don’t want to father kids!’ The thought was obviously worse than hot tallow.
‘No,’ Luke said soothingly. ‘I guess you don’t, but one day you might. Meanwhile everything’s in working order for when you want them to do what they’re meant to do. For when your chance in life happens.’
Ross and Jason were sent home. Robbie and Craig were admitted. They’d been in the centre of the vat. It had taken them longer to get out, which meant they had patches of second-degree burning. No full-thickness burns, though. Evie took them in charge, patching them up before admitting them. Luke somehow found himself doing the paperwork while Lily gave Ross and Jason’s parents instructions on how to deal with minor scalds.
She then headed off to fill in a police report. Finn might have moved on, but Luke heard Blue Eyes asking questions, getting the boys to sign statements, and he knew because of her the open vats would be covered and there’d be no prosecutions of kids who were just being … kids.
Lily was some nurse.
She wasn’t your normal agency nurse. Most agency nurses were looking for a quiet life. They were mums with small kids who worked when they could find someone to care for their children. They were overseas nurses, funding the next adventure. They were older women who worked when grandkids and aching legs permitted, or they wanted funds for a few retirement treats.
Lily, though, didn’t seem to fit any of these categories. She was in her late twenties, he decided, nicely mature. Competent. She had the air of a nurse who’d run her own ward, and who didn’t suffer fools gladly. And the way she’d talked to Jason … She didn’t sound like a young mum, wearily getting the job done.
He badly needed to get to bed. He had a full list in the morning. He shouldn’t be awake now, but first … First he finished the paperwork and casually dropped by Admin. And while he did he just happened to retrieve the fact sheet that had been faxed through with the notification that Blue Eyes had been allocated to work at the Harbour.
Blue Eyes.
Lily Maureen Ellis. Twenty-six years old. Trained at Adelaide. Well trained. He flicked through her list of credentials and blinked—hey, she had plastics experience. She was trained to assist in plastic surgery.
Plus the rest. Intensive care. Paediatrics. Midwifery. He knew the hospital she’d trained in. This woman must be good.
According to the sheet, she’d left Adelaide two years back to run the bush nursing hospital at Lighthouse Cove. He knew Lighthouse Cove. It was a tiny, picturesque town less than an hour’s drive from Adelaide.
Fishing, tourists, pubs and not a lot else.
So what had driven Lily Maureen Ellis to pack up and leave Lighthouse Cove and put her name down as an agency nurse in Sydney?
Maybe she was following a man.
Maybe he needed to get some sleep.
‘Why the hell aren’t you in bed?’ It was Finn, scaring the daylights out of him—as normal. The Harbour’s Director of Surgery had the tread of a panther—and night sight. Word in the hospital was that there was nothing Finn didn’t know. He knew it before it happened.
‘Why aren’t you in bed?’ Luke managed back, mildly. ‘Have you been giving Evie more grief?’
‘I haven’t …’
‘Yeah, you have,’ he said evenly. ‘You’re tetchy, and you’re especially tetchy round Evie. What’s eating you?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Headaches? Sore arm?’
‘Why would I have headaches?’
‘Beats me,’ Luke said mildly. ‘But you keep rubbing your head and shoulder, and if anyone puts a foot wrong …’
‘Dr Lockheart had no business waking us up,’ Finn growled.
‘She had four potentially serious burns and one agency nurse. Cut her some slack.’
‘She drives me nuts,’ Finn said, taking the fact sheet. ‘So this is the girl handing out waterproofs.’
‘She’s got guts.’
‘I’m sick of guts,’ Finn said. ‘Give me a good pliable woman any day. So why are we reading her CV?’ He raised an eyebrow in sudden interest. ‘Well, well. It’s about time …’
‘No.’
‘No?’
‘No.’
‘Hannah’s been gone for four years now,’ Finn said, gentling. ‘A man can’t mourn for ever.’
‘Says the whole hospital,’ Luke said grimly. ‘It’s driving me nuts.’
‘So have an affair.’ He motioned to the CV. ‘Excellent idea. Get them off your back. Get a life.’
‘Hannah didn’t get a life.’
‘It wasn’t your fault.’
‘So whose fault was it?’ he demanded, explosively. ‘Fourteen weeks and I didn’t even know she was pregnant.’
‘You were working seventy hours a week and fronting for exams. Hannah knew the pressures. She was also a nurse and she knew her way around her body. To lock herself in her bedroom and suffer in silence at fourteen weeks pregnant … She was fed up that you were caught up in Theatre. It still smacks of playing the martyr.’
‘Don’t.’
‘Speak ill of the dead? I say it like it is. If one stupid act of martyrdom stops you from getting on with your life …’
‘I don’t see you getting on with your life.’
Finn stiffened. Finn was his boss, Luke conceded, but their relationship went deeper. He knew as much of Finn’s background as anyone did. Finn had a brother who’d been killed in combat. He’d been wounded himself. There’d been a messy relationship with his brother’s wife, then a series of forget-the-moment flings.
Was he about to throw those in his boss’s face? Maybe not. Not at two in the morning, when they were both sleep deprived—and when a cute little blonde nurse had suddenly appeared in the background behind Finn. Waiting for an opportunity to break in.
‘Don’t make this about me,’ Finn snapped. ‘Meanwhile, you …’ Finn waved the folder. ‘An agency nurse, ripe for the picking. That’s what you need. A casual affair and then move on.’
The blue eyes widened.
Luke stifled a groan.
‘Excuse me, doctors,’ the Agency-Ripe-For-The-Picking nurse said, in a carefully neutral voice. ‘The paging system doesn’t appear to be working down here. Dr Lockheart has asked me to find you, Dr Williams. Not you, Mr Kennedy. Dr Lockheart’s words were, “Keep that man out of my department at all costs”. But a child’s been admitted with facial injuries from dog bites. Dr Lockheart says to tell you, Dr Williams, that this is serious and could you please come now.’
CHAPTER TWO
JESSIE BLANDON was headed for Theatre—if he made it that far.
He was four years old. He’d woken in the middle of the night, needing his mother, the bathroom, something. He’d stumbled through the living room. His mother’s boyfriend’s Rottweiler had been on the couch.
As far as Lily could see, he’d lost half his face. Or not completely lost; it was hanging by a flap. How he’d not bled to death, she didn’t know.
Lily didn’t have time to think about what she’d just overheard. She flew back to Emergency with Luke.
‘Tell me,’ he snapped as they strode down the corridor at a pace practised by most emergency medics. Never run in a hospital. Walk—exceedingly fast.