The Maverick Doctor and Miss Prim

“A person with smallpox is considered infectious when the rash appears, but at the moment we’re going to consider any affected person infectious from the onset of fever. This should help us control any outbreak. It’s important to remember that only close contacts—those who were within six or seven feet of the infectious person should be at risk.”

She was talking too quickly, trying to put out too much information at once. She was hoping and praying that someone wouldn’t pick up on the fact that they could be quarantined together for seventeen days.

“Should? What do you mean, ‘should’? Don’t you know?”

Callie took a deep breath. She didn’t blame people for being angry. She would be angry too. But as she opened her mouth to speak, Sawyer got in there first. He’d appeared out of nowhere, stepping up alongside her, his hand closing over hers as he took the PA microphone from her.

“This isn’t like some disaster movie, folks. A person with smallpox doesn’t walk, coughing and spluttering, through a crowd and infect everyone around them. For a start, most people infected with smallpox don’t cough anyway. And the last data available from the DPA shows that the average person affected can infect around five to seven people. And those would only be the close contacts around them. Let’s not panic. Let’s keep this in perspective.”

She was watching him, her breath caught her in throat. He was doing what she should be doing. He was keeping calm and giving them clear and easy-to-understand information.

Part of her felt angry. And part of her felt relief.

She was out of her depth and she knew it.

The DPA was a big place. And she was a good doctor—when she was part of a team. But as a leader? Not so much.

Put her in a room with a pile of paperwork and she was the best. Methodical, good at interpreting the practical applications of a plan.

She could do the patient stuff—she could, obviously, or she wouldn’t have made it through medical school or her residency. Actually, some of it she had loved. But she’d enjoyed the one-to-one patient contacts, patients a physician could take time with, understand their condition and give them long-term advice. Not the hurried, rushed, wide perspective of the DPA.

But, then, the DPA had been Isabel’s dream, not hers. She’d never wanted this for herself.

And now? She was stuck with it.

“So, that’s it folks. We’ll let you know as soon as we hear back from the labs. In the meantime, we’ll have arrangements in place to make everyone more comfortable with the facilities we have here.” He raised his eyebrows at her. “It could be that in a few hours we move to somewhere more suitable?”

She nodded wordlessly. He must have known that Callum would already have put the wheels in motion to set up a category C facility for containment.

“In the meantime, follow the infection control procedures on the walls around you. Take a deep breath and show a little patience. We’re all scared.” He pointed at the figures lining the walls with their clipboards, “It’s important we help these guys out. Tell them everything you know.” He looked back at Callie. She was sure that right now she must resemble a deer caught in a set of headlights. “And if you have any questions, Dr. Turner is in charge. That’s it for now.”

He jumped off the table and headed back down the corridor.

The room was quieter now, the shouting had stopped. Her legs were trembling and she grabbed hold of a hand offered to her as she climbed down off the table. Heads were down, people working away, going about their business. One of the security guards was helping one of the nursing aides carry linen through to another room to help set up some beds.

Callie knew she couldn’t leave this. She knew she had to talk to him. Even though he was trying to put some space between them.

“Sawyer.” She was breathless, running down the corridor after him. “I just wanted to say thank you. For back there.”

His green eyes fixed on hers, just for a second, before they flitted away and he ran his fingers through that hair again. Her heart clenched, even though she couldn’t understand why. He was exasperated with her. “That was a one-off, Callie. Don’t count on me to help you again.” He turned and strode back down the corridor, leaving her standing there.

Alone.

CHAPTER THREE

“YOU NEED TO manage things better.” He couldn’t help it. There were probably a million other ways to put this more delicately, but Sawyer didn’t have time to think about nicer words.

Her head shot upwards. There it was—that rabbit-in-the-headlights look again from her.

He hated it. Because it made his stomach churn. He didn’t know whether to be irritated by it or whether he really wanted to go over and give her a quick hug.

“What on earth do you mean, ‘manage things better’?” She made quote marks in the air with her fingers as she repeated his words back to him. He could see the lines across her brow. She was tired and she was stressed. And he understood that. It was part and parcel of the job at the DPA.

He could feel his lips turn upwards. She looked even prettier when she was cross.

“What are you smirking at?” She stood up from behind the desk. A desk lost under a multitude of piles of papers—no doubt more copies of plans and protocols. A few sheets scattered as she stood.

His smile broadened. He could tell she really wanted to stop and pick them up.

She was in front of him now, her hands on her hips. “What?”

He liked that. Sometimes she just got straight to the point. No skirting around the edge of things.

He gestured to the door behind him. “You need to clarify some things about the vaccination. There are still a lot of questions out there.”

She sighed and ran her fingers through the short side of her hair. “I know. I’ll get to it. I’ve got a million and one things to deal with.” Her eyes flickered in the direction of the hidden desk.

“Then delegate.”

She started, as if the thought of actually delegating horrified her.

“But I’m responsible—”

“And you need to be visible. You need to be seen. You have to be on the floor—not stuck in some office. You can make your decisions out there, not from behind a desk.”

He could see her brain ticking, thinking over his suggestions. Truth be told, she’d been delegating from the minute she’d walked in the door—just not the important stuff.

“And you need to do something about Alison.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I thought you wanted to deal with Alison.”

“And I have—we’ve had the discussion about the vaccine. She hasn’t decided what to do yet, but I think she’ll opt on the side of caution and say no.”