Sarah's Gift

Sarah’S Gift

Caroline Anderson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

IT HAD been years since Sarah had noticed a man—five and a half, to be exact, and most of them not worth remembering.

She noticed this man, though.

Not that it was surprising. She would have had to be blind, deaf or hermaphrodite not to sit up and pay attention when he strolled through the double doors into the business end of Audley Memorial’s A and E unit, one hand shoved casually into the pocket of his well-cut trousers, the other dangling a jacket over his shoulder on one finger.

Tall and fair, his rangy body wasn’t lean enough to be lanky. It looked powerful, well put-together, with a look of Paul Newman about the grey eyes and a mouth just made for kissing. And laughing. And whispering sweet nothings. He also had no business just wandering onto the unit unannounced.

She slapped the file shut and stood up. ‘Can I help you?’

His eyes dropped to her name badge, seeming to make a point of reading her name, then they flicked up and locked with hers, and a smile brushed his lips, just briefly. ‘Sister Cooper—I’m Matt Jordan. I believe you’re expecting me?’

His voice was deep, a little gravelly, with a soft Canadian accent that did odd things to the hairs on the back of her neck. How strange. She gave him a professional smile and ignored the shivers down her spine. ‘Oh, yes. You’ve come to study us, like bugs under a microscope. Welcome to the Audley, Dr Jordan—and to England.’ She went round the desk, held out her hand and had it swamped by long, strong fingers that wrapped around the back of her hand and engulfed it.

His touch was cool, dry, firm—and businesslike, so why did she experience that strange reaction? She had to fight the urge to snatch her hand back, but the next second, almost as if he knew she was uncomfortable, he freed her and smiled, sliding his hand easily back into that trouser pocket.

‘I was told to report to the ER—sorry, A and E! Ryan O’Connor’s expecting me.’

‘Yes, he is, but he’s tied up now, so you’ll have to put up with me.’

He grinned. ‘More likely to be the other way round, and I hope to learn from you, not treat you like a bug.’

She laughed. ‘Whatever. I’m sure blood’s red both sides of the pond. I’ll have to write you out a glossary of abbreviations—in fact we’ll get Ryan to do it as he’s Canadian too.’

‘At least we both speak the same language.’ Laughter touched his mouth, putting her at her ease instantly.

‘I shouldn’t bet on it, we’ve trained him pretty well,’ she said with a chuckle. ‘He’s about somewhere—we’re quiet this morning, by a miracle, although that will all change now I’ve gone and opened my big mouth. He’s just seeing a couple of yesterday’s patients who’ve come back for a check-up. He’ll be along in a minute.’

His brows pleated together. ‘How come you’re quiet? What a luxury.’

Sarah laughed. ‘Tell me about it. It won’t last. With the cold snap we had over the weekend we’ve had a string of casualties. They had to call Jack Lawrence in overnight, and he’s taken today off as a result so I expect the day will go to hell very shortly. It’s unfortunate, really, because if he’d been here you might have stood a chance of a gentle introduction. As it is I expect you’ll get dragged into Resus before long and flung in at the deep end. It’s been a bit like that recently.’

He nodded knowingly. ‘We have the same every year but usually a little earlier—our winters tend to be longer. Lots of tumbles?’ he suggested.

She agreed. ‘Lots. Mostly elderly people with fractured wrists and hips, some youngsters with wrists again or collar bones—the odd coccyx from landing on their bottoms. Then, of course, there are the RTAs—’

‘Road Traffic Accidents?’

She nodded and smiled. ‘That’s right. You call them MVAs, I believe—Motor Vehicle Accidents?’

He nodded affirmatively and grinned again. ‘Maybe we won’t have such a communication problem.’

‘I’m sure we’ll cope. Most of the time we’ll know what we’re doing anyway, so it’s automatic.’ She cocked her head slightly on one side. ‘Fancy a cup of tea or coffee? You’ve arrived at just the right time. All my delegating’s done and my paperwork’s up to date, so I can sit back and relax for five minutes, knowing the only person I’m holding up is myself, and I reckon I deserve it after the weekend.’

His smile warmed the blue-grey depths of his rather gorgeous eyes. ‘I’d love a cup of coffee. Breakfast seems a long time ago. I had to take my daughter to school on the way here, and the traffic was a bit heavy by the time I finished getting lost.’

