“I used to daydream about this,” she said. “Sitting in the car beside you—the wind blowing through my hair.”

He turned toward her and smiled. “Well, you were the only girl I ever imagined beside me in the red convertible, although I did wonder if the color would clash with your hair.”

“Is that why you bought a blue car?” Meg teased, feeling more at ease with Sam since his surprise return.

“Maybe it was,” he told her, but he wasn’t smiling now. He was looking at the road ahead and frowning slightly. He couldn’t possibly have bought a blue car because it would go better with the hair of someone he hadn’t seen for thirteen years, Sam told himself. No, not even subconsciously.

But the thought had rattled him—the way everything about Meg was rattling him.

Dear Reader,

I live in Queensland, which is the northeast corner of Australia. From my home on the Gold Coast in the far south, there are a series of long sand islands off the coast. Over millions of years they have built up, so some have sand dunes as mountains and all of them have patches of thick rainforest, as well as coastal vegetation. All but one are accessible only by boat or barge, but all are popular with locals and tourists. I’ve been visiting these islands all my life and enjoying their beauty and peaceful tranquility, so I suppose it was inevitable that one of them would find its way into a book one day.

Another Australian custom when I was growing up, was that of the “holiday house.” Although often the house was only a large tent, every Christmas, during the six weeks of summer holidays, Aussies head en masse for the beach, usually going to the same place each time. The result is kids that grow up with friends they hang around with for six weeks every summer, and often don’t see for the rest of the year. But the friendships, which are formed as the kids surf alongside each other, or fish from dinghies hired with pooled pocket money, or walk the coastal tracks and explore the rock pools, are special friendships that bypass the restraints of distance and last forever.

This is how Meg and Sam met. Drawn together by the bond of being only children, they became “holiday” friends—and “holiday” friends are special, because you can share the secrets of your heart with them, knowing you won’t be seeing them as often as you see your regular friends. “Holiday” friends share some of your happiest memories.

In this story, these friends grew into teenagers and fell in love….

Meredith Webber

Bride at Bay Hospital

Meredith Webber

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER ONE

MEG heard the voice as she grabbed an armful of clothes from the built-in wardrobe in the main bedroom.

Her bedroom!

Or it had been until today.

Or officially yesterday.

‘Vacant possession!’ The voice was deep, and powerful enough to carry right through the old wooden house without being raised to shouting level. ‘I stipulated vacant possession.’

Whoever was on the receiving end of the cold statement must have had a quieter voice, for Meg heard nothing of the explanation. But by then she was scurrying through the kitchen, intending to slip out the back way, down the steps and across to the cottage next door without being seen.

‘He’d have had his bloody vacant possession if it weren’t for the flu,’ she muttered to herself, as exhaustion from an extra night shift weakened her bones and sapped her confidence so self-pity lurked perilously close.

She didn’t do self-pity!

‘Not that he’s arrived with a furniture van all ready to move in,’ she told her cat, who’d come out of the cottage to see if any of the clothes were trailing a belt or ribbon that would make a good plaything.

Meg dumped her load on her bed and crossed to the window in time to see the realtor’s car drive off.

Great! She could nick back over and get the rest of her stuff. One drawer full of undies—that was it!

She’d give him vacant possession!

But as she walked through the kitchen a sense of loss overwhelmed her, and she faltered as she remembered the happy times she’d had in the old house. Up until now, she’d only considered the financial aspect of moving—her father had let her have the house at a nominal rent because he’d understood her dream.

But now…

No, she wouldn’t think about her father—or about the dream.

The dream her mother said was foolish…

Anger swamped her maudlin mood. Anger at her mother for deciding to sell their old holiday house—anger at the stranger who had bought her memories. Muttering dire threats she would never carry out, she stomped back into the bedroom.

The stranger, tall and dark, face shadowed by the window behind him, was twirling one of her G-strings round his fingers so the little red hearts on it made a circle of red against the white—red, white, red, white.

‘Put that down!’ She gave equal emphasis to each word, her own red anger, barely controlled, whirling in her head.

‘Megan?’

The stranger looked from the panties to her, back to the panties, and then frowned before he said her name again—this time with even more incredulity.

‘Megan?’

She snatched the garment from him and turned away, certain it couldn’t be Sam—knowing from the rapid pulsing of her heart it had to be.

‘Megan.’

Not a question this time but a statement, accompanied by a touch of his hand on her shoulder. A mist of rage and something that could almost have been hatred filled her head, and she didn’t need the pressure of that hand to make her turn.

‘What is this, Sam? Some variation on the return of the prodigal son? Some revenge thing that you had to buy my house? Turn me out? Well, great! Have the bloody house! Have your vacant possession! And you can have my knickers, too, because I’d be damned if I’d wear them after you’ve touched them!’

And with that she stormed away, head held high but cheeks aflame with heat, while her heart skittered about in her chest like a terrified rabbit in search of the deepest, darkest burrow it could find.

‘Well, that went well.’

Sam sighed as he looked at the minute undergarment she’d dropped on the floor in her hurry to get away. Then he shook his head.

What was Megan doing in the Bay? And how could he have known she’d been living in the house? He’d bought it from the trustees of her father’s estate and had been told the house was tenanted, but never in his wildest dreams had he considered Megan might have been the tenant.

Megan…

Something in his chest scrunched tight as his head repeated her name, but he had it on good authority from any number of women that he didn’t have a heart, so it had to have been some other organ scrunching.

Or perhaps a muscle.

Intercostal muscles tightening his ribcage because of a perfectly natural trepidation about this return to the town of his childhood.

That would explain the scrunch.

He crossed the empty room and looked out at the wide sweep of blue water, wondering why the hell he’d come back, then, feeling the pull of the beauty in front of him, he realised just how dangerous this return might prove. That he, to whom emotional control was so important, should feel that pull was surely a danger signal.

That he should feel something at the sight of Meg was doubly dangerous.

Meg…

She’d stormed out through the kitchen. Where had she been going? He hadn’t seen a car outside, and she hadn’t brought in a suitcase to collect her last few items of clothing.

He followed the route she’d taken and looked out the back door, across to the cottage where he’d grown up. He’d had a note from the realtor recently. Something about a new tenant, good references, six months’ lease, and did he object to a cat…?

A cat!

He hadn’t objected to the cat, but now he saw it, a seal-point Siamese, sitting erect and alert at the back door, he knew for sure Meg was the tenant. Right through her childhood there’d been such a cat—a cat which had been both friend and confidant to the shy, gangly, red-headed kid she’d been.

How could fate have been so unkind to Meg that he and she were now transposed in their residences? No wonder she was upset. But why, if she was living in this house, had it been sold?

And why, if she’d wanted to keep it, hadn’t she made some arrangement to buy it?

He hardened his heart against the softness caused by thinking of unkind fates and Meg in the same sentence. He reminded himself they were virtual strangers now and, though neighbours once again, need have nothing more to do with each other apart from a neighbourly nod from time to time.

‘And this, Dr Agostini, is our director of nursing, Megan Anstey.’

