Midwives On-Call At Christmas. Tina Beckett

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СКАЧАТЬ her at all. Dressed in the blue scrubs that the labour ward midwives wore and bright pink trainers, she had her red hair coiled up on top of her head in a strange kind of knot. How on earth did she do that? That, coupled with the curves not hidden by the shapeless scrubs, reminded him of a poster he’d had on his wall as a teenager. He felt a smile form on his lips.

      Was she nervous? Her hands fidgeted with her security pass and she seemed to make a conscious effort to slow her steps. What irritated him most of all was the fact she didn’t seem to notice him standing, waiting for her. Instead, she stopped at every room on the way along the corridor, nodding and introducing herself to the members of staff. She even disappeared for a second to obviously help with a patient.

      Then, she appeared with a load of laundry, which she put into the laundry bags, reorganised two of the hand scrubs outside the doors and tidied the top of the cardiac-arrest trolley on her way past.

      He waited until she’d almost reached him. ‘Bonnie Reid?’ His voice dripped with sarcasm. ‘Nice of you to finally join us.’

      Something flickered across her face. Her skin was pale under the bright hospital lights and he could see a few tiny freckles under her make-up. She’d looked good from a distance. Up close, she was much more interesting.

      She had real knockout eyes. Dark, dark blue. Not the pale blue normally associated with a redhead. But then her hair wasn’t the average red either. It was a dark deep auburn. The kind of colour normally associated with Hollywood actresses who probably had a whole team of people to get it that colour. Almost instantly he knew that Bonnie Reid’s was entirely natural. She gave him the slightest glance from those eyes. And for the first time, in a long time, he took a deep breath.

      It had been a long time since a woman had ignited something in his system. Maybe it was her dark blue eyes against her pale skin? Or the look of disdain she gave him as she walked past into the treatment room and started washing her hands.

      Had he just imagined it? No. Something in her eyes told him this was a woman who had lived—had experienced life. She must be in her early thirties. As she finished washing her hands he glanced at her finger—no ring. It had been a long time since he’d done that too.

      She turned to face him. ‘Bonnie Reid, new midwife at Cambridge Royal Maternity Unit.’ Her eyebrows rose. ‘And you are?’

      It was her tone. It rankled him right away. He’d never been a person to pull rank. ‘Jacob Layton, Head Obstetrician, CRMU.’

      It was almost as if a box of chocolates or tray of cakes had appeared out of thin air at the nurses’ station. Just about every door in the corridor opened and a whole host of previously hidden staff appeared. Did they avoid him every morning?

      Bonnie didn’t appear to notice. She blinked and pointed towards his scrubs. ‘You should wear an ID badge, Dr Layton. You could be absolutely anyone. I expect all staff members I work with to be clearly identified.’

      She was just here. His skin prickled. Patience was not his friend. In any other set of circumstances he might have said their new staff member had an attitude problem. But he got the distinct impression that Bonnie Reid was only reacting to his initial barb.

      He didn’t know whether to give her a dressing-down or to smile. ‘It’s Jacob,’ he said quietly. ‘Everyone calls me Jacob.’ Not true. Only the few people not terrified by him called him Jacob. For a second their gazes meshed. It startled him, sending a little jolt around his system.

      More than a year. That was how long it had been since he’d felt a spark with someone.

      She gave the slightest nod of her head and extended her hand towards his. ‘Bonnie. Everyone calls me Bonnie.’

      As soon as he connected with her skin he knew he’d made a mistake. The warm feeling of her palm against his. Touch. That was what he’d missed most of all in the last year. The warmness of someone’s touch. He pulled his hand back sharply as her eyes widened at his reaction.

      ‘You’re late.’ It came out much snappier than he intended. Her hand was still in mid-air, suspended from their shake. She drew it back slowly and her gaze narrowed as she took a deep breath and her shoulders went back.

      She met his gaze full on. ‘Yes, I’m late.’ It was clear she had no intention of giving anything else away. He couldn’t believe how much one meeting with one woman could irk him.

      She was new. She was working in his unit. And, after talks with the director of midwifery, this was the person he was supposed to offer a promoted post to. If he deemed her suitable. Tardiness was not an option.

      He felt his normal persona resume. The one that had held most of the staff at arm’s length for the last year. ‘Staff and patients rely on us. Lateness is not acceptable at CRMU. I expected you here at nine a.m.’

      It was the first time she looked a little worried. ‘I had to take my daughter to school. We arrived late last night from Scotland. She was upset. I had to make sure she was okay.’ She glanced over her shoulder as if she expected someone else to be there. ‘I left a message for the director of midwifery—she knew my circumstances.’

      Those words annoyed him. He’d seen her CV, but the director hadn’t told him anything about their new employee’s ‘circumstances’. He hated it when staff used excuses for not being able to do a shift, or being late for work.

      ‘We all have circumstances. We all still have to be at work for nine. Work is our priority. Patients are our priority.’

      Her face flamed and her eyes sparked. ‘Patients are always my priority and I’ve already dealt with two on my way along the ward. Exactly how many have you dealt with while you’ve been standing there waiting for me to arrive? Hardly a good use of consultant time.’

      She was questioning him. She was challenging him and she’d only been here five minutes. He’d love to sack her on the spot. But they desperately needed the staff right now, and if she was as competent as she was mouthy he’d be in serious trouble with the director of midwives. She was almost questioning his competence. Let them see how she was when someone questioned hers.

      ‘I saw from your CV that you were a community midwife in Scotland. It’s a bit of a leap coming to work in an inner city labour ward. Don’t you think that might stretch your current capabilities? Are you going to have to refresh your skills?’

      It was a reasonable question. At least he felt it was. He still wasn’t entirely sure why the director thought a community midwife was a suitable replacement for their ward sister.

      It took about a millisecond to realise he’d said exactly the wrong thing.

      Bonnie glared at him and put her hands on her hips. ‘Please do not question my capabilities or qualifications. In the last year, I’ve dealt with a shoulder dystocia, umbilical cord prolapse, two women who failed to progress, a footling breech, a cervical lip and an intrapartum haemorrhage. Is that enough for you?’ She turned to walk away, then obviously decided she wasn’t finished. ‘And just so we’re clear—’ she held out her hands ‘—I didn’t have a fancy unit, staffed with lots of other people to help me. These were home deliveries. I was on my own, with no assistance. Still think I need to refresh my skills?’

      Her pretty brow was marred by a frown and he could practically feel the heat sparking from her eyes. It was an impressive list—even for a midwife based in a busy labour ward. For a community midwife, some of those situations must have been СКАЧАТЬ