It Happened One Night Shift

‘You sure know how to dress for a little unscheduled roadside assistance,’ he said, as he drew to a halt in front of her.

Billie blinked, surprised by his opening line for a moment, and then she looked down at herself and laughed. ‘Oh, yes, sorry,’ she said, although she had absolutely no idea why she was apologising for her attire. ‘I’ve just come from a gala reception.’

This close his biceps were even more impressive and Billie had to grip the blanket hard to stop from reaching her hands out and running her palms over them. She wondered if they’d feel as firm and warm as they looked.

‘Aren’t you cold?’ she asked, engaging her mouth before her brain as she dragged her gaze back to his face.

He did a smile-shrug combo and Billie’s stomach did a little flip-flop combo in response. ‘I’m fine,’ he dismissed.

Billie grimaced. Where had she heard that already tonight? ‘I really am very sorry about earlier.’

‘Yeah.’ He grinned. His whole face crinkled and Billie lost her breath as his sexiness increased tenfold. ‘You’ve already said so. Three times.’

She blushed. ‘I know but … I think I may have splashed your shoes.’

Gareth looked down at his shoes. ‘They’ve seen far worse, trust me.’

‘Not exactly the impression I like to give people I’ve just met.’

Gareth shrugged. She needn’t have been worried about her impression on him—he doubted he was going to forget her in a long time, and it had nothing to do with his shoes and everything to do with how good she looked in those gold hoops and sparkly dress.

And if he’d been up for some flirting and some let’s-see-where-this-goes fun he might just have assured her out loud. He might just have suggested they try for a second impression. But hooking up really wasn’t his thing.

Hooking up at an accident scene even less so.

‘We haven’t exactly met properly, have we? I mean, not formally.’ He held out his hand. ‘I’m Gareth Stapleton. Very pleased to make your acquaintance—despite the circumstances.’

Billie slipped her hand into his and even though she’d expected to feel something, the rush of warmth up her arm took her by surprise. She shook his hand absently, staring at their clasped fingers, pleased for the blanket around her torso as the warmth rushed all the way to her nipples, prickling them to attention.

Gareth smiled as Billie’s gaze snagged on their joined hands. Not that he could blame her. If she felt the connection as strongly as he did then they were both in trouble.

Just as well they wouldn’t be seeing each other again after tonight. Resisting her in this situation was sensible and right. But if there was repeated exposure? That could wear a man down.

Sensible and right could be easily eroded.

‘And you’re Billie?’ he prompted, withdrawing his hand. ‘Billie …?’

Billie dragged her gaze away from their broken grip, up his broad chest and deliciously whiskery neck and onto his face, his spare cheekbones glowing alternately red and blue from the lights behind him.

What were they talking about? Oh, yes, formal introductions. ‘Ashworth-Keyes,’ she said automatically. ‘Although if you want formal formal then it’s Willamina Ashworth-Keyes.’

Gareth quirked an eyebrow as a little itch started at the back of his brain. ‘Your first name is Willamina?’

Billie rolled her eyes. ‘Yes,’ she said, placing her hand on her hip. ‘What about it?’

Gareth held up his hands in surrender. ‘Nothing. Just kind of sounds like somebody’s … spinster great-aunt.’

Billie frowned, unfortunately agreeing. Which was why she’d carried over her childhood pet name into adulthood.

‘Not that there’s anything remotely spinsterish or great-auntish about you,’ he hastened to add. The last thing he wanted to do was insult her. The very last thing. ‘Or,’ he added as her frowned deepened, ‘that there’s anything wrong with that anyway.’

This woman made him tongue-tied.

How long had it been since he’d felt this gauche? Like some horny fifteen-year-old who couldn’t even speak to the cool, pretty girl because he had a hard-on the size of a house.

Not that he had a hard-on. Not right now anyway. Or probably ever again if this excruciatingly awkward scene replayed in his head as often as he figured it would.

Billie’s breath caught at Gareth’s sudden lack of finesse. It made her feel as if she wasn’t the only one thrown by this rather bizarre thing that had flared between them.

And she’d liked his emphasis on remotely.

She laughed to ease the strange tension that had spiked between them. ‘Only my parents call me Willamina,’ she said. ‘And generally only if I’m in trouble.’

‘And are you often in trouble?’

