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A Baby Of Her Own
Kate Hardy
Jodie Price spends the holidays in bed with her broodingly good-looking boss – consultant pediatrician Sam Taylor! It seems to be the start of something special – until Sam tells her he's infertile….Sam knows that Jodie loves kids – she's fantastic with the children on the ward and he knows she wants a baby of her own one day. A baby he can't give her. It seems an impossible situation – unless Jodie can convince Sam that her love for him is stronger than her desire for a child….



“Supposing I think you’re the one I want to spend my life with?” she asked.
“Then you’re mistaken. Very much mistaken.” A muscle clenched in his jaw. “You adore children.”
“That’s why I’m a pediatrician.” And why he was one, too; she’d bet her last penny.
“It’s more than that, Jodie. I’ve seen you on the ward, feeding babies and cuddling them—all way beyond your job description. You even do it when you’re supposed to be off duty.”
“Okay, so I love children.” She shrugged. “So what?”
“Jodie, you said you wanted children. One of each, you said. But I’m infertile. I can’t give you a child. Ever.”

Dear Reader (#ulink_c647a97d-7b8a-514a-bc6a-d07cb0c17dd4),
I’ve always enjoyed medical drama, and A Baby of Her Own was inspired by my own personal drama! My daughter, Chloë, spent her first Christmas in hospital with bronchiolitis. I spent the week at her bedside, and the only way I got through it was to pretend it was happening to someone else. So I started writing a medical romance, set in a children’s ward. When Chloë came home, I carried on—and the book was accepted just before her first birthday!
Pediatric registrar Jodie, is full of fun and wants everyone to join in. She decides consultant Sam needs bringing out of his reserve—but then she falls in love with him. Yet Sam doesn’t think he can give her what she really wants—a baby of her own. Even though he’s just as much in love with her, he plans to be noble and walk away so she can build a future with a man who’s not infertile.
Jodie doesn’t give up so easily.
A Baby of Her Own tells the story of how Jodie convinces Sam that he’s the man for her—with the help of her friends at Melbury City General Hospital. I hope you have as much fun reading it as I did writing it.
With love,
Kate Hardy

A Baby of Her Own
Kate Hardy


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

CONTENTS
COVER (#ufe0d4592-3f91-504f-a223-9d7223bf6831)
Dear Reader (#u85bba897-699f-51a4-abff-18809b613b17)
TITLE PAGE (#ua9a7cb18-d476-5a41-9bfc-b7729449124d)
CHAPTER ONE (#u9090d191-ddd9-5c66-8366-9b1a54fdd84a)
CHAPTER TWO (#u859ef3fe-3dc4-5bee-bc5f-dd2c8a56a506)
CHAPTER THREE (#u8c069db8-3bab-5e61-be52-8930d5b1146a)
CHAPTER FOUR (#uffd11a98-a694-56d4-a22a-425de685de72)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
EXTRACT (#litres_trial_promo)
COPYRIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_8229a9f2-9c62-5f1b-9084-3153fbbf2d66)
‘INCEY wincey spider climbed up Amy’s arch; down he came, to make our Amy laugh!’
Sam Taylor stopped dead in his tracks. He knew that voice, and it shouldn’t have been singing nursery songs. He strode to the doorway of the small room—a room that was really a quarter of one of the bays in the paediatric ward, partitioned off to give more flexibility when it came to isolation nursing or a parent needing privacy—and leaned on the jamb, watching the young doctor who was playing her own version of Incey Wincey Spider with the toddler in traction in the cot, wiggling her fingers up the traction arch and then letting them drop down onto the little girl’s tummy.
Her blonde curls cascaded over her shoulders, hiding her face from Sam’s view, but he had no doubt she was smiling. Just like the red-headed toddler lying on the iron-framed cot in front of her, flat on her back with both legs in plaster. The ties that bound the child’s legs to the traction arch were gradually moved lower and lower down the arch so her hip joints were pushed back into their proper place as her legs were stretched out.
Why was his registrar playing with a sick child when there were notes to be written up and a ward round to finish? Particularly when they were so short-staffed, thanks to the virus that had decimated the ward. Play was fine in its place, but they just didn’t have time for it right now.
He cleared his throat. ‘Dr Price. A word, please?’
She looked up instantly and her green eyes widened as she saw the grim expression on his face. ‘Of course, Mr Taylor.’ Jodie gave the consultant a brief nod, then turned back to the little girl. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, Amy.’ She gently touched the tip of the child’s nose, the gesture telling in its affection. ‘Big smile?’
‘Yes, Doc-a Dodo,’ the little girl lisped, doing her best to give Jodie a smile, though clearly disappointed that she was going to lose her playmate.
Satisfied that the child was happy to be left, Jodie joined Sam at the door.
‘There’s still half a round to do,’ he pointed out tightly.
‘I know.’
His steel-grey eyes narrowed. She knew, and she was leaving all the work to others? ‘And you’re playing with Amy Simcox.’
She nodded, seemingly unconcerned. ‘Apart from the fact that plenty of studies show how play helps children to recover faster, it’s my day off.’
Sam flushed at the double rebuke. ‘I see. Well, I’m sorry, Dr Price. Though if you wore a white coat like the rest of us,’ he continued, his voice very soft and very dangerous, ‘maybe it would be easier to tell when you’re off duty.’
It was her turn to redden now; with her fair skin, she flushed spectacularly. Literally to the roots of her hair. ‘In my experience, small children are scared enough when they come into hospital. A white coat’s just another barrier for the kids and their parents to overcome.’
‘And how do the parents know you’re who you say you are?’ he countered silkily. ‘Anyone could walk around here with a stethoscope slung round their neck and a clipboard under one arm—’ just as she casually floated round the ward ‘—and say they’re a doctor.’
‘True.’ She gave him an impish grin that riled him even more. ‘But they don’t have one of these.’ She fished her hospital ID badge out of the pocket of her trousers.
He ought to remind her of her position as a junior doctor, Sam knew, but a glint in her eyes warned him she was expecting something of the sort. He couldn’t be more than six or seven years older than she was, but she made him feel as if there were a whole generation between them.
‘So what are you doing here on your day off?’ he asked. ‘Showing your dedication to the ward?’ Hoping for a quick promotion, perhaps? Though that was unfair. She didn’t seem the type to trample on others on her way to the top. Her dedication and enthusiasm were above question, yet Jodie Price always had time for people.
‘Actually, I’m just playing with little Amy.’ She bit her lip. ‘Poor kid. As if it isn’t bad enough being in traction at the age of eighteen months, just when she’s getting used to walking, it’s made worse by her father being “too busy” to visit her and her mother bursting into tears every time she sees the little one.’
‘And?’ he prompted, seeing the glint of tears rather than defiance in her eyes. Doctors were taught from the word go not to let themselves get so emotionally involved that it affected their judgement—but sometimes a case really tugged at your heartstrings and you forgot to be sensible.
‘Her mother’s convinced it’s all her fault that Amy’s hip joints haven’t formed properly. She had three glasses of champagne on her wedding anniversary, when she was pregnant.’ Jodie grimaced. ‘I’ve told her it’s not her fault, that clicky hip’s fairly common in babies who were breech presentation, particularly girls. It should have been picked up even before Amy’s six-week check, anyway, rather than Mrs Simcox asking her health visitor why Amy wasn’t walking at sixteen months when all her peers were, then us finding out at referral that the baby had clicky hip. But she still blames herself, so little Amy doesn’t get many visitors.
‘I’m not saying her parents should live here,’ she went on, lifting a hand to forestall any comment he might make. ‘Parents who stay during the day need to go home at night for a proper rest—which they wouldn’t get here, with monitors beeping all over the place. But I do think that a child who’s stuck in one place and is old enough to talk needs a bit of company. The nurses are brilliant with her but they’re overstretched.’ The generous mouth thinned. ‘So I’ve just been spending a few minutes talking to her and playing with her in my lunch-hour or before I go on duty.’
‘And you do that for all your patients?’
Jodie lifted her chin, and Sam realised for the first time that she was only a couple of inches shorter than he was. Around five feet ten in the flat shoes she was wearing.
‘For the ones in need, yes,’ she stated defiantly.
‘It can’t go down very well with your boyfriend.’ Why on earth had he said that?