She chuckled. ‘The traffic round here’s always a bit heavy. We get used to it. Come on, let’s go and check the coffee machine. Patrick might have put it on, otherwise it’ll be instant or wait for the machine to finish.’

‘We’ll go for instant,’ he said without hesitation. ‘If we wait someone’ll try and waste themselves and we won’t get it at all.’ He followed her down the corridor, his firm, light tread keeping pace with her businesslike bustle easily. ‘Do you get many MVAs—sorry, RTAs?’

‘Enough. We’re well sited for picking up the nasties that happen on the through trunk routes. Although it’s a rural area we’re bisected by busy roads with heavy commuter traffic and lots of freight movements, and so we get accidents, particularly if the weather closes in suddenly like it did on Saturday.’

She led him into the staffroom and found that it shrank to half its size. Matt Jordan seemed to fill it, propped against the worktop with his arms folded and a lazy grin on his face, watching her as she switched on the kettle and then picked up two mugs. ‘Instant OK? Patrick’s failed us.’

He nodded. ‘I’ll get used to it.’

Sarah snorted. ‘Or learn to like tea.’ She filled the coffee-machine and flicked the switch to turn it on. ‘Did your daughter settle into school all right?’

He frowned and scrubbed a hand round the back of his neck. ‘I hope so. I didn’t have time to stop and worry, but she went in with Ryan O’Connor’s children, so I think she’ll be OK. The O’Connors have been great, really helpful.’

‘Did you know him before? Is that why you chose the Audley for your research?’

Matt shook his head. ‘It’s just coincidence that he’s a fellow Canadian, but it made a link. He’s been really helpful, especially with Em. I hope she’s OK.’

‘Ring the school—ask.’

‘And do what if they say she’s unhappy? I’m at work—and, anyway, she’ll cope. She’s used to fitting in. She’s moved around a lot in her short life.’

Sarah poured the hot water into the mugs and stirred. ‘Can’t your wife go if there’s a problem?’

‘I don’t have a wife,’ he said, in a voice that brooked no further discussion. Sarah took the hint. There were things she didn’t talk about, too, things you didn’t want to get out and air. She could respect that. She moved on.

‘So how are you dealing with the after-school and weekends and being on call?’ she asked, concerned to make sure he’d covered all his bases. ‘Have you managed to sort all that sort of thing out already?’

‘I have a neighbour—or rather Ryan does—who will fetch her from school and sit with her until I get to pick her up. When I’m on call overnight Ryan said she can go to them until I sort out a better arrangement.’

Sarah nodded. Arranging for child care was difficult, especially if you were new to an area. She’d had to do it once…

‘There’s a crèche in the hospital, did you know?’ she suggested.

His smile was crooked and rather enchanting. ‘I think my five-year-old daughter might draw the line at going in a crèche, somehow.’

Five. Sarah felt a pang, and suppressed it. There were lots of five-year-old girls. Literally hundreds of thousands—probably millions the world over. And nine-and seven-year-old boys.

She slopped milk into one mug and cocked a brow at him, putting the thoughts away. ‘White?’

He shook his head. ‘Black, please, no sugar. That’s fine. Cheers.’

His fingers brushed hers and yet again there was that strange reaction, that little shimmy of the pulse that came out of nowhere.

‘So, how long have you been here?’ he asked, settling himself in one of the easy chairs with his outstretched legs shrinking the room again. She stirred her coffee and tried to forget about his blatant masculinity.

‘Two years. I started as a staff nurse—I became Junior Sister just over a year ago.’

‘And do you like it?’

‘The hospital or the work?’

‘Either.’

She smiled. ‘I like both. They’re a very friendly bunch here. The doctors are all very civilised and approachable, and the nursing staff make a well-knit team. It’s a good place to work, if you can cope with the gallows humour.’

He laughed. ‘I don’t know a single trauma unit where the staff don’t have a really sick line in patter. It goes with the territory—it’s just a way of defusing the distress. If you didn’t do it, you’d burn out in no time.’

Her smile was wry. ‘People don’t understand, though, unless they work there too. They think we’re saints, but if they heard some of the things that were said we’d fall off our pedestals big time.’

