Nurse's Twin Baby Surprise
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Colette Cooper
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21
CHAPTER ONE
THE ANTICIPATION OF meeting the new consultant was undoubtedly the cause of Lois Newington’s butterflies and the excited, almost tangible buzz in the air. He’d arrived two days ago, when she’d been away on a course, so she hadn’t yet met him, but he seemed to be the subject of every conversation between the staff. She was ready for him, though. Ready and determined not to fall at his feet as it seemed most of the rest of the hospital staff had done. TV’s Dr Sex-on-a-Stethoscope might well look like a movie star, but Lois was off men... totally.
The cool and not unwelcome swish of air around her bare legs as the cubicle curtain was pulled back told her that they had company. Otherwise ignoring the newcomer, she instinctively took a step forward to allow them into the cubicle behind her. She wasn’t going to allow whoever it was to distract her even for one second from the emergency she was dealing with.
It was probably a junior doctor. Junior staff often wanted to watch a cardiac arrest to gain experience—well, they could watch, as long as they didn’t get in the way.
The clear, confident instructions she called out were completely by the book—a CPR masterclass. She’d done this a thousand times, and even though the understandable adrenaline surge made her heart bang against her ribs, she controlled its rate with accustomed resolve, kept herself two steps ahead of the rest of the team and appeared as cool as the proverbial cucumber. If there was one thing scumbag Emilio couldn’t have criticised her over, it was the fact that she was good at her job.
‘Airway secure?’
‘Secure and air entry all areas, Sister.’
Lois glanced at the cardiac monitor. ‘VF. Shockable rhythm. Charge, please.’
The shrill tones of defibrillator rang out as it fuelled itself with electrical charge, but the doctor’s gaze wasn’t focussed on the patient—it was fixed on the newcomer who was standing silently, right behind her. The back of her neck prickled.
She looked around the cubicle. Senior nurse, Tom, on chest compressions, was counting aloud, but everyone else was looking past her right shoulder, and they all seemed to be standing a little bit taller and a little bit straighter than they had been before the stranger’s arrival.
Her stomach lurched. She didn’t need a sixth sense to know instantly who they were looking at. The newcomer was Max Templeton, surgeon to the stars and Emilio the scumbag’s much anticipated replacement. She didn’t turn around. The defibrillator’s beep signalled that it was ready.
‘Stand clear.’
Everyone moved away from the bedside.
‘Shock, please.’
A dull thud of electricity shot, bullet-like, into the arrested patient, causing his body to arch in response.
‘Checking rhythm...’
She held her breath, silently praying that the erratic ECG trace on the monitor would settle to a normal sinus rhythm. If it didn’t, this patient’s chance of survival would plummet.
‘VF.’
The commanding male voice from just behind her, almost made her jump.
‘Shock again...now.’
‘Charge,’ called Lois.
What was he doing? He couldn’t just turn up and take over.
A junior doctor took the command and depressed the charging button. The defibrillator whined as the electrical charge built within it.
‘Stand clear,’ she called.
‘Shock.’
Max Templeton’s command rang out loud and clear, the command on her own lips silenced by his. She didn’t have time to turn around and explain that she was leading the arrest and had been for the last five minutes. Didn’t he know the protocol? He must do. He was just making his presence felt—just like Emilio, and just as she’d expected he would.
Emilio had gone, leaving her to try to put her life back together, but his replacement was going to be exactly like him—she just knew it. The only difference was that she wasn’t going to fall ridiculously head over heels for Max Templeton—not in a million years.
The dull thud of the electric shock entered the patient and Lois turned her attention to the monitor as the spikes on the ECG settled.
Damn, he was still in...
‘VF. Shock again.’ The male voice behind her cut in with an air of authority no one could ignore. ‘Get me some wire cutters and a thoracotomy set. I may need to reopen his chest. He’s had adrenaline, I assume?’
