LITMIR.BIZ

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Her city. Full of possibilities.

      This was now home.

      * * *

      Jacob Layton was more than mildly irritated. He was mad—but, these days, that was nothing unusual for him.

      He hated disorganisation. Hated chaos. He prided himself on the fact that his unit ran like clockwork. Any midwife or medic not up to the job at this hospital was quickly rooted out and dealt with.

      It might sound harsh. But in Cambridge Royal Maternity Unit the lives of women and babies were on the line every day. He was a firm believer that all expectant mothers deserved the best possible care and it was his job to ensure they got it.

      This morning, he stood at the nurses’ station with his hands on his hips as his temper bubbled just beneath the surface. There was no sign of any member of staff. None of the whiteboards were up to date—he didn’t even know which patient was in which room. Case notes were spread all over the desk with a whole variety of scribbled multicoloured sticky notes littering the normally immaculate desk.

      ‘Where is everyone?’ he yelled.

      The frightened faces of a midwife and junior doctor appeared simultaneously from separate rooms. The midwife hurried towards him, her eyes fixed on her shoes. The junior doctor walked slowly, obviously hoping the midwife would get the brunt of Jacob’s rage this morning. He should be so lucky.

      The midwife handed over a set of notes with slightly shaking hands. ‘I think this is the set of notes you wanted. I was just doing Mrs Clark’s observations. Everything seems fine.’

      He snatched them from her hands and reviewed them quickly. Relief. Things were looking better for Mrs Clark. He raised his head, keeping his voice in check. ‘Good. Tell Mrs Clark I’ll be in to see her shortly.’

      The midwife disappeared in a flash. The junior doctor’s legs practically did a U-turn in the corridor. He didn’t want to be left with Jacob.

      ‘Dr Jenkins.’

      The young guy’s legs froze midstride. Jacob flung case notes onto the desk one after another. ‘Ms Bates needs her bloods done, Mrs Kelly needs her bloods repeated, where is the cardiac consult for Lucy Evans—she’s been here more than six hours—and how long ago did I ask you to arrange another ultrasound for Ms Shaw? Get it done, now!’ His voice rose as the anger he was trying to contain started to erupt. He hated incompetence. These patients were in the best maternity unit for miles. They should be receiving top-quality care.

      The doctor’s face paled and he gathered up the notes in his arms. ‘Right away, Dr Layton,’ he said, practically scampering down the corridor to the nearest office.

      He sighed. This place—normally his pride and joy—was becoming a disaster zone.

      Ever since he’d diagnosed the ward manager with pre-eclampsia and sent her home with the instructions not to come back until she had her baby, this place had gone to pot. There were four other senior midwives. All of them excellent at clinical care—and none with an organisational bone in their body.

      The director of midwifery had promised him that their new employee would be able to help with all this. But he’d just read her CV, and was struggling to see why a Scottish community midwife would be able to do anything to help a busy city labour ward.

      But the thing that was really making him mad was the fact that she wasn’t here. He glanced at his watch again. First day on a new job—after nine-thirty—and the new start wasn’t here.

      The doors at the bottom of the corridor swung open right on cue. Bonnie Reid. It had to be. Jacob knew everyone who worked here and he didn’t recognise her at all. Dressed in the blue scrubs that the labour ward midwives wore and bright pink trainers, she had her red hair coiled up on top of her head in a strange kind of knot. How on earth did she do that? That, coupled with the curves not hidden by the shapeless scrubs, reminded him of a poster he’d had on his wall as a teenager. He felt a smile form on his lips.

      Was she nervous? Her hands fidgeted with her security pass and she seemed to make a conscious effort to slow her steps. What irritated him most of all was the fact she didn’t seem to notice him standing, waiting for her. Instead, she stopped at every room on the way along the corridor, nodding and introducing herself to the members of staff. She even disappeared for a second to obviously help with a patient.

      Then, she appeared with a load of laundry, which she put into the laundry bags, reorganised two of the hand scrubs outside the doors and tidied the top of the cardiac-arrest trolley on her way past.

      He waited until she’d almost reached him. ‘Bonnie Reid?’ His voice dripped with sarcasm. ‘Nice of you to finally join us.’

      Something flickered across her face. Her skin was pale under the bright hospital lights and he could see a few tiny freckles under her make-up. She’d looked good from a distance. Up close, she was much more interesting.

      She had real knockout eyes. Dark, dark blue. Not the pale blue normally associated with a redhead. But then her hair wasn’t the average red either. It was a dark deep auburn. The kind of colour normally associated with Hollywood actresses who probably had a whole team of people to get it that colour. Almost instantly he knew that Bonnie Reid’s was entirely natural. She gave him the slightest glance from those eyes. And for the first time, in a long time, he took a deep breath.

      It had been a long time since a woman had ignited something in his system. Maybe it was her dark blue eyes against her pale skin? Or the look of disdain she gave him as she walked past into the treatment room and started washing her hands.

      Had he just imagined it? No. Something in her eyes told him this was a woman who had lived—had experienced life. She must be in her early thirties. As she finished washing her hands he glanced at her finger—no ring. It had been a long time since he’d done that too.

      She turned to face him. ‘Bonnie Reid, new midwife at Cambridge Royal Maternity Unit.’ Her eyebrows rose. ‘And you are?’

      It was her tone. It rankled him right away. He’d never been a person to pull rank. ‘Jacob Layton, Head Obstetrician, CRMU.’

      It was almost as if a box of chocolates or tray of cakes had appeared out of thin air at the nurses’ station. Just about every door in the corridor opened and a whole host of previously hidden staff appeared. Did they avoid him every morning?

      Bonnie didn’t appear to notice. She blinked and pointed towards his scrubs. ‘You should wear an ID badge, Dr Layton. You could be absolutely anyone. I expect all staff members I work with to be clearly identified.’

      She was just here. His skin prickled. Patience was not his friend. In any other set of circumstances he might have said their new staff member had an attitude problem. But he got the distinct impression that Bonnie Reid was only reacting to his initial barb.

      He didn’t know whether to give her a dressing-down or to smile. ‘It’s Jacob,’ he said quietly. ‘Everyone calls me Jacob.’ Not true. Only the few people not terrified by him called him Jacob. For a second their gazes meshed. It startled him, sending a little jolt around his system.

      More than a year. That was how long it had been since he’d felt a spark with someone.

      She gave the slightest nod of her head and extended her hand towards his. ‘Bonnie. Everyone calls me Bonnie.’

      As soon as he connected with her skin he knew he’d made a mistake. The warm feeling of her palm against his. Touch. That was what he’d missed most of all in the last year. The warmness of someone’s touch. He pulled his hand back sharply as her eyes widened at his reaction.

      ‘You’re late.’ It came out much snappier than he intended. Her hand was still in mid-air, suspended from their shake. She drew it back slowly and her gaze narrowed as she took a deep breath and her shoulders went back.

      She met his gaze full on. ‘Yes, I’m late.’ It was clear she had no intention of giving anything else away. He couldn’t believe how much one meeting

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