Meant-To-Be Family. Marion Lennox

      Whatever she’d done, it had been her choice. He’d walked away so she’d have that choice.

      Why did it hurt so much that she’d taken it?

CHAPTER THREE

      EM GOT ON with her day, too.

      One of the wonderful things about being a midwife was that it took all her care, all her attention. She had little head-space for anything else. What was the saying? Find a job you love and you’ll never have to work again? She’d felt that the first time she’d helped deliver a baby and she’d never looked back.

      She sometimes … okay, she often … felt guilty about working when her mum was home with the kids, but the decision to foster had been a shared one. Her mum loved Gretta and Toby as much as she did. They had the big old house, but they needed Em’s salary to keep them going.

      Sometimes when Em got home her mother was more tired than she was, but whenever she protested she was cut off at the pass.

      ‘So which baby are we giving back? Don’t be ridiculous, Em. We can do this.’

      They could, and knowing the kids were at home, waiting … it felt great, Em thought as she hauled off her uniform at the end of her shift and tugged on her civvies. Right, supermarket, pharmacy—Gretta’s medications were running low—then home. She’d rung her mum at lunchtime and Adrianna had been reassuring. ‘She’s looking much better.’ But, still, there was no way she was risking running out of Gretta’s drugs.

      ‘Big day?’ Sophia Toulson, one of the more recent arrivals to the Victoria’s midwifery staff, was hauling her uniform off, too, but instead of pulling on sensible clothes like Em’s—yikes, where had that milk stain come from?—she was putting on clothes that said she was heading out clubbing or to a bar—to a life Em had left behind years ago.

      Not that she missed it—much. Though there were times …

      ‘It has been a big day,’ she agreed, thinking of the night to come. Em had had three sleepless nights in a row. Gretta needed to be checked all the time. What she’d give for a solid eight-hour sleep …

      ‘But have you met the new obstetrician? You must have—he’s been fast-tracked here to operate on your Ruby. Em, he’s gorgeous. No wedding ring, either. Not that that tells you anything with surgeons—they hardly ever wear them. It’s not fair. Just because rings can hold infection it gives them carte blanche to disguise their marital state. But he’s come from the States and fast, so that hints at single status. Em, you’ll be working with him. How about giving it a shot?’

      Yeah, right. Propositioning Oliver? If Sophia only knew … But somehow she managed to grimace as if this conversation were completely normal, an anonymous, gorgeous obstetrician arriving in the midst of midwives whose first love was their job, and whose second love was dissecting the love lives of those around them.

      She turned to face the full-length mirror at the end of the change room. What she saw there made her grimace. Faded jeans, with a rip at the knee. Trainers with odd shoelaces. A windcheater with a milk stain running down the shoulder—why hadn’t she noticed that before she’d left the house?

      Her hair needed a cut. Oliver had loved her hair. She’d had it longer then and the dull brown had been shiny. It had bounced—she’d spent time with decent shampoo and conditioner, and she’d used a curling wand to give it body.

      Now she bought her shampoo and conditioner in bulk at the discount store and her curling wand was rusting under the sink.

      Oliver had never seen her like this—until today.

      Sophia was suggesting she make a play for him?

      ‘Can you see Oliver Evans with someone like me?’ she asked incredulously. ‘Sophia, get real.’

      ‘You could try,’ Sophia said, coming up behind her friend and staring over her shoulder at the reflection. ‘Em, you’re really pretty. With a bit of effort …’

      ‘All my effort goes into the kids.’

      ‘You’re burying yourself.’

      ‘I’m giving them a chance.’ She glanced at her watch and grimaced again. ‘Ouch. I need to go. Have a great time tonight.’

      ‘I wish I could say the same for you. Home with your mum and two kids …’ She bit her lip and Em knew why. Sophia had the same problem she did—she’d barely worked with her for a month before she’d winkled out of her the reason for the gravity behind what somehow seemed a forced gaity.

      Did all women who couldn’t have children feel like this? Maybe they did, but Em’s solution horrified Sophia.

      ‘I love it,’ she said soundly, even defiantly, because she did. Of course she did. ‘And you have fun at … Where are you going?’

      ‘The Rooftop Bar. Madeleine just happened to mention to your Dr Evans that we might be there.’ She grinned and started searching her bag for her lipstick. ‘If you’re not interested …’

      ‘He’s all yours,’ Em said tightly. ‘Best of luck. The supermarket’s waiting for me. Whoo-hoo, a fabulous night for both of us.’

      ‘Right,’ Sophia said dryly. ‘Em, I wish …’

      ‘Well, don’t wish,’ Em said, more sharply than she’d intended. ‘Don’t even think about it. This is the life I chose for myself, and I’m happy. Dr Oliver Evans might be at the bar and I guess that’s the life he’s chosen, too. We’re all where we want to be, and we can’t ask for more than that.’

      Oliver’s day wasn’t supposed to be frantic. Weren’t new staff supposed to have an orientation day, a shift where they spent the time acquainting themselves with ward and theatre staff, meeting everyone in the canteen, arranging stuff in their office? Not so much. Harry, it seemed, had left in a hurry. His lady had been enticing; he’d left without giving proper notice and the work had backed up.

      Apart from that, Harry hadn’t had specialist in-utero surgical training. It seemed that word of Oliver’s arrival had flown around Melbourne before he arrived. He had three consultations lined up for the afternoon and more for the next day.

      Ruby’s case was probably the most complex. No, it was the most complex, he thought, mostly because the scans showing the extent of the problem had made him wince.

      Plus she was alone. His next mum, Lucy, arrived with a support cast, husband, parents, an entourage of six. Her baby had a congenital heart malfunction. The little boy in utero was a twenty-four-weeker. He needed an aortic valvuloplasty—opening the aortic foetal heart valves to allow blood flow. It was one of the most common reasons for in-utero surgery, the one that Oliver was most comfortable with—as long as he had the backup of decent cardiac surgeons.

      Oliver had already met Tristan Hamilton, the Victoria’s neonatal cardiothoracic surgeon—in fact, they’d gone to university together. Tristan had backed up Charles’s calls, pressuring him to come, and he had been one of the inducements. Tristan was incredibly skilled, and if he could work side by side with him, for this mum, things were likely to be fine.

      But what seemed wrong was that Lucy and her little boy had huge family backup—and Ruby had no one.

      But Ruby had Em.

      That had to be compensation. Em would be terrific.

      If indeed she was with her. She’d been running late that morning. She’d looked harassed, like she had one too many balls in the air.

      She’d come flying into Ruby’s room half an hour after she’d hit his car, burbling about an early delivery. Really? Or had she spent the half hour on the phone to her insurance people?

      It was none of his business.

      Still, it was a niggle …

      Isla