Snowkissed!: The Midwife's Marriage Proposal. Fiona Harper
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time,’ Jack said mildly, ignoring his wife’s glare. ‘Any time. I have a feeling you’re going to need it.’
By the time she arrived at work the next morning, Sally was back in control.
The first meeting was always going to be difficult, she assured herself, stuffing her bag into her locker and making her way onto the labour ward.
From now on it could only get easier.
Having made that assumption, it annoyed her intensely to find that her heart missed a beat when she saw Tom walking towards her down the corridor with that loose-limbed stride that had always set her heart racing.
His eyes were tired and the roughness of his darkened jaw suggested that he’d been up for most of the night.
‘Good morning.’ He gave her a smile that made her catch her breath and she automatically shut down her feelings.
She didn’t want to respond to that smile.
Didn’t want to acknowledge the curl of awareness low in her pelvis.
‘Busy night?’
‘You could say that.’ He gave a short laugh. ‘Why don’t babies keep regular hours?’
Sally shrugged, intending to pass him, but he caught her arm and pulled her close to him, his voice low and meant only for her.
‘If Emma hadn’t interrupted us, we would have had that conversation last night. How long do you think you can keep running, Sally?’
She drew breath, forcing herself to ignore the strength of his fingers on her arm. ‘I’m not running, Tom.’ She stepped neatly away from him, forcing him to release her. ‘I’m walking. And we wouldn’t have had a conversation. I don’t want one.’
‘Why? I’m offering you the opportunity to shout at me or black my eye.’
She gave a faint smile. ‘Why would I want to do that?’
‘Because I probably deserve it.’
She stilled. Was he apologizing? Was he admitting that he’d been wrong?
‘You made the decision that was right for you, Tom.’
His jaw tightened. ‘It was right for both of us.’
So he didn’t think he’d been wrong.
He’d never regretted it.
A rush of emotion threatened to choke her but she held his gaze steadily and her voice was chilly. ‘In that case, what is there to talk about?’
He sucked in a breath and looked uncertain, obviously thrown by her response. It occurred to her that it was the first time she’d ever seen Tom anything other than supremely confident. ‘I just know I need to talk to you.’
Sally shook her head. ‘There’s nothing to be gained from rehashing the past. What happened, happened. It’s done. You made the decision for both of us. I had no choice but to go along with that.’
Without waiting for his answer, she slid past him and carried on up the corridor without looking back, trying to control her heart rate.
She had no doubt that sooner or later he would force her into the conversation that he was obviously determined to have. But she was determined to postpone the moment for as long as possible.
‘Good morning.’ She smiled at Emma who was collecting a set of notes from the desk. One glance at the whiteboard told her that she was in for a busy day. ‘Where do you want me?’
‘Can you divide yourself into four?’ Emma rolled her eyes. ‘I’ve rung down to the ward to ask for some help up here. Everyone seems to have gone into labour at once.’
‘Isn’t that always the way?’ Sally reached for the nearest set of notes. She didn’t mind being busy. All she asked was that today’s mother-to-be would have a normal delivery. She didn’t think she could face another day working side by side with Tom.
‘Perhaps you could take Charlotte Knight,’ Emma said, staring at the board with her eyes narrowed. ‘She’s four centimetres dilated and she’s asking for an epidural. She seems to have made up her mind so I’ve put in a call to the anaesthetist.’
Sally nodded. ‘You do a lot of epidurals here?’
‘Not if we can help it.’ Tom’s deep, male voice came from behind them and Sally felt her heart miss a beat. She hadn’t heard his approach. ‘There is little doubt that epidurals are associated with longer labours, more use of oxytocin and more use of forceps and ventouse. We add in opiates and reduce the bupivacaine dose, which allows some mobility while maintaining adequate pain relief, but even so there is an increased rate of instrumental delivery. If we can encourage the mother to use a different sort of pain relief, we do.’
‘Well, I failed with her, I’m afraid,’ Emma said gloomily, spreading her hands in a gesture of resignation. ‘I suppose it might be worth Sally giving it a try. You might have more luck.’
Sally tucked the notes under her arm and looked at Tom. ‘I thought most obstetricians were more than happy to dive in with instruments. It’s what you love doing.’
‘Women are designed to give birth,’ Tom said calmly. ‘Given the right amount of support and encouragement and some patience on our part, most of them manage it extremely well by themselves.’
‘Aren’t you rather talking yourself out of a job?’ Sally gave a faint smile and he shrugged.
‘Believe it or not, I already have more than enough work to keep me from my bed at night.’ He nodded to Emma. ‘And on that note, I’m off to do a ward round then I’m going to bed, if I can remember where it is. It’s so long since I last saw it that I may have trouble remembering, and I’m supposed to be working again tonight so there’s not much hope of seeing it then either. You can call me if you need me.’
He strode off, leaving Emma staring after him wistfully. ‘You see what I mean? Other doctors grab a woman as soon as she steps onto the labour ward and before you know it she’s had her waters broken, a drip up and she’s being given oxytocin. Tom lets a woman get on with it. He’s wonderful. And he doesn’t let the hospital management bully him into pushing patients through as fast as possible. Tom always says that labour takes as long as it takes.’ She gave Sally a sheepish smile. ‘Sorry. You’ve probably guessed that I’d have his babies by now if he asked me.’
Sally felt a sharp flash of pain. She would have had his babies, too.
‘Not that I seriously entertain any hopes in that direction,’ Emma said lightly. ‘Our Mr Hunter is a workaholic. No time for a serious relationship. Was he like that when you knew him?’
‘Probably.’ Sally’s smile was noncommittal. ‘It was a long time ago.’
Seven years, six weeks, three days and seven hours to be precise.
‘Anyway …’ Emma waved a hand towards one of the delivery rooms ‘… go and have a chat with Charlotte. See if you can persuade her to try something different.’
‘Did you discuss the pool?’
‘She wasn’t keen.’
‘Aromatherapy?’
Emma shook her head. ‘She didn’t seem the type, but by all means go ahead. Tom would love you for ever if you manage to talk her out of an epidural.’
Sally picked up the notes and walked down the corridor, trying not to remember that at one point in her life she’d truly believed that Tom’s love would last for ever.
But she’d been wrong.
Pushing away painful memories, she opened the door to the delivery room and smiled at the woman on the bed.
‘Charlotte?’ She put the notes down on the side and walked across