A Family Worth Waiting For. Josie Metcalfe

sounded familiar. She’d been here before. ‘Well, that’s great. I hope you find her. But I’ll tell you something for nothing—I am not the one. I am not interested. Don’t waste your time on me.’

      ‘So you don’t feel anything for me, then?’ he asked with a completely fake crestfallen look.

      ‘Gratitude.’

      ‘Gratitude?’

      ‘Respect. I respect that you took a chance instead of following the crowd.’

      ‘That won’t keep me warm at night, Claire,’ he teased.

      ‘Buy an electric blanket,’ she quipped, and leapt into the lift, grateful for its timely arrival.

      Claire almost screamed when he followed her in. Her heart pounded painfully in her breast. Despite her protestations, she was desperately trying to quash an excited flutter taking hold of her body. His persistence was flattering on a level Claire didn’t want to acknowledge. It had been a long time since a man had persevered. The wall she had built around herself was thick with thorny brambles. It took a brave man to even attempt to hack his way through.

      ‘Claire—’

      ‘Shh,’ she hissed, desperation taking over. ‘Don’t talk.’

      ‘It’s not going to go away, Claire.’

      ‘How old are you, Campbell?’

      ‘Thirty-five.’

      ‘Too old to be carrying on like a lovesick adolescent.’

      ‘Are you ever too old for that?’ he asked quietly.

      Claire shut her eyes and sighed deeply. She’d read something in Campbell’s eyes. An emotion that was blindingly honest. The lift reached her floor and Claire’s relief was palpable. Once again Campbell followed her out.

      ‘Why are you following me?’ she muttered, annoyed by his dogged persistence.

      ‘I was hoping for a tour of the birth centre. Surely that’s not too much to grant your knight in shining armour?’

      Claire suddenly felt churlish. Of course he would want to see it. Now who was being unprofessional? Claire kicked herself for not having offered sooner. It might also have given them something else to talk about. ‘It’s an excellent idea,’ she agreed, shooting him a grateful smile.

      Grateful to be back on familiar ground … even if she was walking it with Campbell Deane beside her.

       CHAPTER TWO

      TRYING to ignore the man walking next to her on the way to the centre was impossible. Damn it all! Why couldn’t he be old and fat and balding with bad breath and an even worse toupee? Instead, the man who turned out to be her saviour was as sexy as hell, with hair and green eyes you could fall into. The fact that he also resembled someone who had hurt her badly ten years ago was a whole other distraction.

      Claire was very confused. How had this man got under her skin on such short acquaintance? Was it the Shane factor? No. This reaction was completely new. Not even with Shane had she felt so instantly and acutely aware of a man. Whatever the reason, Claire knew it all added up to one thing—danger.

      Pushing aside her confusion and the prickle of unease she could feel all the way up her spine, she concentrated on the joy at showing off her ‘baby’. Confidence and pride added a spring to her step.

      ‘Here we are,’ she announced, as she retrieved a set of keys from her pocket and opened the double swing doors. The sign above said, WELCOME TO ST JUDE’S BIRTH CENTRE. He preceded her and Claire couldn’t contain the thrill of excitement that always hit her when she walked through the doors. It was her dream, the culmination of a year’s work.

      ‘This place used to be one of the postnatal wards until it was shut down a few years ago. We’ve taken over the first two bays on either side of the corridor. It’s my hope that one day the centre will need the entire ward area.’

      ‘You’re ambitious.’ He smiled. ‘I like that.’

      ‘No, not really,’ she continued, ‘I just want to see the beds made available. We already have a waiting list. I don’t want to see our numbers restricted by space constraints.’

      Claire opened the door to the first birthing suite. It was spacious, taking up an entire bay which once would have held six beds. A large, low, queen-sized bed was neatly made up with a bedspread that matched the bright, attractive curtains. Beside it a mobile crib, complete with a warming blanket, was ready to receive a newborn.

      There was also a sofa which converted into a double bed and next to it a bar fridge, as well as tea- and coffee-making facilities. Behind it was a bathroom with a shower cubicle and a toilet. Against the far wall was a bathtub. Two trolleys stood against available wall space. They had covers that matched the curtains to disguise their medical purpose. One was for linen and the other carried equipment, which was used at the moment the baby entered the outside world.

      Every effort had been made to create a homey atmosphere. It was as far removed from standard hospital accommodation as you could get.

      ‘As you can see, there’s plenty of room for whatever support team the couple wishes. The double bed allows for partners to stay with the new mum if they want.’

      ‘What’s the policy on siblings?’

      ‘If that’s what the parents want, that’s fine, as long as there is a support person solely to look after the older child or children.’

      He nodded his approval and Claire beamed.

      ‘You planning some water births?’ he asked.

      Claire laughed. ‘Can you see the board agreeing to that? I thought I did a good enough job getting them to agree to the centre.’

      ‘I’ve delivered a few. In the right circumstances, it’s a wonderful experience.’

      Claire was becoming more impressed with Campbell’s grasp of modern birth practices. Perhaps he wasn’t insane after all. Professionally he seemed completely compos mentis.

      ‘Water births would be fantastic, but maybe down the track a bit. One step at a time. I really pushed for the baths. Water is too often overlooked for pain relief. So many women find the warmth and buoyancy an incredible help. The plumbing was the most expensive part of the conversion.’

      ‘It’s been really well thought-out. The room looks … peaceful.’ He followed up his compliment with a broad grin.

      It had been exactly what they had hoped to achieve. So often babies were born into bright, noisy environments. Part of the centre philosophy was to create a peaceful, harmonious atmosphere. Claire soaked up his positive comments like any mother proud of her baby. She felt weak from the full force of his smile.

      ‘The other room is a mirror image of this one,’ she said, indicating the closed door. ‘Across this side,’ she said, walking into the room opposite, ‘is our office area.’ The room held three desks. ‘Two desks for the four midwives and one for our receptionist. And in here …’ she opened a large built-in cupboard near the door ‘… is the resuscitation trolley and other medical equipment in case of emergency. The laughing gas is kept in here also.’

      Campbell pulled the trolley out of its alcove. He removed the green cloth that covered the top and checked everything. She watched his large hands run over the array of first-line emergency drugs, the selection of breathing tubes and masks. His long fingers opened the drawers and checked the oxygen and suction hanging off the side of the trolley.

      ‘Everything’s here I would ever need in an emergency,’ he said approvingly, and Claire felt like she had passed some kind of test.

      ‘The other room is a staffroom-cum-commonroom. We’ll use it to eat our lunch