It was just after nine the following morning, and Sam was following Bill Roberts, the hospital administrator, through the building, knowing he’d need a week or so to get all the names straight in his head.

Except for this name.

‘You’re a nurse?’

‘You’re a doctor?’

OK, he’d sounded startled, but he’d done nothing to deserve the huff of derision that had accompanied Meg’s question.

‘You two know each other?’

‘Good guess, Bill, though not, I hasten to add, in the biblical sense!’ Meg said, her vivid green eyes challenging and defying Sam as she added, ‘You’ll find most of the local staff—female staff in particular—know Dr Agostini. Just wait till the word gets round that Sam’s back in town. Flu recovery rates will pick up immediately.’

‘Is that what you call a warm friendly Bay greeting?’

Sam’s voice was silky smooth—dangerously smooth—and poor harmless Bill was obviously wishing the floor would open up and swallow him.

‘We’ve already done the greeting bit,’ Meg replied. And now, if we’ve finished chatting, I’m down twelve staff and am needed on the wards.’

She whisked away without waiting for a reply, her heart thundering in her chest, her hands shaking, her knees so wobbly it was a wonder they were holding her up.

Sam next door was one thing. She was usually too busy to see much of her neighbours. But Sam right here, in her hospital?

‘Have you heard? Sam Agostini’s back in town—not only back in town but acting super for the hospital. I always assumed he’d be in jail by now.’

Coralie Stephens was both ward sister and the main trunk of the hospital grapevine, so this conversation shouldn’t have surprised Meg, but hearing Sam’s name on Coralie’s lips made her feel sick. Even sicker than the news he wasn’t passing through.

Coralie West she’d been back then, new in town, and the first conquest Sam had flaunted in front of Meg that terrible Christmas.

But at least Meg now had an explanation for Sam’s presence—acting super. Apparently the new medical superintendent they’d been expecting had been delayed. Though why, if he was only acting, would Sam have bought a house here?

She fended off all the unanswerable questions competing for attention in her head and concentrated on the staff roster on Coralie’s desk. Coralie was busy filling in her ward secretary on the legend that was Sam Agostini—the bad boy of the Bay.

‘Gorgeous, he was just gorgeous—darkly handsome with the most arresting blue-green eyes. But wild! You wouldn’t believe the things he’d do. The story is he once swam across the bay for a bet and you know what the sharks are like out there, and he certainly put one of his mates in hospital after a fight. I was there that night. Boy, could he fight.’ She paused. ‘I wonder if Wade knows he’s back in town.’

Meg heard the smugness in Coralie’s voice, and felt sorry for Wade Stephens. The man deserved better than his wife trying to rekindle an old affair with Sam Agostini!

‘We’re still in dire straits with staff—can you do an extra shift?’ she asked the sister, hoping to bring the conversation back to work-related matters.

Coralie’s reply was swift.

‘No way! Not today. I’ve a hair appointment.’

Coralie? Whose hair looked as if she cut it with a knife and fork?

Hair appointment?

Meg forbore from comment, but inwardly she was cursing Sam’s arrival back in town. As if the hospital wasn’t in enough trouble, with the epidemic of summer flu, without women who should know better going dippy over a good-looking scoundrel.

Maybe he had a wife.

Surely he’d have a wife!

She hadn’t noticed a wedding ring…

But, then, she’d barely noticed anything about the man—except that it had been Sam.

‘There are no sharks in the bay—it’s too shallow,’ she told the ward secretary, who was new in town. ‘The sharks just made for a better a story.’

The young woman smiled at her, but the avid way she turned her attention back to Coralie told Meg just how disruptive Sam’s return might be.

‘And this is the medical ward.’

Bill’s voice alerted her to the fact that the guided tour of his precious hospital had caught up with her, but as Coralie rushed forward to welcome Sam, enveloping him in a hug, Meg moved away. She couldn’t avoid giving him a wry smile as she passed him to remind him of their shared revulsion of all things soppy and sentimental when they had been inseparable holiday playmates as kids.

Sam fended off Coralie West, or whatever she was called now, as best he could, offering what he hoped was a disarming but suitably neutral smile.

‘Great to see you,’ he said, while in his head he wondered about his sanity. Bringing his mother back here had been one thing—but after she’d—

He cut off the thought, concentrating instead on the information Bill was giving him. Complex medical cases were transferred to Brisbane, but good visiting specialists meant they could handle most things.

‘And our consultant surgeons are terrific,’ Bill continued, leading him towards the surgical ward. ‘Top class.’

Were they following some hospital round routine that meant Megan was in front of him at every turn? She was bending over the desk, her hair, a darker, richer red than it had been when she’d been young, falling forward so it cast a shadow on her rather stern profile, her tall, lean figure curved towards the girl behind the computer, her long, slim legs bare of stockings and as white as Meg’s skin always was.

As kids they’d stretch out on the beach and she’d rest her leg against his so they could marvel at the contrast of her whiteness against his tanned brown skin.

‘Put more sunscreen on!’ he’d order, and she’d mimic his order to annoy him, but obey, knowing just how burnt she’d get if she didn’t cover up all the time.

‘It goes red then blisters, then peels and we’re back to white!’ she’d complained. ‘Red, white, red, white!’ And for some reason he thought of the tiny panties he’d swung on his finger the previous afternoon.

Meg in a sexy thong?

In his experience women only wore such things for a man.

‘So we can do it.’

He had no idea what Bill had been talking about, and at some stage, while he’d been lost in his memories, Meg had whisked away again.

Bill was called to the phone so Sam continued on his own, wandering into what was obviously the children’s ward. Meg again! Sitting on the edge of a bed, talking to a young lad who had his left leg and right arm hooked up in traction.

Sam paused by the desk.

‘That’s Brad Crosby,’ a nurse who introduced herself as Sue explained to him. ‘Broke both legs and one arm trying to fly off the veranda of his house. He’s always in trouble, that boy. Single p—’

‘Sue!’

Meg’s voice made them both turn, whatever Sue was about to say cut off.

‘Is the physio due to see Brad today?’

Sue checked on her computer as Meg came across to the desk, while Sam moved across to talk to the boy.

‘Flying, huh?’ he said as he drew closer. ‘What did you use for wings?’

‘Garbage bags,’ Brad said with a sigh. ‘The packet said they were extra-tough but they ripped right through the moment they took my weight. Not at the Velcro where I’d stuck them on my clothes but the plastic itself tore.’

‘Tough luck, eh?’ Sam said. ‘Guess you have to rethink the whole idea.’

‘No way!’ Brad told him. ‘My mum’d kill me if I did it again. Besides, Meg said to wait until I was a bit older when I get a bit heavier then I can try kite surfing. You know, on a small board at the edge of the water when a strong wind is blowing. Meg says it’s just like flying.’

‘Meg told you all this?’ Sam turned towards the woman in question, who was now bent over Sue’s shoulder looking at the computer screen.

‘Meg’s cool,’ Brad replied, a hint of hero-worship in his voice. ‘And she doesn’t nag. Not that Mum nags much, and when she does it’s only ’cos she worries about me—that’s something else Meg told me.’

