Earthquake Baby. Amy Andrews

       ‘H…hello, Jack,’ stumbled Laura.

      ‘Laura. I’ve been worried about you.’ Standing before her, he felt his heart lurch. He wanted her. So much. Too much.

      ‘Can I come in?’

      As he stared intently into her eyes, some part of him, somewhere deep in his psyche, knew why she had come. Knew that if he stood aside a chain of events would be started that he mightn’t be able to control. The first domino would fall.

      There was silence as he watched her warily. She was looking at him with an openness she hadn’t used since that night ten years ago. Time failed to progress. Clocks didn’t exist in the world they now found themselves in.

      He couldn’t bear it any longer. ‘What now, Laura?’

      ‘Make love to me, Jack.’

      As a twelve-year-old, Amy Andrews used to sneak off with her mother’s romance novels and devour every page. She was the type of kid who daydreamed a lot and carried a cast of thousands around in her head, and from quite an early age she knew that it was her destiny to write. So, in between her duties as wife and mother, her paid job as a paediatric intensive care nurse and her compulsive habit to volunteer, she did just that! Amy Andrews lives in Brisbane’s beautiful Samford Valley with her very wonderful and patient husband, two gorgeous kids, a couple of black Labradors and six chooks.

       Recent titles by the same author:

      THE MIDWIFE’S MIRACLE BABY

      Earthquake Baby

      Amy Andrews

      

      

www.millsandboon.co.uk

      THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED TO ALL THOSE

      AT THE COAL FACE OF RESCUE WORK. WHAT YOU DO IS TRULY HEROIC.

      CONTENTS

       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

      CHAPTER ONE

      LAURA’S legs struggled to keep pace with the bed as it was wheeled quickly down the corridor that led from Intensive Care to the operating theatres. The monitor alarms shrilled continuously as the patient’s heart rate climbed higher.

      Laura squeezed the black bag attached to the patient’s breathing tube, administering lungfuls of air to the unconscious, critically ill patient. If he didn’t get to Theatre soon, he would die.

      She handed over the bag in one smooth movement to the anaesthetic nurse and the surgical team whisked him through the swing doors. They shut firmly, blocking Laura’s view. She crossed her fingers as she walked back down the corridor with the other members of the team who had helped her prepare Mr Reid for his operation. Their thoughts were with him.

      ‘How’s it looking?’ asked Marie Prior, the unit’s clinical nurse consultant, as she approached.

      ‘Not good,’ admitted Laura.

      ‘Mr Reid’s deterioration wasn’t totally out of left field. He’s lucky you picked up the signs early.’

      ‘It was a close call, Marie. Too close,’ said Laura, feeling depleted now the adrenaline rush had ebbed.

      ‘Let’s go have a coffee. Come and meet the new psychiatrist. He’s doing today’s debriefing session.’

      Great, Laura thought. Just what she needed!

      ‘He’s cute,’ Marie cajoled. Laura’s reluctance to participate in such activities was legendary.

      ‘Bunny rabbits are cute,’ Laura said, completely disinterested in checking out the new kid on the block. ‘But I do need a coffee, so I’ll go. But I’m not talking about my feelings or how I was a deprived child.’

      The psychobabble she could do without. Laura’s privacy was too important and, while she recognised that debriefing was essential in her working environment, she preferred to do so casually among the other staff. She dreaded these monthly sessions and avoided them where possible.

      ‘What’s his name anyway?’

      ‘John Riley. Dr John Riley.’

      An errant, traitorous brain cell kicked into life. Her heart quickened for a few beats before she consciously quelled the disturbing activity taking over her body. John. Not Jack. Goodness, it had been ten years and still just the mention of a similar name was enough to stir parts of her anatomy only he had stirred. Anyway, her Jack Riley was a surgeon, not a shrink.

      Her thoughts wandered to Isaac. He was the only man in her life now. She felt the warmth of her love for him flow through her. She wouldn’t have it any other way.

      Ten minutes later Laura was relaxed, enjoying the playful banter in the staffroom. She had almost forgotten about the sudden turn of events that had sent her relatively stable patient to Theatre. Almost forgotten about the highly stressful period they had all just endured. Not a bed to spare. One patient left and there was barely enough time to clean the bed area before another took their place.

      Marie entered the room carrying a steaming mug, chatting amicably with a man following close behind. It was difficult to see him properly. His head was blocked from her view but Laura got the impression of height and bulk. She had chosen her seat carefully. Crammed in beside the bookcase, it hid her to a certain extent. From where the guest speaker’s chair was positioned it would be difficult to see all of her unless she leant forward.

      Marie quickly hushed the group and introduced her guest.

      ‘Everyone, I’d like you to meet Dr John Riley. He’s St Jude’s new Director of Psychiatry.’

      Everyone nodded and smiled and murmured their interest.

      ‘Actually, John’s a bit formal.’ His cheerful voice resonated around the room. ‘Most people call me Jack.’

      Laura’s heart stopped. For one dreadful moment she thought she was having a cardiac arrest. That voice. It couldn’t be him. Could it? Marie sat down and afforded Laura a full view of his face. Oh, no! It was him! She looked again, and her heartbeat thundered in her ears.