“Why are you being so nice?” she whispered

Because you’re the love of my life and I hate to see you hurting. I want to make you feel better. Not that he was going to tell her that. It wasn’t the right time. “Because I care, Tally. Whatever happened between us, I still care.” He still loved her. And he always would.

Somehow—Kit couldn’t even remember moving—he was sitting down, on his own chair this time, and Natalie was sitting on his lap. Her arms were around his neck, her fingers sliding into his hair. And he was kissing her eyelids, tiny butterfly kisses brushing her eyes, her temples. The lightest, lightest touch. A moth’s wing against the candle flame.

And he was burning.

“Kit…”

But her voice wasn’t saying stop. It was saying go on.

Dear Reader,

For me, Christmas is a magical time: a time to spend with my family; a time for going to my children’s Christmas nativity plays; a time for finding that special something to put in their stockings to make their eyes light up on Christmas morning.

But sometimes Christmas is a sad time, when we miss those who are no longer with us or just wish that things were different. My daughter’s first Christmas was one of those—spent in a hospital, at the age of seven weeks, with bronchiolitis. Her three-year-old brother asked plaintively on Christmas Eve if Santa was going to bring his baby sister home for Christmas, and it broke my heart to say no.

So when my editor asked if I could write her a Christmas story, I knew exactly where to start—with a “but for the grace of God” moment. (That’s why the book is dedicated to my daughter—now a very lively “princess.”) Kit and Tally were ripped apart by what happened to them six years ago, but in Their Christmas Dream Come True they’re thrown together again. The book’s about how they work things out…and there really is a light at the end of the tunnel. The kind of light that makes Christmas wishes come true.

I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. And I’m always delighted to hear from readers, so do come and visit me at www.katehardy.com.

With love,

Kate Hardy

Their Christmas Dream Come True
Kate Hardy

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Chloë, my very special daughter

CONTENTS

Cover

Excerpt

Dear Reader

Title Page

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

SO THIS was it. Natalie’s first day as a doctor—a pre-registration house officer, if you wanted to split hairs, but a brand-new doctor was still a doctor. Her hospital ID badge said DR NATALIE WILKINS. This was what she’d worked for. Hard. Against everyone’s advice. And she’d finally made it. So what if she was six years older than the other house officers? The important thing was, she’d been offered a six months’ post in the paediatric department of St Joseph’s hospital.

Not the same hospital as Ethan—

Natalie cut the thought short before it could grab hold and choke her with remembered misery.

Paediatrics was probably the toughest option she could have chosen. Six years ago, she’d thought she’d never be able to walk onto a children’s ward again. But she could do it and she would do it. Six months here, six months in emergency medicine, then back to paediatrics. Next move: senior house officer. Two years’ further training and she’d be taking the paediatric specialist exams. And from there she’d make a real difference. Maybe stop other parents going through—

No. She wasn’t going to think about that now. She had work to do.

She headed for the reception desk on the ward and introduced herself to the maternal-looking nurse in the dark blue uniform who was working through a stack of patient files. ‘I was told to report here.’

Even though she’d tried to sound cool, calm and professional, some of her first-day nerves must have shown, because the nurse gave her a beaming smile. ‘Hello, love. Welcome to Nightingale Ward. I’m Debbie Jacobs, the senior sister—I was off duty when you came for interview. You’ve got a few minutes until Lenox arrives, so let me show you where everything is.’

‘Thanks.’

Fifteen minutes later, Natalie had a key to her own locker in the staffroom, knew where the parents’ rooms and isolation cubicles were as well as the general bays, had gulped down her first cup of coffee on the ward, had been introduced to ten people whose names she was sure she’d never remember, and had started a ward round with Lenox Curtis, the consultant.

In at the deep end.

Doing observations, checking medication and treatment plans, venturing her opinion when it was asked for. Hesitantly, at first, but the more she got right, the more her confidence blossomed. By the end, she was able to reassure the anxious parents of a seven-month-old girl who’d been brought in with abdominal pain.

‘Maia was always a colicky baby, but she seemed to be getting better. Then she started drawing her legs up again and screaming for two or three minutes.’ The little girl’s mother was shaking. ‘She’s been off her food the last day. And then I saw this red stuff in her nappy.’

‘A bit like redcurrant jelly?’ Natalie asked.

‘Yes.’

Natalie examined the little girl gently. The baby’s stomach was distended, and Natalie could feel a sausage-shaped mass, curved and concave to the umbilical cord. As Natalie gently pressed the mass, Maia lifted her legs and screamed again.

‘All right, sweetheart.’ Natalie soothed the baby gently, stroking her face and calming her down. She noted that the soft spot on the top of the baby’s head had sunk a bit, showing that the little girl was dehydrated.

‘What’s wrong with her?’ Maia’s father asked.

‘It’s something called intussusception—it’s where one segment of the bowel telescopes into another segment and constricts the blood supply. That’s why you see the redcurrant-jelly-like stuff—it’s a mixture of blood and mucus. But it’s nothing either of you have done,’ she reassured them both swiftly. ‘It just happens. It might be that she has a polyp—a non-cancerous growth—that started it off. Quite a lot of children get intussusception before they’re two, so we’re very used to treating it here. I’m going to send her for an ultrasound in a minute so we can see exactly what we’re looking at—it doesn’t hurt and it’s the same sort of scan you had when you were pregnant.’

Maia’s father turned white. ‘Is she going to have to have surgery?’

‘Hopefully not. You’ve brought her in early, so we might be able to sort it out by an air enema—what we do is put a pipe in her bottom and blow air in to gently manoeuvre the bowel back to where it should be. If that doesn’t work, we’ll need to sort her bowel out surgically, but the good news is she’s got an excellent chance of a full recovery.’ She smiled at them. ‘I’ll book Maia in for an ultrasound now, and because she’s a bit dehydrated I’m going to put her on a drip so we can get some fluids into her. In the meantime, to make her a bit more comfortable, I need to put a tube into her nose and down into her tummy—that will help get rid of any air that’s built up.’ It also drained the stomach contents, which made the procedures easier. ‘I’ll be able to give you a better idea of how we’re going to treat her when I’ve seen the scan.’

‘But she’ll be OK?’ Maia’s mother asked.

‘She’s going to be fine,’ Natalie promised. Had the problem been left a few weeks longer, gangrene might have set in, and the outcome would have been very different. But she was confident that this case would be absolutely fine.

And it felt good, so good, to help people. To make a difference to people’s lives. To make things right again.

‘So did you enjoy your first ward round here?’ Lenox asked when they’d finished.

‘I think so,’ Natalie said with a smile. ‘It was a bit nerve-racking to start with, but it got easier towards the end.’

He smiled back. ‘You’ll do fine. Give it a week and you’ll feel as if you’ve been here for ever. And tomorrow you won’t even be our newest recruit.’

‘You’ve got another house officer starting?’ Natalie asked, interested.

‘Special registrar,’ Lenox explained. ‘We were lucky to poach him from London—he’s quite a whiz. His name’s Christopher Rodgers.’

Ice trickled down Natalie’s spine. Christopher Rodgers.

No, it had to be a coincidence. Rodgers was a common enough surname, and Christopher was a popular first name. There was more than just one Christopher Rodgers in the world.

‘Though it seems everyone calls him Kit,’ Lenox added.

Kit?

Most Christophers were known as Chris. Kit was the posh diminutive. A much, much less common diminutive.

Kit Rodgers.

From London.

No. It couldn’t be him. Surely.

The Kit she’d known had been training as a surgeon, not as a paediatric specialist. Then again, Natalie had been a history teacher and she’d retrained. Kit might have done the same thing…for the same reasons.

Well, she’d deal with it tomorrow.

If she had to.

She managed to put Kit out of her mind when she took Maia for an ultrasound. The results showed the double ring she was expecting. ‘Definitely intussusception.’

‘Anything else?’ Lenox asked.

