Caroline Anderson - Tempted by Dr Daisy

‘I think so,’ Daisy told her honestly, and Clare swallowed.

‘But it’s so early—what about the baby?’ she asked, welling up again.

‘The baby should be all right, but if we leave it where it is it certainly won’t be, and nor will you. I’m sorry, Clare, we haven’t got any choice in this. I’ll get Mr Walker, and I’ll ring your husband and get him to come in. You might want him with you.’

She asked the midwife with them to prep her for Theatre, rang the antenatal clinic and then Clare’s husband, and two minutes later Ben was in with Clare examining her. To her relief he backed her without hesitation.

‘Dr Fuller’s absolutely right, Clare, we need to deliver your baby now. We’ll get the anaesthetist to do your epidural, and then we’ll take you into Theatre. You should start to feel better almost immediately, and we have lots of babies born at this stage without any problems. We’ll go and scrub, and we’ll see you in Theatre in a minute. And don’t worry. I know it feels scary, but it’s pretty routine for us, and we’ll look after you.’

His smile was kind, his manner firm and confident, and Daisy felt herself relaxing. He was right, it was routine, but Clare had every right to be scared, and he’d been good with her. Very good. It was the first time she’d seen Ben with a patient, and any reservations she might have had about their new man disappeared instantly.

‘Do you feel ready to lead?’ he asked Daisy as they scrubbed. ‘I want that baby out fast—I think she’s heading for a crisis so I don’t think we should hang about. Are you up to it, or would you rather I did it this time?’

‘Will you? Not because I don’t think I can, but because I know you can, and it’s not about pride, it’s about Clare and her baby.’

He gave a gentle, understanding laugh and turned the tap off with his elbow.

‘Wise words. Right, let’s go.’

He was slick, and Daisy was glad she’d opted to assist rather than lead. His hands were deft and confident, and within moments, it seemed, he had their baby cradled securely in his fingers, his tiny mewling cry music to their ears.

‘Hello, little one, welcome to the world,’ he said softly, and then met Clare’s eyes over the drapes. ‘You’ve got a son,’ he said, smiling, ‘and he’s looking good.’

He was—small but strong, and after a brief introduction to Clare and her flustered and emotional husband, he was whisked away to SCBU and they were able concentrate on Clare.

As much as Daisy was able to concentrate on anything except those strong, capable hands that worked so deftly, and the magnetic blue eyes that from time to time met and held her gaze over their masks for just a fraction of a second longer than necessary …

Ben made it back just in time for the plumber. He’d left Daisy settling Clare back onto the ward after he’d kept an eye on her in Recovery and then gone back to his antenatal clinic, and then she’d paged him with a message that she’d collected his suit and Clare was fine.

Brilliant.

He walked through the door, stripping off his tie and hanging his jacket on the end of the banister, and before he had time to do anything else there was a knock on the door behind him.

The man on the doorstep had a toolbox in his hand, and reassuringly grubby fingers. ‘Steve, the plumber? Daisy said you’d got problems.’

The temptation to laugh hysterically nearly overwhelmed him. ‘You might say that,’ he offered drily, and took Steve through to the kitchen.

Daisy let herself into the house, hung up his suit, kicked off her shoes and fed the cat. She could hear Ben moving around next door, and she sat down at the table and signed the card she’d got for him in the supermarket, propped it up against the bottle of bubbly she’d also bought and ran upstairs to shower. The bath was calling her, but she was too hungry to dawdle and she wanted to know how Ben had got on with Steve.

She rubbed herself briskly dry and went back into her bedroom. Jeans? Or sweats?

Jeans, she decided, running the hairdryer over her hair and brushing it through. Jeans and a pretty top, because a girl had her pride and he’d seen her in a dressing gown covered in tea, in her gardening clothes, in her professional ‘trust me, I’m a doctor’ clothes, and when she popped round with his housewarming present it would be the first time she could show him who she really was.

Which was ridiculous, because she was all of those things, and in any case, why the hell did it matter what he thought of what she was wearing? He was divorced, with no doubt all sorts of emotional baggage. And he was her neighbour, and her boss. Three very good reasons why she should keep him at arm’s length and have as little to do with him as possible, she reminded herself fiercely.

And washing her hair and leaving it down was all part of shedding the working day, she told herself. Shoes off, hair down, sweats on.

Except in this case it was jeans, and a pretty top, and the makeup she hadn’t had time to put on first thing, because a girl had her pride.

‘Oh!’

The knock on the door made her jump, and she swiped the blob of mascara off the side of her nose and ran downstairs, pulling the door open.

He was propped against the inside of her porch, one ankle crossed over the other, hands in his pockets and wearing a pair of jeans and a cotton shirt that looked incredibly soft. She really wanted to touch it.

He smiled at her and shrugged away from the wall, and she folded her arms and propped herself up on the door frame and tried not to grin like an idiot. ‘So how did you get on?’ she asked.

‘Fine. He was amazing. He fixed it in two minutes, he’s coming on Monday to fit a new suite and he’s getting me a plasterer. And an electrician’s already been and fitted a temporary light, so at least I can see in the kitchen, even if I can’t really use it.’

‘Told you he was good. Any idea why it happened?’