He moved from behind her and stood at her side, almost but not quite touching her arm with his. Still she didn’t look at him, but there was no doubt who it was standing beside her, ignoring protocol, taking command, flooding the air between them with crackling anticipation.
So here he was at last, the much anticipated, famous and infamous Max Templeton. His reputation as a brilliant surgeon wasn’t in doubt, and she was keen to see him in action. But what she knew she wasn’t going to appreciate was his reputation as a man who thought he was God’s gift to medicine...and women. By the time Emilio’s six-month contract had been drawing to a close, and he’d been preparing to go back to Italy—back to his wife and the toddler daughter that he’d somehow neglected to tell her about—she’d have welcomed whoever replaced him. Anyone was better than the deceitful, lying cheat she had the misfortune to call her ex. But he was being replaced with another smooth operator... TV heartthrob Max Templeton.
She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of turning around to look at him; much as she wanted to.
‘Dr Harper—charge, please.’ The junior doctor depressed the button. She had his attention back.
She swept a glance around the bed. ‘Stand clear...’
‘Shock.’
Max Templeton’s clear command came only a split moment before hers. She swung round to face him as she heard the shock being delivered. He was overriding her. Did he think she was incompetent? Or was he just being the arrogant egomaniac she’d expected he would be?
‘Was that a yes or a no to the adrenaline?’
His tone was composed but firm. Two deep blue hypnotic eyes burned into her, requiring an answer—eyes she’d seen hundreds of times on screen, in newspapers and in magazines. Eyes whose true power could only be felt when face to face with them.
‘Begin chest compressions.’
She tore her gaze away from him to instruct the team. She had exactly two minutes to reply to him whilst the next cycle of CPR continued. Turning fully towards him, she let her gaze travel upwards over his tall frame, and the further up his body her eyes rose, the harder her heart banged in her chest.
He was a finely tuned athlete, with an impressive, strong-looking physique, sun-kissed skin, broad shoulders and well-defined pecs not hidden by the navy scrubs he wore. He looked like a glossy ad for designer aftershave. Only the scrubs and the stethoscope draped casually around his neck made him look like a doctor and not an Olympian.
She swallowed. It was him.
Don’t look at him with ‘starstruck’ written across your face like everyone else is.
Somehow, she found her voice. Professional Lois kicked in and she briefed him on the situation with the patient.
‘Yes, as protocol. The patient suddenly dropped his BP to sixty over thirty, central pressure was down at two, heart rate one ten, and then he went into VF. He’s had two cycles of CPR and that was the third shock of the second cycle. And you are...?’
Impossibly, her heart rate notched up further still.
Had she really said that?
There was little doubt as to who he was, but he shouldn’t just rock up and expect everyone to know him. He wasn’t wearing any ID and, a stickler for correct protocol, Lois felt a need to point it out to him right there and then that was almost overwhelming.
She turned back to the team. ‘That’s two minutes. Check rhythm again, please.’ She’d timed her reply perfectly.
The team paused to let the chaotic green lines on the monitor settle, but the high-pitched, continuous beep told anyone who wasn’t staring at it that it had settled into an ominous flat line.
‘Asystole.’ Damn. ‘Continue CPR.’
‘We need to do a thoracotomy.’
Again, his tone was calm, but his words made Lois draw in a breath. He wanted to perform open heart surgery on the intensive care unit? It was unheard of.
But Max Templeton had taken a sterile pack from the shelf and stepped forward, claiming his space, and all eyes were fixed on him. Ripping the pack open, he dropped it onto the bed and spread the sterile field flat to reveal the array of silver surgical instruments within it.
‘Continue CPR until I’m gloved up and ready,’ he ordered.
The team did as they were instructed, swiftly swinging into action, restarting the methodical, well-practised processes which they hoped would prolong this man’s life long enough for Max Templeton to remedy the underlying cause.