She coloured. ‘No. It didn’t. Still, you have your round to finish, Mr Taylor. I won’t hold you up any longer.’
It didn’t. Meaning the boyfriend was history? He suddenly realised she was staring at him, expecting an answer. ‘Oh. Yes. Goodnight, Dr Price.’
Sam continued on his rounds, carefully writing up his notes on each case, but he couldn’t shake the image of the fair-haired junior doctor from his mind. Crazy. Even if he had been interested in another relationship—and his marriage to Angela had put him off that idea for good—it wouldn’t be with Jodie. Being the subject of the hospital grapevine wasn’t something he wanted to repeat. He’d been there, done that and worn the T-shirt when Angela had left him for another man.
Besides, Jodie really wasn’t his type. Casual, breezy, and way too confident for a young doctor in her position. She still had a lot to learn, about life as well as medicine.
But…
No buts, he told himself firmly. He didn’t even want to be her friend, let alone anything else.
So why ask her about her boyfriend, then? a little voice in his head queried wickedly.
Slip of the tongue.
Freudian slip, more like, the voice continued. She’s beautiful, clever, fun. And you want to—
Shut up. I’ve got a job to do.
He forced himself to concentrate on his rounds; then, just as he was about to leave the ward, he heard her laugh. A laugh that made him yearn, for a brief second, to have been the one who’d put a smile on her face.
‘See you tonight at Mario’s, Jodie,’ Fiona Ferguson, the ward sister, said. ‘Eight o’clock sharp.’
‘I’ll be on time,’ Jodie promised with a grin as she sat on the edge of the desk, swinging her long legs.
‘As if. You doctors are all the same, thinking that time and tide and pizza will wait for you,’ Fiona teased. ‘Well, if you’re late, we’ll just eat your share of the dough balls.’
‘You wouldn’t do that to a poor, starving junior doctor,’ Jodie retorted, wringing her hands theatrically and laughing. ‘Not where Mario’s dough balls are concerned…’
‘Want to bet?’ Fiona threatened, laughing back.
‘Still here, Dr Price?’ Sam asked, sauntering up to the nurses’ station.
‘Oh—Mr Taylor.’ Jodie’s smile dimmed at the implied rebuke. ‘I’m sorry. I was just…’ Her voice tailed off. What was it about Sam Taylor that unsettled her so much? She’d never had a problem with her seniors before. But he was reserved to the point of being unreachable. In the six months he’d worked with them he hadn’t once yet socialised with the staff on the ward. No wonder they’d nicknamed him Mr Frosty. She didn’t think it was just professional distance either.
The man, she decided, needed bringing out of himself. ‘Why don’t you come with us tonight?’ she suggested on impulse.
‘With you?’ He looked blank.
‘To Mario’s.’ The way he was looking at her, she thought crossly, anyone would think she’d suggested a date, a candlelit supper for two. ‘There’s a crowd of us going. It’s a regular thing. On Thursday nights, they have a jazz band playing—not heavy stuff, more your Nick Drake jazz-folk sort of thing—and they do the best pizza in the city. The risotto’s good, if you don’t like pizza.’ So he couldn’t use that as an excuse.
‘I—’
‘Eight o’clock. And we don’t talk shop all night.’
Excuse number two neatly sidestepped, he noticed with sudden amusement.
‘And partners are welcome.’
Circumventing excuse number three? Or was she fishing to see if he was involved with someone? No. Of course she wasn’t interested in him. She’d made it clear it was a group event which happened every week. ‘I—’
‘Good,’ she said, before he could think up a valid reason to refuse. ‘See you there, then.’ She gave him directions to the restaurant. ‘It’s the little Italian place with a green sign outside—just ask for the hospital table when you get there. They’ll know who you mean. Bye, Fi,’ she called to the sister. And then she was gone in a swirl of soft hair, brightly coloured tunic top and black trousers, leaving Sam staring after her and Fiona with raised eyebrows.
When Jodie had changed into an elderly pair of leggings and swapped her loafers for a pair of trainers, she fastened her hair back into a ponytail, shrugged on her waterproof jacket and headed for the bicycle sheds in the far corner of the hospital car park.
What had she done? Jodie asked herself as she unlocked her bike, slid her handbag and document case into the waterproof carrier on the rear wheel and started cycling home. Fancy inviting the ward’s newest consultant to their crowd’s usual Thursday night gathering! He’d think she was trying to curry favour. Or, worse, that she was trying to net herself a husband with a prestigious job and a good income.
And she didn’t fancy Sam Taylor. Not at all.
Though he was attractive enough, if you liked the strong, silent type. Tall, dark and intense. Grey eyes that reminded her of a rainy Wednesday morning, lonely and forgotten. She preferred the athletic type. Blond and suntanned, rather than that fine, pale skin. Curly, unruly hair, not straight and brushed back neatly from his face. Someone who wasn’t too serious, saw the sunny side of life. With a mouth that smiled a lot and crinkles round the eyes—and she liked cornflower blue eyes.
Oh, stop thinking about it! she told herself, skidding to a halt outside her house. He probably wouldn’t even turn up.

CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_ffb947ba-5ce0-5fde-ba11-5af5d7a4cf34)
HOWEVER, when Jodie arrived at the small Italian restaurant at a quarter past eight—‘just in time for the last garlic dough ball,’ as Fiona commented with a grin—Sam Taylor was sitting at one end of the long table. Opposite the only spare chair, she realised with dismay. Wearing plain black trousers and a matching cotton round-neck sweater—trust him to do the Man in Black routine.
And it looked even better on him than she would have guessed.
Ignoring the rapid pounding of her heart, she sat down and gave him her most professional smile. ‘Hi. So you made it.’
He nodded.
Not going to make it easy for me, are you? she thought crossly. ‘Has everyone ordered?’
‘Yes, and we ordered for you,’ Mick Salmond, one of the few male nurses from the paediatric ward, told her. ‘Your usual. Margherita with mushrooms, black olives, Dolcelatte and avocado.’
‘Cheers. You’re a mate.’ She wrinkled her nose at him.
‘Avocado? On pizza?’ Sam lifted one eyebrow.
For the first time, Jodie saw amusement in his eyes. And suddenly that rainy Wednesday morning was gone: in its place was a sultry silver. And although his mouth wasn’t smiling widely—just a tiny lift at one corner—it had lost that vulnerable look. Instead, it looked…kissable.
Her mouth went dry. No. Absolutely not. No way was she going to start thinking of Sam Taylor in those terms.
Drop-dead gorgeous or lame duck? That was what her brother would have asked if she’d told him she’d been stupid enough to invite the consultant on their Thursday night pizza run—reasoning that either Sam was drop-dead gorgeous and someone had dared Jodie to do it, or he was another of Jodie’s lame ducks. Earlier today, she’d have said lame duck. Now she wasn’t so sure.
To cover her confusion, she nodded to the jazz band, a trio of singer-pianist, double-bass player and drummer, who were setting up for the night’s session. ‘They’re very good.’
‘So I’ve been told.’
She grabbed a bottle of red wine from the table and poured herself a glass, then took a large sip. ‘Mmm, that’s better,’ she said in satisfaction.
‘It’s the one you discovered last month,’ Fiona told her. ‘The Sicilian job.’
‘Trust a woman to find a wine that tastes of chocolate,’ Mick said, rolling his eyes. ‘It was on the “Specials” board. “Red wine with a chocolate finish.” And she was in charge of ordering, that night, so we didn’t get any choice.’
‘Come on. You know you like it. Anyway, red wine and chocolate are good for you. You’ve read the studies in the Lancet.’ Jodie grinned broadly.
General hooting greeted her words.
‘And then there’s that study on pleasure. People who enjoy themselves have better immune systems. It’s all to do with SIgA.’
‘Enough of the lectures, Jo-jo.’ Mick ruffled her hair. ‘And, please, don’t anyone mention the P-word.’
‘The P-word?’ Sam asked, mystified.
‘P-l-a-y.’ Mick spelled it out in phonics, amusing Jodie even more. ‘She’s writing some article or other for the British Medical Journal about the importance of play in paediatrics, how it helps children get better.’
‘So that’s why you spend all your free time on the ward, playing with certain patients?’ Sam asked.
She flushed. ‘Yes. No. I just enjoy my work, that’s all.’