‘It helps if you have a partner who understands,’ he said, and she wondered if his wife hadn’t understood and if that had been the problem. He didn’t give her time to dwell, though, just carried on. ‘Didn’t Ryan’s wife work here?’

‘Yes, and Jack Lawrence’s, and Patrick’s.’

‘A regular dating agency.’

She laughed. ‘Sounds like it, doesn’t it? I think it’s just the pressure. There’s not much time to meet anyone else, and if you’re working together intensively you get very close. You have to learn to trust people and rely on them, and it’s only a short step from there to commitment. I won’t say romance, there’s precious little of that around here.’

He snorted. ‘Again, it sounds just like home.’

She tipped her head and looked searchingly at him. ‘Do you miss it?’

‘The hospital? No. The weather? Definitely no—well, not the cold, anyway. However, I hear the snow’s thick and I imagine they’re all skiing every spare minute.’

Sarah eyed him thoughtfully. ‘You sound wistful. Will you miss the skiing?’

‘That obvious, huh?’ He grinned, a mischievous, cheeky grin that made her insides flutter. ‘Yeah, I’ll miss it. I’m sure I’ll find something else to take its place—and, anyway, Emily isn’t too keen. She prefers to swim.’

‘There’s a good pool in the town.’

‘Is there? Do you go?’

She thought of the water and swallowed irrational panic. ‘Not recently. I don’t have children.’ She held his gaze steadily. Not any more, at least, she thought, and prided herself on not flinching. ‘I expect Ryan takes his kids—he’ll be able to tell you where it is.’

She was saved any further conversation by Ryan’s arrival. He shook Matt warmly by the hand, recharged their cups from the coffee-machine, which had gurgled and burped its way to completion, and sprawled out opposite Matt, filling what was left of the floor with his outstretched legs.

‘How’s Emily coping with school? Heard anything?’

Matt held up a hand, as if warding off evil. ‘Not a word. Please, God, she’s OK. I’m not calling the school—no news has to be good news.’

Ryan chuckled. ‘She’ll be fine. They’re very good there. Evie and Gus love it.’

‘Let’s hope she does, too.’ He drained his coffee, set the cup down and leant forward expectantly.

Coiled, Sarah thought. Like a spring, or a cat ready to pounce. She watched him as he chatted to Ryan about the unit, answering questions here and there, and then Ryan got to his feet and suggested they went on a grand tour.

‘Want me?’ Sarah asked as they headed for the door.

‘Sarah, you’re always wanted,’ Ryan said with a grin, ‘but just for now I think I can almost cope.’

She poked her tongue out and debated having another cup of coffee as she listened to them walking off down the corridor to Ryan’s running commentary on the layout of the unit.

She had work to do, despite her remarks to Matt. If nothing else there was stock to check and requisition, and after such a hectic weekend it wasn’t fair to leave it all to her juniors, quiet or not. All she needed today was someone on the hospital management committee coming round and asking why they’d used so many wrist supports over the past week, and she’d be sorely tempted to take the pad of requisition slips and post it where the sun didn’t shine!

Matt followed Ryan, taking in the details of the unit with half his mind while the other half dwelt on Sarah Cooper. Ryan had mentioned her, but more as a colleague than anything. He hadn’t touched on her looks. Maybe he hadn’t noticed, which wasn’t surprising considering how deeply involved he was with his wife.

Matt, though, couldn’t get her face out of his mind and he found himself looking for her around every corner, listening for the sound of her voice, waiting for her to reappear.

He wondered how long her hair was. It looked sleek and heavy, a very dark brown that owed nothing to a bottle. It was up, but down it could have been anything from shoulder-length. He wondered what it would feel like, and knew it would be soft and heavy for Emily’s was. The thought of this woman’s hair threatened to drive him to distraction.

Like her voice. Soft and lilting, no sharp edges or harsh notes—it was made for whispering tender words in a moment of passion. So were her lips, soft and kissable, full enough without being pouty, unadorned with lipstick, like early-morning lips.

And her eyes, hazel with a touch of gold, gentle eyes with a hint of sadness—eyes that had seen too much, endured above and beyond the call of duty.

