The Gift of a Child

The hurt she’d known of waiting up for Dad to come home and read her a story, or to say she was his princess, had been behind her decision in not telling Mitch about Jamie. Yes, Mitch, love him or not, would act the same as her father had. He’d never be there for his child because there’d always be one more patient to help, one more urgent case to deal wtih before hanging up his white coat and heading home.

If Mitch kicked her butt hard and fast when she told him why she was here, and why she hadn’t come knocking three years ago, so be it. If he sent her packing, refusing to believe her—which was her expectation—she’d deal with that too. She’d argue till she was all out of breath. If he refused categorically to meet Jamie, to help him … then she’d tie him up and pour boiling oil over his beautiful body.

Doing a U-turn, she headed into the city centre and Auckland General, the hospital with New Zealand’s best renal specialists and the most modern equipment available for what ailed Jamie. The hospital where Mitch was head of the emergency department. Where he looked out for patients, including other people’s little boys and girls. Would he look out for her boy? Of course he would. He wasn’t an ogre.

Over the coming days she would ask him to consider doing something he’d never, ever have contemplated. Who would, unless faced with it?

She was also about to grovel before the man she’d once loved, the man she’d never shown a moment of weakness to in the months they’d lived together.

She was about to give away her soul.

It was far too easy to find a parking space outside the ED. But despite the pounding in her chest Jodi didn’t linger anymore. The time had come. Having once worked briefly in the ED, she knew the ropes and within moments she was inside the emergency department asking for Dr Maitland.

‘I think he took a break.’ A young nurse answered her enquiries. ‘Though he was talking about going to a party tonight so you might be out of luck.’

She’d been out of luck for years. Just not tonight, please. ‘Where’s the staff kitchen?’ she asked the next person. ‘I’m looking for Mitch Maitland.’

‘Mitch headed towards his office,’ a harried junior doctor told her as he raced past.

‘Which is where?’ Jodi asked the disappearing back of the doctor.

‘Down the corridor, turn right, left, left, and then try the third door on your right,’ another nurse told her.

Okey-dokey. Showtime. Jodi’s footsteps slowed as she took the last left. They stopped entirely outside the third door on the right. Her knuckles rapped on the door. No reply. Her hand shook as her fingers gripped the doorknob. Shoving the door wide, she stepped into hell.

‘Hello, Mitchell. Long time no see.’

The reply was a snore.

She felt like a balloon that’d just been pricked. ‘Oh, great. Wonderful to see you, too.’ All her over-tightened muscles cramped further. Her tongue licked her dry lips. And once again her legs threatened to drop her in a heap on the floor.

Another snore.

Jodi closed the door quietly, leaned back against it, desperate for support. Her breasts rose on a slow intake of air, and she studied the view. Definitely still hunky. Those hands she remembered so well were hidden behind his head as he sprawled in his chair with his feet crossed neatly at the ankles on his desk. But those muscular thighs under the fabric of his trousers cranked up some hot memories. Dragging her gaze upwards, she studied his face.

His head was tipped back slightly, the sparkling blue eyes invisible behind closed eyelids. But his long black eyelashes lay softly on his upper cheeks, twisting her heart. Oh so sexy stubble darkened his chin, his jaw.

The air whooshed out of her lungs.

How had she ever found the strength to leave him?

Worse, where was the strength to break his world into a million little pieces?

Think of Jamie. That was the only thing she could do. Anything else and she’d fall apart at the seams.

Clearing her throat she pitched her voice higher. ‘Mitch. Wake up.’

CHAPTER TWO

MITCH KNEW HE was hallucinating. Too many strong coffees. Had to be. Nothing else would explain why he thought he saw Jodi Hawke standing here in his office. He shut his eyes tight, concentrated on removing that unnerving image from his brain. Slowly raised his eyelids. There. Leaning against his door. Jodi Hawke. No, not leaning. More like melting into the door, becoming a part of it. As in an attempt to remain upright.

A Jodi lookalike, then. The Jodi he’d known had had more confidence than a one-hundred-metre sprinter. Through narrowed eyes, he studied this apparition. Worn jeans hung loosely off her hips. A shapeless, faded cotton jersey bagged from her breasts and over her tummy, while scuffed trainers on her feet completed the strange picture.

The Jodi he remembered had been a fashionista. She’d certainly never gone for the ragdoll effect. And she’d definitely never been quiet, let alone silent.