Despite the fact that he hadn’t introduced himself, and wasn’t wearing his ID, everyone knew it was him, of course. He was one of the best-known faces on the planet. But he’d just assumed everyone would know who he was and that just reeked of arrogance. No one else had questioned him, but charlatans had been known to masquerade as medical staff in hospitals, often by being brazen. And this man certainly had more than a touch of the brazen about him. He shouldn’t just stride in here and expect that everyone knew him...but that had been exactly what he’d done.
Well, she wasn’t having it. She spoke quietly but directly.
‘I can see you’re dressed in scrubs, but I can’t just let you crack open this man’s chest without confirming your identity.’
Glittering sapphire eyes met hers and her breath locked in her throat. He was even more stunning in the flesh than he was on screen...almost impossibly so. She was aware the team around them were continuing with CPR—compressions were being quickly but steadily counted aloud, and monitor alarms still rang out, reminding them the patient’s vital signs were critically outside of normal parameters.
She knew what was going on around her, but for a moment the centre of her focus was the two deep blue eyes looking back at her, laser-like, penetrating, silently assessing. Her determined resolve not to find him attractive wavered. Straightening the front of her uniform, her instinct telling her to look away, she held his gaze.
‘Max Templeton, cardiothoracic consultant,’ he replied, one dark eyebrow raised, clearly having completed his appraisal of her.
Was he trying to suppress a grin?
But it was gone before she could decide, and then, much to her astonishment, he took her by the shoulders and gently but firmly moved her to one side before snapping on the sterile gloves.
‘I operated on Mr Ferns yesterday and replaced his aortic valve in order to keep him alive. I’m not about to let him die today.’ He picked up the wire cutters. ‘Dressing.’
Everyone had been right—he was something else. Most surgeons wouldn’t attempt this procedure outside of a theatre.
She watched him like a hawk as she too quickly drew on a pair of sterile gloves. If he was going to attempt this they had to move fast.
Reaching out in front of him, she tore the dressing off the patient’s chest. ‘This is pretty irregular, Mr Templeton.’
‘He has a cardiac tamponade,’ he replied, slicing through the chest sutures with ease. He glanced at the three junior doctors opposite him across the bed. ‘One of you needs to glove up to hold a retractor.’ He addressed Lois again as he began to cut through the wires holding the patient’s sternum together. ‘He’ll die if I don’t drain the blood from the pericardium.’ He snapped through a wire. ‘And I’m not about to let that happen.’
Clearly.
But she wasn’t going to be silenced that easily. ‘You can’t do a thoracotomy on the unit.’
‘Watch me.’
‘You could attempt pericardiocentesis.’
‘I know.’ He cut through another wire with a snap.
‘It’s less traumatic.’
‘I know.’ He snapped through the last wire and eased the sternum apart, placing a retractor inside the cavity and handing the end of it to one of the juniors, instructing him to pull gently but firmly.
‘But you’re not going to.’
His swift glance and raised eyebrow gave her his answer.
Lois threaded her arm through his. The jolt as her skin met his was as unwelcome as it was shocking. She pressed thick piles of swabs against the edges of the wound, stemming the bleeding, applying pressure. The oozing red liquid soaked through the gauze, warming her gloved fingers. She had no qualms about calling for help if Max Templeton didn’t pass muster, but up to now she was satisfied with all his actions.
All his actions, that was, except the way he looked at her and made her insides quiver. That was completely unsatisfactory.
‘Tamponade. Pass me a—’
Lois placed a large syringe and long needle firmly into his outstretched palm. The faint look of surprise in his eyes was just a tad satisfying. She hadn’t been an intensive care and theatre sister for four years without knowing how to assist with a thoracotomy.
‘Thank you, Sister...?’
‘Newington.’ She pointed to her name badge whilst holding out a tray ready for the syringe, her forearm brushing his and sending a spark into her which could rival the jolt from the defibrillator.
Why did these cubicles have to be so damn small?