The pizzas arrived, diverting everyone’s attention. Jodie had eaten three mouthfuls before she realised that Sam was staring at her. ‘What?’ she asked.
‘I can’t believe you’re actually eating that.’ He made a face.
‘Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.’ Jodie cut another piece, making sure there was a slice of avocado on it, and speared it with her fork. ‘Here,’ she said, reaching over towards him.
Again, there was that silvery glint in his eyes and he bent his head to taste the pizza, his gaze locking with hers. Jodie’s mouth went dry again. She hadn’t eaten since a snatched half a sandwich for lunch, so the wine must have gone to her head. What was she doing, feeding him from her fork? And what must he think of her?
Embarrassed, she almost snatched her hand back.
‘Better than I expected,’ he said.
She could feel her face burning. Was he referring just to the pizza, or to her, or to the evening? And, come to think of it, why was he here? True, she’d pretty much steamrollered him into it on the ward—but he could have just not turned up and made an excuse the next morning.
Jodie decided to take refuge in her pizza. Maybe when she had some good, solid carbohydrates inside her, she might start thinking more clearly.
‘What made you decide on paediatrics?’ Sam asked, startling her into looking up at him.
‘I like children,’ she said simply.
‘But you’re not married, not planning any of your own?’
Jodie’s eyes narrowed. Why was he asking? So he could decide not to recommend her for promotion, since she didn’t have any real commitment to her job—she was going to give up work to have kids and waste all her years of training?
No, of course not. He wasn’t one of the old school, the sort who couldn’t help discriminating against young female doctors. He treated everyone on the ward alike—polite and distant. He was just trying to make conversation. It wasn’t his fault he’d touched on her sore point. Three months ago, her ex-boyfriend Graham had told her she spent too much time on her career and he wanted to start a family almost as soon as they were married. Not that he’d actually asked her; he’d just assumed she’d fall in with his plans. When he’d realised she wasn’t prepared to give up her job, he’d walked out on her.
‘No, I’m not married, and I’m not planning a houseful of kids,’ she said tightly, still seething inwardly at the memory of Graham’s parting shot that she’d be a lousy wife anyway—she couldn’t even cook! ‘Not all women want children, you know.’
‘Don’t they?’ asked Sam, his face completely unreadable.
‘No. I’m an honorary auntie—well, godmother to my best friend Ellen’s little boy, Billy—and that suits me fine.’ Actually, that was a bit of a fib. She did want children, just not yet. Not until she’d figured out how to raise a family without throwing away all those years of studying and working silly hours. And then there was the small matter of finding a suitable father…
That rainy Wednesday morning look was back in his eyes again. Children were obviously a sore point with him, too, Jodie thought. Not that it was any of her business.
Time to change the subject. ‘Why did you decide on paediatrics?’ she asked.
‘I…’ He wasn’t going to tell her the whole truth. ‘I did a stint in Paediatrics after I qualified. I went to Cardiology after that, then Oncology—but I found that I liked working with children best.’ Even though it was like rubbing salt in the wound.
‘Cardiology.’ She looked thoughtful. ‘I nearly did that, too. Because of Sadie.’
‘Sadie?’
‘My younger sister.’ Her green eyes were suddenly sombre. ‘She had a hole in the heart. There wasn’t anything they could do at the time. She died when she was two weeks old.’
‘Was she much younger than you?’ he asked gently.
Jodie shook her head. ‘I was nearly three at the time. My brother, Matt, was seven, so he remembers more about it than I do. Anyway, when I decided to become a doctor, he was the one who said I should give myself time to find out what I was really interested in, not rush straight into heart surgery or neonatal so I could save future Sadies. We had a huge row over it, but I have to admit he was right.’ She smiled wryly. ‘He rang me tonight, actually. He’s getting engaged—at last. He and Annie have known each other since junior school but they only realised their feelings for each other a month or so back. Now they’ve decided they’ve wasted too much time already, so the engagement party’s this weekend.’
‘And you’re on duty?’ Sam guessed.
She nodded.
He tipped his head on one side. ‘Can’t you swap shifts with one of the others?’
‘Not when we’re almost skeleton staff.’ She shrugged. ‘Ah, well. Matt and Annie’ll come up for the weekend some time soon and we’ll have a party of our own. Just the three of us.’
So the boyfriend was definitely off the scene, Sam thought. Though he wasn’t sure if she was upset about it or not. Jodie had seemed touchy when he’d mentioned children—maybe the boyfriend hadn’t wanted them and she had.
But he couldn’t get involved with her. One, she was a colleague; two, she was probably on the rebound; and, three, maybe she’d sort out her differences with her ex and they’d get back together.
But he couldn’t take his eyes off her. Even when they were both talking to other people, and she’d shifted places to drink her coffee at the other end of the table and chat to Fiona Ferguson, he was aware of her. Aware of every move she made—the way her blonde curls cascaded over her shoulders, the way her bright purple silk shirt highlighted the intense green of her eyes. Aware of the curve of her mouth. His body tightened and he suddenly wondered what it would be like to kiss her. To tangle his fingers in that silky soft hair, to feel her mouth soften and open under his own, her hands against his bare skin…
He took a deep breath. Hell. What was it about Jodie Price that got under his skin? He’d always been so scrupulous about keeping work and his private life separate.
Not that he had a private life. Just himself and the cat who’d adopted him when he’d moved to Norfolk. Not the children he’d once expected to have by this age. Not a little boy climbing everything in sight and wanting to help Daddy make a tree-house and listen to his heart with Daddy’s stethoscope and go to the park together to sail a model yacht on the boating lake. Not a baby girl just starting to walk, tottering on unsteady legs towards her father with a beaming face and chubby outstretched hands when he walked in the door, greeting him with a loud ‘Da-da,’ and a stream of delighted babbling.
He locked his hands together under the table, squeezing his fingers hard until the physical pain took his mind off his mental torture. Half the conversation tonight had been about children—particular cases on the ward who’d touched everyone’s heart—or handing round the latest family snaps to be admired. It was why he always avoided social events at work, so he didn’t have to smile and smile and pretend the yawning gap in his own life didn’t exist. The yawning gap that even dedicating himself one hundred per cent to his job didn’t fill.
He caught himself watching Jodie again. The way she laughed, throwing her head back, her whole face lighting up. The way she looked earnestly at whoever she was talking to, making them feel as if they were the only person in the room. The way her eyes crinkled at the corners…
Oh, get a life, Taylor, he told himself wryly. Nothing’s going to come of it. Ever.
When everyone had finished their coffee and gradually drifted home in twos and threes, sharing lifts and taxis, Sam and Jodie were left in the doorway of the restaurant.
‘How are you getting home?’ he asked.
‘Pushbike.’
He frowned. ‘In this rain?’
She shrugged. ‘It’s only about three miles between here and my place. Fifteen minutes, tops, if I catch all the traffic lights on green.’
‘But you’ll get soaked.’
‘It won’t kill me. You can’t catch a cold from getting wet, Doctor,’ she reminded him, wrapping a scarf round her glorious hair.
‘Where’s your bike?’
‘I…er…Why?’
‘Because you’re going to stop being stubborn, put your bike in the back of my car and let me give you a lift home. It’s the least I can do,’ he said, making her close her mouth on the argument she’d been about to produce. ‘You were kind enough to ask me to join you tonight.’
You plural, not you singular, she reminded herself. ‘I…er…’ Oh, why was she suddenly so inarticulate?
‘Where’s your bike?’ he asked again.
‘Chained to that lamppost,’ she said, pointing to the elderly and slightly battered racer she’d inherited from Matt fifteen years before, on her thirteenth birthday, and had liked too much to replace with a newer—or more feminine—model.
‘Keys?’ he asked, holding out his hand.
She shook her head, unlocked the bike herself, and wheeled it alongside him to his car. ‘Are you sure about this?’ she asked, eyeing the four-wheel-drive doubtfully. It was big enough to cope with her bike, but it was also pristine. And, judging by the number plate, less than six months old.
‘Sure.’ He opened the back and hauled her bike inside. ‘Hop in.’
Being in an enclosed space with Sam Taylor was a definite mistake, she thought. It was a big car, but she was still very much aware of how close he was to her. If she shifted her hand less than six inches, her fingers would brush against his. Fingers that were gentle with his patients. How would they be with her?
