A Taste Of Italy: Midwife, Mother...Italian's Wife. Fiona McArthur
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of heat in her belly he’d started with a dance two days before.
When Leon stepped back she swayed until he cupped his hand on the point of her shoulder and held her steady.
Her hand lifted to her mouth of its own accord—suddenly sensitive lips tingled and sang—and she could feel the sleepiness in her eyes until she blinked it away. She glanced at the silent streets. The only lights shining were the street lamps. And no doubt her eyes.
Where had all these feelings come from? How could she feel so attuned and connected to this man she barely knew? How could she be tempted in a way she hadn’t been since Jack was conceived? The depth of her response scared the pants off her. And she knew what had happened last time she’d felt like that.
He’s right, she thought with convoluted logic, this was dangerous, and she’d need to think what she was doing before she ended up as the latest discussion point at the local shop.
She moved back another step. ‘I could see how people could form the wrong idea,’ she said wryly, and then she swallowed a nervous laugh as she slipped past him into the car. She stared straight ahead as she turned the key. ‘Thanks for the reminder and for being there for all of us tonight.’ And for the kiss, but she wasn’t saying that out loud.
As an exit line it wasn’t bad. Showed she had presence of mind—something she wouldn’t have bet on one minute ago. ‘If you visit, maybe you could walk to my house tomorrow night, instead of driving. More discreet.’
As she drove away she decided the invitation had been very foolish. And not a little exciting. She was a sad case if that was how she got her thrills.
LEON glanced in the oval hallway mirror beside the door and grimaced at the five-o’clock shadow that darkened his jaw. His watch said it was too late to shave again this evening. And no time to walk.
Paulo had been unsettled tonight and Leon doubted Tamara would appreciate a ten-o’clock visit. If he didn’t know better he would say he was wary of upsetting her.
Little firebrand. He could feel the tilt of his mouth as he remembered the wedding and her not so veiled threats of violence to his person. And the kiss last night under the street lamp. That had been bad of him. The man in the mirror smiled. Not that he wouldn’t do it again if he had the chance. The result had far exceeded his wildest expectations and the ramifications had disturbed his slumber again for much of the night. It was fortunate he’d never required much sleep.
She amused him, intrigued him, but most of all she burned his skin with Vesuvian fire whenever he touched her and that should be enough to warn him off. He couldn’t deny the danger but then she was so different than the women he was used to.
There was no fawning or attempts to use guile. He laughed out loud as his hired car ate up the short distance to her house—she did not know the meaning of the word subtlety.
Though no doubt she’d prefer he walked and with less fanfare of his arrival, and he needed to remind himself this town was different to Rome. Even Gianni had told him that. Perhaps he would walk tomorrow if he was invited again.
Another smile twitched at his lips. That would be two days before they left and each day he was becoming more interested in the concept of his new sister-in-law bringing her friend to visit his homeland.
When he knocked quietly on the door, it wasn’t Tamara who opened the door, but her father, Ben, with his grandson standing behind his back. The degree of Leon’s disappointment was a stern warning of how quickly he was becoming accustomed to Tamara’s company.
‘Evening, Leon. Tammy said you might call. She’s over in the birthing unit with Misty.’
Another crisis? ‘Do they need a hand?’
Ben shrugged but there was tension in his smile. ‘Haven’t asked for one but you could hang around outside on standby. Misty said it was good having you there last night. Or you could wait with us?’
‘Perhaps I will return to the hospital and check. It will be too late for visitors when she’s finished anyway.’
‘I’ll give her a quick ring and let her know you’re available, then.’
‘Thank you.’ He nodded at Ben and turned away. He could hear Tammy’s son asking why he had come. Perhaps a question he should be asking himself. But at the moment he was more interested in his instinct that he be there in case Tamara needed him.
Leon had intended to poke his head into the birthing room and then wait at the nurses’ station until he heard the sound of a well baby. What he did hear when he arrived was the sound of the suction and oxygen and the murmur of concerned voices. When he opened the door his eyes caught Tammy’s and the urgent beckon of her head had him beside her before he realised he’d moved.
‘Will you tube this little guy, please, so we can have a look? He’s not responding as well as I’d like.’ She had the equipment ready to hand him, the laryngoscope, the endotracheal tube and introducer, even the tape. ‘I thought I was going to have to do it myself but I’d rather you did.’
Easily, but that would not help her next time. ‘Then go with that thought. You do it and I’ll help. Better for when I am not here.’ She swallowed and nodded and he tapped the dispenser of hand cleaner on the side of the trolley and quickly cleaned his hands before handing the laryngoscope to her.
‘No rush,’ he said conversationally, and steadied her hand with his as she fumbled a little. ‘His colour is adequate so your resuscitation has maintained his oxygen saturation but a direct vision and an airway into his lungs is a good idea if he’s not responding.’
He handed Tammy the equipment in order as she gently tilted the baby’s head into the sniffing position as she’d been taught, and viewed the cords with the laryngoscope.
Misty murmured background information to fill Leon in. ‘A true knot in his very short umbilical cord and it must have pulled tight as he came down.’ They all glanced at the manual timer on the resuscitation trolley as the second hand came around to the twelve. ‘So quite stunned at birth. Heart rate’s been sixty between cardiac massage, and he’s two minutes old. We’ve been doing intermittent positive pressure since birth and cardiac massage since thirty seconds. He’s slow to respond.’
Tammy passed the suction tube once when the laryngoscope light bulb illuminated a tenacious globule of blood that must have occluded half of the baby’s lungs from air entry.
‘That will help,’ she murmured. This time when they connected the oxygen to the ET tube she slid down his throat, his little chest rose and fell and his skin quickly became pink all over.
‘Heart rate one hundred,’ Misty said when she ceased the chest compressions to count, and they all stood back as the baby began to flex, wince and finally attempted to cry around the tube in his throat.
‘I love the way all babies wish to live,’ Leon murmured. ‘It is their strength.’ He nodded at Tammy and gestured with his hand. ‘Slide the tube out. He doesn’t need it now.’ He felt the pride of her accomplishment expand in his chest and smiled at her as the little boy began to wail his displeasure. ‘Well done.’ He nodded his approval of her skill. ‘How did that feel?’
Tammy’s voice had the slightest tremor that matched the one in her fingers now it was all over. ‘Better now I’ve done it again. Thanks.’
Misty lifted the crying babe and carried him back to his mother, who sat rigidly up in the bed with her empty arms outstretched to take him.
Tears ran down her face and even her husband wiped his eyes as their baby cried and the mountain of fear gradually faded from their eyes like dye from new denim.
‘Don’t do that to Mummy, Pip,’ the dad said as his wife’s arms closed over her baby and she hugged him