She looked carefully at the scan. ‘It doesn’t look as if there’s any perforation or significant ischaemia. So I’d say it would be safe to go ahead with the air enema.’

‘Good call,’ he said. ‘Would you like me to talk you through it, or would you prefer to watch me do it?’

‘I’ve seen one done before, though I haven’t actually performed one,’ she said. ‘I’d like to try myself, if that’s all right with you.’

‘That’s fine.’ He smiled. ‘I think you’re going to be an asset to the team—you’re prepared to try things rather than hang back. Good.’

He talked her through the procedure. As the pressure-regulated air gently pushed into the bowel, the bowel began to expand and the constricted part finally untelescoped.

‘Bingo,’ Lenox said with a smile. ‘You’ve done it. Happy about managing the after-care?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good. You can go and talk to the parents on your own.’

She smiled at him, and went to see Maia’s parents. ‘You’ll be pleased to know the procedure was a complete success, so Maia won’t need to go for surgery. We’re going to keep her in for a day or so, just to keep an eye on her and sort out her fluids, but she should be fine.’

‘Oh, thank God,’ Maia’s mother said.

‘Could she get it again?’ Maia’s father asked.

‘It’s extremely unlikely,’ Natalie reassured them.

‘Thank you so much, Dr Wilkins.’

Natalie smiled, and left them making a fuss over their little girl. So this was what being a doctor was all about. Making a difference. Helping.

She could almost understand why Kit had buried himself in his job.

Almost.

It was good to be home. Well, not quite home, Kit thought. He hadn’t actually lived in Birmingham when he’d worked there before. He’d lived in Litchford-in-Arden, a little Warwickshire village halfway between Birmingham and Stratford-upon-Avon, in a picture-postcard cottage that overlooked the village green with its duck-pond and huge oak tree. Close to an ancient church where part of his heart would always lie.

When his world had fallen apart, Kit had fled to London. He’d wanted to lose himself in the anonymity of the city, avoid the pitying glances and the sympathy of people around him. It had worked for a while, but the busyness of the city had never really eased the ache in his heart. He’d never quite been able to block it out, no matter how many hours he worked or how hard he drove himself.

Now he was back. Near enough maybe to find some peace, but far enough away that people around him wouldn’t know about the past. And, more to the point, they wouldn’t offer him the pity he didn’t want—didn’t need. He was a paediatric specialist, and a good one, on track to becoming a consultant. He’d be good for St Joseph’s, and St Joseph’s would be good for him. Yes, this was going to work out just fine.

And everything was fine until he walked into the staffroom and saw the woman in a white coat talking to another woman in a sister’s uniform. His heart missed a beat.

Tally.

Except it couldn’t be. Tally was a teacher, not a doctor. And this woman had short, cropped hair instead of Tally’s Pre-Raphaelite curls. She was thinner than Tally, too. No, he was just seeing things. Wishful thinking, maybe. And he needed to get his subconscious wishes back under control, right now. Stop seeing his ex-wife in every stranger’s face. The past was the past and it was going to stay that way.

And then the woman looked up, saw him and every bit of colour leached from her face.

He wouldn’t be surprised if he’d gone just as white. Because it really was her. It was the first time they’d met in five and a half years. ‘Tally?’ The name felt as if it had been ripped from him.

‘Natalie,’ she corrected. ‘Hello, Kit.’

Her voice was like ice. A voice that had once been warm and soft, a voice that had once slurred his name in passion.

But that had been before Ethan.

‘Do you two know each other?’ the nurse she’d been talking to asked.

‘We went to the same university,’ Tally cut in quickly. ‘We haven’t seen each other in years.’

It was the truth. But very, very far from the whole truth. Obviously Tally didn’t want to admit just how well they’d known each other.

Then again, Kit didn’t exactly want the whole truth known either. Or the gossip and speculation that was bound to go with it.

Hell, hell, hell. If he’d had any idea that Tally had become a doctor—that she was working here—he would never have come to St Joseph’s. He’d have stayed in London. Maybe even gone abroad for a while, got some experience in America or worked for Doctors Without Borders.

A quick glance at her ID badge told him that Tally was using her maiden name. Not that that meant anything. She might be married again now. Though he couldn’t see a ring on her left hand, or a tell-tale band of paler skin on her ring finger. Maybe not married, then. Probably living with someone. Family was important to Natalie. She wouldn’t be living on her own. She’d clearly moved on with her life.

Just like he had.

And he damped down the ‘if only’ before it had a chance to echo in his head.

He focused on the nurse and extended his hand. ‘Kit Rodgers. Pleased to meet you. I’m the new boy.’

And I’m Debbie Jacobs. Senior sister, for my sins.’ The nurse smiled at him. ‘Well, you’ve plenty in common with our Natalie, then. She’s new, too—she started yesterday.’ She gave them both a curious look. ‘Since you know each other, you two must have a lot to catch up on.’

Natalie’s reaction was clearly written on her face. Not if I can help it.

‘We didn’t really know each other that well,’ Kit said coolly. Again, not the whole truth, but true enough. By the end, they’d been complete strangers. Living separate lives. And he’d wondered if he’d ever really known her.

‘Natalie, maybe you can show Kit where everything is?’

‘Um, yes. Sure.’ And she smiled.

Oh, hell. He knew that smile. The bright one that pretended nothing was wrong—when, inside, everything was wrong. The one that spelled trouble with a capital T.

This was surreal. Natalie was showing Kit around the ward—and they were both acting as if they were polite strangers. Considering they’d known each other much more intimately, this was crazy.

‘So you’re a house officer. I didn’t know you’d become a doctor. Your parents never said,’ Kit remarked.

Natalie stared at him in shock. Her parents? Why would her parents have said anything to him about her change in career? ‘You stayed in touch with them?’

He shrugged. ‘Just Christmas and birthdays.’

Strange. She couldn’t remember ever seeing a card from him on the mantelpiece. Or maybe her mum had kept it to one side when she had been around. Trying to save her daughter from more hurt. Seeing Kit’s name in a card, maybe with another woman’s name added after it.

And Natalie had to admit, it would’ve hurt. A lot. Even though, logically, she knew, of course, Kit had moved on. He was probably married by now. A man like Kit Rodgers wouldn’t have stayed on his own for long. With cornflower blue eyes, dark hair and a killer smile, he was drop-dead gorgeous. Women adored him. Even when she’d been married to him, women had chased him. He’d never been short of offers, even though he’d always turned them down. Lack of fidelity wasn’t one of his faults.

‘You know your mum,’ Kit continued. ‘She always writes a lovely note in with a card.’

He sounded affectionate towards her parents. Though it wasn’t so surprising. She knew he’d loved them—and they’d adored him. So had her younger sisters. Kit had the ability to charm just about anyone he met. Of course her parents would have stayed in touch with him.

Though Kit’s parents hadn’t stayed in touch with her. Also not surprising: they’d always been slightly wary of each other. Kit’s family had always made her feel as if she wasn’t quite good enough, as if a BA and a PCGE were somehow the second-class option, well beneath the notice of a family of doctors. She’d never really fitted in. Kit’s parents and his three older brothers had all been medics, all high flyers. They’d seen her as a distraction, the person who’d stopped Kit achieving his full potential. She knew it wasn’t true and she would have shrugged it off quite cheerfully, had it not been the fact they’d blamed her for Ethan.

Natalie pushed the thought back where it belonged— locked away with all the other feelings—and gave him a whistle-stop tour of the ward. ‘This is the staffroom. Lockers here, kettle here, tea and coffee here, mugs in that cupboard, biscuits in the tin, milk in the fridge. Debbie has the kitty—and she’s the one you tell if you notice we’re running low on anything.’ Out of the staffroom, back on to the ward. ‘Nurses’ station, patient board, so you know who’s the nominated nurse, parents’ phone, parents’ room.’

Done and dusted.

‘Thank you, Tally.’

