Snowkissed!: The Midwife's Marriage Proposal

Angela gave a wobbly smile. ‘But you’ll go off duty before the baby is born.’

Sally shook her head. ‘Not me. All that’s waiting for me at home is lots of unpacking and even more washing so, trust me on this, I’m looking for an excuse to stay at the hospital.’

‘Unpacking?’

‘I’ve been away for a while,’ Sally said with a smile. ‘I haven’t had a chance to settle back in yet.’

Emma cleared her throat. ‘I’ll leave the two of you together.’ She looked at Sally. ‘I’ll let Mr Hunter know that Angela is here.’

Angela sighed. ‘He’s the one who wants me to have it the normal way.’

Her husband took a deep breath. ‘The guy has a brilliant reputation, Angela. I’ve talked to a few people about him. I think you should listen to what he has to say.’

Sally was reading the notes again. ‘I agree with your husband. You need to have a proper talk with him, tell him how you feel.’

‘I’m useless with doctors,’ Angela mumbled. ‘They always intimidate me. Before they arrive in my room I have all these questions, and then once they’re standing there I can’t bring myself to ask any of them.’

‘Well I’ll be with you,’ Sally assured her, ‘and I’ll make sure that he answers all your questions and that you don’t feel intimidated. Let me know when you have another contraction because I want to listen to the baby’s heart.’

Angela screwed up her face and sucked in a breath. ‘I’ve got another pain coming now.’

Sally reached for the Sonicaid and the sound of the baby’s heartbeat echoed around the room.

‘That’s sounding good. Remember your breathing. That’s it. Great …’ Sally coached her gently, timing the contraction, and when Angela finally relaxed again she stood up. ‘Right. I’d like to examine you and see how your labour is progressing, and then I’m going to hook you up to one of our machines just for a short while. Then we’ll find Mr Hunter.’

And that was the bit that she wasn’t looking forward to.

Tom finished writing up a set of notes and glanced up to find Sally standing there.

His whole body tightened and he rose to his feet, his eyes fixed to hers.

For a moment they stared at each other, the clinical nature of their surroundings forgotten, tension pulsing between them like a living force.

Then she dragged her eyes away from his and took a deep breath.

‘I need to talk to you about Angela.’ Her tone was cool and professional, not a hint of the personal in her manner. ‘I’ve examined her and she’s four centimetres dilated, but it sounds as though she’s been in labour for a while. She’s very anxious. Her last obstetrician said that he was going to section her.’

His brain registered the fact that she was talking about work but the rest of his body was concentrating on something entirely different. His attention was caught by her seductively long lashes and by the fullness of her perfect mouth.

He’d been the first man to kiss that mouth.

The first man to—

With a determined effort he pulled himself together. ‘I’m not planning to section her. I scanned her two weeks ago to measure the thickness of the lower uterine segment and I was perfectly satisfied that she’s a good candidate for vaginal delivery this time round.’

‘Then you need to talk to her,’ Sally said calmly. ‘Because at the moment all she’s hearing is contradiction, and she has no reason to believe you are any more skilled than the last man she spoke to.’

Tom frowned slightly. ‘I talked to her when I scanned her. She was fine.’

‘She was confused and worried.’

‘She didn’t say anything.’

‘Verbally, perhaps not. But did you read her body language?’ Her eyes held his. ‘She finds doctors intimidating. She was afraid to question you.’

Tom tensed, significantly discomfited by her implication that he’d been insensitive to the needs of a patient.

But, then, why would Sally believe that he was capable of sensitivity?

He gritted his teeth and took the criticism on the chin. ‘Believe it or not, I do try to interpret what women are feeling. I certainly don’t want them worried by anything I’ve said.’

‘Well, she’s worried,’ Sally said flatly, ‘and at the moment she is totally convinced that what she needs is another C-section.’

Tom inhaled sharply. ‘Caesarean rates have been steadily increasing over the last two decades,’ he said harshly. ‘Eighty per cent of women can safely deliver vaginally after a previous section, providing they meet certain criteria.’

Her gaze didn’t flicker. ‘I’m well aware of that.’ Her voice was smoky and soft and curled around his raw emotions like the smoothest silk. ‘All I’m saying is that she’d been told she was having another Caesarean and then you told her she wasn’t, and she didn’t understand how two doctors could say such different things. She deserves an explanation. In fact, I’d go as far as to say she needs an explanation, otherwise she will be far too anxious to concentrate on her labour. She’s stressed and I’m sure you’re aware of the evidence that suggests that stress can reduce uterine activity.’

He listened, intrigued by the change he saw in her.

This wasn’t the Sally he’d known.

When had she developed such poise and confidence? he wondered, his eyes sliding over the determined jut of her chin and the set of her narrow shoulders. He could remember clearly a time when she’d hung on to his every word as if he were some sort of god. When she’d been so lacking in self-confidence that she’d barely been able to make a decision without help.

Now she stood her ground, challenging him to defend his decision without displaying a flicker of discomfort, every bit his equal.

‘I’ll talk to her,’ he said finally, slipping his pen into his pocket and closing the notes in which he’d been writing. ‘We’ll do it together. Then you can tell me if I’m insensitive.’

He strolled round the desk and saw her back away hastily, as if she was afraid that he might touch her.

The realization that he wanted to do just that came as a shock.

For a moment their eyes held, and if they hadn’t been standing in the middle of the labour ward, in full view of anyone who happened to pass, Tom would have kissed that soft mouth that he remembered so well.

He’d been addicted to her mouth. The look of it, the feel of it under his, the taste of it …

‘We need to talk, Sally,’ he said roughly. ‘In private.’

In fact, he realized with a sudden stab of shock that he wanted to do a great deal more than talk.

Something flickered in those green depths. ‘No.’ Her voice was low but firm and she glanced over her shoulder quickly, as if she was afraid someone might have overheard his comment. ‘We don’t need to talk.’

Tom drew in a long breath, finding it difficult to know how to respond to this new, confident Sally.

In the old days she would have talked.

In the old days she couldn’t get enough of him.

They’d talked for hours about everything and anything.