Stop it, Jodie, she told herself fiercely. And yet she couldn’t help remembering the look in his eyes as she’d fed him pizza. She could imagine them lying in the park on a sunny day, with his head in her lap as she fed him seedless grapes and morsels of Brie—and then bending down to kiss the crumbs away from his lips…
That’s the last time you ever drink more than one glass of wine in his company, Jodie Price, she warned herself.
Then she flushed as she became aware that he’d been talking to her, and she hadn’t heard a single word he’d said. ‘Sorry. I was miles away,’ she apologised.
‘Where do I go from here?’ he asked.
He sounded completely cool and calm. Obviously he didn’t feel the same pull and she’d be wise to remember that. Dragging her thoughts together, she directed him through the back streets of the city to her small terraced house. He parked the car and hefted her bike down.
‘Thanks for the lift.’
‘No problem.’
Should she ask him in for coffee? It was only polite, seeing as he’d given her a lift home, but she didn’t want him misreading her motives.
In the end Sam made the decision for her. ‘Goodnight, Jodie.’
It was the first time he’d ever used her name, and she wasn’t prepared for the sudden lurch of her heart. ‘Goodnight,’ she muttered, not quite daring to use his first name but not wanting to rebuff him by using a more formal mode of address.
She watched him as he drove away. She still knew virtually nothing about him, despite having spent most of the evening talking to him. He was as mysterious and distant as ever. Though there had been a moment when she’d thought she’d come close to breaking through his wall.
Shaking her head, she walked into the house. Maybe he didn’t want to be rescued. But that sultry silver in his eyes told her that she couldn’t give up. Not yet.
As he drove away, Sam could have kicked himself. Why had he insisted on taking her home? He’d been so close to breaking a personal rule. When he’d taken her bike out of the car, the way she’d looked up at him, her eyes all shiny and her mouth so soft and warm and inviting…His body had been screaming out for him to take her in his arms and kiss her, and to hell with the consequences.
But the sensible side of him had overruled it. Just. Apart from the fact that affairs with colleagues were bad news, he’d sworn he’d never get involved again. Not after his extremely messy divorce.
Come off it. What have you got to lose? Angela’s the complete opposite of Jodie, the voice in his head taunted. Just look at her.
Angela was petite, slender and well groomed, and she only ever wore little suits teamed with designer shoes, handbag and briefcase, whereas Jodie was tall, curvy and had a much more casual attitude towards clothes. Angela’s make-up was always immaculate, whereas Jodie’s barely existed—he suspected that the nearest Jodie came to cosmetics was a lip-salve. Angela would never have dreamed of letting her expensive haircut get wet—and if she’d had a bike it would have been an expensive and trendy mountain bike, not a battered, elderly racer.
Maybe that was the attraction: Jodie was the opposite of Angela. No, that was unfair. Jodie was a little like the Angela he’d fallen in love with at university, the young lawyer with a sparkle in her eye and a sense of fun that had stopped him being too serious.
The sparkle that had soon dimmed when Angela had discovered what a failure Sam had been as a husband—that he couldn’t give her what she most wanted in the world. And it would be exactly the same with Jodie. It might start out fine, full of love and laughter, but over the months it would change and one day he’d come home to an empty house and an apologetic note. Just like he had with Angela.
Though what was he doing, even thinking about Jodie in those terms? She wasn’t interested in him and he didn’t have the right to get involved with anyone. Not with his past.
She said being an honorary auntie was enough for her, the little voice reminded him.
Only because her biological clock hasn’t started ticking yet.
She was serious. She’s dedicated to her career.
Now, maybe. Things change. She’s a natural mother. You can see it in her eyes, in the way she acts with the children on the ward.
But supposing—
Supposing nothing. It’s not going to happen.

CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_94d2e3ff-6bdc-56b2-9b5c-65c5f036b5e2)
‘I’M JODIE PRICE,’ she said, extending a hand to the pale-faced woman who was sitting holding a small baby. ‘And this is Dr Taylor, who’s sharing the assessment clinic with me.’ Mr, actually, but she’d learned that it was easier to say ‘Doctor’ than go through all the explanations about when you got high enough up the career ladder, you swapped Dr for plain Mr or Ms. Worried parents weren’t interested in the social niceties: they just wanted reassurance about their sick children. Right now.
She glanced down at her notes. ‘This is Harry, yes?’
The woman nodded.
‘And he’s seven weeks old.’
Tears welled in the woman’s eyes. ‘He’s so small…I thought it was just a cold. And then he couldn’t breathe…’
‘You’re here now and we can help him, Mrs Bartlett,’ Jodie soothed, crouching down beside her and focusing on the baby. ‘Let’s have a look at the little fellow and see what’s going on. Can you tell me a bit about his symptoms? When did you first notice he was ill?’
‘Two days ago. He picked up his sister’s cold—but he wouldn’t feed properly yesterday, only took half what he normally has, and he started coughing. Then, today, he was so quiet…I thought I was probably fussing too much but I took him to the doctor anyway—and she sent me straight here.’
‘To the paediatric assessment unit. I know, it sounds scary, but you’re in the best place,’ Jodie reassured her. ‘All it means is that we’re specialists in babies and children, so we’ll be able to work out what’s wrong with him and how to treat him quicker than your GP can. Now, let’s get this vest and nappy off.’ She quickly undressed the baby, weighed him and measured his length, and noted the details on his chart. ‘He’s a lovely big boy, isn’t he?’
‘Yes. My husband’s tall.’ Mrs Bartlett gulped. ‘He’s parking the car. Laura’s with him.’
‘Laura’s Harry’s sister?’ Jodie guessed.
‘Yes. She’s three and a half.’
‘The perfect age gap. My brother’s nearly four years older than me,’ Jodie said. ‘Young Harry here’s going to hero-worship her from the minute he can toddle. I was just the same with Matt.’ She put a thermometer under the baby’s armpit, and waited until it bleeped, then looked carefully at the reading. ‘That’s good, he doesn’t have a high temperature. Apyrexic,’ she said to Sam, who was writing down what she said.
The baby coughed, and gave a hoarse cry.
‘Lost his voice, has he?’ she asked sympathetically.
Mrs Bartlett nodded. ‘He’s a happy baby anyway, doesn’t normally cry a lot, but now he can’t even tell me when he’s hungry or wet.’
Jodie replaced the baby’s nappy, noting the way the skin underneath the baby’s ribs and the base of his throat sucked in sharply every time he breathed. Pretty much a textbook case. ‘Tracheal tug,’ she said to Sam. She turned to Mrs Bartlett. ‘I’m going to listen to his chest now.’ She placed her stethoscope on Harry’s chest. ‘Hmm, he sounds pretty wheezy. Creps,’ she said to Sam. ‘There are a few bubbles there, Mrs Bartlett—that means there’s lots of mucus clogging up the tubes.’ Gently, she palpated the baby’s abdomen. ‘His abdomen’s fine.’ She took her otoscope, the instrument used for checking the ear canal, and looked in the baby’s ears. ‘Bilateral wax,’ she said to Sam, then turned back to Mrs Bartlett. ‘He’s got a fair bit of wax in both ears—he’s really bunged up with that lurgy, poor love.’
‘It’s just a cold, then?’ Mrs Bartlett looked hopeful.
‘It’s a little more than that, I’m afraid. There’s a rather nasty virus going round called RSV or respiratory syncytial virus. I’ll need to take a sample of his nasal secretions to check if that’s what he has—all I’ll do is put a tube up his nose so we can suck out some of the mucus and send it off to the lab for them to run a few tests. It looks a bit scary but it won’t hurt him,’ she reassured Mrs Bartlett. ‘And then I’ll put a probe on his foot so I can make some more checks. The light goes through his foot and hits the probe—again, it won’t hurt him, because it’s just like having a very soft strap wrapped round his foot—and that helps me measure the oxygen levels in his blood, his pulse rate and his breathing.’ She indicated the machine next to the bed. ‘It’ll probably bleep a lot, but don’t worry—these things don’t take into account the fact that babies tend to wriggle! The minute they move, the alarm goes off—it’ll probably say something like “insufficient light” on the screen, and all that means is that he’s moved so the probe needs to be reset.’