‘Natalie,’ she corrected, annoyed at the amusement in his voice. So what if she’d rushed showing him round? Besides, she wasn’t ‘Tally’ any more. To anyone.

She sneaked a glance at him. He’d barely changed in the last few years. A couple of grey hairs around his temples, a couple more lines on his face. But basically Kit Rodgers was the same. The epitome of tall, dark and handsome. Charming and easygoing with it, too—the female staff in the hospital would be falling at his feet in droves. So would the patients. And their parents. There wouldn’t be any difficult cases on Nightingale Ward when Kit Rodgers was around: that easy-going smile was too infectious. Men would identify with him and women would fall for him. He’d manage to get a good response from even the stroppiest parent.

Except maybe from her.

She knew better. She’d keep things cool and professional between them.

He wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, she noticed. Not that that meant anything. He hadn’t worn one before either. Well, she wasn’t going to ask him if he was married. And she definitely wasn’t going to ask the question that usually went with that one. She wasn’t interested.

Ha. Who was she trying to kid? More like, she wasn’t sure she could handle the answer.

‘I, um, need to get ready for the ward round,’ she said. ‘Catch you later.’ As in preferably much later. Better still, as in not at all. ‘Lenox’s office is just there.’

And she walked away, quickly, while she still could.

CHAPTER TWO

NATALIE managed to avoid Kit for most of the morning, and at lunchtime she had the unimpeachable excuse of needing to get her shoes reheeled during her lunch-break. But in the afternoon they were both rostered to the outpatient clinic. Thrown together. No respite.

Well, she could deal with this. Kit was just another doctor. A colleague. She’d keep him neatly pigeonholed there.

‘So, would this be your first clinic since you qualified?’ Kit asked as they headed to the outpatients area.

‘Yes,’ she admitted.

‘OK. You lead. I’ll be here for back-up, if you need me.’

Being supportive? Kit? Well. Maybe he’d grown up in the last six years. He was thirty now, after all. And he was the more experienced doctor out of the two of them. Several rungs higher than she was. He was just doing what she’d do if the positions were reversed. Giving a junior doctor a chance to gain experience, with a safety net if it was needed.

But this was her first proper clinic. And he wanted her to lead. Take responsibility. ‘What if I miss something?’ she asked.

He shrugged. ‘Then I’ll bring it up in conversation with the parents. But I won’t tear you off a strip in front of them or make you look incompetent, if that’s what you’re thinking.’

She felt her skin heat. ‘I wasn’t sniping at you. What I meant was, I might get something wrong, put a patient at risk.’ She was worried that she wasn’t totally ready for this, that maybe in her first clinic she should take a supportive role rather than a lead. ‘Are you going to take everything I say personally, for goodness’ sake?’

He raked a hand through his hair. ‘No. Sorry.’

It had probably been gut reaction. She supposed it must be just as difficult for him, having to work with her and ignore their history. And there had been plenty of sniping in their last few months together. Mainly by her—because Kit hadn’t been there often enough and the frustration and misery had made her temper short.

‘You’ll be fine in clinic. You’re qualified, so you obviously know your stuff. If it’s something with a tricky diagnosis, something that could easily be mistaken for a different condition, I’ll be here to take a look. I’ll give a second opinion when you ask for it, and I’ll back you up,’ Kit said.

Just what she needed to hear. And if only he’d been that supportive all those years ago, when she’d really needed him. Someone she could have leaned on when her strength had deserted her.

But you couldn’t change the past. Mentally, Natalie slammed the door on it and locked the key.

The first parent on their list was Ella Byford. She was reading a story to two rather grubby children who seemed to be squabbling about who was going to get the best place on her lap, while rubbing her back in the way that most heavily pregnant women did.

Something Natalie had once—

No. She clenched her teeth hard, just once, to relieve the tension, then reminded herself to keep her personal life out of this. She was a doctor. A paediatrician in training. This was her job. And she was going to do it well. She pinned a smile on her face. ‘Hello, Mrs Byford. I’m Natalie Wilkins and this is Kit Rodgers. We’re holding the paediatric clinic today. What can we do for you?’

‘It’s Charlene. Jayden’s all right, he’s doing fine.’ Ella waved a dismissive hand towards her son. ‘But Charlene’s so skinny. She’s not doing as well as she should. She’s always been small for dates, but she’s getting worse.’ Ella bit her lip. ‘I went to see my GP about her, and he sent me here.’

‘Let’s have a look at her,’ Natalie said. She knelt on the floor so she was nearer to the little girl’s height. ‘Hello, Charlene.’

‘’Lo.’ The little girl looked at her and scowled.

OK, she could do this. Thin, small for dates. The little girl was quite pale—perhaps she just didn’t get to play outside very much, or her mum was rigorous with a high protection factor suncream. Or maybe it was anaemic pallor. Natalie needed to check for icterus—or a yellowish colour—too. Starting with the child’s fingernails, palms, mucous membranes of the mouth and the conjunctiva. The conjunctiva would be the tricky part—children hated having their eyes fussed with.

‘Can you open your mouth for me and say “a-ah”?’ she asked.

A-ah.’ It lasted all of half a second, but it was enough to show Natalie that there was slight pallor in Charlene’s mouth but no icterus. It didn’t look as if there were any ulcers, but if Natalie saw any other sinister signs in the rest of the examination she’d try for a second look.

‘And can I look at your hands now?’

Charlene scowled at her and tried to climb back on her mother’s lap.

‘Charlene, be nice for the doctor,’ Ella admonished her.

‘It’s not fair. I want to sit on your lap. He always does.’ Charlene shoved at her brother, who promptly fell off Ella’s lap and started howling.

Kit stepped in smoothly. ‘Hey. How about I read you a story, Jayden, while the doctor talks to your mum and your sister?’ He took two shiny stickers from his pocket. ‘And if you can both sit really still while the doctor’s talking— and while the doctor’s looking at you, Charlene—you can both have a special sticker.’

Why hadn’t she thought of that? Natalie wondered. And as a distraction technique it clearly worked, because Charlene immediately nodded, climbed onto her mother’s lap and sat still, while Jayden plonked himself on Kit’s lap so he could see the pictures in the story book. Ella, who’d looked close to tears, suddenly relaxed.

Teamwork. Good teamwork. And Natalie wasn’t going to let herself think about the fact that Kit was reading a story to a little boy.

‘OK, Charlene. Shall we see if your hands are bigger than mine?’

‘Don’t be silly. They’ll be smaller.’

‘Bet they’re not,’ Natalie said, putting her own hands behind her back.

Charlene giggled. ‘They are.’

‘Show me, then.’

To Natalie’s relief, when she brought her hands round again, Charlene splayed her palms and pressed them against Natalie’s.

‘Side by side now. Palm up,’ Natalie said.

The little girl, clearly thinking it was a game, did as she asked. Her palms were definitely pale, though at least there was no sign of yellowness.

‘And the back, to see if you have princess nails?’

‘You haven’t got princess nails. They’re not glittery,’ Charlene said.

Natalie was glad that Charlene’s weren’t either: it gave her the chance to notice that the little girl’s fingernails were concave.

‘Can I look at your tummy now?’

‘Can I look at yours?’ Charlene asked.

‘Not this time,’ Natalie said with a smile. She definitely wasn’t baring any flesh in front of Kit. ‘But if you want to play doctors while I talk to your mummy, you can look at a doll’s tummy and see what you can hear through my stethoscope.’

Charlene wriggled a bit, but submitted to an examination. Natalie palpated her abdomen gently. She didn’t think there was a problem with the spleen, but maybe she should ask Kit for a second opinion. No sign of petechiae, reddish-purple pinhead spots, which would lead to a more sinister diagnosis. And, she was pleased to note, there were no signs of enlarged lymph nodes in Charlene’s neck.

As soon as she’d finished, Charlene was wriggling around on Ella’s lap again, and Ella pressed one fist into her lower back for support. Natalie gave Ella a sympathetic smile. It must be hard, dealing with small children when you were heavily pregnant and tired.

