Dear Doctor, page 3
‘Bella Rossiter,’ she said, as if sensing his struggle.
Josh smiled at her, and recognised the gleam of interest in her sparkling brown eyes, but he was still picturing eyes the colour of emeralds—or were they more like clear, deep, creek water on hot summer days?
Nothing had gone right with Kirsten. Nothing! For a start, there had been her ridiculous embargo on sex for the first month of a relationship, and the challenge of trying to break her down had nearly wrecked him. Then, bang, right when he’d known for sure he’d finally got somewhere—in fact, when they’d both been naked in his bedroom—some ridiculous notion of chivalry had forced him to admit that, for the moment, he wasn’t looking for a long-term relationship, and that their affair, while no doubt it would be totally pleasurable, would not lead to any permanent commitment.
He could still see her, first leaving the bed with the swift movement of a gazelle in flight, then the beautiful breasts falling forward as she’d pulled on the scanty wisp of lace that passed for panties.
More amused than concerned, at that stage, he’d watched her performance.
‘Sudden change of heart? No longer interested?’ he said jokingly—sure he could redeem matters because a certain part of his body definitely hadn’t lost interest. In fact, if anything, it seemed more interested as she encased those beautiful breasts in another, matching scrap of lace.
‘I don’t think I’m fling material,’ she said, as calmly as she might have mentioned her star sign. She was pulling on her skirt by then, straightening it with what seemed to be unsteady hands. He could remember thinking unsteady might be a hopeful sign. ‘I have no doubt an affair with you would be wonderful, but it would also be self-indulgent because it would be nothing more than physical pleasure-seeking.’
‘So, what are you saying?’ he demanded, finally realising she was serious. ‘It’s marriage or nothing—is that it?’
‘No!’ Indignation propelled the word out of her mouth with the velocity of a rifle shot. ‘Of course I don’t want that. I just can’t come to terms with a relationship that has limits on it—that doesn’t hold the open-ended excitement of what might develop between us. To me, the whole affair would be stunted from the start—like a bonsai tree, unable to grow past a certain stage of development because its roots have been hacked off. So why bother?’
And with that, and with the gorgeous breast-laden bra now decently covered, she walked out of his apartment and within days disappeared from the hospital.
Worse still, she also disappeared off the fund-raising committee. Her excuse for dropping out of that, now he thought back, had been something to do with study commitments. An excuse he’d totally dismissed at the time.
Kirsten studying? What?
Fashion co-ordination?
Even though he’d known her better by then, a master’s degree in psychology wouldn’t have been his next guess—or the one after that!
Then, some time later, she’d been back—not in Paediatrics but back in the hospital, so, with Sod’s law working well, he had been forever running into her, or coming upon her unexpectedly.
She was like a planet, glitteringly bright, effortlessly attracting attention, zooming across the skies, but plotting her own erratic course—not following any rules a man could understand. And it was that very unpredictability that made her dangerous—and totally unsuitable for any long-term relationship, though he wasn’t ready to consider that with anyone just yet.
He refused to accept her behaviour could have had anything to do with her hair colour, though from time to time he had wondered…
‘You’ve not heard a word I’ve said.’
Startled by the comment, he glanced around and caught Bella’s amused smile.
‘It wasn’t important,’ she told him. ‘Just asking if you were going to the Bush Dance to celebrate Australia Day—the money’s going to your new unit, isn’t it?’
He pulled himself together, smiled at Bella and admitted that, yes, he’d be at the dance.
With gritted teeth! he added silently because he hated that kind of socialising, while as for dressing up…
But as well as raising money, the special unit committee raised awareness of the need for people to register as bone-marrow donors, and as donors were desperately needed, he had no choice but to be present.
How you look should be the last thing bothering you, Kirsten told herself as she hurried, determined not to be a minute late, to Room 63. Anyway, you look fine. Didn’t Alex remark what a great outfit it was as we all walked to work?
‘Tell that to your knees,’ she muttered, the mad internal dialogue continuing as she pushed open the door to the small lecture room.
Josh was sorting papers at a table at the front of the room, but perhaps the door opening distracted him, for he glanced up and for a fleeting instant a smile of such delight lit his face that Kirsten’s knees became the least of her problems.
Then his expression sobered and he nodded to her, saying, ‘Kirsten, thanks for coming. Take a seat and I’ll introduce you when the rest get here.’
Kirsten found a seat—which was good as far as the boneless legs were concerned—but that fleeting smile had destroyed what little composure she’d managed to rustle up. Drawing in a deep breath, she set her functioning neurones to work on reminders of her status as a fiancée.
Someone else’s fiancée.
Seeking distraction, she turned to the woman beside her, an older woman she recognised from her time in the paediatric wards.
‘Betty, isn’t it? I’m Kirsten Collins.’
‘The OT,’ Betty said, holding out her hand to Kirsten. ‘I wasn’t there long before you left, but I know the kids loved you working with them. They really missed you when you left. I heard you were back at the hospital—where have you been working?’
