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under her ribs. Definitely not.

      Tom continued, oblivious to her feelings, ‘Stella’s our head theatre nurse. If you need to know anything, ask her.’

      ‘Hello, Stella. I guess that means we’ll be working together this week.’

      ‘Yes, we will.’ The nurse glanced sideways at her, a multitude of questions racing across her face.

      Those questions brought another thought to mind. Had Tom settled down with another woman? Six years was a long time to remain single, especially for a warm, caring man like Tom. Women had always been attracted to him, so it wouldn’t have been hard for him to find someone else. Her heart squeezed tight. Of course she didn’t mind. She would be very happy for him if that was the case. Really. Her hands clenched at her sides. Really.

      ‘Jarrod’s in the recovery room.’ Stella broke through Fiona’s tumultuous thoughts.

      Tom fired questions at his nurse. ‘Any other injuries? Did he knock his head? Lose consciousness? There’ll probably be internal bleeding from landing on the ground.’

      ‘He’s got a few scratches with light bleeding and says he didn’t hit his head. He seems remarkably happy, as though he’s done nothing wrong climbing that tree.’ Stella’s lips tightened with disapproval.

      Fiona followed Tom into the theatre recovery room. A boy of about ten years lay on the bed. A light smattering of blood, which appeared to have come from a deep scratch on his hand, stained his denim jacket and jeans. A woman holding a penlight torch peered under his eyelids.

      ‘Kerry, thanks for coming in. Any major problems with our lad?’ Tom asked, reaching for an X-ray film lying on the end of the bed.

      ‘Apart from a broken arm, he’s a very lucky boy. His vitals are good, shock level low.’

      The boy grinned, before wincing as pain snagged him. ‘It wasn’t a big tree.’

      ‘You shouldn’t have been up it at all,’ Tom growled. But understanding lightened his face as he put aside the X-ray to gently palpate Jarrod’s lower left arm.

      Tom looked to Fiona. ‘Looks like our tour is on hold.’ He nodded to the woman with the penlight. ‘Kerry’s one of our anaesthetists. Kerry, this is Fiona Fraser, the plastic surgeon.’

      And he was sticking to using her maiden name. Pain stabbed her beneath the ribs as she reached for Kerry’s outstretched hand.

      ‘I’m glad we’ve caught up before we start tomorrow’s surgery.’

      Kerry’s dazzling smile made Fiona feel welcome for the first time since she’d touched down on the airstrip. The hard knot in her stomach finally eased a little. ‘So am I.’

      Stella spoke to Tom. ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t stay. I’ve got to prepare for my in-laws’ wedding anniversary dinner.’

      Tom waved at her. ‘I’m sorry, I’d forgotten all about you wanting to leave early. You get going. We’ll manage here.’

      ‘I can help you with Jarrod,’ Fiona offered, watching Stella leave and thinking how different Tom’s attitude had become. He’d always used to expect his staff to put patients before everything. ‘I’ve worked with a lot of children recently,’ she added defensively.

      Tom glanced up, an assessing look in those steely eyes. Then he dipped his chin. ‘Jumping straight in? Why not? I’d appreciate it. The haemophilia might mean this is not a straightforward fracture.’

      Warmth spread through her at the thought of working with Tom again. Then Jarrod groaned, quickly dampening her mood. She queried Tom, ‘Have you got clotting factors on hand? Vitamin K?’

      ‘Plenty of those. With eight haemophiliacs here this week, we’re well prepared.’ Tom lifted his head from examining Jarrod and focused on Fiona. ‘We’ll set this fracture, clean up that cut and those scratches, then a shot of vitamin K and some clotting factor to stop the bleeding.’

      ‘Haemophilia A or B?’ she asked.

      ‘A, but I’d still like to check his notes.’

      But he knew what was in those notes, which went to show how thoroughly he worked with each patient.

      ‘Here you go.’ Kerry handed a file over to Tom. ‘Do you need me for anything else? If not I’d like to get back to the twins. We were in the middle of baths when Stella phoned.’

      ‘Twins? How old are they?’ Fiona turned to the anaesthetist.

      ‘Three-year-old rascals.’

      ‘You must have your hands full at times.’ Fiona pushed down on a sudden spurt of longing to hold a small child. Often, especially after she’d spent time at one of the clinics where she worked, this need would overtake her, rattle her, and keep her awake at nights. But why right now, when she was with Tom for the first time in years? It wasn’t as though she would ever be having another child. And certainly not with Tom. But she had had a baby, a beautiful little boy, and here she stood beside his father, totally confused, ready to run and hide from all the emotion assailing her.

      Kerry spoke as though from far away. ‘They keep us very busy, the adorable scallywags.’

      Huh? What? Of course, the twins. Concentrate. On answering Kerry. On helping Jarrod. As if she could control her emotions that easily. But she had to. Her smile stretched her lips tight. ‘How do you manage to work as well as look after two children? Do you have a nanny?’

      ‘I only work every second week, and my sister-in-law looks after them for me those days.’

      Tom waved a hand in Kerry’s direction. ‘Get out of here while you can. And give those two bundles of trouble a hug from their godfather.’

      ‘Come and do that yourself. If they don’t see you soon they’ll think you’re a stranger next time you arrive bearing armloads of gifts. And bring Fiona with you.’

      Godfather? Tom? He’d be fantastic. He adored children, and seemed to know instinctively how to communicate with them at any age. Another familiar pain curled around her heart, stopping her from moving. Her head filled with the vision of Tom holding his dark-haired son in his arms and rocking him to sleep with infinite patience; and the old pain that she’d learned to breathe through, live through, but never to vanquish, seized her. Tom should have more children of his own. He was missing out on so much. So were those unborn babies.

      Her eyes fluttered shut as she struggled to rein in her seesawing emotions. Meeting up with Tom again was turbulent. And with past issues already battering at her in a way she hadn’t expected she felt bruised internally. She leaned into the wall for a moment, gathering her strength.

      ‘Fi? Are you all right?’ A strong hand held her elbow with surprising gentleness.

      Sweet mama, please don’t call me Fi. Fi belonged to another time, another life. A life when this man had loved her. ‘Yes, I’m fine. I don’t know what came over me.’

      When she opened her eyes again she found Tom watching her closely. She dragged out a smile. ‘Where do you keep the clotting factors? I’ll get them for you.’

      His hand stayed on her elbow, sending heat up her arm. Her body leaned closer to him. ‘Are you ill?’ he asked softly.

      ‘Not at all. Just a bit tired, I guess. It was a long flight and I’m out of practice.’

      ‘Keep Jarrod entertained for a few minutes while I fetch his shots. Then I’ll take you to get a cup of tea and some food. I bet you haven’t eaten in hours. Do you still get light-headed and cranky when you’re hungry?’ His lips curved ever so slightly upward.

      ‘Not normally.’ But today hadn’t been exactly normal.

      ‘Then I’m a lot safer already.’

      Was he teasing her?

      Fiona shook her head as he headed out

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