Sam sat with the boy a little longer, learning more of the original uses to which Brad had put his apparently endless supply of Velcro, but when Meg left the ward he said farewell to his new young friend and followed her, catching up with her near an alcove that housed a public phone.

‘Did you cut Sue off to spare my feelings?’ he asked, looking down into a face that was both familiar yet extraordinarily new to him.

‘Cut Sue off?’

The slight flush in her cheeks told him she was prevaricating.

‘When she was about to make a remark about Brad being the product of a single-parent family,’ Sam persisted.

‘I cut her off because I don’t like the staff making judgements about patients, and they all know it.’ Defiant emerald eyes met his. ‘I hate the way a label can be slapped on someone and judgement made because of that label. As if people are nothing more than varieties of tomato sauce.’

Sam felt a smile twitching at his lips. This was definitely a Meg he knew, standing up for the rights of others—ready to take on the world if necessary. That hadn’t changed!

‘And Brad’s brand of tomato sauce had “single parent family” on the label?’

Meg grinned at him.

‘Same as yours—Bad Boy Brand!’ she said, but the words slipped in one ear and out the other, his mind too occupied with the jolt he’d felt inside his chest when Meg’s face had lit up with that cheeky smile.

‘I don’t know how to be with you.’ The words blurted from his lips, and a frown chased Meg’s smile away.

‘How to be with me?’

Sam knew the smile he offered was a foolish one, and shrugged his confusion away.

‘That came out wrong, but this is so weird, Megan. I feel I know you yet I don’t know you. The old Meg—well, we usually picked up right where we left off…’

Wrong analogy. Right where they’d left off last time had been a disaster—a hurtful, painful, unmitigated disaster.

Was Meg remembering?

‘It’s been thirteen years, Sam,’ she reminded him, revealing nothing beneath an ultra cool and controlled exterior and a polite smile he knew was false. ‘We’ve both changed.’

‘Have we?’

He shouldn’t be persisting with this conversation but couldn’t stop himself.

‘Of course we have. We were kids thirteen years ago—now we’re adults.’

‘Are we?’ He caught himself just in time. ‘Dumb question! Of course we are, although do you really feel different—feel like an adult—all the time?’

Meg’s cool façade cracked and she smiled again, enthusiasm bubbling back to the surface with the memories.

‘Right now I feel fifteen again—or thirteen—or eleven—having one of those earnest, interminable discussions we used to have. About evolution or religion or morality or—’

‘Friendship,’ Sam reminded her, taken back himself. ‘Would you lie for a friend? Die for a friend?’

‘No to both—wasn’t that always my stand? That there had to be another way around the problem?’

‘Oh, Meg, there you are.’ A nurse Sam hadn’t met came hurrying towards them. ‘Ben Richards is on his way in by ambulance—heart pains. Jenny phoned, asked if you could meet him.’

‘Ben Richards? The Ben Richards I—’

‘Put in hospital,’ Meg finished for him, but she said it softly so the nurse, who was walking away from them, didn’t hear her.

‘Damn!’ she continued as she hurried down the corridor, Sam following in her wake. ‘His father died from heart disease and Jenny’s been warning him this would happen. Ben’s overweight and he drinks too much.’

‘Then he hasn’t changed,’ Sam muttered, uncertain how to tackle this new challenge in the ‘returning home’ scenario.

‘He’s a patient and whatever that was all about—it was a long time ago,’ Meg reminded him, although she’d have given her eye teeth and probably a couple of front ones as well to know what had happened.

‘I should be able to manage, Sister Anstey,’ Sam told her, coolly polite, the nostalgic moments of accord between them lost again. The Sam who could always hide his feelings was back in control again. ‘In fact, if I remember rightly, you’re the one more likely to lose your temper in pressure situations.’

‘I didn’t put Ben Richards into hospital with concussion and a broken jaw thirteen years ago,’ Meg snapped, then regretted the jibe when she saw the pain on Sam’s face.

It was the one time he’d lost control! No one had ever found out what had started the fight but, whatever it was, the memory still had the power to hurt Sam deeply.

And seeing Sam in pain still affected her…

Oh, dear!

She led the way towards the emergency room doors where the ambulance bearers were already unloading their patient.

‘ECG’s OK but we can only do a rhythm strip so it’s hard to tell. He was in a lot of pain. We gave him aspirin and 5 milligrams of morphine IV, notes all here.’

Meg took the initial assessment forms, signed for them, then handed back one copy to the ambulance bearer before turning to introduce Sam.

‘Cal Johnson, meet Sam Agostini, acting medical super at the hospital.’

‘Sam Agostini? That really you, Sam? Didn’t end up in jail after all!’

Ben’s voice was hoarse as he interrupted the introduction, but he obviously wasn’t upset at meeting his old adversary. He grabbed at Sam’s hand and held it in both of his.

‘I hope you’re a good doctor, mate. My Jenny couldn’t cope with something happening to me right now.’

Sam leaned forward to reassure him as tears began to stream down Ben’s cheeks.

‘Our baby is sick.’ The big man’s voice was hoarse with emotion, his face twisted with grief. ‘So little and so sick—leukaemia. Did you know boys with Down’s syndrome are prone to it? Hardly fair, is it? And just when Jenny needs me to be strong, and supportive for her and the kids—for little Benjie—look at me. Useless bastard that I am!’

‘We’ll have you out of here in no time and, knowing this town, there’ll be someone out there with Jenny right now, helping with the kids.’ Sam rested his other hand on Ben’s shoulder. ‘But first things first. Let’s see if we can find out what’s causing your pain and what we can do to stop it happening again.’

He glanced up at Meg.

‘Get him straight onto a twelve-lead ECG. I’ll take blood for testing. Does the hospital have its own path lab?’

‘We can do basic stuff. In Ben’s case cardiac enzymes, white-cell count, ESR, U and E, glucose, lipids and a clotting screen.’

Sam frowned at her.

‘Are you sure you’re not a doctor in disguise?’

Simple enough question, one would have thought, but once again he watched as Meg’s face lost colour. Anguished green eyes were raised to his—anguished green eyes that caused pain in the part of his chest where he didn’t have a heart.

‘Quite sure,’ she said quietly, walking beside the trolley as Ben was wheeled into the trauma room.

She was all efficiency—this woman he hadn’t expected to see and certainly hadn’t expected to feel anything for. Working with swift, sure movements, she changed Ben’s oxygen feed from the bottle on the ambulance trolley to the hospital supply, attached the leads to Ben’s chest, added more leads for a heart monitor then moved the monitor screen so Sam could see it.

And as she worked she talked to Ben—nothing kind of talk, explaining what she was doing, teasing him gently in a way, Sam realised, that boosted Ben’s spirits far more readily than sympathy would have done.

She passed Sam a catheter to insert into Ben’s arm, first to take blood for testing, then so drugs could be administered into his veins. Her fingers accidentally brushed his when the exchange took place, and she glanced up at him, bewilderment showing on her face, as if whatever she had felt puzzled her.

What he’d felt puzzled him as well…

‘It’s bad? Is that what you think?’

Ben’s anxious query told Sam he must be frowning.