The staff had all been correct in their assessment of this new consultant. He was undeniably gorgeous and, much to her surprise and annoyance, she’d been ridiculously conscious of her heart hammering in her chest since the moment their eyes had locked minutes before.
She didn’t want this.
Emilio had slunk back to his family in Italy, leaving her self-esteem battered and bruised, six months ago. The last thing she needed was to fall for the charms of another schmoozer. Well, she wasn’t going to.
Get a grip, Lois. This man lives in a different world—he’s surrounded by glamour. He isn’t even going to notice your existence beyond what you can do for his patients. And if you didn’t know that before Emilio slimed into your life, you certainly do now.
Max Templeton’s reputation went before him. Since leaving medical school he’d quickly made a name for himself as one of the world’s leading heart surgeons, and soon celebrity patients had been queuing up to be treated by him. His film star good looks and charismatic charm had made him the perfect TV doctor, and he seemed to spend as much time on the red carpet as he did operating. He’d recently returned to his roots in the NHS to pioneer an antenatal cardiac screening programme, but he’d only signed a four-month contract for some reason.
The only other thing she knew about him was that his reputation for mending hearts rivalled his well-known reputation for breaking them. And after the recent dark chapter in her life that had been Emilio, she wasn’t going anywhere near his replacement, clearly cut from the same cloth. No one was ever going to crush her like that again.
‘Fifty mils aspirated.’ He was utterly focussed and completely in control. ‘He’s very bradycardic—there’s not enough pressure.’
Reaching back into the chest, he began internal cardiac massage, rhythmically squeezing and releasing the heart, attempting to bring it back to life.
Lois watched the green lines on the monitor. They were either flat or barely moving. The numbers were flashing, telling them what they already knew—that they were into desperate measures territory, and the patient’s life was balanced on the thin knife-edge between life and death.
Shifting her gaze, she watched as Max, calm but still intensely focussed, his jaw set, tiny beads of sweat appearing on his forehead, continued to demand that life return to his patient. He appeared to be true to his word—he really didn’t want this patient to die.
No one dared to breathe. Only the rhythmic hissing and clicking from the ventilator and the long, continuous flat beep from the monitor filled the silence. All eyes were on Max Templeton, his gloved hand inside his patient’s open chest. Time stood still.
Was this much-esteemed surgeon as good as he was cracked up to be?
‘Suction.’
It wasn’t a question or a request. Already poised with the suction tube in her hand, Lois inserted it into the pool of ruby blood which had collected in the chest cavity, clearing it so that Max could see.
‘Better pressure on the arterial line,’ she advised, glancing at the monitor at the side of the bed, breaking the silence, taking charge, in control as always.
She might not be svelte, slender and beautiful—thanks, Emilio, for confirming that—but this was something she was good at. At least no one could argue with that.
‘Over sixty,’ agreed Max. ‘Enough to perfuse his brain. But the acid test is what happens when I take my hand off the heart. Ready?’
It was intoned as a question, and no one in the cubicle was going to say they weren’t. He stilled his hand and focus moved to the cardiac monitor where, if the intervention had worked, the wavering, erratic green lines would show signs that life was returning.
‘Sixty-five.’ Lois willed the screen to give her the figures she wanted. ‘Pressure’s seventy.’
Suddenly there was hope.
‘Good.’ He withdrew his hand from the open thorax, wiping his brow with his forearm. The tightness in his face, jaw and neck slipped away as he let out a slow breath. ‘How do we know the patient isn’t still bleeding and won’t tamponade again?’
The three junior doctors looked back at him—deer in headlights.
And that was when his whole demeanour changed.
‘Any ideas, guys? No problem if you don’t—this is a great learning opportunity.’ He gave a wry grin. ‘Not that the patient would see it that way.’
Taking the retractor from the junior doctor, he placed it back into the sterile tray before resting his fingers on his patient’s wrist. He studied his audience as if awaiting a response, his famous smile completely changing his face.
