LITMIR.BIZ

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married. You haven’t even hit thirty. Come on, Poppy, when are you going to give another man a chance?’

      ‘That’s just it, Sandy. Why should I? I dumped my inferiority complexes with my married name. My life is great. Why would I risk that again?’

      Maybe she shouldn’t visit the sins of her ex-husband on Jake. Maybe he was trustworthy.

      Ha! That small voice inside her went into hysterics. You’ve met him twice! The guy’s charming, but can he be trusted?

      ‘When Mum died, another “hunk” walked out on me, right when I needed him. Maybe I’d feel more inclined to trust him if he wasn’t so perfect.’

      Sandy raised her eyebrows. ‘Yeah, right. So we need him to put a paper bag over his head and get him to chant, “Trust me, trust me.”’ Poppy stifled a giggle at her friend’s imagination.

      As if conjured up by their conversation, the sound of slightly off-key whistling preceded Jake’s head as he appeared around the door. Poppy watched his eyes brighten at seeing them and his long lean body followed to prop up the door frame. His dark hair was tousled as if he’d been caught in a wild breeze and the front of his shirt was damp and sticking to him in a fist-sized spot under his collarbone.

      Jake looked a different man from the one in the nursery today. Ten years seemed to have dropped off his age. ‘I love kids, even if they are messy. I like the way they run Children’s Ward here—for the kids and not despite them.’ He grinned at them.

      Poppy could see he meant what he said. She felt the same about her own ward.

      ‘Coffee smells good.’ Jake’s voice slid through her defences and Poppy stiffened her shoulders. Sandy could be mother.

      ‘How do you like it, Dr Sheppard?’ Sandy switched on the jug.

      ‘Jake, please. I’d settle for any way, except down the front of my shirt like my last drink was given to me. I can see by your badge that you’re Sandy. Is it Sandra or Cassandra?’

      ‘Cassandra, actually.’ Sandy blushed and Poppy hid her smile as the mature mother of three groped for composure like a sixteen-year-old.

      ‘White, no sugar, thanks.’

      Cynically, Poppy marvelled at the way Jake put Sandy at her ease, drawing the older woman out about her children, obviously interested in all she said. Handsome men usually could. She could remember her ex-husband and all the young mothers sighing over him. Her nose twitched in disgust.

      ‘I’m going to check the ward.’ Poppy stood abruptly and left the room as if she had something important to do. She didn’t. She heard his voice thanking Sandy for the coffee as she walked away and she knew he’d follow her. She sighed.

      The corridor was deserted and as Poppy passed one of the empty rooms she felt his presence as he came up behind her and steered her into it with a hand on her shoulder. He gently shut the door behind them.

      Poppy could hear the now familiar thumping in her ears and she tried to slow the rapid rise and fall of her breathing as she turned to face him. She tried for lightness. ‘Did you want to see me, Doctor?’

      Jake’s face was calm and Poppy marvelled how difficult she found it to read his mood. He was different again from the man of ten minutes ago. He didn’t look like he was going to chastise her for some fault in her work or even discuss a patient—so why was he here?

      ‘I want to apologise—for last night. There are reasons, which have nothing to do with you, that may have made me seem unfriendly.’

      ‘Apology accepted, Dr Sheppard.’ She looked up at him with mischief in her eyes. ‘Be polite next time.’

      ‘My mother would like you, Poppy. She’s very proper, too.’ He grinned and held out his hand for her to shake.

      ‘Proper’ was such an old-fashioned word. Poppy hiccuped on a giggle as she thought of herself as being labelled proper. But she supposed he’d only seen her as a neonatal nurse.

      Actually, there had been times she’d been labelled a hippie, and a harpy—‘like your mother’. Her husband’s cold contempt still stung after all this time.

      She was sure conservative Mrs Sheppard wouldn’t appreciate Poppy’s views or her mother’s past. Poppy couldn’t exactly tell Jake that.

      ‘Thank you,’ she said politely.

      ‘To friendship, as long as you don’t try to convince me that having a home birth is a responsible choice for a parent.’

      He smiled at her but she could see he really meant what he’d said. She wondered what he’d think about her complementary therapies in the birthing unit. She shrugged. He’d find out.

      He added, ‘I have asked you to call me Jake, please.’

      ‘To friendship, then, Jake.’ She reached out and placed her hand in his, and the difference in hand size made her feel suddenly very feminine. ‘But don’t expect me not to try and change your mind.’ Sensation tingled up her arm. She bit her lip. Friendship with this man would be...difficult!

      * * *

      By nine o’clock that night everything was quiet on the ward. Poppy was sitting with Sandy, writing patient reports, when the internal paging system suddenly erupted with noise. The medical emergency buzzer. This drew at least one staff member from each ward to assist in the area illuminated on the board.

      ‘I’ll go, Sandy.’ Poppy jogged quickly down the corridor and her stomach tightened as she saw the initials of the ward involved. Children’s Ward. Maternity was the closest unit and Poppy skidded around the corner and through the door. Like Maternity, Children’s Ward was staffed by only two nurses a shift. They’d need help. She scanned the indicators for the room with the light on and drew a quick breath as she entered.

      She could see the child’s eyes were huge and terrified in her pale face. The sister in charge of the ward was supporting the girl and speaking gently, trying to reassure her. The hiss of the oxygen blowing the Ventolin mist into the girl’s lungs dominated the room as the child tried to force her narrowed bronchial tubes to open enough to let the air in.

      ‘Poppy! Thank God.’ The sister in charge looked up briefly. ‘Amelia was admitted this evening with her asthma, and she’s not responding to the Ventolin this time.’

      The junior nurse wheeled the emergency trolley into the room and looked as frightened as the patient.

      ‘Have you rung Dr Sheppard?’ Poppy could see the little girl becoming more and more sleepy as she tried to lean forward droopily on her thin arms. She felt her nerves tighten as she remembered the words of her intensive care tutor. A sleepy asthmatic is an asthmatic in trouble.

      ‘Haven’t had time, but Nurse can ring now that you’re here to stay with me.’ The junior hurried to the door. ‘Tell him urgently, please.’

      ‘I’ll do the trolley part. She knows you. You keep her as calm as possible. Where are her parents?’

      ‘Her father’s gone home to feed the animals. You’ve got her mother over in Maternity.’ Poppy checked the girl’s armband and realised that this was Sheila’s older child. Heck!

      ‘She hasn’t an intravenous line in situ?’

      ‘It leaked into the tissues an hour ago and I paged the resident to resite it, but he’s stuck in Casualty with a chest-pain case. Dr Sheppard’s going to kill me because I didn’t ring him to come back.’

      Poppy winced. He probably would, but that was the least of their problems at the moment. ‘I’ll have to cannulate if Jake doesn’t get here soon. How old is she? I need to work out the dosage for the drug.’ She hoped she wouldn’t mess up any veins but it was no use worrying—she had to do it. They’d need adrenalin if the child became much worse. Amelia started to cough, with the bronchospasm in her air passages making the air entry even more difficult.

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