‘No way, mate!’ he assured the man. ‘In fact, the exact opposite. There are no visible signs from the ECG that your heart’s playing up.’

‘But the pain!’ Ben protested. ‘It was like an elephant sat on my chest.’

‘I’ve heard it described more elegantly,’ Meg told him.

‘And I’ve heard it described exactly like that,’ Sam put in. ‘The pain is definitely a symptom that something’s not right, which is why we’ve got you hooked up to monitors that are telling us how your heart and lungs are working, and the level of oxygen in your blood. We’ll know more when we get the results of the blood tests back from the lab.’

He glanced enquiringly at Meg who assured him the blood had been sent.

‘What can happen,’ Sam continued, ‘is that the arteries that feed your heart muscle become clogged with plaque, and if they’re not getting enough blood to the heart and the heart muscle isn’t getting enough oxygen from the blood, you’ll feel pain. I’m giving you nitroglycerin to open up those blood vessels so more blood gets through, and the monitors will tell us how the drug is working. We’ll let you rest for a while but eventually you’ll be having a whole battery of tests. Have you been referred to a cardiologist before this?’

Ben shook his head, then grinned at Sam. ‘Only been in hospital once before,’ he said, ‘and you know why that was!’

Sam stopped still, an image flashed before him. A big group of them had been in the street outside the cinema complex, having celebrated the last day of the school year at the movies. He’d been thinking about Meg, who had been due to arrive the following day, when one of the girls—had it been Coralie West?—had come up and slipped her arm through his, suggesting they nip away for a kiss and cuddle at the beach.

He’d backed off, trying to find a way to say no without hurting her feelings, then suddenly Ben, who’d probably been sneaking rum into his Coke, had raised his voice.

Made an unbelievable accusation…

Sam’s head and fist had exploded simultaneously, sending the much taller Ben flying backwards. A mate had grabbed Sam, but he’d shaken him off, while Ben had clambered back to his feet and surged towards his adversary. Ben had been tough, farm-hardened and cunning in his choice of punches, but in the end, it had been rage that had won the fight for Sam.

Although it hadn’t been a win—it had been a loss.

A loss of innocence…

Of joy…

Of love…

CHAPTER TWO

‘FIRST lot of test results, Doctor.’

Something in the nurse’s voice made Sam look more closely at her.

‘I should know you, shouldn’t I?’ he said and the pert blonde smiled.

‘Thirteen years is a long time, Sam,’ she said. ‘I’m Kelly Warren, Eddie’s younger sister.’

‘The pest!’ Sam remembered, grinning at the woman. ‘You look great. How’s Eddie?’

‘He’s still in town. He took over Dad’s pharmacy. Boy, did he miss you when you left.’

Sam nodded. Eddie had been a good friend—Sam’s one true friend, apart from Meg—yet he’d never bothered to keep in touch. But that was how his friendships had been—surface things—because he’d never been good at letting people get too close—letting people in.

Except for Meg…

He smiled at Kelly.

‘I’ll be sure to look him up,’ he promised her, taking the test results and studying them, nodding to himself as he walked back into Ben’s cubicle.

Meg was holding Ben’s hand and talking quietly to him.

Comforting him, Sam told himself, though he couldn’t have said why he needed to find an excuse for Meg’s presence.

Or the hand-holding.

Get over it!

‘OK!’ he said, edging near enough to the bed for Meg to have to move. ‘Your blood has an increase in something we call CPK. That’s a cardiac enzyme—creatine phosphokinase, if you want the whole story. An increase in CPK usually indicates a heart attack even when the monitors don’t show it, and the level of CPK indicates how severe or otherwise the attack was. You’ve been lucky, Ben. It was very mild. Next we’ll do an echocardiogram to see if we can see any damage to the heart muscle and there’ll be further tests once you see a cardiologist.’

‘We have a visiting cardiologist who comes twice a week—Tuesday and Thursday,’ Meg offered. ‘He’ll be in town tomorrow and we can make arrangements for him to see Ben here.’

‘Here? I can’t stay here,’ Ben protested, trying to sit up. ‘I’ve got to get home to Jenny and the kids. Benjie’s due for more chemo tomorrow.’ He broke down again, tears pooling in his eyes as he added, ‘We both come in with him every time.’

Sam felt Ben’s anguish but before he could explain why he couldn’t be released, Meg was talking.

‘Benjie’s tough,’ she reminded their patient. ‘He’ll be OK just with Jenny, although, as he has it right here in the hospital, if you’re OK, there’s no reason why you can’t be with them. But right now the best thing you can do for Jenny and all your family is to rest and get better.’

Sam nodded, adding, ‘And you’ve no option but to stay here. We’re giving you drugs to keep your arteries open and to dissolve any clots that might be lurking in them. We need you on the monitors so we can see how the drugs are working.’

And to make sure you don’t have another heart attack. As he left the cubicle, Sam couldn’t help thinking of the number of times he’d seen a second more severe heart attack occur in patients while they’d been in A and E. Chest pain caused anxiety, anxiety caused blood pressure and heart rate to increase, and the higher the blood pressure and heart rate, the harder the heart had to work. Unfortunately, a heart already battling to work properly didn’t take kindly to an extra workload.

‘Are you going to move him to a ward?’

Meg joined him outside the curtains, seeing his worry for Ben in Sam’s narrowed eyes and furrowed forehead.

Sam hesitated for a moment before shaking his head.

‘If the hospital had a coronary care unit I would, but right now the best monitoring he can get is right there, for a few hours at least. We’ll move him later. His wife’s coming in?’

‘As soon as her mother gets out to the farm to mind the kids.’

‘How many kids do they have?’ Sam asked, concern warming his voice, surprising Meg because he’d always remained detached from other people’s problems. Except for hers… ‘I know about Benjie! Talk about rotten luck—the little fellow getting leukaemia. I guess the only good part is you’re able to give him chemo here so there’s less disruption to the family.’

‘Not without a fight,’ Meg told him. ‘The powers that be insisted at first he go to Brisbane, but Ben’s a farmer—he can’t get away for any length of time, and there are three older girls as well, so it wasn’t exactly easy for Jenny to go either.’

Sam’s smile twined around Meg’s heart.

‘You did the fighting?’

‘The whole town fought,’ she told him, not wanting him to think her special—more especially not wanting smiles that affected her heart. ‘The mayor wrote directly to the premier, every doctor in town wrote to the Health Department, and ordinary, everyday citizens bullied their local MPs until an agreement was reached. The Bay hasn’t changed much in that everyone pulls together in a crisis, and Benjie’s leukaemia is just one of many uniting forces I’ve seen since I came to live here permanently.’

‘Why did you come back, Meg?’

It was the last question she’d expected and she hesitated, uncertain how to answer. She couldn’t lie to save herself, her tendency to go fiery red a dead give-away. In the end she settled on part truth.

‘Cheap accommodation.’

It was a flippant reply and Sam obviously read the warning she’d hoped to convey.

‘None of my business, huh?’ he said, then he changed the subject. ‘Ben’s wife—Jenny, is it? Do I know her?’

