It Happened One Night Shift

‘Gareth,’ she said.

Billie’s pulse leapt at his name. Helen smiled. ‘Excellent.’

Chrissy rolled her eyes. ‘Yeah, yeah,’ she joked. ‘Everyone loves Gareth.’

Helen laughed. ‘He’s highly experienced,’ she said, feigning affront.

‘Sure,’ Chrissy teased. ‘And those blue eyes have nothing at all to do with it.’

‘Blue eyes? I hadn’t noticed.’ Helen shrugged nonchalantly.

‘Who’s Gareth?’ Barry, the other new resident, asked as Chrissy left to attend to a buzzer.

‘Brilliant nurse. Ex-military. Used to be in charge around here. Not sure why he was demoted … think there was some kind of incident. But, anyway, he’s very experienced.’

‘Ex-military?’ Billie’s voice sounded an octave or two higher than she would have liked but no one seemed to notice. No wonder Gareth had taken charge of the scene so expertly on Saturday night.

‘Apparently,’ Helen said. ‘Served in MASH units all over. The Middle East most recently, I think. Exceptionally cool and efficient in an emergency.’

Billie nodded. She knew all about that coolness and efficiency.

‘Also …’ Helen smiled ‘… kind of easy on the eyes.’

She nodded again. Oh, yes. Billie definitely knew how easy he was on the eyes.

‘Right,’ Helen said. ‘Let’s get to it. Let’s see if we can’t whittle these patients down and have us a quiet night.’

A quiet night sounded just fine to Billie as she picked up a chart and tried not to think about seeing Gareth again in less than two hours.

Gareth came upon Billie just after midnight. He’d known, since he’d checked out the residents’ roster, they’d be working together for these next three nights.

And had thought about little else since.

She had her stethoscope in her ears and was listening to the chest of an elderly woman in cubicle three when he peeled the curtain back. She didn’t hear him and he stood by the curtain opening, waiting for her to finish, more than content to observe and wait patiently.

She looked very different tonight from the last time he’d seen her. Her hair was swept back in a no-nonsense ponytail. The long curling spirals were not falling artfully around her face as they had on Saturday night but were ruthlessly hauled back into the ponytail, giving her hair a sleek, smooth finish. Her earlobes were unadorned, her face free of make-up.

And … yup. He’d known it. Even from a side view she rocked a pair of scrubs.

‘Well, you’ve certainly got a rattle on there, Mrs Gordon,’ Billie said, as she pulled the stethoscope out of her ears and slung it around her neck.

‘Oh, yes, dear,’ the elderly patient agreed. Billie was concerned about her flushed face and poor skin turgor. ‘I do feel quite poorly.’

‘I don’t doubt it,’ Billie clucked. ‘Your X-ray is quite impressive. I think we need to get you admitted and pop in a drip. We can get you rehydrated and give you some antibiotics for that lung infection.’

‘Oh, I don’t want you to trouble yourself,’ Mrs Gordon said.

Billie smiled at her patient. The seventy-three-year-old, whose granddaughter had insisted was usually the life of the party, looked quite frail. She slipped her hand on top of the older, wrinkled one and gave it a squeeze. It felt hot and dry too.

‘It’s no trouble Mrs Gordon. That’s what I’m here for.’

Mrs Gordon smiled back, patting Billie’s hand. ‘Well, that’s lovely of you,’ she murmured. ‘But I think that young man wants to talk to you, my dear.’

Billie looked over her shoulder to find Gareth standing in a break in the curtain. He did that smile-shrug combo again and her belly flip-flopped once more. ‘Hi,’ she said.

‘Hey,’ Gareth murmured, noticing absently the cute sprinkle of freckles across the bridge of her nose and the clear gloss on her lips. Her mouth wasn’t the lush scarlet temptation it had been on the weekend but its honeyed glaze drew his eyes anyway.

‘Thought I’d pop in and see how you were getting on.’

‘Oh … I’m fine … good … thank you.’ She sounded breathy and disjointed and mentally pulled herself together. ‘Just going to place an IV here and get Mrs Gordon …’ she looked down at her patient and smiled ‘… admitted.’

Gareth nodded. She looked cool and confident in her scrubs, a far cry from the woman who’d admitted to being squeamish after losing her dinner in front of him on Saturday night. He had to give her marks for bravado.

‘Do you want me to insert it?’

Billie frowned, perplexed for a moment before realising what he meant. He thought she’d baulk at inserting a cannula? Resident bread and butter?

God, just how flaky had she come across at the accident?

Another thought crossed her mind. He hadn’t told anyone in the department about what had happened the other night, had he? About how she’d reacted afterwards?

He wouldn’t have, surely?

She looked across at him and Helen was right, his blue scrubs set off the blue of his eyes to absolute perfection. The temptation to get lost in them was startlingly strong but she needed him to realise they weren’t on the roadside any more. This was her job and she could do it.

She’d been dealing with her delicate constitution, as her father had so disparagingly called it, for a lot of years. Yes, it presented its challenges in this environment but she didn’t need him to hold her hand.

‘Do you think we could talk?’ she asked him, before turning and patting her patient’s hand. ‘I’ll be right back, Mrs Gordon. I just need to get some equipment.’

Gareth figured he’d overstepped the mark as he followed the business like swing of her ponytail. But he had seen her visibly pale at the sight of the blood running down the taxi driver’s face on Saturday night. Had held her hair back while she’d vomited then listened to her squeamishness confession.

Was it wrong to feel protective of her? To want to alleviate the potential for more incidents when he was free and more than capable of doing the procedure himself?

Her back was ramrod straight and her stride brisk as she yanked open the staffroom door. He followed her inside and Billie turned on him as soon as the door shut behind them.

‘What are you doing?’ she asked.

Gareth quirked an eyebrow at her. ‘Trying to help? I wasn’t sure if putting in IVs made you feel faint or nauseated and …’ he shrugged ‘… I was free.’

She shoved her hands on her hips and Gareth noticed for the first time how short she was in her sensible work flats. He seemed to have a good foot on her. Just how high had those heels been the other night?

‘Would you have offered to do anyone else’s?’ she demanded.

Gareth folded his arms. ‘If I knew it made them squeamish, of course,’ he said.

‘Putting in an IV does not make me squeamish,’ she snapped.

‘Well, excuse me for trying to be nice,’ he snapped back. ‘You looked like you had a major issue with blood on Saturday night.’