‘Strokes!’ Kirsten shuddered as she spoke. Though she knew the work she did with stroke victims was essential for their recovery and long-term ability to function, she still hated seeing the once-active people so debilitated by the terrible trauma.
‘Well, that was a change!’ Betty said, and Kirsten wasn’t able to resist glancing towards Josh, who continued sorting through his papers. Maybe she should have stuck it out, even though working with and near him had become a personal hell. Maybe if she had, the effect he had on her would have lessened over time, and by now she’d have been able to look at him without the slightest bone weakness or tremor of desire.
He looked up and her heart did a little tap-dance, but she knew that was simply habit on its part. Wasn’t she safely engaged to Grant, who was just the most wonderful man in the entire world?
And committed!
More people entered the room, shuffled into seats, then looked expectantly towards Josh. He’d finished sorting papers and was now writing what seemed to be voluminous notes. It gave Kirsten time to study him. Not that she didn’t know exactly what he looked like, so it was more a consideration of why this one man affected her as he did.
Had affected her!
He wasn’t drop-dead handsome. In fact, compared to other men she’d been out with, he was way down the list of good-lookers, while put up against Grant he was almost ordinary.
For a start, there was that thatch of straight, dark brown hair which stuck up at all angles as the day wore on and he thrust his fingers through it more and more often. When first cut, it looked great, but as he was always rushing around the place, barber appointments weren’t top of his priority list.
Good brow, wide and high, but no exaggerations, and the hard slashes of his cheekbones—well, they were something else, protruding far enough to leave interestingly shadowed hollows beneath them, giving him that slightly worn and hungry look that led women to want to care for him.
Safer to care for a full-grown grizzly! Kirsten reminded herself, then returned to her cataloguing of his features.
His nose was good—it was straight and in the right place with no deviations or hooks or bumps or other startlingly offputting features. And his lips, right beneath that nose, well, she had to admit they were so, well, right somehow—they were almost indescribable. Full but not too full for a man, and mobile, smiling easily, though often that smile held a hint of mockery. While their expertise on the kissing front…
A little tremor started in her chest at the thought of Josh’s kisses, but with the new-found confidence of a woman wearing an engagement ring, she reminded herself that Grant was no slouch in the kissing department, while the way he trailed his fingers along the slope of her shoulder…
‘Kirsten!’
The sound of her name—on Josh’s lips—brought her out of her memories of Grant. Looking up, she met the feature she’d been avoiding—again—in her impartial consideration of Josh’s face—the blue, blue eyes. Neither light nor dark, but vivid in a way she’d thought only contact-lens-enhanced eyes could ever be. Though Josh’s eye colour was the real thing…
‘Are you with us? I’m introducing you all. This is Kirsten Collins, an occupational therapist who has had considerable experience in the paediatric ward.’
He moved on to introduce Betty, and Kirsten looked around. Presumably, those who’d been listening to the introductions now knew who was who, and, without doubt, they all knew why they were there.
She turned back to Josh and sensed an excitement radiating from him—saw it shining in those mesmerising eyes.
‘Well, now you all know each other, we can get on with the business,’ he said. ‘I’m sure all of you already know that funding has finally been approved for a special unit within the paediatric department for stem-cell and bone-marrow transplantation. Until now, children under our care who needed this type of service had to go onto a waiting list for the procedure to be done at the Children’s Hospital.’
Kirsten caught the nod from Josh, a reminder of when they’d first become close—when a young patient, dear to both of them, had died while on that waiting list.
At the time, they’d talked for hours about getting more facilities so the waiting time could be reduced. Bad enough that donor material wasn’t always available, but to have a donor and not have the facilities to do the retrieval and transplant—that had struck Kirsten as criminal. She’d said so to Josh and had helped him prepare a submission—started a fund-raising committee. It was where they’d first got to know each other as people rather than as fellow professionals.
And to think he’d even consider not appointing her to the team! The temper she swore had nothing to do with reddish-coloured hair fizzed inside her but she forced herself to concentrate on the rest of the presentation.
’I’ve selected you people for the team who will work in this unit. You’re my wish list. Some of you may opt not to take a position in it, but I was told I could choose my team, and I wanted the best. As far as I’m concerned, you are the best.’
Well, the rest might be, but you sure had doubts about me, Kirsten wanted to remind him.
‘Catherine, for example,’ Josh continued, indicating a woman in the front row, ‘was instrumental in getting the cord blood bank started here at Royal Westside, and while we won’t be the only unit after precious stem cells from umbilical cord blood, she’ll make sure we get our share. She’ll also be the pathologist responsible for matching marrow donors.’
Now, despite the grudge she felt against Josh for not including her from the start, a new flutter of excitement started in Kirsten’s chest. This time it was generated by the prospect of working with these children for whom conventional methods of chemo and radiation had failed. This was not so much a second chance at life: in most cases it was their only chance.
Because patients receiving bone-marrow or stem cell transplants required extensive preliminary treatment before the transplant, then even more careful hospitalisation after it, they were long-term patients, and helping them through their hospitalisation was a change from her usual role of helping patients prepare for their return home. This was the kind of challenge she’d always wanted—the kind of thing she’d dreamed of doing when she’d first decided to study occupational therapy.