Gareth realised the words might have come across as flirty, so he kept his face serious.

Billie felt absurdly like laughing at such a preposterous notion. Her? In trouble? ‘No. Not me. Never me.’ That had been her sister’s job. ‘No, I’m the peacekeeper in the family.’

Gareth frowned at the sudden gloom in her eyes. The conversation had swung from light to awkward to serious. It seemed she wasn’t too keen on the mantle of family good girl and suddenly a seductive voice was whispering they could find some trouble together.

Thankfully the little itch at the back of his brain finally came into sharp focus, obliterating the voice completely.

‘Wait …’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘Ashworth-Keyes? As in Charles and Alisha Ashworth-Keyes, eminent cardiothoracic surgeons?’

Billie nodded. Sprung. ‘The very same.’

‘Your parents?’ She nodded and he whistled. Everyone who was anyone in the medical profession in Brisbane knew of the Ashworth-Keyes surgical dynasty. ‘That’s some pedigree you’ve got going on there.’

‘Yes. Lucky me,’ she said derisively.

‘You … don’t get on?’

Billie sighed. ‘No, it’s not that. I’m just … not really like them, you know?’

He quirked an eyebrow. ‘How so?’

‘Well, I’m no surgeon, that’s for sure. I’m a little too squeamish for that.’

Gareth surprised himself by laughing at the understatement but he couldn’t help himself. ‘Really?’ he asked, looking down at his shoes. ‘You hide it well.’

Billie shot him a cross look but soon joined him in his laughter.

‘And?’ he asked. ‘What else?’

What else? Being a surgeon was all that mattered in the Ashworth-Keyes household. ‘It’s … complicated.’

Gareth nodded. Fair enough. Complicated he understood. It really wasn’t any of his business anyway. ‘So what field is the next Ashworth-Keyes going to specialise in? Clearly something … anything that doesn’t involve the letting of blood? Dermatology? Radiology? Maybe … pathology?’

Billie shook her head. ‘Emergency medicine,’ she said. Even saying it depressed the hell out of her.

Gareth blinked. ‘Really?’ Surely Billie understood the squeamish factor could get pretty high in an ER?

‘Yep,’ she confirmed, sounding about as enthusiastic as he usually did just prior to starting a night shift. ‘I’m starting my six-month emergency rotation at St Luke’s ER next week in fact.’

Gareth held his breath. ‘St Luke’s?’

‘Yes.

Crap. ‘Ah.’

She frowned at him in that way he’d already grown way too fond of. ‘What?’

‘That’s where I work.’

‘You … work at St Luke’s?’

He nodded. ‘In the ER.’

‘So we’ll be … working together,’ she murmured.

‘Yup.’

And he hoped like hell she didn’t look as good in a pair of scrubs as she did in a black sparkly dress or sensible and right were going to be toast.

CHAPTER THREE

BILLIE’S FIRST DAY at St Luke’s wasn’t as bad as she’d thought. Gareth wasn’t there and she was able to slip into the groove of the department during daytime hours when there were a lot of senior staff around to have her back and take on the more raw and challenging cases.

She was content to take the nuisance admissions that everybody grumbled about. The patients that should be at their GPs’ but had decided to save their hip pockets and clutter up the public waiting room instead.

Billie really didn’t mind. It was satisfying work and she took to it like a duck to water. Her previous six months had been her medical rotation and she’d thrived there as well, treating a variety of cases from the humdrum to the interesting.

It was Thursday she wasn’t looking forward to. Thursday was the start of three night shifts and from nine until eight the next morning there were just three residents—her and two others—and a registrar, dealing with whatever came through the doors.

Actually, Thursday night probably wasn’t going to be so bad. It was Friday and Saturday night that had her really worried. The city bars would be open and the thought of having to deal with the product of too much booze and testosterone wasn’t a welcome one.

There would be blood.

Of that she was sure.

Nine o’clock Thursday night rocked around quicker than Billie liked and she walked into St Luke’s ER with a sense of foreboding.

Her hands shook as she changed into a set of scrubs in the female change room. ‘St. Luke’s ER’ was embroidered on the pocket in case Billie needed any further reminders that she was exactly where she didn’t want to be. Jen, the other resident who had also started her rotation on the same day, chatted away excitedly and Billie let her run on, nodding and making appropriate one-word comments in the right places.