Quickly, Jodie took the sample of the nasal secretions, then wrapped the cuff of the probe round Harry’s foot. As she’d suspected, his oxygen saturation was a little on the low side and his pulse was rapid. ‘Sats eighty-seven in air, pulse a hundred and sixty.’ She watched the child’s chest rise and fall, keeping one eye on the second hand of the clock as she counted his breaths in her head. ‘Resp sixty-five.’ She brushed her fingers momentarily against the baby’s face. ‘You’re having a tough time, little one, but hang on in there. We’ll sort you out. We’re going to admit him for a few days, Mrs Bartlett,’ she said. ‘All the signs are that he’s got bronchiolitis, which is usually caused by RSV. In adults and older children, it just gives you a bad cold and a cough, but in young babies it tends to make them quite poorly.’
‘He’ll be all right, though?’ Mrs Bartlett’s eyes were wide with anxiety.
Jodie nodded. ‘It’s very common—there’s often an epidemic between November and March. We’ve got six babies on the ward with it already, so he’ll be in good company.’ She gently rubbed Harry’s cheek again. ‘You did the right thing in bringing him in to us. He hasn’t got it that badly, though I should warn you that they often get worse before they get better. He’ll be in for somewhere between three and seven days, depending on how he responds to treatment, and he’ll be coughing for a good six to ten weeks after he gets home, maybe even until the clocks go forward.’
‘So you can do something for him?’
Jodie nodded. ‘The problem is that some of his airways are so small—less than a tenth of a millimetre across—so the mucus is gumming him up and making him wheezy. We’ll try giving him a nebuliser—that’s just a mask with a drug in it—to help widen his airways a bit, and he’ll breathe the drug in through a mist of oxygen. That might help him to feed a bit better. We may need to give him some oxygen, too. We’ll do it through a tube under his nose, which looks frightening but won’t hurt him. And if he’s finding it too tiring to feed—bearing in mind he’s having a hard time getting his breath, he’s only got the energy to take a bit of his usual feeds at the moment—we’ll feed him through an nasogastric tube. What that means is a tube goes up his nose and into his stomach, so he’ll get all the goodness he needs without having to work so hard for it.’
Mrs Bartlett looked shocked. ‘Can we—can I stay with him?’
‘Of course you can. He’ll be in a room on his own because the virus is highly infectious and we don’t want it spreading to the other children. There’ll be a notice on his door saying that he’s in isolation nursing, but all that means is that the nurses and doctors will wear a gown and gloves when they come into his room to stop the virus lingering on their clothes or their hands and then spreading to other patients on the ward. This particular virus can live for around twenty minutes outside the body, on clothes, which is why it spreads so quickly.’
‘I see.’
‘There’s a chair-bed in the room, and you’ll be able to use the staff restaurant when the public restaurant’s closed,’ Jodie added. ‘And we have a policy of shared care in the ward, so you’ll know at all times exactly what’s going on, what you can do to help and what we need to do.’
Mrs Bartlett still looked stunned at the idea of her child being hospitalised.
‘There’s a visitor phone on the ward. Parents and visitors answer it, rather than the ward staff, and that means you can take any incoming calls without worrying that you’re stopping important calls coming into the ward. There’s a payphone just outside the assessment unit, too, though I’m afraid we have to bar mobile phones because they could interfere with the equipment,’ Jodie warned.
Mrs Bartlett nodded.
‘Give Harry a cuddle while I finish writing his admission notes,’ Jodie said, ‘and I’ll ask Alice, the dark-haired nurse over there, to take you through to the ward. If your husband and Laura haven’t arrived by the time you go, I’ll make sure someone brings them through to you.’
‘Thank you, Dr Price.’
‘That’s what I’m here for. Alice will give you an information sheet about bronchiolitis and RSV, which should answer most of your questions.’ She smiled. ‘I’m on duty later tonight, so I’ll see you when I do my round and we can have a chat then if you have any other questions or you’re worried about anything.’
When Mrs Bartlett had left, cradling the baby in her arms, Sam turned to Jodie. ‘You’re good with parents. You explained everything to her without being patronising. Well done.’
‘Thank you.’ She was surprised at the compliment. He’d barely spoken to her since he’d dropped her home from Mario’s the previous week, so she’d been dreading it when she’d realised that he was going to be with her on the paediatric assessment unit shift this morning. She’d expected him to pick up every single fault, however minor. Instead, he’d let her get on with it and had only occasionally offered an opinion, phrasing it more as a question so she could show off her own knowledge of the subject.
‘You’re a good doctor, Jodie,’ he said, surprising her even further. ‘Though are you sure about the nebuliser?’
‘I know it’s controversial and some doctors don’t approve of using bronchodilators,’ Jodie said, ‘but if it helps the baby breathe, that’s the most important thing. We’ll trial Atrovent and salbutamol, see which one works best for him. Sometimes they respond to one better than the other.’
Sam grinned. ‘Yes, Dr Price.’
She flushed. ‘Sorry. You already knew that.’ Of course he did. He was a consultant, with a good six years’ more experience than her. Trust her to open her mouth and say something so stupid, just when she was trying to prove to him that she could be a cool, calm and rational colleague.
Not to mention proving to herself that Sam Taylor didn’t make her hormones run amok.
‘I’d always rather you explain yourself than make assumptions,’ Sam said gently, as if sensing her embarrassment. ‘It leaves less room for errors.’
‘Right.’
‘What else have we got in?’ he asked.
‘An asthma attack—when I know the history, I might suggest some skin tests to see if the girl’s allergic to cats or dust mites or any particular sorts of food, and I want to check whether the parents smoke round her—plus two rashes and a possible fracture.’
‘Lead on, Macduff,’ he misquoted with a grin.
Jodie stared at him for a moment, slightly dazed. That grin could only be described as dazzling. What was it about the man? Since Mario’s, he’d as good as avoided her. And just when she’d decided that he was remote, glacial and not worth thinking about, he did or said something that made her look again, see him as a man—a very attractive man, at that. Without that wall of reserve, he’d be devastating.
It couldn’t work out between them. There were too many barriers, social and professional, so why couldn’t she stop that voice in her head telling her to go for it?
Not now. They had work to do. ‘Let’s go,’ she said, forcing herself to smile at Sam in her best professional manner.
The voice grew louder over the next week until it was positively deafening. The departmental Christmas party was traditionally held in the middle of December; those who were married came with their partners, but those who were single—which meant most of their ward, as the staff were all fairly young—picked the name of their partner out of a hat, the day before the party.
And Jodie had picked Sam. Completely by accident, but it felt as if fate or some higher power had done it by design. She’d agonised over it for nearly the whole of her shift. Should she give him the option of backing out, or use the chance to break down his reserve? He’d hate it. Hadn’t he gone back into his shell since Mario’s? On the other hand, it was the Christmas party—and Christmas was a season of magic, when everything could change.
When Sam had finished his ward round, she caught his attention. ‘Mr Taylor—could I have a word, please?’
‘Of course, Dr Price.’
The formality made her nervous, but she pressed on. ‘Um…your office?’ she suggested.
‘My office,’ he agreed.
Sam’s office was the same size as that of Lyn Trevor, the other paediatric consultant, but whereas Lynn’s desk sported pictures of her husband and children and the walls were decorated with pictures drawn by patients and her own children, Sam’s office was completely devoid of personal touches. Not even so much as a pot-plant graced the window-sill and even the Christmas cards were stacked in a neat pile on his desk rather than being on display.
Jodie felt even more daunted. Everything around her screamed, Keep off! Don’t touch!
He sat down on the swivel chair behind his desk. ‘So, what can I do for you, Dr Price?’
She took a deep breath, gathered up her courage and swallowed hard. ‘It’s about the departmental Christmas party, tomorrow night,’ she muttered.
‘Yes?’
‘I…er…I picked your name out of the hat. It means I’m supposed to go with you.’
Not a flicker of emotion. He was completely unreadable—and unreachable. ‘And?’
‘I…’ she floundered. ‘Look, if you’d rather I made some excuse and didn’t go…’
‘Why would I do that?’
‘Honestly, men could be so dense sometimes!’
To her shock, he laughed.
‘What?’
‘I take it you didn’t mean to say that out loud?’
Jodie clapped a hand over her mouth, horrified. ‘Oh, no. Please, tell me I didn’t…’ When he said nothing, she closed her eyes. ‘I’m sorry. What I meant was—’
‘Given that the first half of the party is a revue, and Mr Frosty’s bound to have a part in it, you think I’d find it too embarrassing to attend,’ he finished.