Meg heard a hint of apprehension in his voice and frowned at him.

‘Are you surprised people remember you?’

‘I’ve been gone thirteen years, Meg. Of course I’m surprised.’

‘Then you didn’t think through this “back to the Bay” decision too well. Why wouldn’t people remember you? You were into everything—the swimming champ, the football captain. Jenny was Jenny Wilson—her parents still have the bakery in town. Mrs Wilson used to give us finger buns whenever we went in there. Mind you, she probably gave finger buns to every kid in town.’

‘Of course. Jenny Wilson was in my year at school.’ Sam spoke slowly, as if he was only just beginning to consider the implications of his return to the Bay. And for a moment Meg almost felt sorry for him.

‘Exactly,’ she said, quelling the feeling before it had time to take hold. Then curiosity got the better of her. She asked the same question he’d asked earlier. ‘Why did you come back?’

Sam’s face closed. Someone else, standing in front of him, might not have noticed the wiping of all expression from a face that didn’t give away much in the first place. But Meg had seen it happen before—often enough to recognise that whatever minor truce might have existed between them for a few minutes was now over.

Not that she should be worried about it—Sam Agostini was none of her business.

Though not yet late—just after seven—it was dark by the time Sam drove back up to the Point and along the road to his house.

His house?

In his mind it was still the Anstey house.

He glanced towards cottage but there were no lights on. No doubt Meg was still performing one of her seemingly limitless roles at the hospital. Family counselling it had been when he’d called in to check on Ben Richards late that afternoon and had found Meg there with Jenny and various other family members who all remembered him—and registered their surprise he wasn’t in jail—but were strangers as far as he was concerned.

He parked his car and walked up the front steps—hoping the removal men had successfully completed the unpacking for him. I don’t care what goes where, he’d told them, sure they’d be better able to place furniture and stack cupboards than he would be.

He wondered what they’d made of the drawer full of feminine underwear in the main bedroom.

On the front veranda, he stopped and turned towards the view, seeing the sweep of the bay and far out a faint twinkle of light from the island. A fisherman on the beach? Someone camping in the sand dunes?

His chest began to ache again and a savage anger swept over him as he realised Meg had been right.

He hadn’t thought through his return to the Bay.

Oh, he’d considered all the practical aspects of it—the business side of things, the opportunities it presented—the reasons he’d had to come. But if he’d considered any emotional impact, it had merely been to remind himself he was older now—a mature adult—and in spite of what an interfering, psychiatrist ex-girlfriend had once said about him carrying emotional baggage, he’d been totally convinced that all the past was right where it belonged—safely in the past.

A movement down on the beach caught his eye, and though the moon had not yet risen, there was enough light reflecting off the water for him to see it was a woman. A woman with a longish stick in her hand—writing in the sand.

He moved without thought, back down the steps, across the road, easily finding the grassy track that led downwards through the tall gum trees to the park, across it to the beach.

But once there he hesitated. Megan—and he’d known with an inner certainty it was her—had moved on so she was almost at the point. If he waited just a minute, she’d be out of sight.

As would he be of her…

He paused in the shadows until he could no longer see her then walked towards the water, which splashed with tiny, sloshing waves against the gritty sand. The tide must be going out, for the words she’d written hadn’t been washed away.

Megan Anstey, in beautiful curly cursive script. Meg’s hair might have darkened to a rich auburn, and her gangly figure filled out with womanhood, but her writing hadn’t changed.

He followed the big letters to the end and found that after them she’d written ‘Megan Scott’.

Megan Scott?

Sam frowned at the surname.

‘Megan Anstey’, written on the beach, used to be followed by ‘Megan Agostini’.

But that had been thirteen years ago!

Didn’t stop him frowning.

Was Megan married to this Scott, or just in love with him?

Engaged?

He didn’t need to know.

It was none of his business.

So why was he still following the writing?

‘Megan Anstey’ again.

Without knowing why, Sam felt immeasurably better, though the next name jolted him.

Not so much a name as the word ‘Megan’ then a question mark. Was there someone in Meg’s life she was thinking of marrying?

Why wouldn’t there be? She was young, attractive, vibrant, sexy—

Sexy?

Had he ever considered that word and Meg in the same breath?

‘Reading other people’s mail?’

He looked up to see her barely ten feet away, the sand having dulled any sound of her return.

‘Sand writing’s like postcards—fair game,’ he reminded her, staring at her shadowed figure and wondering if perhaps his ex-girlfriend had been right and he did have an excessively large load of baggage from the past.

He certainly felt as if he was carrying something heavy right now. Heavy enough to make his chest feel tight and his muscles bunch with tension.

‘Were you looking for me?’

For the last thirteen years, a voice inside his head responded, but he knew this wasn’t true. He’d thought of Meg from time to time, but—

‘No. I just wandered down for a breath of fresh air before going into the house to see what kind of a fist of unpacking the removal men have made. I paid for the whole job—packing and unpacking.’

This is a ridiculous conversation, his inner voice mocked, but Sam was surprised he’d managed an almost rational reply.

‘Money no object, then?’ Meg asked, in a voice he didn’t recognise as her’s. Meg had never been snide or catty but, then, that Meg had been a girl. Thirteen years was plenty of time to find a bit of snide and catty!

‘It was more a matter of time. I wasn’t due to start up here for another month, then I had an SOS from an old friend who was coming up as the medical super at the hospital. She couldn’t leave Brisbane and, knowing I was heading this way, asked if I’d step in for her.’

It was still a ridiculous conversation to be having with Meg, but at least it was keeping his mind away from thoughts of Meg the girl.

And the sand writing.

From Megan Question Mark?

Almost keeping his thoughts away…

‘You were coming anyway? When Bill said acting super I thought maybe you’d bought the house as a holiday home and were just here for however long you were acting.’

Meg knew she must sound strained, but she’d come to the beach in an attempt to regain her inner peace and composure—to try to get rid of all the turbulent emotions that seeing Sam—and knowing she’d be seeing more of him—had stirred inside her. Now, just when it had seemed to be working, here he was!

She studied him. Tall and strong-looking. He’d naturally enough filled out over the intervening years so his broad shoulders looked well muscled and his body solid—manly!

‘You were coming anyway?’ she said again, thinking she’d be better getting her mind off the subject of Sam’s body.

‘I was coming anyway,’ he echoed, but there was such sadness in the words Meg stepped towards him, responding to some inexplicable need within her—or within him.

‘Sam?’ she murmured, and he leaned towards her.

The waves whispered softly on the sand, the early stars shed soft silver light about them, and Sam’s head bent towards hers, slowly, slowly, as if willed by something beyond his control—something that went against his wishes and judgement and common sense.

A barely heard ‘Meg…’

The kiss was soft at first—tentative, testing—and the taste of Sam was both new and yet familiar. Too new and too familiar for Meg not to respond—tentatively testing for herself. It was a kiss that both sought and gave her comfort, though comfort was far from the other reactions it was generating.

Need, desire, heat—all the reactions Sam’s kisses had generated in the adolescent Megan long ago—not diminished by time, but heightened and strengthened by the maturity of her body and the very obvious maturity of his.