‘She’s a handful for such a little scrap,’ Ella said, looking embarrassed.

Oh, no. That hadn’t been what she’d intended at all. Or maybe Ella was just used to being defensive about her little girl. ‘Lively, the medical term is,’ Natalie said with a smile. ‘How’s she eating?’

Ella grimaced. ‘She’s picky. She won’t eat any vegetables—she just throws them on the floor—and she doesn’t like anything with meat in it, even if I try to hide it. But I can get her to eat potatoes and eggs, and she drinks milk and fruit juice.’

It was nowhere near a balanced diet, and Ella was clearly aware of it—distressed about it, too, so Natalie decided to take the gentle approach. ‘Kids are notorious for that—one day they’ll eat something, and the next they won’t touch it,’ she said reassuringly. ‘How about you take me through right from the start, from when she was first born?’ She could already see that Charlene had had a low birthweight, something that could predispose her to anaemia. ‘Did she have any jaundice afterwards?’

‘She was a bit yellow, but the midwife said it was normal.’

Natalie nodded. ‘Most babies have it to some extent.’ Though Ethan hadn’t. He’d been a perfect seven and a half pounds. No problems at all. Prolonged jaundice in the newborn could suggest congenital anaemia. ‘How long did it last?’

‘A week or so.’

‘How was she feeding?’

‘I breastfed her for about a week.’ Ella grimaced. ‘I tried so hard, but I just couldn’t manage it. My husband works long hours and it was too much for me. I got so tired—she seemed to be constantly attached to me, just taking little bits here and there, and I never got a break. And I was so sore.’

No support at home, and a husband who wasn’t there more often than not. Yeah, Natalie could empathise with that one. Really empathise. She couldn’t help glancing at Kit— and looked away again the second she met his cornflower-blue gaze. She just hoped she wasn’t blushing. Hell. This was meant to be about her patient, not about her and Kit.

‘So I switched her to formula milk,’ Ella continued.

And felt she’d failed as a result. It was very clear in Ella’s face—guilt, worry that she’d done the wrong thing, that she’d given up at the first hurdle without really trying. ‘Hey, that’s fine,’ Natalie said. ‘I know you read everywhere that breast is best, but you have to do what works for you as a family. Don’t listen to anyone who tries to make you feel bad or says you did the wrong thing. How did she take to formula milk?’

‘OK. I started putting a bit of rice in to her milk when she was two months old, to help her sleep a bit better and stop her being hungry in the night.’

Ouch. That sounded as if Ella had been desperate and had taken advice from the older generation—probably someone who’d gone on and on and on when Ella had been tired, about how Ella had been a baby who had always woken in the night and a bit of rice had never hurt her. Nowadays, the recommendation was to wait until at least four months before weaning.

Careful not to pass judgment, Natalie asked, ‘What happened then?’

‘She slept through, but she dropped a bit of weight then, and when she was three months the health visitor said maybe we’d be better off with a soya-based formula.’ Ella bit her lip. ‘But her charts still kept doing down.’

‘Do you have the charts with you, by any chance?’ Natalie asked.

‘Oh, yes. I’ve got her red book.’ Ella dug in her handbag and eventually brought out a slightly dog-eared book with a C written neatly on the front. Natalie flicked to the charts. At birth, Charlene’s weight had been a little below average, on the fortieth centile: meaning that sixty per cent of babies at the same age would be heavier than she was. By three months, Charlene had dropped to the tenth centile, from six to twelve months her weight was on the third centile, and the measurement the paediatric nurse had done a few minutes before showed she’d dropped below even that. Charlene’s height, too, was below average, on the twenty-fifth centile. But Ella had clearly taken care to have her daughter’s height and weight measured regularly, and as Natalie flicked through the book she noticed that all the immunisations were up to date.

‘She’s a bit of a tomboy,’ Ella said apologetically as Charlene stopped fidgeting, wriggled off her lap and headed straight for the toybox, emptying the entire contents out. ‘I’ve stopped trying to keep her clean all day. She starts out with fresh clothes, but if I changed her every time she gets grubby…well. I’d never have the washing machine off. So I just put her in the bath every night and give her a good wash.’ She bit her lip. ‘I was wondering if she had—’ her voice lowered in obvious embarrassment ‘—worms, or something. If that’s why she’s skinny. Can you do an X-ray or something to check?’

‘An X-ray’s probably not going to be very helpful right now,’ Natalie said gently, ‘and we don’t want to expose Charlene to radiation if we don’t really have to. As for the other problem—’ she’d picked up on how awkward Ella clearly felt ‘—you’d be surprised at just how common it is. Kids pick them up really easily. Does she talk about itching at all? Or do you see her scratching her bottom?’

‘Well, no,’ Ella admitted.

‘It’s unlikely to be worms, then,’ Natalie reassured her. ‘Though if you really want to be sure, when she’s asleep tonight, take a torch and shine it on her bottom. If you see anything white and wriggling, you’ll need to nip into the chemist and get some worming treatment—and do the whole family, not just Charlene. You’ll also need to keep her nails really short and get a soft nailbrush to keep them clean. What happens with worms is that a child scratches their bottom and some tiny eggs—so small you can’t see them—can end up beneath their nails. Kids that age normally have their hands in their mouth half the time so the eggs come out again, and the whole cycle starts again. It’s not anything you’ve done, so don’t worry.’ She paused. ‘Does Charlene eat anything odd?’ She was pretty sure the problem was chronic iron deficiency, and pica—eating abnormal things that weren’t food, such as coal—often went with it.

Ella shook her head. ‘I try and keep her off chips but sometimes it’s just easier to give in. At least then I know she’s eaten something.’

‘What about the toilet? Is she dry at night?’

‘Been out of nappies for ages. Just as well—Jayden isn’t, and I don’t think I could cope with three of them in nappies,’ Ella admitted.

Natalie smiled at her. ‘That’d be quite a tough call. Tell me, is anyone else in the family very light, or quite short?’

Ella shrugged. ‘We’re all pretty average, really.’

Not a genetic thing, then. The next thing to rule out was the possibility of a developmental disorder. She doubted it, because she’d heard for herself that Charlene’s speech was clear and her words were average for a three-year-old. ‘Is there anything you’ve noticed about the way she behaves, or the way she speaks?’

Ella shook her head. ‘She’s just a bit lively and a bit of a tomboy.’ She frowned. ‘You don’t think she has that thing where she’ll have to go on Ritalin, do you?’

‘ADHD? No,’ Natalie said, shaking her head. ‘I think it’s all to do with her being a fussy eater. It means she isn’t getting a balanced diet, and her iron stores are too low.’ Plus she’d been weaned too early. ‘She’s probably anaemic and iron deficient. It’s not serious,’ she reassured Ella, ‘and I can give you some iron supplements to help that. She’ll need to take them for about three months. But I’ll also refer you to a dietician, so she can help you with a few coping strategies to persuade Charlene to eat some meat and a few more vegetables.’

‘I do try,’ Ella said.

‘Of course you do. But sometimes you can do with a helping hand,’ Natalie said. ‘Being a parent’s one of the hardest jobs on earth.’ Though not being a parent could sometimes be even harder. She shook herself. ‘I’d like to take a blood sample and a wee sample, so I can check the chemicals in Charlene’s blood and that her kidneys and liver are working as they should be. I’ll give you a follow-up appointment for a fortnight’s time so I can check her weight and height and how she’s responding to treatment.’ She paused. ‘When are you due?’

‘In a month, though Jayden was three weeks early and this one might be the same.’

‘Maybe Charlene’s dad can bring her in?’ Natalie suggested.

‘He’s busy at work,’ Ella said swiftly. ‘And he never remembers appointments anyway.’

Unsupportive husband. Oh, Natalie knew all about that.

The sympathy must have shown on her face, because Ella added, ‘But I’ll try.’ With the same defensive note Natalie remembered in her own voice when she’d been the one making excuses.