Josh was talking, responding to questions, and Kirsten, though part of her mind registered just how deep and assured his voice was, began to consider ways and means of keeping very ill children occupied, entertained and in any way distracted from their aches, pains and illness.
And helping the parents cope with the stress and trauma of it all.
This was what she’d studied—specialised in—now she’d be getting the chance to put some of it into practice.
‘Kirsten, could I see you for a moment?’
Once again Josh’s voice broke into her thoughts. She looked around and realised people were leaving. She stood up to let Betty get past her, then with a reluctance more physical than mental she edgily approached the desk at the front of the room.
‘Did you listen to one word I said?’ Josh demanded, those, oh, so blue eyes glaring accusingly at her. ‘If you’re not interested in this project, just say so right now. First you’re furious because I wasn’t going to choose you. Now from the bored look on your face when I was describing what we had to do, you couldn’t give a damn. Perhaps in spite of that master’s degree, you’re nothing more than the good-time girl you’re reputed to be.’
Kirsten was lost for words at this attack but only momentarily.
‘A good-time girl?’ she retorted, shocked and infuriated by his glib assassination of her character. ‘This from the man who’s having an early mid-life crisis, judging by his choice of vehicle? If I was thinking of other things, it was of what I can do to make the patients’ lives more bearable during their hospitalisation. Now, did you want me for something or did you ask me to wait so you could tell me you didn’t fancy the expression on my face, and to insult my reputation?’
She was practically shaking with the fury his words had suddenly unleashed, and though she was aware Josh was trying to speak, she couldn’t hear for the rage thundering in her ears.
‘You’re being irrational,’ Josh said coldly.
‘I’m being irrational? I didn’t start this personal stuff. All I want is a place on this team and an opportunity to do some really worthwhile work.’
His smile caught her off guard.
‘Me, too,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve had a lot of late nights, getting the ground rules hammered out for the unit. Every department in the hospital wanted a bit of it, but it needed to be centralised and have all the patients under the one team. Given the fragility of precariously ill and long-term hospitalised children, if we don’t all work together—if team splits occur—the whole thing can fail.’
The next smile, an obvious ‘please forgive me’ ploy, brought the wobbles back to her knees, but she managed to remain upright, even to accept it with a small smile of her own.
‘So, did you want something?’
One answer— ’You’—slammed into his head so forcefully he knew he should have said no—or perhaps ‘Not really’—and let her go. He could do this, he told himself. He could keep her on the team but not get personally involved with her at all.
Or practically not at all.
Especially now she was engaged!
Which was good, he’d decided during the sleepless hours of the previous night, because maybe now he’d stop thinking about her, comparing other women he’d dated to her.
He’d reminded himself of how volatile she was—and how impossible a long-term relationship with someone like that would be for someone like him…
‘I do need to talk to you,’ he said, when he realised she was standing by the desk, tapping a bright scarlet sandal to indicate impatience—no doubt in case he missed the ‘what now’ look on her face. ‘I’ve a meeting with Maintenance, and I’d like your input about the design of the physical space the unit will need. We’re taking the western end of ward 6C, and they have to do a certain amount of construction to give us a couple of laminar airflow rooms for the strictest isolation immediately pre-and post-transplant. Then the rest of the unit will be under a controlled air-flow system with strict protection isolation.’
She didn’t answer immediately, which bothered him. Given that the psychosocial well-being of patients came with an OT’s charter, and she claimed to have specialised in long-term hospitalisation, why was she thinking about his request?
‘Well?’ Josh demanded, when the silence, though probably no longer than a couple of seconds, seemed to have stretched for days. ‘Do you want the job in the unit, or don’t you? And if so, is there something desperately urgent that will prevent you coming to a meeting with the head of Maintenance?’
‘Of course I want the job! I thought we settled that yesterday,’ she snapped. ‘But you spring something like this Maintenance thing on me without giving me time to prepare anything. To think about the mechanics of isolation within the context of the physical space. At what stage would the kids move into the second area—the strict protection isolation? Are they mobile by then? Could we have space for integration with other patients and their parents and possibly siblings, or will that be a restricted area as well? And how long term is long term as far as the isolation goes? You dump this on me without any warning and expect me to be able to talk to Maintenance about it.’
Josh smiled at her indignation and felt the familiar strangeness in his chest as her anger brought a flush to the fine skin on her cheeks and darkened the sprinkling of freckles that spanned her elegant nose.
‘Only about the first rooms,’ he said, turning his mind firmly away from freckles and the delights of Kirsten’s nose, as an echo of his father’s warning whispered in his head. ‘About positioning of beds, space for a single visitor at a time, perhaps some ideas for making the room interesting to a very sick child who has nothing to do but lie and look at the four walls.’
‘Oh, well, that’s easy.’ Kirsten relented. ‘I’ve been thinking about that stuff for years—did a paper on it last year. I’d like to see puzzles—not like snakes and ladders, but the equipment maybe boxed and painted so looking at it in different ways can produce different pictures and patterns. And maybe something like a hand-held—’