At least it was a distraction.

Thankfully, though, by the time the night team had taken handover at the central work station from the day team, Billie was feeling a little more relaxed.

Things were reasonably quiet. The resus bays were empty and only a handful of patients were in varying stages of being assessed, most of them with medical complaints that didn’t involve any level of gore.

Billie knew she could handle that with one hand tied behind her back. In fact, she was looking forward to it.

A nurse cruised by and Helen, the registrar, introduced the three new residents. ‘Who’s on the night shift, Chrissy, do you know?’

‘Gareth,’ she said.

Billie’s pulse leapt at his name. Helen smiled. ‘Excellent.’

Chrissy rolled her eyes. ‘Yeah, yeah,’ she joked. ‘Everyone loves Gareth.’

Helen laughed. ‘He’s highly experienced,’ she said, feigning affront.

‘Sure,’ Chrissy teased. ‘And those blue eyes have nothing at all to do with it.’

‘Blue eyes? I hadn’t noticed.’ Helen shrugged nonchalantly.

‘Who’s Gareth?’ Barry, the other new resident, asked as Chrissy left to attend to a buzzer.

‘Brilliant nurse. Ex-military. Used to be in charge around here. Not sure why he was demoted … think there was some kind of incident. But, anyway, he’s very experienced.’

‘Ex-military?’ Billie’s voice sounded an octave or two higher than she would have liked but no one seemed to notice. No wonder Gareth had taken charge of the scene so expertly on Saturday night.

‘Apparently,’ Helen said. ‘Served in MASH units all over. The Middle East most recently, I think. Exceptionally cool and efficient in an emergency.’

Billie nodded. She knew all about that coolness and efficiency.

‘Also …’ Helen smiled ‘… kind of easy on the eyes.’

She nodded again. Oh, yes. Billie definitely knew how easy he was on the eyes.

‘Right,’ Helen said. ‘Let’s get to it. Let’s see if we can’t whittle these patients down and have us a quiet night.’

A quiet night sounded just fine to Billie as she picked up a chart and tried not to think about seeing Gareth again in less than two hours.

Gareth came upon Billie just after midnight. He’d known, since he’d checked out the residents’ roster, they’d be working together for these next three nights.

And had thought about little else since.

She had her stethoscope in her ears and was listening to the chest of an elderly woman in cubicle three when he peeled the curtain back. She didn’t hear him and he stood by the curtain opening, waiting for her to finish, more than content to observe and wait patiently.

She looked very different tonight from the last time he’d seen her. Her hair was swept back in a no-nonsense ponytail. The long curling spirals were not falling artfully around her face as they had on Saturday night but were ruthlessly hauled back into the ponytail, giving her hair a sleek, smooth finish. Her earlobes were unadorned, her face free of make-up.

And … yup. He’d known it. Even from a side view she rocked a pair of scrubs.

‘Well, you’ve certainly got a rattle on there, Mrs Gordon,’ Billie said, as she pulled the stethoscope out of her ears and slung it around her neck.

‘Oh, yes, dear,’ the elderly patient agreed. Billie was concerned about her flushed face and poor skin turgor. ‘I do feel quite poorly.’

‘I don’t doubt it,’ Billie clucked. ‘Your X-ray is quite impressive. I think we need to get you admitted and pop in a drip. We can get you rehydrated and give you some antibiotics for that lung infection.’

‘Oh, I don’t want you to trouble yourself,’ Mrs Gordon said.

Billie smiled at her patient. The seventy-three-year-old, whose granddaughter had insisted was usually the life of the party, looked quite frail. She slipped her hand on top of the older, wrinkled one and gave it a squeeze. It felt hot and dry too.

‘It’s no trouble Mrs Gordon. That’s what I’m here for.’

Mrs Gordon smiled back, patting Billie’s hand. ‘Well, that’s lovely of you,’ she murmured. ‘But I think that young man wants to talk to you, my dear.’

Billie looked over her shoulder to find Gareth standing in a break in the curtain. He did that smile-shrug combo again and her belly flip-flopped once more. ‘Hi,’ she said.

‘Hey,’ Gareth murmured, noticing absently the cute sprinkle of freckles across the bridge of her nose and the clear gloss on her lips. Her mouth wasn’t the lush scarlet temptation it had been on the weekend but its honeyed glaze drew his eyes anyway.