Yes, if he had to find one word to sum her up it would be soft—soft and womanly, with curves in all the right places and not a skinny angle to be seen.

He hated skinny angles.

‘This is Resus.’

He jerked his head up and looked around, conscious of how little attention he’d been paying. Hell, he couldn’t afford to get distracted like that, someone’s life might depend on him paying attention in the next few minutes so that he knew the ropes.

He forced thoughts of the soft and delectable Sarah Cooper out of his mind—for now. He’d have to get to know her, but he had plenty of time. Three months.

Suddenly it didn’t seem long enough.

Sarah was uneasy about the quietness. She shouldn’t be, she knew. She should just be taking advantage of it to do the mundane routine things like the stock-check and putting that curtain back on the hooks that a drunk had half pulled down over the weekend, but she found she was restless.

Was it because of the unaccustomed quietness, or because of Matt, their new member of staff? He was supposedly over in England to study the way trauma units here worked, and he was going to go away with a false impression of how little they worked unless something happened, Sarah thought—and then the phone rang.

‘Elderly female, hypothermic, suspected fractured femur, on her way in—and the paramedic with her needs looking at. He’s been bitten.’

‘Bitten?’

Sarah could almost hear the woman on ambulance control shrug. ‘So they said. ETA ten minutes.’

‘OK, thanks.’

She put the phone down and went to find Ryan. ‘Hypothermic lady with a hip on the way in—and she’s bitten the paramedic, by all accounts, so I suggest we send her up to Orthopaedics nice and quickly!’

Ryan grinned. ‘I think we’ll let Matt take his first case—I wonder if she’s got rabies?’

‘Gee, thanks, I can hardly wait,’ Matt murmured, rolling his eyes, and Ryan laughed and slapped him on the back.

‘Come on, let’s get you a white coat and a stethoscope so you look like a real doctor, and then you can come and play.’

‘Wow, I haven’t played doctors and nurses for years,’ Matt said with a grin. ‘Who gets to take their clothes off first?’

‘You, if you’re not careful,’ Sarah quipped, and left them to it, trying not to think about playing doctors and nurses with Matt. Instead she concentrated on playing nurses for real, and prepared a trolley in case they had to rewarm their patient with peritoneal dialysis, warming some saline in readiness.

In the event their patient was only mildly hypothermic, and they wrapped her in a foil blanket, treated her with warmed, humidified air and forty per cent oxygen, and because she was very dehydrated they set up an IV line to dribble in warmed fluids to boost her gently.

While she was waiting for an X-ray they turned their attention to the paramedic, who was clutching his groin and looking pained.

Sarah’s eyes widened and brimmed with laughter. ‘What on earth did you do to her that she bit you there?’ she asked, astonished. ‘You must have really upset the poor woman.’

‘What? What woman?’

‘Mrs Pomfrey—wasn’t it her that bit you?’

The paramedic gave a pained chuckle. ‘Whatever gave you that idea? It was her dog that bit me—some bloody pit-bull cross, I reckon, from the jaws it had on it. She said it was a terrier—called it Fifi.’

‘Really?’ Sarah snapped some gloves on and grinned. ‘I thought the woman had bitten you—that’s what ambulance control said. Oh, well, off with your trousers, let’s have a squint at this. Did Fifi get anything vital?’

‘Bloody well tried,’ he muttered, undoing his zip and sliding his trousers down. Sarah helped him remove them, then the torn boxer shorts, just as Matt came in.

‘One chewed paramedic, name of Tom Hallam,’ she told him. ‘It was a dog called Fifi, by the way, not the patient, who bit him.’

Matt grinned. ‘That’s a relief. Human bites are usually dirtier than dog bites, but I think our old dear could only have gummed you to death, Tom. What’s the damage?’ Sarah swabbed the bloodstained skin and revealed a nasty tear and a couple of puncture wounds just at the top of his left thigh, in the groin area.

‘Looks like the extent of it,’ she told him.

Matt nodded, checking the area for any other puncture wounds. ‘Lucky. A couple of inches to the right and you’d have been singing falsetto. Maybe she thought you were the postman.’

‘The vet, more likely—and a couple of inches to the right and the dog would have been in orbit by now,’ Tom said with a grin, propping himself up to see the damage. ‘Reckon I got away with that quite lightly, considering.’

