A Baby Of Her Own

She stopped with her fingers on the doorhandle.

‘Am I picking you up or meeting you here? And what time?’

‘I’ll make my own way there,’ Jodie said. ‘It starts at seven in the canteen.’

‘I’ll see you there, then. At ten to seven.’

‘OK.’ Jodie left his office, closing the door behind her, and heaved a sigh of relief. It hadn’t been as bad as she’d expected…or, now she thought about it, had it? She had her date for the party, but she still had no idea whether he really wanted to be there or not.

‘Well, Mr Frosty, if the revue doesn’t thaw you out, nothing will,’ she said softly to herself.

Sam leaned back in his chair. He was walking on very thin ice indeed. Jodie had even given him the perfect get-out for not going to the party—so why hadn’t he jumped at it?

Because you want to see her all dressed up, the little voice in his head informed him. And then you want to take every scrap of material off her again…

Do not.

You’re in denial—Mr Frosty, the voice taunted him.

Sam groaned aloud. He was going to have an awful lot to live up to—but he was aware that distance wasn’t a style the ward was comfortable with. Maybe the party was his chance to show the rest of the team that he had a sense of humour, that he could laugh with them.

How long had it been since he’d laughed? Really laughed? Before Jodie had burst into his life and insisted on him going to Mario’s with the rest of the team?

He closed his eyes. Jodie again. Maybe he should have accepted her get-out. He wasn’t sure how he was going to cope, dancing with her. Holding her so close and knowing he couldn’t have her—ever. It wouldn’t be fair on either of them.

He smiled wryly. Who said life had to be fair? Besides, he knew there were people out there far worse off than he was—it was just that, right now, it didn’t feel like it.

Tomorrow morning, he decided, he’d have a convenient sore throat. One that got worse during the day so he wouldn’t feel up to going to the Christmas party. That way, Jodie wouldn’t think he was avoiding the party because of her. She’d still be able to go and enjoy herself, she wouldn’t be embarrassed dealing with him at work—and he wouldn’t have the torture of wanting something he knew he couldn’t have.

CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_8126e9f4-1332-51fd-9a97-515d8eceae68)

THOUGH, of course, Sam did nothing of the kind.

Although his path didn’t cross Jodie’s during their shifts the next day, he could have complained about his ‘sore throat’ to any of the nurses or junior doctors he worked with, knowing they’d pass the message on to Jodie. But something stopped him and at ten to seven he was striding down the corridor to meet her.

She looked absolutely stunning, Sam thought as he saw her standing by the entrance to the canteen. She’d piled her hair on the top of her head and little tendrils escaped here and there to soften the severity of the style. Her make-up was understated, just enough to emphasise her beautiful green eyes and tempting mouth. And the crimson raw silk shift dress suited her colouring perfectly. Not to mention showing just how long her legs were. She was wearing heels high enough to make her the same height as he was and a smile that made him feel as if a knife had been plunged into his stomach—because the smile was directed at the man who was talking to her. Mick Salmond, a nurse on their ward. The man who knew her well enough to order her pizza for her when she’d been late at Mario’s.

And the warmth of that smile…Was something going on between them? He searched his memory. Wasn’t Mick Salmond married? What the hell did Jodie think she was doing, having an affair with a married man?

‘Dr Price,’ he said stiffly, joining them. ‘I trust I’m not late.’

‘No. I was early.’

‘For once,’ Mick said, teasing her.

‘Huh. I’m not late all the time.’

‘Only on a day with a Y in it,’ the nurse retorted with a grin.

‘Yeah, yeah. Hey, Mick’s got some fabulous news.’ She dug her companion in the ribs. ‘Go on, tell him, before I burst.’

‘News?’ Sam echoed, frowning.

Mick beamed. ‘I’m going to be a dad!’

‘Congratulations.’ Sam forced the word out. Hadn’t he come to terms with this years ago? So why could those six little words still hurt him so much, the six words he’d never be able to say himself?

And why was Jodie going to burst? Was she the one expecting Mick’s baby?

The thought was like a physical blow. He felt winded, sick.

‘Shelley’s going to make a brilliant mum,’ Jodie said. ‘And she’s asked me to be godmother.’

Shelley? Godmother? The fog cleared and Sam suddenly realised what was going on. Jodie wasn’t having a baby. She was just excited for her friends and delighted at being asked to be godmother. So when it came to her own babies, she’d—

‘When it’s your turn,’ Mick said to Jodie with a grin, echoing Sam’s tortured thoughts, ‘I bet you’ll never get any housework or anything done. You’ll spend the whole day playing with your kids.’ He gave her a sidelong look. ‘Observing them at the same time. And you’ll write it up as a study paper when they’re in bed.’

Jodie rolled her eyes. ‘I will not. I’m not that bad, Mick.’

‘Yes, you are, Jo-jo. Look at the way you are with the kids on the ward. You even come in on your days off to play with some of them. You’ll be ten times worse with your own,’ he teased.

‘No, I won’t. I’ll be just like any other mum.’

‘As if!’ he scoffed. ‘I can see you with half a dozen.’

Jodie chuckled. ‘Yeah, right.’

‘So how many are you planning?’

She shrugged. ‘Depends.’ Her face softened. ‘One of each would be nice.’

‘You mean, so you get to play with the trains and the doll’s house?’ he teased.

‘Let’s p-l-a-y,’ Jodie teased back.

Just like any other mum. The words reverberated inside Sam’s head, numbing his senses. Just like any other mum. Meaning that Jodie, despite her protests at Mario’s, was planning to have children one day. One of each would be nice. Taking it for granted that she could have children—and so could her future husband.

‘Can’t you just see what our Jodie’ll be like with her kids, Mr Taylor?’ Mick asked, laughing.

‘Yes,’ Sam said shortly. He could just see Jodie with her arm round a three-year-old, reading him a story and getting him to act out one of the speaking parts while the baby was curled up asleep on her lap. I’ll huff, and I’ll puff, and I’ll blow your house down… He could imagine only too clearly the softness in her face, the deep enduring love of a mother in her eyes as she cuddled her children.

A stab of something—pain or envy—lanced through him as he listened to them talking about their future children. It amazed him how easily they could talk about their plans. If anyone had asked him, the words would have stuck in his throat. I can’t have babies. I’m infertile.

He became aware that Mick was talking again. ‘I dunno who called it morning sickness. Shelley gets it in the evenings.’ As if he’d sensed the message behind the sharp look Sam had given him, Mick continued, ‘I would have stayed with her to hold her hand and mop her face and what have you, but she wanted me to video the revue so she doesn’t miss out on it.’

‘Indeed,’ Sam said brusquely.

‘Mick wr—’ Jodie stopped abruptly, suddenly realising she’d been about to blurt out that Mick had written the revue. ‘Shall we go and sit down, Mr Taylor?’ She didn’t quite dare use his first name. Not when he was back in Mr Frosty mode. And why the sudden freeze? Something was obviously bugging Sam…but what?