A Baby Of Her Own. Kate Hardy

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      When Mrs Bartlett had left, cradling the baby in her arms, Sam turned to Jodie. ‘You’re good with parents. You explained everything to her without being patronising. Well done.’

      ‘Thank you.’ She was surprised at the compliment. He’d barely spoken to her since he’d dropped her home from Mario’s the previous week, so she’d been dreading it when she’d realised that he was going to be with her on the paediatric assessment unit shift this morning. She’d expected him to pick up every single fault, however minor. Instead, he’d let her get on with it and had only occasionally offered an opinion, phrasing it more as a question so she could show off her own knowledge of the subject.

      ‘You’re a good doctor, Jodie,’ he said, surprising her even further. ‘Though are you sure about the nebuliser?’

      ‘I know it’s controversial and some doctors don’t approve of using bronchodilators,’ Jodie said, ‘but if it helps the baby breathe, that’s the most important thing. We’ll trial Atrovent and salbutamol, see which one works best for him. Sometimes they respond to one better than the other.’

      Sam grinned. ‘Yes, Dr Price.’

      She flushed. ‘Sorry. You already knew that.’ Of course he did. He was a consultant, with a good six years’ more experience than her. Trust her to open her mouth and say something so stupid, just when she was trying to prove to him that she could be a cool, calm and rational colleague.

      Not to mention proving to herself that Sam Taylor didn’t make her hormones run amok.

      ‘I’d always rather you explain yourself than make assumptions,’ Sam said gently, as if sensing her embarrassment. ‘It leaves less room for errors.’

      ‘Right.’

      ‘What else have we got in?’ he asked.

      ‘An asthma attack—when I know the history, I might suggest some skin tests to see if the girl’s allergic to cats or dust mites or any particular sorts of food, and I want to check whether the parents smoke round her—plus two rashes and a possible fracture.’

      ‘Lead on, Macduff,’ he misquoted with a grin.

      Jodie stared at him for a moment, slightly dazed. That grin could only be described as dazzling. What was it about the man? Since Mario’s, he’d as good as avoided her. And just when she’d decided that he was remote, glacial and not worth thinking about, he did or said something that made her look again, see him as a man—a very attractive man, at that. Without that wall of reserve, he’d be devastating.

      It couldn’t work out between them. There were too many barriers, social and professional, so why couldn’t she stop that voice in her head telling her to go for it?

      Not now. They had work to do. ‘Let’s go,’ she said, forcing herself to smile at Sam in her best professional manner.

      The voice grew louder over the next week until it was positively deafening. The departmental Christmas party was traditionally held in the middle of December; those who were married came with their partners, but those who were single—which meant most of their ward, as the staff were all fairly young—picked the name of their partner out of a hat, the day before the party.

      And Jodie had picked Sam. Completely by accident, but it felt as if fate or some higher power had done it by design. She’d agonised over it for nearly the whole of her shift. Should she give him the option of backing out, or use the chance to break down his reserve? He’d hate it. Hadn’t he gone back into his shell since Mario’s? On the other hand, it was the Christmas party—and Christmas was a season of magic, when everything could change.

      When Sam had finished his ward round, she caught his attention. ‘Mr Taylor—could I have a word, please?’

      ‘Of course, Dr Price.’

      The formality made her nervous, but she pressed on. ‘Um…your office?’ she suggested.

      ‘My office,’ he agreed.

      Sam’s office was the same size as that of Lyn Trevor, the other paediatric consultant, but whereas Lynn’s desk sported pictures of her husband and children and the walls were decorated with pictures drawn by patients and her own children, Sam’s office was completely devoid of personal touches. Not even so much as a pot-plant graced the window-sill and even the Christmas cards were stacked in a neat pile on his desk rather than being on display.

      Jodie felt even more daunted. Everything around her screamed, Keep off! Don’t touch!

      He sat down on the swivel chair behind his desk. ‘So, what can I do for you, Dr Price?’

      She took a deep breath, gathered up her courage and swallowed hard. ‘It’s about the departmental Christmas party, tomorrow night,’ she muttered.

      ‘Yes?’

      ‘I…er…I picked your name out of the hat. It means I’m supposed to go with you.’

      Not a flicker of emotion. He was completely unreadable—and unreachable. ‘And?’

      ‘I…’ she floundered. ‘Look, if you’d rather I made some excuse and didn’t go…’

      ‘Why would I do that?’

      ‘Honestly, men could be so dense sometimes!’

      To her shock, he laughed.

      ‘What?’

      ‘I take it you didn’t mean to say that out loud?’

      Jodie clapped a hand over her mouth, horrified. ‘Oh, no. Please, tell me I didn’t…’ When he said nothing, she closed her eyes. ‘I’m sorry. What I meant was—’

      ‘Given that the first half of the party is a revue, and Mr Frosty’s bound to have a part in it, you think I’d find it too embarrassing to attend,’ he finished.

      Her eyes widened. He knew about his nickname on the ward?

      He folded his arms. ‘Yes, Jodie, I know.’

      ‘I’d see a specialist but there isn’t a cure for foot-in-mouth disease,’ she said wryly.

      ‘You didn’t say a thing this time. You have one of those faces that shows every single thought.’ Still, his own expression was unreadable. ‘Do I take it you’d rather not go to the party with me, then?’

      ‘I…’ She sighed. ‘I don’t know.’

      ‘Explain.’

      ‘Do you always have to be so, so…’ Unable to find the word she was searching for, she growled in frustration.

      That at least raised a smile. ‘Difficult?’

      ‘Something like that.’ Well, he’d asked. If he didn’t like the answer, that was his problem; she couldn’t keep quiet any more. ‘When you came to Mario’s with us, I thought you’d, well, thawed out a bit. And then…’

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