The fundraiser, for The Men’s Shed project? Your name was on the list of volunteers...’ The deep frown ploughed through his forehead gave no indication that this was a joke and yet Mollie had an uncontrollable urge to laugh. As if prancing about in sequins before an audience was anything she’d participate in willingly. The very idea was the stuff of nightmares for someone who was self-conscious enough about the way she looked. Never mind that she couldn’t actually dance, the last thing she needed was people judging her with a score card and a sharp tongue.
‘I think someone’s pulling your leg. Or mine.’ This was clearly someone’s idea of a joke and one made at her expense. Her carefully applied make-up and flair for vintage fashion might make it seem as though she were bursting with confidence but that was the trick. That hard shell had been carefully created to protect the fragile ego inside. A dance contest was actually so far out of her comfort zone she’d need a search and rescue team to find her way back from the spotlight.
‘Oh. You’d think people would know better than to mess around with a charity.’ Or to waste the time of a very busy surgeon whose frown had now deepened into more of a scowl and did nothing to stop the current shivers hurdling over her spine.
‘Sorry. Is this your project?’ Even though she was gasping for a cup of tea to settle her nerves, it seemed churlish to chivvy him out of her room now when he’d been sent on a wild goose chase on her behalf.
‘I volunteered to help raise funds but the dancing part was not my idea.’ He winced as though he’d been held at gunpoint and personally forced into tight hot-pink fabric. Now that was something she was sure a lot of people would pay good money to see, her included.
‘And what is this “Shed” exactly?’
‘It’s a community hub where elderly men can socialise and keep active. We need funds to renovate the place and I’d hate to see it fold when it’s already doing so much to help those who might otherwise be isolated from society.’ His ownership of the project and the financial problems it was having softened the hard edge of the man she’d encountered at that fraught staff meeting. It spoke volumes about his personal involvement and commitment,