Natalie took the blood sample—following it up immediately with one of Kit’s stickers—and talked Ella through taking the urine sample, then directed her to the reception area to book the next appointment.

‘What are you going to order?’ Kit asked as Natalie labelled the sample.

‘Full blood count, differential, electrolytes, calcium, phosphate, magnesium, iron, ferritin, folate, albumin and total protein, plus renal and liver function.’

He smiled. ‘Perfect.’

‘I didn’t miss anything, then?’

He spread his hands. ‘Maybe the involvement of Social Services?’

Natalie stared at him. ‘You must be joking. You don’t seriously think this is abuse by neglect, do you?’

‘Convince me,’ Kit said, his voice and face completely neutral so she couldn’t even guess what he was thinking.

‘In a month’s time, Ella Byford will have a newborn, a toddler and an under-four. Her partner clearly doesn’t pull his weight with the kids and she’s making excuses for him—sure, she’s having trouble coping right now and she needs a bit of support, but it’s definitely not neglect. Firstly, she’s the one who went to her GP because she was worried—it wasn’t the health visitor or GP prompting the appointment. Secondly, Charlene’s vaccinations are all up to date—which they wouldn’t be if she was being neglected. And, thirdly, Ella’s been meticulous about recording weight measurements. It’s not just the health visitor or GP’s measurements on the chart—some of the entries had Ella’s initials against them. This isn’t a mum who’s neglecting her kids, it’s a mum who’s having a rough time and needs support she isn’t getting from her partner.’

The words echoed between them and she couldn’t meet his eyes.

But Kit’s voice was perfectly level as he said, ‘Good call. I agree with your assessment. But,’ he added, ‘remember that you’re dealing with patients. You need to keep your personal feelings out of it.’

The rebuke stung, the more so because she knew it was merited. She was bringing her personal feelings into it, and it was the wrong thing to do.

‘I’ll bear it in mind,’ she said, matching the coolness of his tone.

‘Good. Next patient, I think.’

They got through the rest of the clinic, and Kit surprised her at the end by saying, ‘You did well.’

‘Thank you.’ Though she didn’t meet his eyes.

He sighed. ‘Tal—’

‘Natalie,’ she corrected swiftly. ‘My name is Natalie.’

‘Natalie.’ He gritted his teeth. ‘Look, we’re going to have to work together for a while. Six months, at least. So maybe we should just…I dunno. Clear the air between us.’

She thought not. Some things couldn’t be cleared. Ever.

‘We’re both due a break. Let’s go and have a coffee,’ he said.

She didn’t want to. How could she possibly sit across the table from Kit and pretend everything was all right? Because it wasn’t all right. Never would be.

He sighed. ‘Natalie, if we leave this, it’s just going to get worse. We need to set some ground rules. And it won’t kill you to sit at a table with me and drink coffee.’ His mouth gave the tiniest quirk. ‘Though I’d appreciate it if you drank it rather than threw it at me.’

‘Since when did you learn to read minds?’

‘It’s written all over your face,’ he said wryly.

At the canteen, she refused to let him pay for her cappuccino, and he didn’t press the point. He still drank black coffee, she noticed—obviously he hadn’t broken the habit from his student days. Or his habit of snacking on chocolate: he’d bought a brownie with his coffee.

‘So what made you become a doctor?’ he asked when he’d taken his first sip of coffee.

She exhaled sharply. ‘What do you think?’

‘The same reason I switched from surgery to paediatrics,’ he said softly. ‘It won’t change the past. But I might be able to help someone in the future. Stop them going through…’

He left the words unsaid, but she knew exactly what Kit was thinking. He could have been speaking for her. His voice had even held that same hopeless yearning when he’d said it—knowing he couldn’t change the past, but wanting to anyway. And wanting other people not to have to go through what they’d been through.

Natalie willed the tears to stay back. She’d cried all she was ever going to cry over Kit Rodgers. No more.

‘You’ve done well,’ Kit said. ‘Lenox was telling me how you were the star student of your year.’

Natalie shrugged. ‘I studied hard.’ And it hadn’t been completely new ground. She could remember some of it from the time when she’d helped Kit revise for his finals.

Tally really wasn’t going to make this easy. Not that he could blame her. He’d let her down when she’d needed him most.

But seeing her again, like this…It made him realise how much he’d missed her. How empty his life had been without her. And why he hadn’t bothered dating very often, let alone having a serious relationship. He’d always claimed once bitten, twice shy, and all that, but now he had to admit there was a little more to it than that.

Simply, nobody had ever been able to match up to Tally.

He understood why she hated him. He’d hated her, too, at one point. Especially the day she’d walked out on him and left him that bloody note saying she wanted a divorce and her solicitor would be in touch. But he’d missed her. Missed the way she’d said his name. Missed her smile, missed her quick wit, missed her touch.

Part of him thought that everything would be all right if he could just touch her, hold her, say he was sorry and ask her to wipe the slate clean.

But he knew that slate could never be wiped clean. And touching her was out of the question. There was a brick wall twenty feet high between them, with an enormous ditch either side filled with barbed wire.

Ah, hell. They were supposed to be clearing the air between them—his idea—and now he was tongue-tied. He made an effort. ‘Where are you living now?’

‘Birmingham.’

She wasn’t giving a millimetre—wouldn’t even tell him where she lived. Birmingham was a city of almost a million people, so she could be living just about anywhere within a radius of twenty miles of St Joseph’s.

‘Me, too. I’m renting,’ he said.

No response—no ‘Me, too’ or ‘I’m in the middle of buying a flat’. She was freezing him out. Frustration made him sharp. ‘I thought about seeing if there was anywhere to rent in Litchford-in-Arden,’ he said, watching her closely.

She flinched at the name of the village.

Good. So she wasn’t entirely frozen, then.

‘I drove through the village yesterday.’ He waited a beat. ‘Past our house.’

She still said nothing, but he noticed she was gripping her coffee-mug and her knuckles were white. She was clearly trying not to react, but he wasn’t going to let her do it. He’d get over the barrier between them, even if he had to make her crack first. He’d make her talk to him.

‘There was a…’

But there was a lump in his throat blocking the words. He couldn’t say it. It hurt too much, and at the realisation his anger died. What was the point of this? It was hurting both of them, and it wasn’t going to solve a thing.

‘A child. About six years old. Playing in the garden. I know,’ Tally said, her voice shaky as she continued what he’d been about to say. ‘I…went back, too. A couple of weeks ago. The woman was weeding the garden.’ Her breath hitched. ‘She was pregnant.’

Kit could remember Tally, pregnant, weeding their garden. Tending her flowers—she’d made it a proper cottage garden with hollyhocks and lavender and love-in-a-mist. To see another woman doing the same thing, in their garden—pregnant, with a child around six years old cycling round the garden—must have burned like acid in her soul. He’d found it hard enough to handle, seeing someone else living their dreams. For Tally, it must have been so much worse. And he hated the fact that he hadn’t been there to hold her, comfort her when she’d discovered it.

But he was here now. He could do something now. He reached out and took her free hand. Squeezed it gently. ‘It should have been us, Tally,’ he said quietly. ‘It should have been us.’

She wrenched her hand away. ‘But it isn’t. Wasn’t. We can’t change the past, Kit. We can’t go back. Someone else lives there now.’

In their house. The house where they’d made love. The house where they’d made a baby.

The house where their dreams had died. Where their love had been reduced to solicitors’ letters. Cold legal words. The end of everything.

‘We have to work together,’ Tally said, ‘but that’s as far as it goes. I’m sure we’re both mature enough to be civil to each other.’

‘Of course.’

A muscle flickered in her jaw. ‘I don’t think there’s anything left to say. We’ve both moved on.’

Had they? Are you married?’

‘That’s not relevant.’

Which told him nothing. And she clearly didn’t want to know whether he was or not, because she didn’t ask. He really, really should let this go.