Her eyes widened. He knew about his nickname on the ward?
He folded his arms. ‘Yes, Jodie, I know.’
‘I’d see a specialist but there isn’t a cure for foot-in-mouth disease,’ she said wryly.
‘You didn’t say a thing this time. You have one of those faces that shows every single thought.’ Still, his own expression was unreadable. ‘Do I take it you’d rather not go to the party with me, then?’
‘I…’ She sighed. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Explain.’
‘Do you always have to be so, so…’ Unable to find the word she was searching for, she growled in frustration.
That at least raised a smile. ‘Difficult?’
‘Something like that.’ Well, he’d asked. If he didn’t like the answer, that was his problem; she couldn’t keep quiet any more. ‘When you came to Mario’s with us, I thought you’d, well, thawed out a bit. And then…’
‘Back to Mr Frosty.’
‘Yes.’ This time, Jodie had the grace to blush. ‘I guess Fiona didn’t ask you before she put your name in the hat.’
‘No.’
‘If you’d rather not go, I won’t make a big deal out of it.’
‘And if I do go?’
‘Um, there’s the revue.’ Jodie winced. She didn’t know a huge amount of detail, but what she knew wasn’t good.
‘Consultants are fair game for sketches. And I suppose it’s time the boot was on the other foot.’
Jodie digested his words and then blinked hard. ‘You mean—you’ve acted in a revue?’
He shrugged. ‘I think all doctors get involved in some kind of revue at some point. When I was a house officer, I played our senior consultant as God.’
‘No.’ Without thinking, Jodie perched on the edge of his desk and crossed one long leg over the other. ‘Show me.’
‘Show you?’
‘Oh, come on. You can’t feed me a line like that and back off again.’
He shook his head. ‘I can’t really remember the lines now. It was something about the ten commandments of working on his ward. Thou shalt not drink coffee until thou hast knelt at my feet and worshipped me for five minutes—that sort of thing.’
‘Hmm.’ Jodie’s smile was pure mischief.
‘Don’t even think about it,’ Sam warned, guessing at what was going through her mind. ‘Are you in this revue?’
She shook her head. ‘I’m a hopeless actor. I just made some of the props—with a bit of help from some of the older children on the ward.’
‘Such as Mr Frosty’s costume?’ he asked.
‘I think it’s time I left.’ She gave him a nervous smile, slid down from his desk and headed for the door.
‘Not so fast.’
She stopped with her fingers on the doorhandle.
‘Am I picking you up or meeting you here? And what time?’
‘I’ll make my own way there,’ Jodie said. ‘It starts at seven in the canteen.’
‘I’ll see you there, then. At ten to seven.’
‘OK.’ Jodie left his office, closing the door behind her, and heaved a sigh of relief. It hadn’t been as bad as she’d expected…or, now she thought about it, had it? She had her date for the party, but she still had no idea whether he really wanted to be there or not.
‘Well, Mr Frosty, if the revue doesn’t thaw you out, nothing will,’ she said softly to herself.
Sam leaned back in his chair. He was walking on very thin ice indeed. Jodie had even given him the perfect get-out for not going to the party—so why hadn’t he jumped at it?
Because you want to see her all dressed up, the little voice in his head informed him. And then you want to take every scrap of material off her again…
Do not.
You’re in denial—Mr Frosty, the voice taunted him.
Sam groaned aloud. He was going to have an awful lot to live up to—but he was aware that distance wasn’t a style the ward was comfortable with. Maybe the party was his chance to show the rest of the team that he had a sense of humour, that he could laugh with them.
How long had it been since he’d laughed? Really laughed? Before Jodie had burst into his life and insisted on him going to Mario’s with the rest of the team?
He closed his eyes. Jodie again. Maybe he should have accepted her get-out. He wasn’t sure how he was going to cope, dancing with her. Holding her so close and knowing he couldn’t have her—ever. It wouldn’t be fair on either of them.
He smiled wryly. Who said life had to be fair? Besides, he knew there were people out there far worse off than he was—it was just that, right now, it didn’t feel like it.
Tomorrow morning, he decided, he’d have a convenient sore throat. One that got worse during the day so he wouldn’t feel up to going to the Christmas party. That way, Jodie wouldn’t think he was avoiding the party because of her. She’d still be able to go and enjoy herself, she wouldn’t be embarrassed dealing with him at work—and he wouldn’t have the torture of wanting something he knew he couldn’t have.

CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_8126e9f4-1332-51fd-9a97-515d8eceae68)
THOUGH, of course, Sam did nothing of the kind.
Although his path didn’t cross Jodie’s during their shifts the next day, he could have complained about his ‘sore throat’ to any of the nurses or junior doctors he worked with, knowing they’d pass the message on to Jodie. But something stopped him and at ten to seven he was striding down the corridor to meet her.
She looked absolutely stunning, Sam thought as he saw her standing by the entrance to the canteen. She’d piled her hair on the top of her head and little tendrils escaped here and there to soften the severity of the style. Her make-up was understated, just enough to emphasise her beautiful green eyes and tempting mouth. And the crimson raw silk shift dress suited her colouring perfectly. Not to mention showing just how long her legs were. She was wearing heels high enough to make her the same height as he was and a smile that made him feel as if a knife had been plunged into his stomach—because the smile was directed at the man who was talking to her. Mick Salmond, a nurse on their ward. The man who knew her well enough to order her pizza for her when she’d been late at Mario’s.
And the warmth of that smile…Was something going on between them? He searched his memory. Wasn’t Mick Salmond married? What the hell did Jodie think she was doing, having an affair with a married man?
‘Dr Price,’ he said stiffly, joining them. ‘I trust I’m not late.’
‘No. I was early.’
‘For once,’ Mick said, teasing her.
‘Huh. I’m not late all the time.’
‘Only on a day with a Y in it,’ the nurse retorted with a grin.
‘Yeah, yeah. Hey, Mick’s got some fabulous news.’ She dug her companion in the ribs. ‘Go on, tell him, before I burst.’
‘News?’ Sam echoed, frowning.
Mick beamed. ‘I’m going to be a dad!’
‘Congratulations.’ Sam forced the word out. Hadn’t he come to terms with this years ago? So why could those six little words still hurt him so much, the six words he’d never be able to say himself?
And why was Jodie going to burst? Was she the one expecting Mick’s baby?
The thought was like a physical blow. He felt winded, sick.
‘Shelley’s going to make a brilliant mum,’ Jodie said. ‘And she’s asked me to be godmother.’
Shelley? Godmother? The fog cleared and Sam suddenly realised what was going on. Jodie wasn’t having a baby. She was just excited for her friends and delighted at being asked to be godmother. So when it came to her own babies, she’d—
‘When it’s your turn,’ Mick said to Jodie with a grin, echoing Sam’s tortured thoughts, ‘I bet you’ll never get any housework or anything done. You’ll spend the whole day playing with your kids.’ He gave her a sidelong look. ‘Observing them at the same time. And you’ll write it up as a study paper when they’re in bed.’
Jodie rolled her eyes. ‘I will not. I’m not that bad, Mick.’
‘Yes, you are, Jo-jo. Look at the way you are with the kids on the ward. You even come in on your days off to play with some of them. You’ll be ten times worse with your own,’ he teased.
‘No, I won’t. I’ll be just like any other mum.’
‘As if!’ he scoffed. ‘I can see you with half a dozen.’
Jodie chuckled. ‘Yeah, right.’
‘So how many are you planning?’
She shrugged. ‘Depends.’ Her face softened. ‘One of each would be nice.’
‘You mean, so you get to play with the trains and the doll’s house?’ he teased.
‘Let’s p-l-a-y,’ Jodie teased back.
Just like any other mum. The words reverberated inside Sam’s head, numbing his senses. Just like any other mum. Meaning that Jodie, despite her protests at Mario’s, was planning to have children one day. One of each would be nice. Taking it for granted that she could have children—and so could her future husband.
‘Can’t you just see what our Jodie’ll be like with her kids, Mr Taylor?’ Mick asked, laughing.
