The Spice of Life. Caroline Anderson

hair …’

      For a full second she was too stunned to move, but then she slapped his hand away, and, drawing herself up to her full five feet four, she glared at him furiously.

      ‘That just about does it!’ she hissed. Spinning on her heel, she stalked away with her head in the air.

      In the midst of the morning rush-hour his laughter drifted after her, curling round her senses and inflaming her still further.

      She marched into A and E, slapping the swing doors out of the way with the palm of her hand, and turned smartly into the cloakroom. Two nurses in there straightened away from the walls, murmured, ‘Good morning, Sister,’ and faded into the corridor.

      Kathleen turned and studied herself in the mirror. ‘Red hair, indeed!’ she muttered. ‘Rude man.’ In fact, there was a trace of red when the sun was on it, but she didn’t want to dwell on that at the moment! No, it was plain old dark brown, cut in a blunt bob at her chin, easy to keep neat and tidy—unlike his wild tangle that was almost black, except at the temples where it was streaked with grey.

      To match his eyes, she thought, and her own lost focus as she remembered the strange way the colour had seemed to change as he laughed. Like pebbles underwater, flickering with the light.

      Yuck. She’d be reciting poetry next!

      Her own eyes were a muddy green, and just now they were spitting fire, like a little cat. In fact it was a wonder there wasn’t smoke pouring out of her ears!

      But, my God, he did look good in all that leather gear …

      She turned away from the mirror with a sound of disgust. Imagine getting turned on by a biker! He was probably smothered in tattoos, for heaven’s sake! She ruthlessly suppressed a little shiver of curiosity. Perhaps her family were right; maybe it was time she settled down.

      She took her frilly cap out of the locker and skewered it to her hair with the pins, adjusting it until she was satisfied that it was absolutely correct. Nothing got past Sister Hennessy that wasn’t correct—including That Man!

      She glanced at her watch and pulled a face. There wasn’t time to report the bike to the security staff before hand over. She left the cloakroom and went to her office, took the report from the night sister and then went out of the office towards the nursing station.

      However she didn’t get there. One of the nurses she had seen in the cloakroom was standing in the middle of the corridor, flushed pink and grinning like an idiot, while That Man lounged on one leg in all his taut leather and chatted her up.

      Enraged, she marched up to them.

      ‘I’m sorry, sir, but you aren’t allowed in this area. It’s staff only. Nurse, are you here for a reason?’

      The girl blushed even pinker, and stood up straight. ‘Oh—yes, Sister. I’m starting on A and E today.’

      Kathleen eyed her up and down. ‘Are you, indeed? Well, you’d better come with me. The exit’s that way, sir,’ she added pointedly, and then marched the nurse into the CSSD store.

      ‘Right, young lady, there are a few things you need to know about how I run this unit, and the first is that my nurses don’t loll around in the corridors indulging in idle chatter with strange men!’

      ‘But, Sister, he asked me—’

      ‘I don’t want to know what he asked you! I’ve already had trouble with him today. The best thing you can do is keep out of his way until I get rid of him. Right, this place is chaotic. I want everything cleared up and sorted out before the rush starts again, all right? If you think we’re getting low on anything, I want to know, please. I’ll send another nurse in to help you. Here’s the check list.’

      And she swept out, heading for the phone again.

      There was no sign of him now, thank goodness. Security said they’d send someone over right away, and she busied herself for the next few minutes with the half-dozen patients in the waiting area.

      There was a nasty sprain which needed an X-ray, a query appendix for the surgical reg and a couple of cuts and other minor injuries which needed cleaning up and suturing.

      Mick O’Shea, the surgical registrar on take and one of her old SHOs, breezed in as she was cleaning up one of the patients with a cut hand.

      Top o’ the mornin’ to you, Sister Hennessy!’ he sang, cheerful as ever, and she shot him a black look.

      ‘Good morning, Dr O’Shea,’ she said repressively.

      He pretended to look chastened, and inspected the cut with great care.

      ‘Just a couple of wee stitches—sure you can manage, Sister?’

      ‘Probably a great deal better than you,’ she replied with a sugary smile, and after a reassuring word to her patient, she led Mick out into the corridor.

      ‘Your patient’s in here,’ she said shortly.

      Mick stopped her with a hand on her arm.

      ‘What’s eating you today?’

      She gave a strained little chuckle. ‘It shows?’

      He grinned. ‘Only to an expert in family relationships—and I know you were away for the weekend!’

      Her chuckle relaxed. ‘I’ve been home—got lots of grief about not being settled down with fourteen children—’

      Mick laughed. ‘Why under God do you imagine I never go home?’

      They shared a commiserating smile, and Mick put his arm around her shoulders and gave her a friendly hug. ‘Of course you could always marry me and blame the lack of children on my war wound—’

      She spluttered with laughter. ‘What war wound?’

      He grinned cheekily. ‘Poetic licence, m’darlin’! We’d make a lovely couple, don’t you think? Can’t you just see your mother in a pink floppy hat with cherries on it? How about a quick kiss to seal the pact?’

      ‘Put me down, you lecherous old goat!’ she said with a laugh, and, pushing him away, she straightend up in time to see That Man emerge from Jim’s old office with Ben Bradshaw, the senior registrar.

      He had obviously showered, the almost-black hair falling in damp curls over his broad forehead, and he had changed into casual trousers and a shirt. The stubble was gone, and he was even wearing a tie—well, nearly. It hung round his neck, the knot well below the open collar of his shirt, and in the vee she could see the cluster of damp curls at the base of his throat. He looked almost respectable—and very, very sexy. He was also in the wrong place again. Kathleen opened her mouth, and a lid drooped over one of those fabulous grey eyes in a wicked wink.

      ‘We meet again,’ he said with a grin.

      ‘Morning,’ Mick greeted him. ‘Good weekend?’

      That Man shrugged. ‘Not bad—bit windy earlier. Good thermals, though.’

      Thermals? As in underwear? Never! Kathleen glanced sharply up at Mick. ‘Do you know him?’

      Mick nodded, and Ben Bradshaw stepped into the yawning void. ‘Have you met Sister Hennessy yet?’ he asked.

      That Man’s full lips twitched. ‘Yes, we have—er—spoken,’ he said, and the smile won and tipped the corners of his lips, bringing an enticing little dimple to one cheek. He held out his hand. ‘Jack Lawrence,’ he said, and if the floor could have opened up and swallowed her she would have been delighted.

      As the fiery blush mounted her cheeks, she shook his hand briefly, desperately hoping for a miracle.

      Holy Mary, she thought, all these years I’ve been a good girl—can’t you do something?

      Apparently not. The floor stubbornly resisted her prayers and imprecations. Jack Lawrence released her hand and turned to Ben.

      ‘So,