‘Thought I’d pop in and see how you were getting on.’

‘Oh … I’m fine … good … thank you.’ She sounded breathy and disjointed and mentally pulled herself together. ‘Just going to place an IV here and get Mrs Gordon …’ she looked down at her patient and smiled ‘… admitted.’

Gareth nodded. She looked cool and confident in her scrubs, a far cry from the woman who’d admitted to being squeamish after losing her dinner in front of him on Saturday night. He had to give her marks for bravado.

‘Do you want me to insert it?’

Billie frowned, perplexed for a moment before realising what he meant. He thought she’d baulk at inserting a cannula? Resident bread and butter?

God, just how flaky had she come across at the accident?

Another thought crossed her mind. He hadn’t told anyone in the department about what had happened the other night, had he? About how she’d reacted afterwards?

He wouldn’t have, surely?

She looked across at him and Helen was right, his blue scrubs set off the blue of his eyes to absolute perfection. The temptation to get lost in them was startlingly strong but she needed him to realise they weren’t on the roadside any more. This was her job and she could do it.

She’d been dealing with her delicate constitution, as her father had so disparagingly called it, for a lot of years. Yes, it presented its challenges in this environment but she didn’t need him to hold her hand.

‘Do you think we could talk?’ she asked him, before turning and patting her patient’s hand. ‘I’ll be right back, Mrs Gordon. I just need to get some equipment.’

Gareth figured he’d overstepped the mark as he followed the business like swing of her ponytail. But he had seen her visibly pale at the sight of the blood running down the taxi driver’s face on Saturday night. Had held her hair back while she’d vomited then listened to her squeamishness confession.

Was it wrong to feel protective of her? To want to alleviate the potential for more incidents when he was free and more than capable of doing the procedure himself?

Her back was ramrod straight and her stride brisk as she yanked open the staffroom door. He followed her inside and Billie turned on him as soon as the door shut behind them.

‘What are you doing?’ she asked.

Gareth quirked an eyebrow at her. ‘Trying to help? I wasn’t sure if putting in IVs made you feel faint or nauseated and …’ he shrugged ‘… I was free.’

She shoved her hands on her hips and Gareth noticed for the first time how short she was in her sensible work flats. He seemed to have a good foot on her. Just how high had those heels been the other night?

‘Would you have offered to do anyone else’s?’ she demanded.

Gareth folded his arms. ‘If I knew it made them squeamish, of course,’ he said.

‘Putting in an IV does not make me squeamish,’ she snapped.

‘Well, excuse me for trying to be nice,’ he snapped back. ‘You looked like you had a major issue with blood on Saturday night.’

Billie blinked at his testy comeback. She looked down at her hands. They were clenched hard at her sides and the unreasonable urge to pummel them against his chest beat like insects wings inside her head.

She shook her head. What was she doing? She was acting like a shrew. She took a deep breath and slowly unclenched her hands.

‘I can put in an IV,’ she sighed. ‘I can draw blood, watch it flow into a tube, no problems. It’s not blood that makes me squeamish, it’s blood pouring out where it shouldn’t be. It’s the gore. The messy rawness. The missing bits and the … jagged edges. The … gaping wounds. That’s what I find hard to handle. That’s when it gets to me.’

Gareth nodded, pleased for the clarification. The ER was going to be a rough rotation for her. He took a couple of paces towards her, stopping an arm’s length away.

‘There’s a lot of messy rawness here,’ he said gently.

‘I know,’ Billie said. Boy, did she know. ‘But that’s the way it is and I don’t want you protecting me from all of it, Gareth. I’m training to be an emergency physician. I’m just going to have to get used to it.’

She watched as his brow crinkled and the lines around his eyes followed suit. ‘Why?’ he asked. ‘Surely this isn’t the right speciality for you?’

Billie gave a half snort, half laugh. That was the milliondollar question. But despite feeling remarkably at ease with him, there were some things she wasn’t prepared to admit to anybody.

‘Well, yes … and there’s a very long, very complicated answer to that question, which I do not have time to tell you right now.’ Or ever. ‘Not with Mrs Gordon waiting.’

Gareth nodded. He knew when he was being fobbed off but, given that she barely knew him, she certainly didn’t owe him any explanations. And probably the less involved he was in her stuff the better.