‘Yes,’ Sam said shortly. He could just see Jodie with her arm round a three-year-old, reading him a story and getting him to act out one of the speaking parts while the baby was curled up asleep on her lap. I’ll huff, and I’ll puff, and I’ll blow your house down… He could imagine only too clearly the softness in her face, the deep enduring love of a mother in her eyes as she cuddled her children.
A stab of something—pain or envy—lanced through him as he listened to them talking about their future children. It amazed him how easily they could talk about their plans. If anyone had asked him, the words would have stuck in his throat. I can’t have babies. I’m infertile.
He became aware that Mick was talking again. ‘I dunno who called it morning sickness. Shelley gets it in the evenings.’ As if he’d sensed the message behind the sharp look Sam had given him, Mick continued, ‘I would have stayed with her to hold her hand and mop her face and what have you, but she wanted me to video the revue so she doesn’t miss out on it.’
‘Indeed,’ Sam said brusquely.
‘Mick wr—’ Jodie stopped abruptly, suddenly realising she’d been about to blurt out that Mick had written the revue. ‘Shall we go and sit down, Mr Taylor?’ She didn’t quite dare use his first name. Not when he was back in Mr Frosty mode. And why the sudden freeze? Something was obviously bugging Sam…but what?
I’ll be just like any other mum…One of each would be nice…
The words echoed round and round in Sam’s head as if his mind were stuck on continuous-loop replay, and he couldn’t stop it, even though it was torture. And the dreams he’d started entertaining about Jodie crumbled into dust.
He sat locked in misery until he realised that Jodie was shuffling in her seat, looking distinctly nervous. Then he realised why: the revue. It had been going on for ten minutes and he hadn’t even noticed.
He forced his attention to the stage. Yes, there was Mr Frosty: a consultant in a formal suit, a white coat and a snowman’s head, with an expressionless mouth, large grey eyes and a big carrot for a nose.
Stuart Henderson, one of the senior house officers, was playing Mr Frosty and had Sam’s mannerisms down to a T. Sam found himself laughing at the way various nurses pretended to be overcome with heat and Mr Frosty cooled them down by blasting snow at them. Jodie visibly relaxed when she saw Sam laugh. He found himself relaxing, too. Maybe he was reading too much into all this, overreacting. Hadn’t Angela always said he was too serious?
Finally there was the pièce de résistance—something Jodie obviously hadn’t expected, by her gasp of surprise followed by a giggle—the pantomime dog. One of the auxiliaries had made herself up like an English springer spaniel and trotted onto the stage, dropping a ball on the patient’s bed and saying, ‘Let’s play!’ She bounded up to every other actor on the stage—‘doctor’ and ‘patient’—saying, ‘Let’s play! It’s good for you. Let’s play!’
‘Hoist with your own petard?’ Sam whispered in her ear.
‘Deservedly.’ Though she didn’t look cross or embarrassed by the lampooning—just amused. In her shoes, Angela would have stormed off in a huff.
When the revue finished, Sam gave some of the loudest applause. He also collared Mick when they’d both helped to shift the chairs out of the way of the dancing area.
‘I…er…hope you weren’t offended,’ Mick said, shuffling his feet slightly.
‘If it weren’t for your impending fatherhood,’ Sam said coolly, ‘I’d be suggesting that you consider a change in career.’
Mick looked completely crestfallen, and Jodie—who’d joined them and had overheard Sam’s comment—was clearly about to jump to his defence when Sam added, ‘Your comic timing’s brilliant and you’ve an eye for detail and mannerisms. But nursing’s a steadier job than scriptwriting, so I’d stick with the day job for now. Besides, we’d all miss you too much on the ward if you went off to London.’
Mick stared at the consultant, open-mouthed. ‘For a minute there, I thought you were going to…’ He tailed off awkwardly.
‘Freeze you?’ Sam gave a rueful smile. ‘Message received and understood.’
‘Thanks for being such a good sport about it,’ Mick said.
‘Hmm. Well, another lesson’s been drummed into me tonight.’ With a sidelong glance at Jodie, he explained, ‘Play’s good for you.’
Jodie’s face clashed spectacularly with her dress. ‘I’m not really that over the top, am I, Mick?’
The other nurse nodded. ‘But the patients love it.’ He looked diffidently at Sam. ‘And they think a lot of you, too, sir.’
‘The name’s Sam, not sir,’ Sam corrected.
‘Sam.’ Mick smiled. ‘Well, have a good time, you two. I’m off to get some banana and anchovy pizza before I dare go home and show the missus this.’ He waved the video camera at them and headed for the exit.
‘Banana and anchovy?’ Sam and Jodie simultaneously pulled faces.
‘Am I really like a spaniel?’ Jodie asked Sam.
He tipped his head on one side, considering. ‘Well, I don’t see any evidence of a wet, shiny nose, big brown eyes, long ears or halitosis.’
Her colour deepened. ‘That isn’t what I meant.’
He smiled. ‘Your enthusiasm keeps everyone going.’
‘Oh.’ Jodie bit her lip. ‘Shall we get something to eat?’
‘As long as it isn’t banana and anchovy pizza.’
‘Definitely not!’ They wandered over to the buffet table and helped themselves to chicken satay, tiny bridge rolls and cheese straws. Jodie eschewed the mince pies in favour of chocolate cheesecake, and ate Sam’s share as well as her own.
‘I had you pegged as a traditionalist,’ Sam said.
Jodie grimaced. ‘I hate mince pies. And Christmas cake. And Christmas pud.’ She screwed up her nose. ‘I don’t care if dried fruit’s good for you, it’s revolting.’
Sam’s lips twitched. ‘So you have chocolate instead?’
Jodie spread her hands. ‘Chocolate’s actually quite healthy.’
‘That report about catechins was referring to top-quality plain chocolate,’ Sam said, surprising her. ‘And it didn’t say you should eat industrial-sized quantities of the stuff.’
‘You weren’t eating your cheesecake,’ she pointed out, ‘and it’d be a shame to waste it.’
‘Huh.’ Sam gave a mock grimace and the corners of his eyes crinkled.
Jodie felt her pulse accelerate and looked away. Not now. No, please, she couldn’t develop a huge crush on the man now. She was supposed to be getting him out of his shell, that was all. Though a part of her wanted to do much, much, more…
As the band started, Sam looked round and raised an eyebrow. ‘Is that Stuart Henderson again, on vocals?’
‘And air guitar. A man of many talents,’ Jodie said. ‘Not to mention a string of nurses desperate for his attention.’ She shrugged. ‘He’s young.’
Sam burst out laughing. ‘You’re starting to sound like me.’
‘You mean, old?’ she teased.
‘Listen, you, I’d hardly started at infant school when you were born.’
‘Uh-huh.’ Jodie tapped her nose meaningfully. ‘I believe you.’
To his surprise, Sam was thoroughly enjoying himself. How long had it been since he’d had some fun? Excluding Mario’s…too long, he thought. When his marriage had disintegrated, he’d buried himself in work and avoided the social side of hospital life completely.
Right now, he wanted to have fun. And if Jodie thought he was an old fogey, she was about to learn something! ‘Come on. Let’s dance,’ he said to her.
‘Dance?’
‘Move your feet, wiggle about a bit in time to music, that sort of thing.’
Was this really Sam Taylor, Mr Frosty, talking? Jodie thought. But the offer was too good to resist. ‘Let’s go,’ she said, putting her plate down on a convenient table.
Dance. She’d expected him maybe to do what everyone else at the party was doing—as he’d put it, ‘move your feet, wiggle about a bit’. But, no, Sam Taylor could really dance. When Stuart’s band switched to a rock ’n’ roll number, Sam was spinning Jodie round and getting her to do all sorts of complicated things that would have had Matt goggling at his clumsy kid sister’s performance.
When the music stopped, she was out of breath. And then she became aware that she and Sam were the only two on the floor—everyone else was standing watching them, applauding and cheering. Yet again that evening Jodie’s face clashed with her dress, and she retreated to the table where she’d left her plate.
‘Come on. Play’s good for you,’ Sam teased.
‘Not this sort of play. I’ve got two left feet.’
‘I didn’t notice.’
‘You were leading me.’ She paused. ‘I didn’t know you could dance like that.’
‘I’m a bit out of practice.’
‘Could have fooled me.’ If that was out of practice, heaven only knew what he’d be like when he was back in the swing of things!
‘Oh, Mr Taylor…’ a breathy voice asserted beside them.
