The Maverick Doctor and Miss Prim

She walked around behind the desk and started pulling things out of the boxes being deposited next to her. “Lewis, Cheryl, set up here and here.” She pointed to some nearby desks.

“I’m only going to ask you one more time. Where is Callum Ferguson?”

He was practically growling at her now. And that hair of his was going to annoy her. Why didn’t he get a decent haircut? Wouldn’t long hair be an infection control hazard? Maybe she should suggest he find an elastic band and tie it back, though on second thoughts it wasn’t quite long enough for that.

She drew herself up before him. This man was starting to annoy her. Did he think she was hiding Callum Ferguson in her back pocket? “I’m sorry to tell you, Dr. Sawyer, that Dr. Ferguson became unwell on the plane en route.”

He actually twitched. As if she’d just said something to shock him. Maybe he was a human being after all.

“What happened?”

“We think he had an MI. He’s been taken to the cardiac unit at St John’s. I heard it’s the best in town.”

She waited for a second while he digested the news. Would he realize she’d checked up on the best place to send her colleague, rather than just send him off to the nearest hospital available? She hoped so. From the expression on Sawyer’s face she might need to win some points with him.

Why did the thought of being quarantined with this man fill her with impending doom?

Sawyer was about to explode. And Miss Hoity-Toity with her navy-blue suit, pointy shoes and squinty hairdo was first in line to bear the brunt of the impact.

It was bad enough that he was here—but now to find out that the one person in the DPA he absolutely trusted wasn’t going to be here?

The thought of Callum Ferguson having an MI was sickening. Sawyer had almost fallen into the trap of thinking the man was invincible. He’d spent the last forty years investigating outbreaks and coming home unscathed.

Please let him be okay.

He scowled at Callie Turner as she issued orders to those all around him. Did she realize her hand was trembling ever so slightly? Because he did. And it wasn’t instilling him with confidence.

He planted his hand on his hip. “How old are you exactly?”

He could see her bristling. Her brain was whirring, obviously trying to think up a smart answer. She walked straight over to him and put both of her hands on her hips, mirroring his stance.

“Exactly how old do you want me to be, Sawyer?”

He couldn’t wipe the smile from his face. Smart and sassy—if a little young. The girl showed promise.

“So what happened to the hair?”

He’d already caught her tugging self-consciously at one side of her hair. As if she wasn’t quite used to it yet. “Were you halfway through when you took my call?” He took a piece of gum offered by nearby Miriam and started chewing as he watched her. He could tell she was irritated by him. Perfect. Maybe if he annoyed Miss DPA enough, he could get out of here.

Except it didn’t work like that and he knew it. Still, he could live in hope.

She dumped a final pile of papers on the desk from her box, which she picked up and kicked under the desk. Yip. She was definitely mad.

She grabbed the heavily clipped document on the top of the pile, strode over and thrust it directly against his chest. It hit him square in the solar plexus, causing him to catch his breath.

“My haircut cost more than you probably make in a month. Now, here—read this. And it isn’t from me. It’s from Callum. He said to make sure it was the first thing I gave you—along with the instructions to follow it to the letter.”

He pulled the document off his chest. The DPA plan for a smallpox outbreak. All three hundred pages of it. He let it go and it skidded across the desk towards her.

“I don’t need to read this.”

She stepped back in front of him. “Yes. You do. You’ve already broken protocol once today, Dr. Sawyer. You should have contacted the state department before you contacted us. But, then, you know that, don’t you? You don’t work for the DPA anymore, Dr. Sawyer.”

He cracked his chewing gum. “Well, that’s at least one thing we agree on.”

She glanced at her watch. “So, that means, that as of right now—five thirty-six p.m.—you work for me. You, and everyone else in here. This is my hospital now, Dr. Sawyer, my jurisdiction, and you will do exactly what I tell you.” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “And it’s all in that plan. So memorize it because there’ll be a pop quiz later.”

She kicked her navy-blue platforms beneath the desk and started to undo her shirt. “Where are the scrubs and protective clothing?” she shouted along the corridor.

“In here,” came a reply from one of the nearby rooms.

“Let’s go see these kids,” she barked at Sawyer over her shoulder as she headed to the room.

Organized chaos was continuing around him. Piles upon piles of paper were being pulled from boxes, new phones were appearing and being plugged in all around him. He recognized a couple of the faces—a few of the epidemiologists and contact tracers—standing with their clipboards at the ready.

He could hear the voices of the admin staff around him. “No, put it here. Callie’s very particular about paperwork. Put the algorithms up on the walls, in the treatments rooms and outside the patient rooms. Everyone has to follow them to the letter.”

So, she was a rules-and-regulations girl? This was about to get interesting.

He wandered over to the room. Callie was standing in her bra and pants, opening a clean set of regulation pale pink scrubs. Last time he’d worn them they’d been green. Obviously a new addition to the DPA repertoire.

The sight made him catch his breath. It was amazing what could lurk beneath those stuffy blue suits and pointy shoes. The suit was lying in a crumpled heap on the ground, discarded as if it were worthless when it easily clocked in at over a thousand dollars. He could see the label from here. Maybe Miss Hoity-Toity did have some redeeming features after all.

Her skin was lightly tanned, with some white strap marks on her shoulders barely covered by her bra. She was a matching-set girl. Pale lilac satin. But she didn’t have her back to him so from this angle he couldn’t tell if she favored briefs or a thong …

Her stomach wasn’t washboard flat like some women he’d known. It was gently rounded, proving to him that she wasn’t a woman who lived on salad alone. But the most intriguing thing about her was the pale white scar trailing down the outside of her leg. Where had that come from? It might be interesting to find out. His eyes lifted a little higher. And as for her breasts …

“Quit staring at me.” She pulled on her scrub trousers. “You’re a doctor. Apparently you’ve seen it all before.” She tossed him a hat. “And get that mop of yours hidden.”

She pulled her scrub top over her head and knelt in the corner next to her bag. She seemed completely unaffected by his gawping. Just as well really.

Sawyer reluctantly pulled on the hat and a disposable pale yellow isolation gown over his scrubs. She appeared at his side a few seconds later as he struggled to tuck his hair inside the slightly too big cap.

“Want one of these?” She waved a bobby pin under his nose with a twinkle in her eye. She was laughing at him.

“Won’t you need all of them to pull back that one side of your bad haircut?”

She flung a regulation mask at him. “Ha. Ha. Now, let’s go.”

They walked down the corridor where the lights were still dimmed. She paused outside the door, her hand resting lightly on his arm.

“Let’s clarify before we go in. How many staff have been in contact with these kids?”

He nodded. He would probably answer these questions a dozen times today. “Main contact has been myself and Alison, one of our nurses. We’re estimating they were only in the waiting room around ten minutes. One of the triage nurses moved them through to a room quickly as the kids were pretty sick.”

Her eyebrows rose above her mask. “I take it that you’ve continued to limit the contact to yourselves?”

“Ah, about that.”