‘Absolutely. I think we need to suture that tear, though, Sarah, if you could give him some local?’

She was already there, drawing up the lignocaine. As she swabbed his thigh and lifted the syringe, Tom caught her wrist, laughter playing in his eyes.

‘Anybody says, “Just a little prick,” and I’ll sue,’ he said softly.

She froze for a second, and then the mirth just bubbled over. By the time Ryan came to find out what was going on, she was leaning against the wall, tears running down her cheeks, the half-naked paramedic was doubled up on the couch and Matt was sagging over the foot of it, wheezing.

Matt, speechless, waved a hand at Ryan and hissed something unintelligible. Sarah straightened, struggling to regain her composure, and Tom unwound himself and lay down again with a little groan.

Ryan glanced at the man, now lying flat, and arched a brow at Sarah and Matt. It was enough to set them all off again, and Ryan, shaking his head, walked off in amused disbelief.

It was twenty minutes before they managed to finish off and send the hapless paramedic on his way, still grinning.

They were just on their way to find Ryan for the rest of the A and E tour when the phone rang again, just as the waiting-room doors opened on a great swell of people, all unrelated, all arriving at the same time.

‘Told you it was too good to be true,’ Sarah said drily. ‘Let’s see how you cope under pressure.’

Well, was the simple answer. Any fears they’d had about the language barrier and different terminology were swept aside by the sheer volume of work they had to get through.

There were two RTAs, one serious with fatalities and the other a driving instructor and his pupil who had both been caught out by the black ice and had suffered minor whiplash injuries, sliding into the kerb. In between were all manner of walking wounded—what Matt called ‘street and treat’ cases.

‘They walk in off the street, you treat them and send them back out again—hence the term.’

Some of the ones who walked in didn’t walk out again, of course. One young man had been driving a tractor with a flail on it, cutting the hedge, and it had tangled in a wire fence. He felt a little stinging cut near his hipbone but ignored it, carried on and finished the hedge.

‘I just felt a bit strange at lunchtime and I can feel a little sharp lump—I thought I might have a splinter from the hedge,’ he told Sarah.

‘Hmm. Can you hang on? I’ll just get someone to look at that,’ she told him, and went to find Matt who was just finishing up with the whiplashed driving instructor. ‘Could you check a patient for me? It doesn’t look much but his blood pressure’s a bit low and he looks pretty rough—you know how you just feel something’s missing in the history?’

Only too well. What do you know?’

She filled him in, and he went into the cubicle and took a quick look at the ‘splinter’. ‘Right,’ he said calmly. ‘I think we need an X-ray to check this out. Just stay there, I’ll get them to come to you.’

The mobile X-ray machine was there in seconds, and within a very few minutes they had their answer—a piece of wire from the old fence had penetrated his abdomen and by a miracle had missed all but the smallest vessels.

‘He needs the OR,’ Matt said quietly. ‘Who do I need to speak to?’

Oliver Henderson’s on take today—I’ll get his registrar down.’

‘I would go for the big guns,’ he murmured. ‘I just have a feeling.’

It turned out he was right. They heard later that the end of the wire had penetrated the man’s aorta, and when they pulled it out he had a massive bleed and needed stitches and a little Goretex patch.

‘He was dead lucky there,’ Matt said. ‘If he’d moved around a lot or changed his clothes or eaten anything much that might have been the end of him.’

‘Good job he didn’t try and pull it out,’ Sarah said with a shudder.

They were in Resus, preparing it for an emergency on the way in, and as she spoke they heard the sirens wail.

‘Hello, we’re on again,’ he murmured.

It might have been difficult, working with a total stranger from another—albeit very similar—country, but for some reason it wasn’t. Sarah knew what he was going to ask for, and by and large anticipated it anyway. By the end of that first day they were working in tune, both full of respect and admiration for the other, and well on their way to forming a team.

They were also late, and Matt was concerned about his daughter, so with a grin and a wave he left the department, striding briskly down the corridor, palming the doors out of his way and vanishing.

Sarah was thoughtful. It had been a long time since she’d been so in tune with anyone, if ever. It had been a joy and a privilege to work with Matt, and in between the trauma his wit had coincided with hers.