Melissa the Maneater from the neonatal unit, Jodie thought with a sigh, recognising the brunette in the skimpy dress.
‘I was very impressed with your…’ big pause ‘…dancing. Could we?’
‘I believe I’m Dr Price’s partner for this evening,’ Sam said, stepping closer to Jodie.
‘Jodie won’t mind, will you, sweetie?’
It was more of a command than a question. Jodie lifted her hands in surrender. She had to face it: men preferred small and slinky, not strapping and Amazon. In any contest with Melissa, she’d lose. ‘Be my guest.’
It was another fast number, and Sam dutifully twirled Melissa round the floor and somehow managed to evade her clutches for the next dance. Jodie merely sat on the sidelines, watching him and wondering what made him tick. One minute he was Mr Frosty, completely unreadable; the next he was shy and retiring; and now here he was, the star of the dance floor. She couldn’t work him out.
Four dances later, he was back at her side. ‘You’re supposed to be my partner for this evening.’
‘So?’
‘So, dance with me. Come on, Doc-a Dodo. Playtime.’
So he’d heard Amy’s pronunciation of her name, a nickname that half the ward staff had adopted. She flushed deeply. ‘I—’
‘Dance with me, Jodie.’ The sultry silver gleam in his eyes made her nod mutely and join him on the dance floor.
She wished she hadn’t when the music suddenly turned soft and Stuart started to sing a ballad. Sam drew her closer so that she was forced to put her arms round his neck for balance, and they swayed together in time to the music. She could smell his clean, fresh scent so clearly; the feel of his arms round her, together with the sweet seductive spell of the music, had her resting her head on his shoulder a few moments later.
Sam rested his cheek against her hair. He’d thought this would be a test he couldn’t cope with, holding Jodie in his arms. But it was easy. So very, very easy. She felt right; she belonged there. Her skin smelled of honey, and she was warm and soft and sweet and…
He couldn’t help himself. Her neck looked graceful and her skin was soft, and he couldn’t resist touching his lips to the curve of her neck. And once he’d kissed her there, he couldn’t stop. She felt so good. He needed to touch her, taste her. He trailed his lips up towards her ear, soft butterfly kisses, and felt her tremble in his arms.
So she was affected by this as much as he was.
‘Jodie,’ he breathed softly in her ear.
‘Yes?’ She lifted her head to look straight into his eyes. Hers were very green and very large, and her mouth was too tempting to resist.
His lips were just millimetres away from hers when the music changed again, to a bouncy, uptempo song. They’d both been in so deep that they hadn’t even heard the ballad finish and Stuart introduce the next number. Shocked, they pulled apart and stared at each other. They’d almost kissed—in front of just about all their colleagues.
‘Mr Taylor?’
‘I, er, yes, Megan.’ Sam forced himself to smile at the young nurse who’d interrupted them.
‘Could I have this dance, please?’
He looked at Jodie, who spread her hands. ‘It’s a party. You’re meant to dance.’
‘Then let’s dance, Megan,’ Sam said.
Relieved at being let off so easily, Jodie made a quick exit to the loos. She was still shaking from that almost-kiss, and she nearly tripped several times because her knees were still doing jelly impersonations. How could she have been so stupid? Not only had she joined in with the lengthy skit in the Christmas revue, targeting Sam’s remoteness, she’d almost let him kiss her in front of everyone—meaning that everyone on the ward would tease them mercilessly for weeks!
What would that kiss have been like? When he’d taken her into his arms, every single nerve-end had been aware of him. She’d felt the lean hardness of his body against hers, been aware of the strength in those arms and yet also the gentleness. Her temperature had risen sharply and the lightest touch of his lips against her skin had sent desire shooting through her. She’d felt her breasts swelling, her body softening with need for him. And if his mouth had found hers…
She leaned against the washbasin, staring at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were over-bright and her lips were red and swollen, as if he’d actually kissed her. And kissed her very thoroughly indeed. ‘You look a complete state, Price,’ she told her reflection. ‘And what did you think you were doing?’ Though she didn’t particularly want to hear the answer to that.
‘Are you all right, Jo-jo?’ Fiona asked, coming in to find Jodie in a dream.
‘Just tired,’ Jodie lied.
‘Well, that’ll teach you to burn the candles at both ends. Doctors nowadays—no stamina,’ Fiona teased. ‘By the way, just what did you do to Mr Frosty?’
‘Nothing!’
Too swift, too hot a denial, Jodie realised with horror. She’d just made things ten times worse. Thank God Fiona wasn’t one of the gossip-mongers, or she’d really have been in trouble.
‘Well, whatever you said to him, he’s been human tonight. More than just the clever doctor who terrifies the hell out of the staff. If you can keep him out of his shell, Jo-jo, I think we’ll all benefit,’ Fiona said thoughtfully.
‘It isn’t up to me.’
Fiona’s lips twitched. ‘Let’s play!’
Jodie laughed. ‘I’ll never live that down, will I?’
‘Not for a while,’ the ward sister admitted, smiling.
Finally, Jodie pulled herself together and returned to the dance floor.
‘At last.’ Sam materialised beside her almost instantly. ‘You OK?’
‘Just tired,’ Jodie said. ‘I think I’ll call it a night.’
He nodded. ‘I’ll drive you home.’
She shook her head, mindful of Fiona’s comment. Nobody wanted Sam to go back into his shell, but on the other hand she didn’t think she could spend much more time in his company without making a complete fool of herself. ‘Stay and enjoy yourself,’ she said. ‘I’ll make my own way back.’
‘You will not,’ said Sam. ‘For a start, there’s no way you could have cycled in wearing that dress.’
‘Taxi,’ Jodie informed him. ‘I’m just going to call one.’
He shook his head. ‘I’m not waiting out in the cold with you when my car’s just round the corner.’
‘You don’t have to wait.’
‘Yes, I do. You’re my partner for this evening,’ he reminded her. ‘So stop arguing. I’ll drive you home.’
How could she resist? ‘Yes, sir,’ she said meekly.
He didn’t say much on the way out to the car park, and no one commented that they were leaving early—they were all too busy enjoying themselves. Jodie climbed into Sam’s car and he drove her home. She noted that he didn’t need to ask directions. Clearly he’d remembered the way to her house from Mario’s.
When they arrived at Jodie’s house, she looked at him. ‘Would you like to come in for a coffee?’
His face was unreadable. ‘Thanks, but I really ought to be going.’
‘Of course.’ Jodie hoped that her disappointment didn’t show on her face. He was right, anyway. If he came in for coffee and the fire between them started again, and he kissed her, and—She caught her thoughts. No. Not now. Not now, or she’d end up throwing herself at him and embarrassing them both. ‘Thanks for the lift,’ she said quietly.
‘Pleasure.’ He paused. ‘Jodie…’
Every nerve was suddenly aware of him. Was he going to kiss her? She looked at him, wide-eyed, and her tongue came out to moisten her dry lips.
He was going to kiss her. She could see it in his eyes. Even in the shadowy depths of the car, she could see the sultry silver gleam—he wanted her as much as she wanted him. Now he was going to reach up, cup her face and slowly lower his mouth to hers. He was going to nibble at her lower lip until she opened her mouth and kissed him properly, and then—
‘See you on Monday,’ he said.
‘Right.’ She banked down the intense surge of disappointment. How stupid could she get? Of course he hadn’t been about to kiss her. That almost-kiss, before, had been in the heat of the moment. They’d been in the middle of a party, with soft music playing and everyone around them full of Christmas cheer—they’d both been carried away by events around them, that was all. He wasn’t going to kiss her in the middle of the street in his car on a freezing cold night.
Or anywhere else, for that matter, or he’d have taken up her offer of coffee.
‘See you,’ she said, trying to sound as neutral as possible. She climbed out of the car and closed the door very carefully—although she felt more like slamming it, she didn’t want Sam to think her a sulky, childish brat.
Sam waited in the car, watching until she’d unlocked her door and was safely inside. Then he closed his eyes and rested his head on the steering-wheel. He’d been so close to losing his head. He’d wanted to drag Jodie into his arms and kiss her senseless. He could still remember the feel of her skin against his mouth and it had taken all his will-power to refuse her offer of coffee. If he’d accepted, he knew he’d have spent the rest of the night in her bed, their bodies tangled together even in sleep.

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