The act was so sudden and the effect so startling that Lois was forced to make sure her mouth wasn’t gaping open.
How could someone go from Mr Cool and Arrogant to Mr Relaxed and Happy in a second?
‘The answer, is that we don’t,’ said Max. ‘We have no way of knowing if the pericardium will fill up again. If it does, and any of you are on duty, you can call me—day or night, whether I’m on call or not. Okay, thanks everyone. Show’s over, let’s get back to work.’
Had the Max Templeton who’d first walked in and so rudely taken over suddenly been replaced with another Max Templeton, who knew what politeness was and even had a sense of humour?
Suddenly, her perception of him as irretrievably arrogant as hell had a severe dose of doubt thrown over it. She let out a breath. It sure as hell was going to be interesting working with this man—she’d never seen anyone like him.
So what was it that made her feel so uneasy?
His star status? His super-confidence? His apparent lack of respect for protocol? His willingness to push the boundaries to save a patient?
Or was it the fact that when he’d locked his eyes on hers he’d made her heart skip a beat or ten?
The junior doctors filed out, the very attractive female of the three smiling at Max as she drew the curtain behind her in an unnecessarily coy way, making Lois roll her eyes in disbelief. She was so glad she wasn’t one of those fawning females who were so obvious it was embarrassing.
‘Do you want an echocardiogram?’ she asked.
Why was she suddenly so annoyed? What did she care if staff flirted with him?
As long as it wasn’t done in an unprofessional way or in an inappropriate situation.
But the reason her question to Max had come out so abruptly was as obvious as it was annoying—the junior doctor was slim and pretty, and had enough self-confidence to allow her to flirt openly with someone and even maybe to think that the other person might welcome it.
Lois had never been able to flirt. Whenever she’d tried it, she’d felt silly. It was probably a skill you learnt as a teen—going out with friends...at the school dance. And she’d never done any of those things, had she? As her mother’s carer, she’d never been able to indulge in those rites of passage. She’d never been round to friends’ houses, excitedly getting ready for a night out, talking about boys, experimenting with make-up, trying each other’s clothes on. Flirting was untrodden territory for her.
She hadn’t even flirted with Emilio. Lord knew how they’d ended up getting together. He’d done all the running, though, hadn’t he? And she’d been stupid enough to fall for what had turned out to be empty compliments.
‘No,’ Max replied now. ‘The tamponade has been drained, and the figures are good. Shall we suture him up?’
Tom slipped out of the cubicle, returning a moment later with a suture pack, which he placed on the bed before turning to Lois.
‘Okay if I carry on now?’ he asked.
Lois opened her mouth to respond, but once again Max was quicker.
‘Sure.’ Then, placing his stethoscope in his ears, he bent to listen to his patient’s chest.
Tom raised an eyebrow at Lois and grinned at her, mouthing Told you! before slipping out of the cubicle, leaving them alone. Lois bit her lip.
‘I just thought you’d want a scan to check the valve.’
That was normal procedure, and she was duty-bound to remind him—even if he was one of the most eminent cardiac surgeons in the world.
‘There’s nothing wrong with my valve, Sister Newington.’
He spoke with uncompromising certainty, reaching for the sterile gloves from the suture set Tom had opened, snapping them on before looking at her directly with his laser blue eyes and flooring her with his completely disarming smile.
‘A scan won’t be necessary.’
Lois watched him as he began to close the patient’s chest, absorbed once more in his work. There was no doubt that his clinical reputation as the best was completely justified. He’d just cracked open this man’s chest, and that was pretty rare outside of an operating theatre setting. He’d saved a patient’s life and he looked as if he wasn’t even trying.
He’d made an impressive first impression...on the whole. But he blithely ignored protocol, wasn’t wearing any ID, and spoke to the staff as though he ran the unit instead of her.
What everyone had told her seemed to be correct—Max Templeton was something else, and she knew she was gaping at him in exactly the same starstruck way everyone else had been. Well, she wasn’t about to allow another consultant to stroll into her unit, rinse and repeat...
