A Family This Christmas. Sue MacKay
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you’re back in one now.’ Cam’s smile was cheeky, warming her where she didn’t want to be warmed. Right around her heart.
‘Right.’ Angus became brisk. ‘Let’s get this under way. The anaesthetist should be here any minute. I’ll head over to Theatre and wait for you there.’ He flicked the curtain wide to stride out.
Cam took his cue. ‘I’d better go and check on those boys of mine, see what other mischief they’ve managed to get themselves into.’
She called after him, ‘Thanks for dropping by. I’ll sort out what to do about my car when I’m a bit more mobile. I’ll give you a buzz some time tomorrow. Is that okay?’
‘It can stay where it is for weeks, if necessary. Call me if you want anything else.’ He was only being helpful to a stranger for whom his boys had caused trouble. It was there in his eyes, in the now flat smile he gave.
‘Thanks.’ Suddenly she didn’t want him to go. Her fingers picked at the sheet covering her. The idea of being anaesthetised made her feel tetchy. All the what-if scenarios popped into her mind. Surgery was not without its risks. So talk to Cam, ask him questions about anything at all to keep him here for a bit.
‘I can hang around until Sheree gets here.’ So he read minds.
‘Sheree?’
‘The anaesthetist on duty this weekend.’ His butt sank back onto the edge of the bed. ‘In what field of medicine do you practise?’
The down side of having him stay was fielding the unwanted questions. ‘Emergency.’
‘You feel weird, being an ED patient?’ Those eyebrows rose again.
Kind of cute when they did that. Did he like the ‘cute’ word? Why was she even asking herself that? The man had a family, wasn’t available. But it had been a long time since she’d been interested in a man that way. ‘Not weird, just scary being on the receiving end of all the attention.’
‘I had keyhole surgery for appendicitis ten months ago. If it hadn’t been for the pain and knowing how fast the whole thing could’ve turned bad, I’d have bailed out of having the operation. Call me a wimp, but I knew everything that was going to happen, and that made it worse.’
‘You mean you understood what could go wrong.’ Like she did.
A big, warm hand covered hers. ‘You’ll be fine. Sheree and Angus know what they’re doing. The worst of this will come afterwards, when you can’t get around easily. I could send my boys in to be your slaves for as long as it takes to get back on your feet.’ His brow crinkled. ‘They’re not very good at cooking, or cleaning, or making decent coffee. Great at fetching and carrying, though.’
Surprised he could joke with her, the nervousness took a step back. ‘You make them sound like puppies. Fetch, Booboo.’ The warmth seeping into her from that small contact made her relax even more. Then she tensed. Tugged her hand free. He has a wife. ‘Thanks for your concern, but I’m fine. Really.’
Cam’s gaze cruised over her face, studying her intently. Looking for what? Then with a brief nod he stood up. ‘I can hear Sheree talking out there. I’ll head away. Take care.’
She stared at the curtain long after he’d gone. What would it be like to have Cameron Roberts to come home to at the end of a busy day in the department? Excuse me, you don’t work in an ED any more. You don’t work at all. As for coming home to that particular man, you must be high on laughing gas. He’s taken, remember?
A girl was allowed to dream, wasn’t she?
JENNY WOKE TO a nurse pumping a blood-pressure cuff wrapped around her arm. ‘Did I miss the party?’
The nurse frowned. ‘Party?’
‘The dry mouth and fuzzy head.’
An easy smile. ‘The revolting after-effects of anaesthetic. Your blood pressure’s normal. I need to take your temperature.’ A thermometer was slipped into her mouth as the nurse continued to talk. ‘Breakfast will be along shortly. You’ve got visitors, too.’
‘Visitors?’ Jenny spluttered around the glass stick between her lips. ‘I don’t know—’ Anyone except Cam and his boys. ‘Oh.’
‘Those boys are so gorgeous.’ Then the girl winked. ‘Just like their dad.’
‘True.’ It had to be post-op trauma that made her agree. ‘Does Mr McNamara do rounds on Sundays?’
‘He phoned earlier to say he’d drop by to see you this morning.’
‘Hey, sunshine, you’re looking more comfortable,’ Cam called from the doorway. ‘Up to visitors? As in three of us?’
‘You bet.’ Shuffling up the bed, she pulled the sheet up to her throat and settled back on the pillows the nurse rearranged at her back. Sunshine, eh? More like a disaster zone, with hair that hadn’t been brushed and probably yesterday’s mascara making dark smudges under her eyes. But it felt inordinately good to see him.
Cam stepped into the tiny room, followed by his sons carefully carrying coffee and something smelling suspiciously like a hot croissant.
‘Hello, guys. Is that for me?’
They nodded in unison. ‘Yes.’
‘You’re crackerjacks, you know that? I’ve been hanging out for a proper coffee since I arrived in this place.’ To think she could’ve blown this by venting her anger at them yesterday.
‘There’s a bacon and egg thing, too.’ One of them held out the bag to her.
‘Bacon and egg croissant,’ the other explained.
‘Okay, tell me, is there a trick to knowing who’s Marcus and who’s Andrew?’ They were darned near identical, though now that she was looking for differences she could see one of the boys had a tiny scar on his chin. Tapping it gently, she asked, ‘What happened there?’
‘Marcus pushed me off the swing when we were little.’
‘Gotcha. You’re Andrew.’ Now all she had to do was remember to look for that pale scar every time she bumped into these two scallywags. Like how often would that happen?
Andrew smiled a bigger, more impish version of that smile his father had given her yesterday when he’d visited the ED. ‘Marcus has got a scar on his bottom.’
‘Have not.’ The other twin stuck his chin out and glared at his brother.
‘Have too.’ Andrew scowled and made to haul his brother’s shorts down.
Cam stepped in. ‘That’s enough, boys. We came to visit, not turn the ward into a war zone.’
Jenny felt something oddly like laughter beginning to bubble up. When was the last time she’d laughed? ‘Better than the boring place it is at the moment. So how was your party? Did Santa Claus bring presents?’
‘Santa Claus isn’t real. He’s—’
‘Just an old man dressed up funny.’
Her breath hitched. A lump blocked her throat. She and Alison used to finish each other’s sentences. Oh, boy, this just got hard. Harder. Think of something to say. They’re all staring at you. ‘Bet you accepted the presents he gave you.’
‘Of course. They are cool. I got a remote-control plane.’
‘I got a helicopter.’
‘Pilots, eh? Have you been flying in real planes?’ She wanted to tell them how cute they were but knew not to if she wanted to remain friends with them, and, strangely, despite that little glitch over the way they shared sentences, she found she did. Though