Or was it his skill as a kisser that was changing her response? Skill and mastery that seemed to be drawing the very soul from her body and sweeping away any will to resist.

This was the kiss of her dreams but with a real Sam, not a fantasy, yet fantasy was there as well and she was sixteen again, kissing the teenage Sam who was soon to become her lover…

‘Meg,’ he repeated softly, and though his voice seemed to be coming from a far distant planet, enough of her name reached her to make her draw away.

As she moved, the spell was broken. She stared at him in disbelief—disbelief levelled at herself, not him.

Then very deliberately she wiped her hand across her lips and said, ‘Don’t you ever do that to me again!’

Would he remember? she wondered as, with tears puddling in her eyes and agony tugging at her heart, she walked away from him.

‘Megan, wait! Meg, I can explain!’

His voice followed her, but she wasn’t going to stop. Wasn’t going to risk being caught in that web of sensuality he wove so effortlessly around her—not again.

Would he remember his own gesture—his own words—from all those years ago?

She doubted it, and somehow that thought made her blink back the tears and straighten her shoulders as she crossed the park, determined not to show Sam Agostini her pain.

Sam watched her go, remembering back to when he’d given Meg good reason to write ‘Megan Agostini’ in the sand.

Meg at sixteen, arriving for the Christmas holidays thirteen years ago, flying from her house to the cottage, in through the side door and into his bedroom, casting herself into his arms and kissing him full on the mouth.

Over the previous three holidays—Easter, June and September—their relationship had changed. Somewhere along the line Meg had grown breasts and put a little padding around her hips so they swelled gently out below her tiny waist. While looking at her legs, he’d seen not their paleness but their sexy length. Hormones and libido had done the rest and two childhood best friends had become not lovers but girlfriend and boyfriend, together exploring their developing sexuality. The sheer delight of moonlight walks on the beach and stolen kisses had been all they’d wanted from each other during the shorter holidays, although by October they were sure enough of how they felt to discuss taking their relationship further.

How innocent we were! Sam thought, grimacing at the memories.

Christmas holidays, they’d decided, would be the perfect time for both of them to lose their virginity. They’d have seven weeks together—or as together as they could be. Seven weeks! It would be like a honeymoon—only before marriage, not after it.

But when the day had come, when she’d come bursting into his room, flung her arms around his neck and kissed him, he’d wiped her kiss off his lips, told her never to do it again, and broken her heart.

Lost his own at the same time, Sam suspected, for he’d felt nothing for the pain he’d caused his mother over those particular holidays or for the girls he’d kissed and left without a second thought, or for the trail of chaos he’d blazed through the Bay until Meg’s father had stepped in, offering to pay his tuition at a private school in Sydney for his final year at school—finding his mother a job down there so they could be together.

Now, when it was too late to say thank you because Meg’s father was dead, he understood Dr Anstey had done what he had out of kindness, but back then, poisoned by words Ben Richards probably didn’t remember saying, it had served to prove to Sam that Ben’s jibe was true.

He had to explain…

He caught up with her as, breathless from her rush up the steep path, she rested a moment, leaning against the big eucalypt at the top of the track.

‘Meg! I thought you were my sister!’

Were the words breathless because he’d run to catch her, or because of their ridiculous nature?

Meg spun to face him.

‘You thought I was your sister?’ An echo of utter disbelief. ‘How could I possibly have been your sister?’

The answer, though slow coming, was obvious. Her disbelief deepened but with it came uncertainty.

And then pain.

‘You thought my father—My father?’

And now the demon doubt arrived, cutting into her so deeply she had to bend to ease the pain. Was that why her mother had been so anxious to sell the holiday house after her father’s death?

It was all too much for Meg.

‘How could you think that? How could you?’ she yelled, swiping the stick she still carried towards Sam, catching him across the cheek, before turning and racing towards the cottage.

Sam wanted to follow—to explain he no longer thought it—but that wasn’t the point and he knew it. Meg had adored her father, and he her. They’d shared the same hair colouring, quick temper, utter loyalty and soft heart. The careless words—Sam’s urgent need to explain the past—had made things worse, not better.

Though wasn’t he always making things worse?

Wasn’t that his forte in relationships?

Wreaking havoc in the lives of the women he courted, leaving a trail of destruction in his path?

He muttered angrily to himself as he made his way home.

Home! That was a laugh! How could the Anstey house ever be his home—with Meg living in the cottage next door, a constant reminder of how things had once been?

He changed his mind and went back down the track to the beach. Maybe a run would make him feel better. And maybe the huge full moon, rising in orange-gold glory above the waters of the bay, was made of cheese!

He should have followed her—explained it better. He’d have to try again.

Have to hope she’d understand.

Now, why would he hope that? he wondered as he pounded along the beach.

Because one kiss had told him so. One kiss had proved that the fire he’d found lacking in every relationship he’d ever had since that momentous day was still there between himself and Meg.

He sighed again and turned to run back, accidentally obliterating the question mark after ‘Megan’ as he did so.

Accidentally?

He climbed back up the steep slope for the second time that evening, feeling slightly better for the exercise.

Then he saw the ambulance outside Meg’s cottage and his heart didn’t need exercise to accelerate.

Pulse pounding, he ran towards it, then felt foolish as he saw her emerge from the cottage in the fluorescent-taped garments of a paramedic.

‘Don’t tell me you’re an ambo in your spare time,’ he said, hoping she’d not hear the anger he was feeling—anger born of relief that she was OK.

She gave him a frigid glare and he knew she was considering not answering him at all, but she could hardly keep up a ‘not speaking’ effort when they had to work together.

‘SES paramedic,’ she said briefly. ‘State Emergency Service.’

She was climbing into the ambulance as she spoke.

‘What’s happened?’

She frowned before answering.

‘It’s practice night. Phil picked me up in the ambulance because tonight we’re explaining to some new volunteers exactly what equipment an ambulance carries and how we use it all.’

‘I’ll come, too. I’ll follow you in my car—that way I can give you a lift home.’

Was he out of his head? She was barely speaking to him and here he was offering her a lift home?

He had to explain…

‘Phil will give me a lift home.’ And you can go to hell! The words rang unspoken in the air between them.

‘Do I know Phil?’

Sam knew, even before Meg made an exasperated noise, that it was a stupid question, but his head was demanding to know if Phil might be the admirer she’d been thinking about on the beach.

Not, of course, that it was any of his business.

Meg had made that more than clear, even before he’d delivered his killer blow!

But just so there could be absolutely no mistake in his mind, she replied, ‘No, Phil’s new to town. So chances are you never knew his sisters either!’

Ouch!

Feeling foolish, and angry, and frustrated that he couldn’t immediately explain what he’d said earlier, Sam peered at the bewildered Phil. He was relieved to find the young man was barely old enough to shave, then felt even angrier with himself that he was pleased.

But it was stubbornness more than anger that forced him to add, ‘I’ll still come. A local doctor should know about the working of the SES.’

‘Perhaps another time,’ Meg said coolly. ‘Because that’s not my pager beeping, and Phil doesn’t have one, so I assume it’s yours.’