So why couldn’t he?

‘Tal— Natalie,’ he corrected himself swiftly, ‘It doesn’t have to be like this.’

She pushed her chair back. ‘Let’s just agree to disagree, hmm?’

And then she was walking away from him.

Again.

And he was left with the feeling that he’d just made things a hell of a lot worse.

CHAPTER THREE

FOR the next couple of days, Natalie successfully continued to avoid Kit. But then they were rostered together again, this time on the paediatric assessment unit.

‘Dr Wilkins, I take it this is your first PAU?’ Kit asked.

On an intellectual level, she knew the formality was the right way to go—keeping a professional distance between them would be a good thing—but, oh, it stung. Had they really been reduced to this, to titles and surnames, after everything they’d shared? ‘Correct, Dr Rodgers,’ she responded, equally coolly.

‘Do you want to do this as a teaching session, or would you like to lead and I’ll back you up?’

He was giving her the choice. Not much of one. Either way, they had to work together. Closely. And she was finding it harder than she’d expected. Every time she glanced up at him she remembered other places, other times, when she’d caught his eye and seen a different expression there. Blue eyes filled with love and laughter. A lazy smile that had promised her some very personal attention once they were alone.

And now he was this cool, remote stranger. Just like he’d been at the end of their marriage. Reacting to nothing and nobody. Closed off.

‘PAU’s where we get the urgent referrals, isn’t it?’ she asked.

‘Yes.’

Where her diagnoses really could mean life or death. She took a deep breath. ‘Right.’ Was she ready for this?

‘Or we could lead on alternate cases. Do it together,’ Kit added.

His tone of voice on the last word made her look at him. The expression in his eyes was quickly masked, but she’d seen something there. Something that surprised her. Regret, wishing things could have been different?

She pushed it to the back of her mind. Of course not. She was just wishing for something that wasn’t there. Kit had shut her out six years ago, and he wasn’t about to invite her back into his life now.

They’d both moved on.

Well, he had.

‘OK.’

‘Want me to take the first one?’ he asked.

‘Whatever you think best, Dr Rodgers,’ she said, her voice completely without expression.

‘In that case,’ Kit said, ‘I’m throwing you in at the deep end. You go first.’

Oh, Lord. She hadn’t been expecting that. But if that was the way he wanted to play it, she’d show him she could do it—that she didn’t need his help.

Their first case was a two-year-old with a fever and a rash. Ross Morley’s eyes were red, as if he had conjunctivitis, although there didn’t appear to be any discharge. ‘He’s had a temperature for a couple of days but he seems to be getting worse,’ Mrs Morley said, twisting her hands together. ‘His hands and feet look a bit red and I’m sure they’re not normally as puffy as this. And then I saw this rash…’

‘And you’re worried that it’s meningitis?’ Natalie guessed.

Mrs Morley dragged in a breath. ‘Don’t let it be that. He’s my only one. Please, don’t let it be that.’

‘Rashes can be scary,’ Natalie said gently, ‘but there are lots of things that can cause a rash like this.’ Gently, she stretched the little boy’s skin over the spotty area. ‘The spots have faded, see? So it’s unlikely to be meningitis— though you’ve done absolutely the right thing to bring him here,’ she reassured Mrs Morley. ‘If it had been meningitis, he could have become seriously ill extremely quickly. Has he been immunised against measles?’

‘Yes. He had the MMR at fifteen months.’

‘It’s unlikely to be rubella or measles, then.’ Natalie swiftly took the little boy’s temperature with the ear thermometer—definitely raised. She continued examining him and noted that the lymph nodes in his neck were swollen. ‘It could be glandular fever—what we call infectious mononucleosis—or this could be his body’s reaction to a virus, most likely an echovirus.’ She swallowed hard. ‘Or Coxsackie virus.’

She couldn’t help glancing at Kit. Saw her own pain echoed in his eyes. And she had to look away and clamp her teeth together so the sob would stay back. Coxsackie B. The tiny, invisible virus that had smashed her life into equally tiny pieces.

She turned back to the little boy and finished her examination. ‘His skin’s starting to peel at the fingertips.’

‘He doesn’t suck his thumb or anything,’ Mrs Morley said. ‘Never has.’

‘I think Ross has Kawasaki disease,’ Natalie said. ‘Peeling skin’s one of the signs, plus he has the rash, the redness and slight swelling in his hands, his eyes are red, his lips are dry and cracked, and he has a fever.’ Kawasaki disease tended to be diagnosed clinically rather than through blood tests, and Ross Morley’s case ticked all the boxes. She glanced at Kit for confirmation.

He nodded, and mouthed, ‘Good call.’

She damped down the feeling of pleasure. She was doing this to help people, not to prove something to Kit.

‘So what happens now?’ Mrs Morley asked.

‘We’re going to admit him to the ward,’ Natalie said. ‘The good news is we can treat the disease. We’ll give him aspirin and a drip with immunoglobulin drugs to fight the disease. Over the next few days, the fever and the swollen glands in his neck will go down and the rash will disappear, but Ross’s eyes will still look a bit red and sore and the skin’s going to continue peeling around his fingers, toes and the nappy area. He might feel some pain in his joints and you’ll probably find he’s a bit irritable, but the good news is that you’ll be able to take him home next week and all the symptoms will gradually disappear. It’ll take him another three weeks or so after that before he’s completely over it, though.’

‘Will there be any complications?’

Possibly myocarditis—inflammation of the heart muscle—but although Natalie’s mouth opened, the words just wouldn’t come out. Couldn’t. The lump in her throat was too big.

‘There can be complications with Kawasaki disease,’ Kit said softly. ‘Some children have arthritis afterwards, and some develop heart problems, but we’ll send him for a follow-up echo to make sure—that’s an ultrasound scan of the heart and it won’t hurt at all, plus you can be with him while it’s being done.’

Mrs Morley swallowed hard. ‘Could he die?’ she whispered.

‘Most children make a full recovery,’ Kit reassured her.

Most children. But myocarditis could be deadly. Sometimes there weren’t even any symptoms. In very small children it was difficult to tell the problem—they couldn’t tell you if they had chest pain, were tired or had palpitations. You just noticed the difficulty in breathing, which could be caused by just about any of the viruses causing a cough or cold in a little one. The over-fast heartbeat could only be picked up by monitoring. And the average person in the street wouldn’t even know what S1 and S4 were, let alone that S1—the first heart sound, when the mitral and tricuspid valves closed—was soft if there was myocarditis, and S4— the fourth heart sound—made a galloping noise, like ‘Tennessee’, when tachycardia was involved. And then the heart stopped pumping efficiently. Failed. And finally stopped.

Just as Ethan’s had. And all she’d been able to do had been to hold her little boy in her arms as his heart had finally given out and the life had seeped from his body. Natalie clenched her fists hard, willing herself to stay strong.

Though she was sure that Kit was thinking of Ethan, too. Especially because she noticed the tiniest wobble in his voice when he added, ‘We’ll get Ross booked onto the ward, Mrs Morley, and one of the nurses will take you up and help you settle him in.’

‘Can I—can I ring my husband? He’s at work. I was just so worried about Ross this morning, I couldn’t wait for him to get home.’

Oh, yes. Natalie had been there, too. So sure that something was wrong, she hadn’t waited for Kit. She’d left a message for him at work and taken Ethan to the emergency department. A mother’s instinct was usually right: it was one of the things she’d been taught at med school. Parents knew when something was wrong with their children—they couldn’t always put their finger on it, and the words ‘he’s just not right’ were usually justified, on examining the child.

‘No problem,’ Kit said. ‘I’ll get our nurse to show you where the phone is. There’s a special phone on our ward, too, which we keep as the parents’ phone—you can give the number out if people want to ring you for an update, and you don’t have to worry about blocking the ward’s main line.’

When they handed Mrs Morley and Ross over to the liaison nurse, Kit turned to Natalie. ‘Are you OK?’

