suite’s waiting area a few seconds after him. Gus didn’t know the Italian doctor well—although he was the husband of one of Holly’s best friends—but he’d been grateful when Seb had told him that Gina was with Holly. At least he’d had some forewarning of her possible arrival.
But nothing had prepared him for the moment when she’d walked into the waiting room. After weeks, months, of not seeing her, the instant he’d been aware of her presence and turned to look at her he’d experienced a whole gamut of confusing emotions. The first thing he’d wanted to do in these most desperate of circumstances was to take her in his arms and hold her, but as she’d hesitated and turned away from him he’d managed to prevent himself from doing anything stupid. He’d made a fool of himself over Holly once. He didn’t plan on doing it again.
On edge and impatient, Gus wrestled with his reaction to Holly. He could see her now, her image reflected in the glass of the window as she sat across the room, and he shifted to bring her more into focus. In her smart, staff-nurse’s uniform, and with her shoulder-length wavy blonde hair tied back in a short ponytail, she looked fresh-faced, incredibly young … and scared.
Her flawless skin was ashen, so pale that the cute smattering of freckles dusting her cheekbones and the bridge of her nose were more noticeable than usual, while her sky-blue eyes, fringed by long sooty lashes, looked far too big and bruised with worry. Drawn to her, he turned around, his disobedient gaze clashing with hers. Tension hummed between them for several long moments. He tried to look away but found he couldn’t, held as if by some invisible force.
It was the sudden arrival of one of the consultants that ended the strange and uncomfortable interlude.
‘Gus Buchanan and Holly Tait?’ the man queried, pushing through the heavy swing door into the room, the mask he had worn in Theatre now hanging limply around his neck. ‘You’re the relatives?’
‘Yes,’ Gus confirmed, stepping forward as Holly stood up. He recognised the man by sight, and knew of his reputation, but they’d never met before.
‘I’m Shaun Haggerty, consultant neonatologist.’ The introductions made, he shook hands with them both. ‘If you come with me, I’ll bring you up to speed on what’s happened and we can discuss in private what you want to do.’
Intensely aware of Holly’s presence, Gus held open the door of the waiting room, finding it hard to breathe past the restriction in his throat, scared at what he was about to hear regarding the condition of his baby.
‘Seb and I will wait here in case you need us,’ Gina promised, and Holly nodded her appreciation before she forced unsteady legs to move.
She followed Gus and Mr Haggerty down the hall and into a small nondescript office. Her stomach was so churned up with emotion that she felt positively ill, and she couldn’t stop shaking. As Mr Haggerty closed the door and walked around the desk Holly sat on the vacant chair next to Gus.
‘This has been a big shock for you both,’ Mr Haggerty began, his expression sombre. ‘I’m sure you have a lot of questions. The police are investigating the accident and will want to talk to you, so I’ll leave that side of things to them and deal only with the medical issues.’ He paused, looking from Gus to her and back again. ‘Is that all right with you?’
‘Yes. Thank you. Right now I just want to know about the baby,’ Gus replied, and tears stung Holly’s eyes at the unmistakable desperation in his voice—a desperation that matched her own.
Realising both men were waiting for her response, Holly nodded her agreement, too off-balance for more coherent thought. ‘Me, too.’
As she spoke she was painfully conscious that none of them had mentioned Julia. She glanced at Gus. His face was a mask, revealing none of the emotion she knew must be rampaging through him. Instinctively she wanted to comfort him, and to seek comfort in return, but the special rapport they’d once shared had broken down so completely she was now nervous and uncertain of his reaction. So she curbed the urge to reach for his hand, and as the consultant began speaking she focused on his words.
‘I’m afraid Mrs Buchanan suffered serious head, neck and facial injuries,’ Mr Haggerty informed them, and Holly closed her eyes at the horror that had befallen her sister. ‘The air ambulance was returning from transferring a patient to Glasgow when the call came in to attend the car crash, which meant they were close by and on scene within minutes,’ he continued, leaning forward and steepling his fingers together. ‘The flight doctor and the paramedic detected a weak foetal heartbeat and did everything they could to maintain the baby’s life in order to reach the hospital.’
Holly flicked another quick glance towards Gus in time to see him running fingers through his hair—such a familiar sign of his stress and agitation.
‘The only blessing to emerge from this tragedy is thanks to Frazer and Rick,’ the consultant added, the ghost of a smile relieving the sternness of his expression.
‘How do you mean?’ Gus asked, his voice hoarse.
Holly clenched her hands together until the knuckles turned white, hoping and praying that there was still hope for the baby.
‘There is much we still need to talk about,’ Mr Haggerty stressed, ‘but I can tell you, Gus, that thanks to the quick actions of the flight crew, combined with the skill and determination of everyone in Theatre, you now have a son.’
A son.
He had a son.
The words hammered inside Gus’s head, and for several moments all he could hear was the rushing of blood in his veins as it pulsed with a matching rhythm … a son, a son, a son, a son.
A shiver of reaction ran down his spine. As he struggled to control the welling of emotion that brought an uncharacteristic sting to his eyes he felt the light brush of Holly’s fingers on the back of his hand. Without conscious thought he gratefully accepted the physical contact, moving so they were palm to palm, their fingers naturally interlocking.
‘My s-son …?’ he asked, stumbling as he voiced the word aloud for the first time. ‘How is he?’
‘He’s a fighter. Given the trauma of the accident and the delivery—and the suggestion that he could be up to four weeks premature—he’s in miraculously good shape. So far,’ Mr Haggerty informed them.
Relieved despite the words of caution, Gus expelled a shaky breath. ‘Thank God.’
Holly’s fingers tightened on his and he returned the pressure, overwhelmed after the nerve-racking and stressful wait for news that his son was alive. Not only alive, but by all accounts with a real chance of survival.
‘We’re transferring him to the paediatric intensive care unit in the maternity wing so we can monitor him closely,’ the consultant continued. ‘He’s small. And he’s bruised. It appears your wife wasn’t wearing her seatbelt, so he must have taken a battering in the crash, and then there was his somewhat unceremonious entry into the world. We need to do some tests—’
‘What kind of tests?’ Gus demanded, anxiety once more rising within him.
‘As I said, your son seems remarkably robust. At the moment we can’t tell whether he’s suffered any ill-effects from the accident … how long he experienced any loss of oxygen or blood-flow, for example. There are a couple of other issues we need to clarify with you, too,’ the man added, a frown on his face.
Gus’s chest tightened. ‘What kind of issues? What’s wrong?’
‘We have questions about the validity of his due date—’
‘There’s no doubt about that,’ Gus interrupted, tension ripping through him. It was one of the few things he was certain about.
The older man raised an eyebrow. ‘No room for error at all?’ he asked, a note of disbelief edging his voice.
‘None,’ Gus confirmed, although he had no intention of explaining why he was so certain about his baby’s conception—especially