Foolish didn’t come into it! She’d annihilated him. He walked swiftly back to his house, phoned the hospital in response to the page—Benjie Richards had been admitted with breathing difficulties—and Ben was insisting he be discharged.

He arrived at the hospital to find Ben stripping off his monitor leads.

‘Just how do you think Jenny will cope if you have a second attack?’ Sam said to him, and the big man slumped back on the bed.

‘I can’t just lie here like a lump of useless meat while Benjie might be dying in another room.’

‘Benjie’s not dying,’ Sam said firmly, although he hadn’t yet met the little boy or received a report on his progress. ‘Jenny’s with him and she’ll come back and report to you as soon as she knows he’s settled down. And I’ll go and see him and report back to you as well.’

Ben’s anxiety lessened.

‘Would you really?’

He sounded pathetic but Sam knew the greatest concern with heart patients was the level of stress they felt.

‘Of course I will, you chump. Right after I’ve checked your drip and reattached those leads. Chances are Benjie’s been given something to sedate him and he’ll be asleep by the time I get there, so you might see Jenny back here before you see me.’

Sam settled his patient back in bed, and made sure he was as comfortable as possible with all the leads running from his body.

‘Sedation works,’ Ben told him. ‘Benjie’s got a bit of asthma but he gets upset when he gets an attack.’ He gave Sam a slightly shame faced grin. ‘Guess I could do with a bit as well,’ he said, then added in a more serious voice, ‘But not just yet, Sam. I need to know the boy’s all right.’

Sam heard the love in Ben’s voice and felt a momentary pang of jealousy. For all the suffering he might have been through, Ben still had a loving wife and four children to hold to his heart.

He, Sam, had nothing.

Not even a heart, he sometimes suspected.

He shook his head. He’d been so upbeat about coming back to the Bay so why the maudlin mood swings?

‘Sam! Oh, Sam, it’s good to have you back.’

Jenny cast herself into Sam’s arms and gave him a huge hug as he walked into the children’s ward.

‘When Ben told me, I could hardly believe it!’ She’d stepped back and now she looked up into his face. ‘So you made it through medical school—you became a doctor! It’s what you always wanted to do, isn’t it?’

Sam grinned at her.

‘You’re the first person who’s remembered that ambition. Everyone else I’ve seen has wondered that I’m still out of jail.’

‘That’s only because you went crazy that last summer, Sam. But I knew you for a lot longer than one summer holiday.’

‘And believed in me,’ Sam said softly.

Jenny smiled and tucked her arm through his, leading him towards a cot where her little boy lay sleeping, an oxygen mask strapped across his pale face.

‘First Ben, now this little fellow,’ Sam said gently, and Jenny squeezed his arm.

‘We’ll cope,’ she told him. ‘We’ve got good at coping—the Richards family.’

‘Good on you,’ Sam said, easing away so he could bend over the cot and look at the tiny child.

In spite of the slight malformation in the facial features caused by the errant gene in Benjie’s make-up, Sam smiled to see the resemblance of the little boy to his dad.

‘He’s Ben all over again,’ he said to Jenny, reaching out to tuck the little starfish hand beneath the sheet.

‘Spitting image,’ Jenny agreed. ‘Everyone talks about it.’

‘And the leukaemia?’ Sam asked gently.

Jenny drew in a deep breath.

‘We’re fighting it, Sam. That’s all we can do. Benjie’s a fighter, too. Although I know the chemo is so much easier to take now, it still knocks him around for a day or two, but then he bounces back and is his normal, boisterous self. Although today—’

‘It might just have been the asthma attack.’ Sam was quick to assure her, although he was wondering whether Benjie had seen his father collapse with pain—seen the ambulance—and, little though he was, understood some of the significance of it.

‘I hope so,’ Jenny said, bending to kiss her son, then turning to Brad, who was the only child still awake in the ward. ‘I’m leaving you in charge,’ she told him. ‘You ring for someone if he wakes.’

Her instruction made Sam turn towards the desk, wondering if perhaps the hospital was so short-staffed a patient had to keep watch. But the nurse at the desk just smiled at him, leaving Jenny to explain as she accompanied him back to Ben’s room.

‘Brad’s been in and out of hospital so often he thinks he owns the place,’ she said. ‘So it’s natural to kid him around.’

She paused, then added, ‘And he loves Benjie, so he will watch over him.’

‘It sounds to me as if everyone loves Benjie,’ Sam said, and saw Jenny’s smile bring a glow to her cheeks.

‘Oh, they do,’ she whispered, then she went ahead, entering Ben’s room, eager to tell him his little son had settled down to sleep.

CHAPTER THREE

SAM sat in his office for a while, pretending to read the information in the files on his desk, but his mind wasn’t taking in much, wondering instead what time Meg might get home—and whether it would still be early enough for him to explain.

In the end he gave up and wandered back to the children’s ward where Jenny was sitting talking to Brad while keeping a watchful eye on her sleeping child.

‘Could I see Benjie’s file?’ he asked the nurse, who lifted a bulky package off the desk.

‘All of it or just the recent admissions?’ she asked.

He looked at the full file and realised he wouldn’t have time to read it all tonight. Maybe Jenny could explain.

She’d kissed Brad goodnight and was back by Benjie’s bed.

‘Ben’s fretting and I really need to be with him, but I hate leaving Benjie.’

‘He’s sleeping soundly, so I would think keeping Ben’s anxiety levels down would be the main concern,’ Sam said, resting his arm on her shoulder as she watched her sleeping child.

‘Come on,’ he said, turning her with a slight pressure of his hand. ‘As we walk back you can tell me about Benjie. How old is he and where’s he up to with his treatment?’

‘Don’t they call that diversion therapy?’ Jenny said, smiling at him as they walked into the corridor. ‘He’s two, diagnosed three and a half months ago. Dr Chan, the paediatrician here in the Bay, picked it up straight away and we did go to Brisbane for the initial intensive treatment, then for his catheter to be put in and for the five day block of treatment in the second month. What we’re up to now—the fourth month—is one daily 6-mercaptopurine tablet, weekly tablets of…Is it methotrexate?’

Sam nodded, remembering the protocols from his stint in paediatrics as an intern.

‘He comes in for monthly injections—I forget what that drug is—and later in the month we do five days of steroids. While he’s at the hospital for that day—tomorrow, it’s supposed to be—they do more blood tests and the results of those tests will determine if the tablets need to be changed.’

‘The dosage altered,’ Sam confirmed, as they paused outside Ben’s room to finish the conversation.

The curtains had been drawn across the internal windows so it wasn’t until they entered the room that he noticed Meg sitting by Ben’s bed. Again!

Sam watched as she stood up and kissed Jenny on the cheek. Watched as she carefully avoided either looking at him or acknowledging him.

‘I wondered if you wanted me to stay with Benjie tonight so you can be with Ben,’ she said, and Jenny’s smile and warm hug provided all the answer anyone needed. ‘I was filling Ben in on the SES meeting while I waited for you. He agrees we need a new captain but old Ned’s been there so long, no one has the heart to tell him it’s time to leave.’