‘Sure,’ she lied. ‘Why shouldn’t I be?’ Though she could hear the cracks in her own voice. Ha. At least he wasn’t bawling her out for not doing her job properly. He could have picked her up on the fact that she hadn’t told Mrs Morley what the complications were. But he clearly understood how hard she found it to say the words. How she could barely breathe—it felt as if someone had put her whole body in a vice and was slowly, slowly squeezing it.

‘If you want to take five minutes, have a glass of water or what have you, that’s fine,’ Kit said.

But that would be showing weakness. As good as saying that she couldn’t cope with her job. And she could. It had just caught her unawares this time. Next time she’d handle it better. ‘No, I’m fine,’ she said tightly. ‘I’m doing my job. I don’t need mollycoddling.’

Perhaps she was being a little bloody-minded. But it jarred that Kit was trying to soften things for her now. When she’d needed his support, six years ago, he hadn’t been there.

‘If you’re sure.’

She couldn’t stand him being so nice to her. Kindness wasn’t what she wanted from Kit.

Though she wasn’t going to think about what she did want from him.

‘Tally. Natalie,’ he corrected himself quickly, ‘paediatrics is a tough option. Especially at this time of year. You’re going to come across cases that remind you. Cases that have parallels. And some days you’ll find it harder to deal with than others.’

Meaning that he did, too? She’d noticed that he hadn’t actually said Ethan’s name aloud. Would the word choke him, too?

Kit laid his hand on her shoulder. Squeezed it, giving the lightest of pressure. ‘Natalie, if you need—’

No. She didn’t need anything from Kit. ‘We have a full list. Let’s move on,’ she cut in quickly. If he offered her a shoulder to cry on now, nearly six years too late, she couldn’t bear it. She shrugged his hand off her shoulder, too—a white coat and her sweater weren’t enough of a barrier between them. Right now she couldn’t cope with feeling the warmth of his touch.

His voice cooled noticeably. ‘Of course, Dr Wilkins.’

Somehow she got through the rest of the afternoon. But the more she saw of Kit working—the way he was able to soothe the most fretful child—the more she realised how good he was with kids. They responded to him, to his strength and calmness, someone who was clearly going to take the pain away and make them feel better.

He didn’t rush through diagnoses either. He’d read a story if it was needed, or start telling a series of truly terrible jokes—jokes she’d had no idea he even knew—and made a game out of examinations. Let children listen to his heartbeat through his stethoscope. Took time to calm the worries of parents. Explained exactly what he was doing in terms the parents would understand, without frightening the child.

And she couldn’t help thinking what a great dad he would have made. How he would have been with his own children, dealing with tantrums and tears without letting them fray his temper. He’d still have kept his fun side, too, flying kites and racing round on a bicycle and playing boisterous games with them.

What a waste. What a bloody, bloody waste.

Or was it? Did Kit have another family now? Another son to replace the one he’d lost? A daughter, perhaps, one who looked like his new wife?

Natalie wasn’t sure what was worse: thinking about the dad he might have been, or thinking about the dad he might be now—to another woman’s children, not hers.

It broke her up inside, though she managed to keep a cool front. Even had coffee with him after their PAU stint, although neither of them spoke much and they kept the topics strictly neutral. Work. Safe areas.

And then she had two blessed days off. Two days when she wasn’t going to think of Kit at all. And by Monday, when she was on duty again, she’d be back in full control of her feelings.

‘What a waste,’ Fran sighed as she filled the kettle in the staffroom. ‘He’s so gorgeous, too.’

‘Waste?’ Natalie asked, frowning. What was Fran on about?

Ruth, the other nurse in the room, sighed dramatically. ‘Tall, dark and handsome. Drop-dead gorgeous, in fact— the sort who makes your knees go wobbly every time he smiles. And he’s a thoroughly nice bloke, too—not one of these who knows how gorgeous he is and expects every female he meets to worship him. He’s lovely. He takes the time to explain things to parents—and to students. He’s not one of these know-it-all doctors who think they’re God and nurses don’t have a brain cell to rub between them. He actually shows respect for the nursing staff. And he’s gay,’ she explained, looking equally disgruntled.

Natalie really wasn’t following the conversation. ‘Who is?’

Fran rolled her eyes. ‘Kit, of course. Our new registrar. He’s been here a week now. And you’ve been working with him in clinics and on ward rounds, so don’t say you haven’t noticed.’

Natalie blinked. ‘That he’s gay?’

‘No, that he’s gorgeous. I mean—tall, dark and handsome doesn’t even begin to describe him. He’s beautiful. And those eyes! Oh-h-h.’ Ruth shook her head. ‘You’re too focused on your work, Natalie. You really need to chill out. Get out more.’

‘Get a life. Yeah, I know,’ Natalie said, forcing a smile to her face. There had been a time when she’d partied with the best of them. Before her marriage had crumbled into dust. Since then, she’d preferred a quiet life.

‘It’s such a waste,’ Fran said again. ‘You know, I can just imagine what it’d be like to be kissed by him. That beautiful mouth, doing all sorts of lovely things…’ She gave a blissful shiver. ‘Ooh.’

Natalie didn’t need to imagine. She knew exactly what it was like to be kissed by him. How Kit’s lips could elicit a response from hers. How his mouth could move from teasing to passion within a second, as heat flared between them. How his mouth had taken her to paradise and back.

She gritted her teeth, trying to push the memories back where they belonged—in the past. She and Kit were over. Over. Remembering stuff like this was pointless.

‘I’ve got a friend who worked in his last hospital,’ Fran continued. ‘The nurses were falling over themselves to ask him out. He’d go on most of the staff nights out—he was always a good sport—but he never actually dated anyone. Turned down every single offer.’ She looked thoughtful. ‘Gina from the emergency department asked him out for a drink the other night. He turned her down—and considering Gina only has to click her fingers and men come running, panting…’

Kit didn’t date? But…Natalie damped down the little flicker of hope. No. Absolutely not. She didn’t want to start thinking about the reasons why Kit didn’t date. Or her own reaction to the news that maybe, just maybe, Kit was still single, too.

If she told them she knew he wasn’t gay, she’d have to explain. Which she didn’t want to do. But she didn’t want them getting the wrong idea about Kit either. ‘Maybe he’s just concentrating on his career.’

‘The way you do, you mean? No, I’m pretty sure it’s not that.’ Fran shook her head mournfully. ‘And it’s not because he’s an adoring husband because he’s not married, either.’

Ruth nodded. ‘I reckon he’s just not interested in women. I mean, he notices things like shoes.’

‘She’s right, you know,’ Fran said with a sigh. ‘Only gay men notice things like shoes, don’t they? Straight men don’t think about what you’re wearing, they think about how to get it off you.’

Natalie couldn’t help smiling, but inside she ached. Of course Kit noticed shoes: once upon a time, Natalie had been a major shoe fiend and hadn’t been able to pass a shoe shop without drooling over high heels in outrageous colours. Kit had bought them for her, even when they hadn’t really been able to afford it.

And the day she’d discovered she was pregnant, she’d bought a tiny pair of white satin pram shoes. Had wrapped them up and given them to him. And when he’d worked it out, he’d picked her up and spun her round and—

‘Hello? Earth to Natalie?’ Fran said, waving one hand in front of her face and proffering a mug of coffee with the other.

She took the coffee with a rueful smile. ‘Thanks, Fran. Sorry. I was miles away.’

‘Natalie’s definitely not your average woman,’ Ruth informed Fran with a grin. ‘She actually glazes over at the mention of shoes.’

Ah, but she understands chocolate,’ Fran said. ‘She’s one of us.’

Natalie didn’t mind the teasing. At least it got them off the subject of Kit.

But as if they’d read her mind, Fran asked, ‘He’s lovely, though—don’t you think?’