He was a forty-year-old man who didn’t need any more complicated in his life.

No matter what package it came wrapped in.

He’d had enough of it to last a lifetime.

‘Okay, then,’ he said, turning to go. ‘Just yell if I can help you with anything.’

He had his hand on the doorknob when her tentative enquiry stopped him dead in his tracks.

‘You didn’t … you haven’t told anyone about the other night, about what I…?’ He caught her nervous swallow as he faced her. ‘About how I reacted? Please … don’t …’

Gareth regarded her seriously. If she’d known him better he would have given her a what-do-you-think? look. But she didn’t, he reminded himself. It just felt like they’d known each other longer because of the connection they’d made less than a week ago.

It was hard to think of her as a stranger even though the reality was they barely knew each other.

He shook his head. ‘I don’t tell tales out of school, Billie,’ he said.

He didn’t kiss and tell either.

The sudden unwarranted thought slapped him in the face, resulting in temporary brain malfunction.

What the hell?

Pull it together, man. Totally inappropriate. Totally not cool.

But the truth was, as he busied himself with opening the door and getting as far away from her as possible, he’d thought about kissing Billie a lot these last few days.

And it had been a very long time since he’d wanted to kiss anyone.

CHAPTER FOUR

FIVE HOURS LATER, Gareth knew he was going to have to put Billie’s I-don’t-want-you-protecting-me convictions to the test. He had a head laceration that needed suturing and everyone else was busy. He could leave it until Barry was free but, with the Royal Brisbane going on diversion, a lot of their cases were coming to St Luke’s and things had suddenly gone a little crazy.

They needed the bed asap.

If he’d still been in the army he would have just done the stupid thing himself. But civilian nursing placed certain restrictions on his practice.

Earlier Billie had demanded to know if he’d have given another doctor the kid-glove treatment he’d afforded her over the IV and had insisted that he not do the same to her.

Would he given any other doctor a pass on the head lac?

No. He would not.

Gareth took a deep breath and twitched the curtains to cubicle eight open. Billie looked up from the patient she was talking to. ‘I need a head lac sutured in cubicle two,’ he said, his tone brisk and businesslike. ‘You just about done here?’

She looked startled at his announcement but he admired her quick affirmative response. ‘Five minutes?’ she said, only the bob of her throat betraying her nervousness.

He nodded. ‘I’ll set up.’

But then Brett, the triage admin officer, distracted him with a charting issue and it was ten minutes before he headed back to the drunk teenager with the banged-up forehead. He noticed Billie disappearing behind the curtain and cursed under his breath, hurrying to catch her up.

He hadn’t cleaned the wound yet and the patient looked pretty gruesome.

When he joined her behind the curtain seconds later, Billie was staring down at the matted mess of clotted blood and hair that he’d left covered temporarily with a green surgical towel. ‘I’m sorry,’ he apologised. ‘I haven’t had a chance to clean it up yet.’

She dragged her eyes away from the messy laceration and looked at him, her freckles suddenly emphasised by her pallor, her nostrils flaring as she sucked in air. ‘I’ll be … right back,’ she said.

She brushed past him on her way out and Gareth shut his eyes briefly. Great. He glanced at the sleeping patient, snoring drunkenly and oblivious to the turmoil his stupid split head had just caused.

Gareth followed her, taking a guess that she’d headed for the staffroom again. The door was shut when he reached it. He turned the handle but it was locked. ‘Billie,’ he said, keeping his voice low, ‘it’s me, open up.’

The lock turned and the door opened a crack and Gareth slipped into the room. She was just on the other side and her back pushed the door shut again as she leaned against it.

Billie looked up at him, the swimmy sensation in her head and the nausea clearing. ‘I’m fine,’ she dismissed, taking deep, even steady breaths.

‘I’m sorry. I had every intention of cleaning it up … so it looked better.’

Billie nodded. ‘It’s okay. I’m fine,’ she repeated. ‘I just need a moment.’

Gareth nodded as he watched her suck air in and out through pursed lips. She lifted her hand to smooth her hair and he couldn’t help but notice how alarmingly it shook.

She didn’t look okay to him.

‘You look kind of freaked out,’ he said. ‘Do you need a paper bag to blow into? Are your fingers tingly?’