The conversation continued for a few minutes, giving Sam the opportunity to watch the two women. They were obviously close friends—because Benjie was hospitalised so often?

‘Jenny was great to me that Christmas,’ Meg said, as he followed her out of the room a little later.

He knew immediately what Christmas she meant, but what bothered him was Meg’s seeming ability to read his mind. Or was she simply making conversation to get past the tension between them?

Not such a bad idea.

‘You don’t have staff to cover the little boy on a one-on-one basis?’ he asked. The awkwardness between them had increased since he’d mentioned the sister thing. It was like a glass wall—solid and impenetrable—but talking medical matters made pretence at normality easier.

‘Not unless the child is desperately ill. I’ve spoken to Kristianne, the doctor on duty, who, with Dr Chan, his paediatrician, admitted Benjie, and he’s OK, though I don’t know what the oncologist will say tomorrow.’

‘You have an oncologist come in just for him?’

Meg’s smile made him realise how incredulous he must have sounded. It also managed to penetrate the glass wall and cause quivers in his chest.

‘We have one on-line—a direct link so we can talk to him and he can talk to us. Kristianne took more blood from Benjie when he came in, and we’ll flick those test results through to the oncologist as soon as they’re available. It’ll be up to him whether Benjie has treatment tomorrow or not.’

It all sounded quite sensible to Meg, so why was Sam frowning at her? Was he thinking about that ridiculous statement he’d made earlier?

‘You went to an SES meeting,’ he said, accusation biting into the words. ‘So how come you know all this? Who admitted him—taking blood, all the details?’

‘I rode back to the hospital with Bill, who’s also in the SES. I guessed your page meant some kind of crisis and I don’t like to have stuff happening that I don’t know about.’

Sam smiled at her.

‘You never did,’ he reminded her, and though she knew she shouldn’t be feeling anything for Sam, she found herself smiling back.

They stood by Benjie’s bed, looking down at the sleeping child. Meg leant forward to adjust the blue striped beanie the little boy wore.

‘Local football colours, aren’t they?’ Sam asked, feeling strange that he and Meg should be standing beside a small child’s cot.

Strange, yet somehow right…

And he didn’t do emotion?

‘Bay Dolphins,’ she confirmed. ‘They’ve adopted Benjie as a mascot. They donated all the gate takings from their final game towards the Benjie Fund that helps out with the expenses of the family.’

‘Did they win?’

Meg turned and smiled, then thrust her arm in the air as she said in a loud whisper, ‘You bet they did. Go, Dolphins!’

‘For someone who only ever spent holidays in the Bay, you’ve become a local from the look of things,’ Sam said.

But it was Brad who answered.

‘That’s because she cares about stuff apart from just patients in a bed,’ the child informed him.

‘Do you?’ Sam asked directly, turning his clear-eyed gaze from Brad to Meg.

‘Of course I do, but so does everyone else in the profession. Most of the people in your profession, too, I would have thought.’

‘Not entirely,’ Sam argued, pleased that, with the help of two children, they’d managed to find their way back through the glass wall, to some kind of neutral territory. ‘I’m not saying specialists don’t care about the whole person, but they do tend to become quite focussed on their main interest. Look at orthopods who only operate on hands.’

‘But they’re doing their best to achieve a positive outcome for the patient, not just his hand.’

‘Maybe,’ Sam said so dubiously that Meg laughed.

‘There always was a touch of the cynic in you,’ she told him. ‘Now, can you help me move this chair?’

She pointed towards a big reclining lounge chair.

‘To over here by Benjie?’ Sam asked.

‘No, that I could manage myself. I want to take it through to Ben’s room for Jenny. There’s another one near Brad I can use.’

‘Don’t the other wards have facilities for family staying over?’

Meg studied him.

‘Do you really want an answer or was that just a conversational question?’

‘Why wouldn’t I want an answer?’ Sam had moved towards the chair and was now manoeuvring it towards the door.

‘Because you’re acting super—not here permanently. Most people passing through wouldn’t care.’

He frowned at her.

‘Well, I do, OK?’

Taking up a position on the other side of the chair brought her closer to Sam—this new caring Sam—closer than she liked, so it was good to have something to explain.

‘Because serious cases are transferred on to larger hospitals we rarely have patients ill enough to warrant family staying with them. But I believe parents should be able to stay with their sick kids so recently Bill found the funds to buy these chairs.’

Blue-green eyes met hers across the chair as they pushed it through the door, and she saw the faint mark on his face where her stick had struck him.

He’d thought she was his sister?

Disbelief was yelling the question in her head, but if Sam could behave as if he hadn’t delivered that deadly blow only hours earlier, so could she.

‘Working on getting them for the other wards, are you?’ he was asking, and though his lips weren’t smiling she could see a teasing gleam in his eyes. A teasing gleam that melted her bones and made her heart do little tap dances in her chest.

Oh, no, not again! You cannot fall for Sam again!

But is it again—or still…?

‘It wouldn’t be a bad idea,’ she said, stiffly formal as she tried to hide the effect he had on her. ‘But money’s always tight.’

Together they managed to get the chair to Ben’s room and when Jenny began to question Sam about Ben’s heart attack, Meg slipped away.

He’s not here for ever, she reminded herself. You can handle it.

But could she?

She went through to the children’s ward and shifted another big chair, this time close to Benjie’s cot. The little boy was still sleeping peacefully, and would probably stay that way throughout the night. They had a monitor on the mattress, the device usually used for babies with suspected sudden infant death syndrome. It had an alarm that would sound if Benjie stopped breathing. But for Jenny and Ben’s peace of mind, Meg would stay by his side.

She drew a fingertip along his arm, marvelling at the super-smooth skin.

‘Keep fighting, Benjie,’ she whispered to the little boy, then she sank down into the chair beside him.

Exhaustion, both physical and emotional, flooded through her as she let her body relax in the soft recliner. The physical she could explain. She’d been doing double shifts for a week now.

The emotional exhaustion was also explainable but far less easy to set aside. If she felt this way after Sam’s first day in the hospital, how was she going to feel after a week—or a month—or however long he intended working here?

But it wasn’t so much Sam’s presence causing emotional havoc as the sister thing. Why hadn’t she stayed when he’d told her? Listened to him explain?

Because she’d been too shocked to think straight!

How could such an impossible, inconceivable, horribly revolting idea have got into his stupid head?

She thought back—way back—but even after thirteen years the memories were still vivid. They had spoken on the phone the previous weekend—silly, excited, soon-we’ll-really-be-together talk—lovers’ talk. So what had happened in the intervening week?

She didn’t know of any major events earlier in that week, but the night before she’d arrived, cool, controlled Sam, who rarely showed any emotion at all, had had a fight.

He’d put Ben Richards in hospital with a broken jaw. The first move in seven weeks of madness and mayhem when he’d torn through town like a tornado, barely escaping being locked up for drunken behaviour, losing his licence for a multitude of offences, not least of which had been speeding down the Esplanade, and, most hurtful of all to Meg, dating every teenage female in the caravan park.

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