‘The bath trap had pulled apart. He thought the seal might have perished, but you’d think the previous owner would have found that out.’

She shook her head. ‘Mrs Leggatt couldn’t get upstairs.

She washed in a bowl the whole time I knew her, and she never had visitors. She used the shower downstairs before that, she said.’

‘Did she? Well, that doesn’t work, either, which might explain the bowl.’

‘Not having much luck, are you?’ She shifted and smiled at him, ridiculously aware of his strong, muscled body just a foot or so away. ‘I was going to come and see you later to find out how you got on. I’ve got your suit and a little something to try and compensate for the horrendous start. Come on in.’

He followed her, and she handed him the bottle and the card. ‘It’s nothing special, but I thought it might help to balance things out.’ He gave a quizzical smile, and shook his head slowly. ‘Ah, Daisy, I think you’ve done far more than a bottle of bubbly ever could. I just can’t thank you enough for today,’ he said softly. ‘You’ve been amazing. Bless you.’

She felt her cheeks heat, and flashed him a quick smile before turning away and heading for the kitchen. ‘It was nothing,’ she said, grabbing the kettle like a lifeline and shoving it under the tap. ‘You’re welcome. To be honest, I’m hugely relieved you aren’t a property developer or crazy DIY-er who’s going to do something awful to devalue my house! Well, at least I hope you’re not.’

He chuckled. ‘Well, I’ll try not to, but I’m not having much luck so far! This is a lovely house, though. It gives me hope for mine.’

‘They’ve both got most of their original features. That’s really rare. I hope you’re going to keep them?’

‘Oh, definitely. That was one of the reasons I bought it. Luckily I’d budgeted for the kitchen and bathroom.’ His mouth quirked, and she felt her heart hitch. It was ridiculous! They’d been working together all day without a problem, but here, in the intimate setting of her kitchen …

‘So—how’s Clare now?’

‘Fine,’ she said, clutching the change of topic like a lifeline. Work she could deal with. ‘She’s settling, her blood pressure’s already coming down, her urine output’s up and she’s feeling a lot better. And the baby’s doing well.’

‘Good. For what it’s worth and off the record, I would have delivered her on Friday, too, looking at the notes in more detail. Just in case she’d flared up at the weekend. She was lucky.’

She spun round, eyes wide, and stared at him. He agreed with her? ‘Really?’

‘Really. You were justifiably cautious.’

She felt something warm unfurling inside her, and she smiled. ‘Thank you,’ she said softly.

‘My pleasure. Have you eaten?’

‘No. I picked up a ready meal on the way home and I’m just about to cook it, but it’s only enough for one or I’d offer to share. Sorry.’

‘Don’t worry. I was going to take you out. I owe you dinner, remember?’

She flushed again. ‘Ben, I was joking.’

‘Well, I wasn’t, and you’d be doing me a favour. I’ve got no food in the house, my kitchen’s destroyed and I’m starving. I haven’t eaten anything today except that sticky bun, and low blood sugar makes me grumpy.’

‘Oh, well, we wouldn’t want you grumpy,’ she said, going belly-up with a grin, and tried to tell herself she was only doing it as a favour to her boss and her pathetically easy submission was nothing to do with those gorgeous blue eyes, or the rippling muscles she’d seen as he’d pulled off his scrub top on the way through to the changing rooms after he’d delivered Clare.

Nothing to do with that at all …

They went to the bistro on the waterfront.

It had uninterrupted views of the sea, good food and it was close enough to walk to.

Not that they could see the sea, really, this late in the evening, but they could hear it as they walked along the prom, the soft rush of the waves surging up the shore, the suck on the shingle as the water receded, and they could smell it, the tang of salt sharp in the moist air.

‘I love the sea,’ she told him. ‘I don’t think I could live anywhere landlocked.’

‘You want to try the Yorkshire Dales. It takes a good hour or more to get to the coast.’

‘But it’s worth it when you get there, surely? Doesn’t Yorkshire have lovely beaches?’

‘Oh, yes. Gorgeous. And Lancashire, on the west coast. It’s just a bit of an expedition. London wasn’t any better.’

‘Is that where you’ve just come from?’ she asked, trying not to be nosy but failing.

He grinned, his teeth flashing white in the streetlights. ‘For my sins. How about you? Are you Yoxburgh born and bred?’

‘No. I’ve only been here two years. I’ve got a friend working here, and she persuaded me to come.’

‘Good move?’

‘Oh, yes, for all sorts of reasons. Nice town, and the hospital’s great, much nicer to work in than my previous one, and—well, further from someone I needed space from.’

Now why had she brought that up? Idiot! She could see the question forming in his eyes, but she was saved from having to explain by their arrival at the restaurant, and by the time they were seated and the waiter had given them menus and water and a basket of warm, squashy bread, they’d moved on.

Thankfully.

‘So why obstetrics?’ he asked her, reaching for the bread.

‘I love it. Less keen on the gynae, except some of the surgery’s quite interesting and technically challenging, but mostly it’s the babies. Making a difference, saving such vulnerable little lives—I’m a sucker for it. The friend I told you about’s a midwife, and I guess she influenced me a bit. You?’