Uh-oh. This was going in a direction she really, really didn’t want to go in. Especially as she’d already learned that Fran and Ruth didn’t take no for an answer. They kept asking. If she said she didn’t think Kit was lovely, they’d want to know why. And she’d end up admitting that she used to be married to him. And why they’d split up. And Natalie really didn’t want her past dragged up and discussed on the hospital grapevine. ‘Handsome is as handsome does,’ she said with a shrug.

Kit had been about to walk into the staffroom and grab a coffee when he heard the subject of the conversation.

The nurses on the ward thought he was gay?

Some joke. He’d never been remotely attracted to another man, and he still appreciated pretty women. He just didn’t do relationships any more. There was no point, not since he’d lost the love of his life.

The woman who’d just walked back into his life—but had made it very clear that she didn’t want to resume where they’d left off. They were barely even friends now. Such a waste, when he remembered what they’d once been to each other.

Handsome is as handsome does.

The scorn that had gone into that remark. OK, so Natalie had good reason to feel that way. He’d let her down in the worst possible way, at the worst possible time. And he hadn’t tried hard enough to save the remnants of their marriage, because he’d been focusing on keeping himself together. Burying himself in work, keeping himself so busy that he hadn’t had time to hurt. Hadn’t gone under. And he hadn’t paid enough attention to what was happening to her.

But, oh, that comment rankled. Natalie thought he was shallow?

Maybe, just maybe, he shouldbe shallow. Accept all the offers thrown at him. Have wild sex with a different woman every night.

Except that wasn’t who he was. Wasn’t what he wanted.

As for what he did want…He was just beginning to work out what that was. And it simply wasn’t an option.

He turned on his heel and headed back towards his office.

CHAPTER FOUR

ALL those years since the divorce, Natalie had managed not to think of Kit. Not to wish. But now, having to work with him and seeing him every day…It brought it all back. How much she’d loved him. How right it had felt to be in his arms. How her world had collapsed in on itself when she’d realised she’d lost him.

Ah, hell. She had to get over this—and she had to keep working here with him for the next six months, or it’d look as if she couldn’t handle her first job as a doctor. As if she wasn’t reliable. ‘Personal reasons’ wasn’t a good enough reason to give up the post. It’d make future consultants chary of offering her a post on their ward in case she only lasted a couple of weeks there, too.

She’d worked too damned hard for this. She had to stick it out.

And she was determined to get Kit Rodgers out of her system. Once and for all.

So, for the next month, Natalie managed to keep herself under control. She worked hard, had an occasional evening out with her colleagues—once she’d made sure that Kit wasn’t going to be there—and was really settling in.

Until the night of the ward’s Hallowe’en fundraiser.

She’d tried to get out of it. ‘I’ll buy a ticket, sure, but I’ll be on duty.’

‘No, you’re not,’ Fran said. ‘I’ve already checked. You’re on an early that day. And even if you were on a late…’ the look she threw Natalie said that she knew Natalie was perfectly capable of changing her duty if she thought it would get her out of the party ‘…you’d still catch the last three hours of it. So you’re going. No arguments.’

‘But—’

‘No arguments,’ Fran repeated, holding up a hand in protest. ‘And you don’t have to make your own costume, before you try using that as an excuse. You can hire one.’

Another of her arguments knocked down before she’d even voiced it, Natalie thought with an inward sigh.

‘I’m not good at parties.’ Not any more.

‘You’ll be fine at this one. You’ll know virtually everyone there, and it’s the fundraiser for our ward. You can’t not be there.’ Fran fished a leaflet out of her locker and gave it to Natalie. ‘This is the supplier most people use for costumes. We’ve been running the night for a few years now, so they give us a percentage of their takings. You’ll love it, Natalie. It’s great fun, and it raises a hell of a lot of money for the ward. We’ve got a brilliant band. One of the surgeons fancied himself as a guitarist until he went to med school, one of the midwives sings, one of the Theatre nurses is on keyboards and somebody’s brother is their drummer. They play everything, from the old classics through to chart hits. The food’s great. And the raffle has to be seen to be believed. You can win a flight in a hot-air balloon, a day at a spa in that posh place that opened just up the road, a rally drive, a—’

‘OK, OK. I’ll buy raffle tickets,’ Natalie said faintly. ‘Lots of tickets.’

‘Good. But you’re still going to the party, even if I have to pick you up and drive you there myself,’ Fran warned.

Natalie sank into an armchair. ‘You know, when you make nursing director, all the doctors are going to be absolutely terrified of you. With good reason.’

Fran laughed. ‘They’ll be fine, as long as they buy a ticket to the ball and a pile of raffle tickets.’

Natalie lifted her hands in supplication. ‘Have pity on me. I’m only a baby doctor.’

Fran’s grin broadened. ‘That’s a truly terrible pun. For that, you have to buy an extra raffle ticket.’

‘I’m not going to get out of this, am I?’ Natalie asked plaintively.

‘Nope.’ Fran ruffled her hair. ‘Stop fretting. It’ll be good for you. It’s a chance to dress up a bit and—well, if you didn’t have such short hair, I’d say let your hair down.’ She grinned.

‘Yeah, yeah.’

But Natalie bought a ticket to the ball and hired a costume: a little black dress with a spaghetti-strap top and a ballerina-length skirt with a jagged hem, teamed with long black fingerless lace gloves. She added a black haematite choker and a chiffon wrap embroidered with spider-webs, then, for the first time in years, she put on a pair of spike-heeled black shoes.

The kind of shoes she’d worn when she’d been married to—

No. She wasn’t going to think about Kit tonight. He was probably going to be there, but there’d be plenty of people she knew at the fundraiser so she could avoid having to spend any time with him.

She hoped.

She didn’t usually wear make-up on the ward but that night she went for the dramatic look, with dark eye shadow and blood-red lips, and long false nails varnished black. She stared at herself in the mirror for a moment, her vision blurring with memories of past Hallowe’en parties when she’d gone as a vampire or a ghost bride. Student parties. And that last one—Kit’s first one as a house officer, when she’d been heavily pregnant and Kit had fussed over her all evening, terrified that her waters would break in the middle of the dance floor and making her sit out every other dance in case her ankles started swelling…

Memories.

Memories she’d have to put behind her if she was to have a hope in hell of getting through the evening.

Her stomach was churning with nervousness by the time she got to the party. But as soon as she handed her ticket in to the person dressed as a mummy, she was greeted by a squeal—a voice she recognised behind the mask. Fran.

‘You look fabulous, Natalie!’ Fran said. ‘And those shoes are to die for. Go get yourself a drink and have a good time. Debbie and Ruth are somewhere around—they’re both in mummy costumes, too.’

Natalie headed for the bar, and resisted the temptation to buy herself a large glass of wine and down it in one to calm her nerves. She settled for a small glass of red wine and sipped it slowly. And then she didn’t get the chance to be nervous any more when Ruth and Debbie swooped on her. ‘You look fantastic. Put that drink down and come and have a dance,’ Ruth said, dragging her out onto the dance floor.

Kit really wasn’t in the mood for a party. He was tired and out of sorts. This time of year was never good for him; there were too many painful memories. Memories he was pretty sure he’d seen in Natalie’s face, too. She’d looked strained recently. But he’d promised Fran he’d turn up to the fundraiser. Had it been just an ordinary ward night out, he’d have begged off. Said he had a headache, or something. But the Hallowe’en party wasn’t just a party. They were raising money for new equipment for the ward so, as a senior doctor, Kit needed to show his face. Giving a cheque— even a large one—just wouldn’t be good enough.

He’d stay for half an hour, and then he’d make some excuse and leave early. It was a shame he’d only been on a late shift, not on nights.

He showered, changed into his hired costume and gelled his hair back. He thought about putting talc on his face to whiten his skin—as he’d done for Hallowe’en parties as a student, when he’d gone with Tally and had needed little persuasion to throw himself completely into the spirit of the occasion—but he just couldn’t bring himself to make the effort. Not tonight.

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