God, what had been in those coffees? Definitely something weird and potent. His eyes drooped shut as the need to continue sleeping washed over him. It had been a big day made huge after a multi-car pile-up on the motorway. He’d attended to five seriously injured people, not to mention the usual number of patients continuously filing through the department. No wonder he was exhausted and seeing things. Then a nag set up in his skull. Wasn’t he supposed to be going somewhere?

‘Mitchell,’ squeaked the lookalike.

Jodi never squeaked. Through sheer willpower he did not move, not even an eyelid. Until his mouth let him down, demanding, ‘Tell me this is a joke.’ A very sick joke. But there’d be no reply. He was hallucinating.

‘Mitch, damn you. Look at me.’

He snapped forward so fast his neck clicked and his eyes opened into a wide stare. His feet hit the floor with a thump. ‘You’re real.’ He knew that voice, had heard it against his chest in the heat of passion, had felt it lash him in anger.

‘What else would I be?’ Her eyes bored into him, unrelenting in their determination to get his attention.

She certainly had that in spades. What was she doing here? Should he be worried? Nah, couldn’t see any reason for that. But after three years she just waltzes in through his door and tells him what to do? No way, sunshine. ‘A bad dream.’

She winced, and a whole ton of emotions blinked out at him from those unnerving eyes. Anger, hurt, shock, caution. But the overriding one appeared to be fear. Jodi was afraid of him? That had him standing upright faster than a bullet train. Nothing was making any sense. They hadn’t seen or spoken to each other for so long there was nothing between them now; not good or bad. Yet now she looked as though she wanted to be anywhere but here with him. Odd since she had been the one to walk in unannounced.

Even in the deep quiet of night, when nothing stirred except his memory, he’d never believed Jodi would want him back. Jumping the gun a bit, aren’t you? She’s probably passing through and decided to look you up for old times’ sake. As if. It had hurt beyond comprehension when she’d kicked him out and before he’d left Dunedin he’d often started towards her place to beg for a second chance, only to back off, knowing Jodi would give him most things but never that.

So why was she here? She didn’t do casual. Whatever had brought her through his door must be serious.

Apprehension crawled up his back. Somehow he managed to drawl with feigned nonchalance, ‘Jodi, long time no see.’ Three years five months, to be nearly exact. Tension overlaid tension in his weary body. And he’d thought he’d forgotten all about her. Forgotten making love with her in the long grass above the beach in summer. Forgotten how her laugh always made him feel he could slay dragons. But he’d been kidding himself. Big time.

Now his gaze was back to cruising, checking out that wacky, totally unstylish hair, the eyes that weren’t bordered with a pail of war paint, the non-lipsticked lips bruised where she must’ve nibbled for hours. So she still did that.

What had happened to this woman? He struggled to recognise her for who she’d been. A bright, sparkly woman with a figure any model would die for and the accessories to match. An intern adored by patients and staff alike. The only woman he’d even considered doing something way out with—as in settling down and buying the picket fence with. Everything he remembered about her had disappeared. All gone. Replaced by a stranger. Or so it seemed.

‘What brings you to Auckland? I presume you’re still living down south.’

‘Yes, I am.’ She still leaned against the door. ‘At least, I did until today.’

‘You’re on the move? Anywhere exciting?’ What the hell’s this got to do with me?

‘I don’t know about exciting. But I’m shifting to Auckland for a while.’ She choked over that last word. Tears glittered on her eyelashes.

Oh, God, she hadn’t taken a job in ED? Here? In his department? No, don’t be daft. Who would’ve sanctioned that if not him? Think about it. She wasn’t trained to work in an emergency department. The tension in his belly backed off a notch. So, what was her visit about? Had she really turned up for a chat about old times? Nah, not at this hour of the night.

He stamped on the flare of sympathy that drawn face caused, and parked his backside back on his chair. Stretching his legs under the desk, he started at the beginning. ‘You arrived today and already you’re knocking on my door? Do you need a job? Because I’m sorry to disappoint you but I’m overstaffed as it is.’

‘No, I don’t need a job.’ She swallowed. ‘Actually, I will do at some point but that’s not why I’m here.’

There was a relief. But the tension gripping his muscles didn’t relax at all. ‘So this is a social call?’

Another swallow. Then her tongue moistened her lips. And that fear in her eyes grew. ‘No,’ she croaked.