‘You seem a little irked about the lack of ID badge, Sister.’
His voice broke into her thoughts sharply. She straightened up but he wasn’t looking at her. He was working intently on his patient, dark head bent, long fingers moving to and fro with swift expertise as he sutured. He was mesmerising...in more ways than one. But his professional expertise was all she wanted to be mesmerised by—she wasn’t interested in anything else.
‘ID should be worn at all times,’ she managed, a little surprised that she could speak. Suddenly, after what he’d just pulled off, her issue with him not wearing his ID seemed trivial.
But was he trying to make a point?
‘I was about to start a theatre list when I got the arrest call and I hadn’t quite finished getting dressed.’
He turned to face her, the intensity of his blue eyes making her breath catch in her throat and her thoughts spin so she couldn’t find the words she needed to speak.
What was he doing to her?
Whatever it was it was completely unwelcome. She was off men...period.
He turned back to the patient and she took a moment to breathe again.
‘And if I can’t trust my ability to place an aortic valve correctly...well, it’s time to give up, frankly.’
Lois knew full well that she was staring at him with very poorly disguised incredulity. Humility wasn’t one of his strong points, then.
But then he smiled, and his blue eyes twinkled, lighting up with shining stars of mirth.
‘I know what you’re thinking, Sister Newington.’
That you’re astoundingly gorgeous?
‘I doubt it, Mr Templeton.’
He lowered his gaze, focussing once more on his patient. ‘You think I’m an arrogant ass.’
Lois couldn’t help it that her mouth fell open. He was right, though—that was what she’d been thinking. As well as thinking that she wanted to spend for ever gazing into his eyes. Which was such a contradiction she couldn’t quite believe she was thinking it.
Don’t do this, Lois—get your sensible head on again.
‘Wearing ID is mandatory for all staff, whether you’re a cleaner or a surgeon, and I’d be grateful if you could remember that the next time you step into my department—there’s good reason for it.’
There...sensible Lois was back in the room.
Snipping the end of the last suture, he tossed the needle and forceps into the opened thoracotomy pack and checked his watch, apparently ignoring her comment.
‘Finished?’
She wasn’t usually one for stating the obvious, but the quizzical look in his piercing eyes told her she’d probably done just that. She swallowed, managing to hold his gaze even though she desperately needed to look away. Max Templeton had people falling at his feet all the time. Well, she wasn’t going to be one of them.
‘All yours, Sister Newington.’ He swept an upturned palm towards the patient.
Focus, Lois.
Stepping forward, she leant in to clean the wound. But Max didn’t stand aside, and her arm brushed his once more, sending a bolt of electricity through her.
Why didn’t he move?
His nearness was warming her—way too much.
‘I can take care of everything now.’
Please leave.
She needed to breathe normally again.
‘I’m sure you can, Sister. Please, carry on—I’m just monitoring his heart rate a moment longer.’
Trying to pretend he wasn’t there, she tore the backing from a dressing and placed it over the suture line, smoothing it down carefully, her mind whirling, weighing him up, trying to process what had happened over the last hour, wishing he hadn’t made her knees suddenly struggle to take her weight.
Was he good at what he did?
Undoubtedly.
Did she think she could work with him?
Of course she could—she’d managed it before, hadn’t she? Working with surgeons who thought they were the best thing since sliced bread was an all too familiar challenge. She’d ridden the storm that was Emilio Bartello and survived—just.
Did she like him?
Not so easy to answer. How could she like someone who had his reputation with women? Men like him thought they could do whatever they liked, with whoever they liked. And if she’d learned anything in the last year...if her relationship with Emilio had taught her anything...it was not to trust men. Especially good-looking, successful men.
But for the last hour her heart had been hammering in her chest as if it was trying to break out—and that hadn’t been solely due to the clinical situation they’d found themselves in.
