More Than A Gift. Josie Metcalfe

he was still waiting for an answer. ‘I work on the neonatal ward—well, I’ve only recently started in the department. It’s my first post since I qualified.’

      ‘And was this an assignment, or was it something that you have chosen?’

      His expression was so intent that she could almost imagine that her answer mattered more than if it was just for the sake of conversation.

      ‘Oh, I chose it,’ she said, feeling quite flustered. She just wasn’t accustomed to being the focus of anyone’s attention, unless they were looking to find fault. ‘It’s what I’ve always wanted to do.’

      ‘I hope it meets your expectations,’ he said with a thoughtful nod, then continued softly, so softly that, coloured by his exotic accent, she couldn’t be sure she’d heard him correctly, ‘You will be good for the babies.’

      That had sounded like a compliment, something else that she wasn’t accustomed to hearing and had no idea how to respond to. Thank goodness they had reached the ward.

      ‘Sister should be in her office. Shall I show you where…?’

      ‘No, thank you. That won’t be necessary,’ he said with a smile that almost had her swallowing her tongue. This man was more deadly than anything the old Soviet Union might have once had in its nuclear arsenal. ‘I can find my way around the ward. I just have trouble finding my way around the hospital at the moment.’

      He relinquished his hold on the pile of sheets.

      ‘Perhaps you need to drop a trail of breadcrumbs so you can find your way back,’ she suggested with a grin of her own, only realising how flippant she must have sounded when she reached the linen cupboard. That was hardly the right way to go about keeping a low profile.

      ‘Get a grip on yourself,’ she muttered under her breath as she stacked the shelves neatly. They couldn’t afford to run low on clean linen when their patients were among the most fragile and susceptible to infection in the whole hospital.

      At least disposable nappies had eliminated one set of supply problems. She could just imagine how many traditional cloth ones would have been used in a day.

      Now she needed to let Sister know that she’d returned from her errand and find out about her next task. That was one thing about working in a busy unit like this, there was so much going on and so many things to do that she was learning something new every day. Still, it would be nice when she was proficient enough to do more than assist her more senior colleagues.

      ‘Roll on the day when I’m not one of the lowest of the low,’ she murmured. Having had to fight to be allowed to do her nursing training, she was several years older than most newly qualified staff, and she was human enough to feel a twinge of resentment when she was being ordered to do relatively menial tasks by much younger women. ‘And as there’s no way I’ll be moving up the ladder until they’re sure that I’m competent enough, that situation can only be remedied by time and hard work.’

      She consciously straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. The fact that her flight from home had also cost her the plum post she’d been offered at the hospital where she’d done her training was just another thing to lay at her family’s feet. At least her ‘record’ as a former tranquilliser addict was in the past, buried by the hospital at which she’d done her training. They’d actually told her that after watching her closely over the last three years, they had no fear that it would ever interfere with her work.

      ‘Ah, there she is, Sister Richards! My rescuer!’ exclaimed a newly familiar voice, and Laurel’s breath caught in her throat.

      ‘Thank you for rescuing him for me, Laurel. I wouldn’t want to lose him,’ her superior said, but although she was speaking to Laurel, her eyes never left the lean man at her side.

      Laurel could all too easily understand why, especially if he was in the habit of smiling like that. What she didn’t know was whether there was something of a personal nature between the two of them, neither did she know why just the thought of it made her feel strangely hollow inside.

      ‘We didn’t introduce ourselves properly,’ he said, completely ignoring Melanie Richards’s possessive-sounding words as he held a hand out towards Laurel.

      ‘Oh, she’s Laurel Wright, one of our most junior staff,’ her superior said dismissively, her eyes still fixed on the man like a starving woman gazing at a giant box of Belgian chocolates. ‘This is Dr Ros—Rostro—’

      ‘Rostropovich,’ he supplied, tightening his hand fractionally around Laurel’s when she would have withdrawn it immediately. ‘Dmitri Rostropovich. It would probably be easier if you called me—’

      ‘Pleased to meet you, Dr Rostropovich,’ Laurel said without any difficulty, and had to fight a smile at her superior’s visible chagrin. Stumbling over pronouncing his name was all the evidence Laurel had needed that they were not as close as the younger woman wanted them to be. ‘Do you spell that the same way as the famous cellist?’

      Having retrieved her hand, she wrapped the other one around it, surprised that she couldn’t feel the flash of heat that had been generated when his hand had touched hers. She was going to have to revise her scepticism over those scenes in romance novels where there was an electric connection between the hero and heroine the first time they touched.

      Not that she was anybody’s heroine, least of all his.

      ‘It’s spelt exactly the same, although I don’t think there’s any family connection. Do you like his music?’

      ‘Some of it, especially his recording of—’

      ‘Laurel doesn’t really have time to stand chatting about music,’ Melanie Richards pointed out with a disgruntled scowl. ‘It’s time for Staff Nurse Norris to go for her break, isn’t it, Nurse? You’re supposed to be taking over monitoring baby Sweeny, aren’t you?’

      It was news to Laurel but she wasn’t about to turn down the chance to do some hands-on nursing for a change. Up till this moment Sister Richards had seemed to be deliberately keeping her to menial tasks.

      ‘Perhaps we will be able to talk of music another time,’ Dmitri said politely as Laurel turned to cross the ward towards her charge. ‘In the meantime, if you will permit, I will come with you to have a look at this baby Sweeny who needs monitoring.’

      Laurel caught a glimpse of the hastily hidden flash of anger in her superior’s eyes and blinked in surprise.

      Surely the woman realised that it had been a purely professional decision for the good-looking doctor to accompany her? Melanie was a beautiful young woman with the sort of curves that Laurel could only sigh for. After all those years of ‘blunt speaking’ by Robert Wainwright, she knew only too well that she had few charms to attract a man’s eye. Least of all now, when she was being so careful not to draw attention to herself. If Robert Wainwright tracked her down before she found her sister, her rebellion would all have been in vain. She had no doubt that the man would be desperate enough by now to resort to all sorts of underhand tactics to achieve his aim.

      Her heart gave a thud of fear before she deliberately set her thoughts on a different track…such as the handsome doctor’s completely unexpected response towards her.

      Had her attempts at merging into the background completely failed today? Dmitri Rostropovich’s eyes seemed to be spending an inordinate amount of time looking in her direction. And the only reason she knew that was because, even though her hands were busy noting down the readings of Jason Sweeny’s temperature, blood pressure and pulse from the electronic monitors onto his charts, her own gaze seemed magnetically attracted to him.

      Unfortunately, Jason’s mother, who had rarely left his bedside once she’d been released from her own, had noticed her preoccupation.

      ‘He’s a good looker, isn’t he, Nurse?’ she prompted slyly, and Laurel felt the flush of heat travelling inexorably upward from her throat to her tightly restrained hair. How could she have forgotten just how sharp-eyed