One Night, Twin Consequences. Annie O'Neil

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СКАЧАТЬ He watched as the set of her jaw tightened enough for a muscle twitch. Then again...maybe a stint on his patch would be good for her. And him.

      “Shall I leave you two to the ward tour, then? It’s Harriet’s showcase!” Dr. Bailey had already turned to go, not leaving them much of a choice. Harriet nodded curtly, just the tiniest hint of “don’t leave me” left in her eyes as he and Dr. Bailey shook hands.

      “Sister?”

      Matteo couldn’t help grinning as she unclenched her lips and forced on a “guess we’re stuck with each other” smile.

      His amusement increased as Harriet excused herself for a moment to fiddle round with some charts in faux preparation for his tour. She obviously wasn’t happy about the avalanche of information she’d just been handed. Not to say he was ready to click his heels up in the air in a fit of glee, but none of this was of her making. An unfamiliar urge to make sure Harriet came out of this unscathed niggled away at his conscience. If anything, she was the biggest pawn in the scenario. No point in dumping all of his reservations onto her plate. She tugged her form-fitting uniform down a notch, accenting the perfect swoosh of waist to hip ratio.

      Hmm... Perhaps this whole palaver would be easier if she had been a nun.

      Nuns? He could deal with nuns. Unlike most of his childhood friends, he’d enjoyed Catholic boarding school—the structure had suited him. A nice contrast to his parent’s whirlwind, round-the-globe lifestyle. He’d take a nun over a Buenos Aires socialite any day of the week. Not literally, of course. He shuddered away the thought. Nuns and socialites. Ugh. He stopped another shudder. He’d rather a night of romance with Harriet than—

      Uh... Que paso? One second he was keeping Harriet at arm’s length, the next he...?

      No. He didn’t. Casita Verde kept him busy. Incredibly busy. Not to mention his “no children” policy that sent most Argentinian women flying out the door. “What kind of man doesn’t want children of his own?” they all asked.

      One whose sister had died in childbirth. That’s who. One who worked with scores of orphans no one wanted to adopt every day. One who’d vowed to be a doctor and nothing more to said orphans, the teens who gave birth to them and anyone else who crossed the threshold into the casita. That’s who. Not that he had issues. He had facts. And perspective. Children of his own? Not an option.

      He looked across at Harriet, still engaged in her chart-juggling. From what he heard, she spent as many hours at St. Nick’s as he did at the casita. Birds of a feather? He watched her face break into a smile as a sock puppet fell out of one of the record folders.

      He doubted it.

      She was a wisp of a thing, slight. Complete with flushed cheeks, an untidy swish of honey-blonde hair and clear blue eyes that didn’t seem able to lie. Real. He liked her. And, coming from him, that was saying a lot. He didn’t “do” personal. Couldn’t broach “real”. Cool, calm reserve. It served him well. And yet...

      “Should I go out then come in again?” Matteo offered, pointing to the swing doors.

      “Why would you do that?”

      “So we could start over. Or—at the very least—it would buy you some time to pretend being forced to have a puppy dog follow you round all day wasn’t the worst thing to ever happen.”

      “Unfortunately, we don’t allow dogs in the hospital,” Harriet blurted, covering her mouth with both hands in horror after the words flew out.

      Matteo laughed and put what was meant to be a reassuring hand on her shoulder. Her shoulders instantly shot up to her ears, briefly trapping his fingers between them. He only just managed to stop himself from running a finger along her jawline as he withdrew his hand, taking a mental note as he did so: Argentine ways were too tactile. This woman needed her space. And he found himself wanting to respect that.

      Winning Harriet Monticello’s confidence seemed like something of genuine value. He totted up a notch in the pro-Harriet camp and another in the watch-it category to check himself. Being emotional about things—about people—didn’t get you very far.

      “Let’s say we get this tour underway.”

       CHAPTER TWO

      “AND NOW FOR one of my favorite places...”

      Harriet smiled broadly but widened the gap between them as they made their way to a glass-fronted ward. She definitely liked to keep him at arm’s length. He dipped for a surreptitious sniff of his shirt. He was certain he’d showered this morning...

      He covered the move with a smile and an earnest nod. “It’s nice to see changes implemented that don’t necessarily require huge injections of cash.

      “The whole world is slashing budgets and we’re no different. But it’s the staffing changes that make the biggest impact and those are completely free. Makes work seem less like...work.”

      “It seems to me you do a lot more than work here.” And that was putting it mildly. There were staffers and then there were people whose work was their passion—their calling. Harriet knew every patient, staffer, nook and cranny of St. Nick’s. Not many people were like that. He felt that way. From the day his sister had died he’d known where to pour his energies. His rage. But Harriet seemed fueled by other fires. She was pure compassion.

      “Ta-da!” She twirled around, swirling her hands into a presentation pose as his heart sank. A row of little cots filled with pink and blue bundles spread out before him. The infants’ ward. He’d been so busy focusing on Harriet’s take on pediatric staffing he hadn’t even noticed where they were heading.

      “Want to go in for a snuggle? I always come here when I’m feeling a bit down. Baby therapy!” Her eyes sparkled in anticipation of his affirmative answer. ‘You know, a whole new world...little tiny fingers, little tiny toes. Endless possibilities!”

      Wrong customer. Wrong question. He flicked his eyes towards the large wall clock.

      “I think we should probably press on.” He knew his smile was tight, but at least he’d managed one of those. “How about we work our way back to your office and I can get out of your hair.”

      She threw him a questioning look, but didn’t press him.

      He didn’t do cuddling, cooing or coddling. He helped young women through often complicated births, took care of the casita’s orphans if they required medical attention—but getting attached to any of them? Not his bag. Caring only led to heartbreak and he’d had more than his fair share of that nonsense.

      “Not everyone has the stomach for this kind of work.” He tried to cover the awkward silence settling between them. “And yet you choose to be with children most people prefer to ignore. A ward full of dying orphans—”

      “Children,” she firmly corrected.

      “Orphaned children,” he couldn’t stop himself from riposting. “I’m surprised you, of all people, would wrap everything up in politically correct language to make things softer and fluffier for them. Life is tough and will continue to be so—especially for children like these. Orphans.”

      From the flash of ire СКАЧАТЬ