The Spanish Doctor's Love-Child. Kate Hardy
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on her hips. ‘It’s because you’re scared of commitment—you always date dreadful men who couldn’t possibly have a future with you so they’re absolutely safe to go out with.’
‘Hey, I thought you worked in paediatrics, not on the psych team,’ Becky said lightly. Though she knew her friend had a point: she was avoiding commitment. One unhappy marriage was enough for her. She wasn’t interested in a second chance at failure—or giving her family another stick to beat her with. ‘And I have to have a shower and change or I’ll be late for my shift. Catch you later, OK?’
Tanya clapped a melodramatic hand to her chest. ‘So you mean I don’t get any of the gory details? None whatsoever?’
‘Nope.’
‘Spoilsport.’ Tanya rolled her eyes, but let her go.
When Becky she arrived at the hospital for her shift, she found the usual Sunday afternoon mix waiting for her—pulled muscles and sprains from people playing sports, plus backache from gardeners who’d made the most of the sunshine but had overdone things after a winter with no real digging, and small children who’d stuffed beads up their noses. Some of them she had to refer to the doctor, but most of the minor injuries she could deal with herself.
And the best thing about her job, she thought, was that people left with a smile. They came in to the department worried sick or in pain, and left knowing what was wrong with them and with the injury treated.
But at the end of the shift she still couldn’t get the gorgeous Catalonian man out of her head.
Maybe she should contact him.
After all, she hadn’t given him any of her details, so he had no way of contacting her—but she knew exactly where he lived…
No. Best to leave it as a fabulous memory, no complications.
To her relief, Tanya didn’t bring up the subject of the beautiful stranger that evening. Becky was on a late shift again the following morning, and when she walked into the changing room Irene, one of the staff nurses, was on her break.
‘Hi. Nice day off yesterday?’ Becky asked.
‘Brilliant. Lee and I went to my parents for the day. I love family get-togethers. I mean, we ended up having the kids all sitting round a pasting table for Sunday lunch and the rest of us crammed in around the dining table, but that didn’t matter because we had such a laugh. And Mum, bless her, always makes my favourite pudding—even though it’s three years since I lived at home.’
How different other people’s lives were, Becky thought. And how nice it must be to look forward to visiting your parents, knowing there were going to be warm hugs and conversation, instead of silences, accusations and looks of disappointment. Grandparents who spoiled you and made a fuss of you, instead of criticising everything from your dress sense to your career.
Maybe she should’ve divorced her family at the same time as she’d divorced Michael.
She shook herself. ‘So dare I ask what the new consultant’s like? Up to David’s standard?’
‘Yes.’ Irene fanned herself. ‘And I can see why Human Resources kept the information to themselves.’
Becky frowned. ‘You’ve lost me.’
‘Because there would’ve been queues of nurses—not to mention all the female doctors—who suddenly needed emergency treatment, and really needed to see our new consultant personally,’ Irene said with a grin. ‘He’s gorgeous. If I wasn’t happily married, I’d be tempted.’
Becky rolled her eyes. ‘Don’t tell me. Tall, dark and handsome?’
‘That doesn’t even begin to cover it. We’re talking definite sex-god status.’ Irene eyed her speculatively. ‘Actually, you could…’
‘No, I couldn’t,’ Becky corrected with a smile. ‘Work and relationships don’t mix. And, anyway, he might not be my type.’
‘Box of chocolates says you fall for him,’ Irene said immediately. ‘And I’m talking about a big box. My favourites—Belgian seashells.’
‘No way.’ Becky laughed. ‘I couldn’t be so mean. You’re on a definite loser there—it’d be like taking sweeties from a baby.’
Irene tapped her nose. ‘You just wait until you meet him. You’ll change your mind.’
‘He’s probably married, with kids. He must be at least in his thirties.’
‘No, no and yes. Karen—’ the department’s senior receptionist, who knew practically everything about everyone ‘—asked him. But… No, I’m not going to spoil the surprise.’ Irene grinned. ‘You just wait.’
‘Yeah, yeah.’ Becky changed into her uniform and took the handover from Sarah, the nurse practitioner who’d been working in the minor injuries unit during the morning.
There was no sign of their alleged sex-god consultant.
Not that it bothered her—she was more interested in doing her job.
Her next patient was a builder. According to the initial notes taken by the triage nurse, he’d slipped from scaffolding while working on a building site, and one of his fellow builders had brought him in.
‘So it’s your right ankle, Mr Barker,’ she said as he limped in. He could clearly bear weight on it, so that was a hopeful sign that it would turn out to be a sprain rather than a fracture. ‘Take a seat. Can you tell me what happened?’
‘Slipped off the scaffolding—I was only a couple of feet up.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘Talk about stupid.’
‘Easily done,’ she said sympathetically. ‘How did you land?’
‘My right foot went under me—it felt as if I twisted my ankle.’
‘And how does it feel now?’
‘Throbs, and hurts like hell when I try to stand on it.’
‘Do you mind if I examine you?’
‘Sure.’ He grimaced. ‘Sorry about the boots. They smell a bit. I’ve got sweaty feet.’
She smiled at him. ‘Trust me, we’ve had far worse in here.’ Gently, she examined his ankle. ‘I’m pretty sure it’s a sprain, but because of the way you landed I’m going to send you for an X-ray, just to make sure. Before I do, I just need to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind.’ She quickly took his medical history, checked that he wasn’t on any medication, gave him some ibuprofen to help with the swelling and pain, and wrote out a form. ‘If your friend can help you down the corridor to the X-ray department, take this form to the reception area and they’ll sort you out. Then come back here and I’ll see you when the results are back.’ She smiled at him. ‘Sorry about the wait.’
‘That’s all right, petal.’
She wrote up the notes and called in her next patient. Judging from the wet teatowel wrapped round the woman’s hand, she’d guess at a burn.
‘Can you tell me what happened, Mrs Tennant?’
‘I can’t believe I were that stupid,’ Mrs Tennant said, looking exasperated with herself. ‘I’d put the kettle on and I reached into the cupboard to get the teabags. My daughter’s home from school with a stinking cold and she called out to me—and I just stood there with my arm stretched over the kettle, not thinking, when I called back to find out what she wanted. Course, I moved me arm the minute I felt the heat, but it were too late.’
‘When did it happen?’
‘Half an hour back. I got a taxi. My neighbour did first aid at work and she put a clean wet teatowel over it, and she said I ought to come here because it’s my hand.’ She bit her lip. ‘She’s looking after my Jessie. I hate putting other folk out, but she said there were nowt for it but to come